THECHIMES

AGoblinStory

By

CharlesDickens

THECHIMESAGoblinStory

CHAPTERI—FirstQuarter.

Therearenotmanypeople—andasitisdesirablethatastory-tellerandastory-readershouldestablishamutualunderstandingassoonaspossible,IbegittobenoticedthatIconfinethisobservationneithertoyoungpeoplenortolittlepeople,butextendittoallconditionsofpeople:littleandbig,youngandold: yet growing up, or already growing down again—there are not, I say,manypeoplewhowould care to sleep in a church. I don’tmeanat sermon-timeinwarmweather(whenthethinghasactuallybeendone,onceortwice),but in the night, and alone. A great multitude of persons will be violentlyastonished, Iknow,by thisposition, in thebroadboldDay.But itapplies toNight. It must be argued by night, and I will undertake to maintain itsuccessfullyonanygustywinter’snightappointedfor thepurpose,withanyone opponent chosen from the rest, who will meet me singly in an oldchurchyard, before an old church-door; andwill previously empowerme tolockhimin,ifneedfultohissatisfaction,untilmorning.

For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round abuildingof that sort, andmoaning as it goes; andof trying,with its unseenhand,thewindowsandthedoors;andseekingoutsomecrevicesbywhichtoenter.Andwhenithasgotin;asonenotfindingwhatitseeks,whateverthatmaybe,itwailsandhowlstoissueforthagain:andnotcontentwithstalkingthrough theaisles,andglidingroundandround thepillars,and tempting thedeep organ, soars up to the roof, and strives to rend the rafters: then flingsitself despairingly upon the stones below, and passes, muttering, into thevaults.Anon, it comes up stealthily, and creeps along thewalls, seeming toread, in whispers, the Inscriptions sacred to the Dead. At some of these, itbreaksoutshrilly,aswithlaughter;andatothers,moansandcriesasifitwerelamenting. It has a ghostly sound too, lingering within the altar; where itseemstochaunt,initswildway,ofWrongandMurderdone,andfalseGodsworshipped, in defiance of the Tables of the Law, which look so fair andsmooth,butaresoflawedandbroken.Ugh!Heavenpreserveus,sittingsnuglyround the fire! It has an awful voice, that wind at Midnight, singing in achurch!

But,highupinthesteeple!Therethefoulblastroarsandwhistles!High

upinthesteeple,whereit isfreetocomeandgothroughmanyanairyarchandloophole,andtotwistandtwineitselfaboutthegiddystair,andtwirlthegroaningweathercock,andmaketheverytowershakeandshiver!Highupinthesteeple,wherethebelfryis,andironrailsareraggedwithrust,andsheetsof lead and copper, shrivelled by the changing weather, crackle and heavebeneath theunaccustomed tread;andbirdsstuffshabbynests intocornersofold oaken joists and beams; and dust grows old and grey; and speckledspiders, indolent and fat with long security, swing idly to and fro in thevibrationofthebells,andneverloosetheirholdupontheirthread-spuncastlesintheair,orclimbupsailor-likeinquickalarm,ordropuponthegroundandplyascoreofnimble legs tosaveone life!Highup in thesteepleofanoldchurch,farabovethelightandmurmurof thetownandfarbelowtheflyingcloudsthatshadowit,isthewildanddrearyplaceatnight:andhighupinthesteepleofanoldchurch,dwelttheChimesItellof.

They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries ago, these Bells had beenbaptizedbybishops:somanycenturiesago,thattheregisteroftheirbaptismwaslostlong,longbeforethememoryofman,andnooneknewtheirnames.TheyhadhadtheirGodfathersandGodmothers,theseBells(formyownpart,bytheway,IwouldratherincurtheresponsibilityofbeingGodfathertoaBellthan a Boy), and had their silver mugs no doubt, besides. But Time hadmowed down their sponsors, and Henry the Eighth had melted down theirmugs;andtheynowhung,namelessandmugless,inthechurch-tower.

Notspeechless,though.Farfromit.Theyhadclear,loud,lusty,soundingvoices,hadtheseBells;andfarandwidetheymightbehearduponthewind.Much too sturdyChimeswere they, to be dependent on the pleasure of thewind, moreover; for, fighting gallantly against it when it took an adversewhim,theywouldpour theircheerfulnotes intoa listeningearrightroyally;andbentonbeingheardonstormynights,bysomepoormotherwatchingasick child, or some lone wife whose husband was at sea, they had beensometimesknowntobeatablusteringNor’Wester;aye,‘all tofits,’asTobyVeck said;—for though they chose to call him Trotty Veck, his name wasToby,andnobodycouldmakeitanythingelseeither(exceptTobias)withoutaspecialactofparliament;hehavingbeenaslawfullychristenedinhisdayastheBellshadbeen in theirs, thoughwithnotquite somuchof solemnityorpublicrejoicing.

Formypart,IconfessmyselfofTobyVeck’sbelief,forIamsurehehadopportunitiesenoughofformingacorrectone.AndwhateverTobyVecksaid,

Isay.AndItakemystandbyTobyVeck,althoughhedidstandalldaylong(andwearyworkitwas)justoutsidethechurch-door.Infacthewasaticket-porter,TobyVeck,andwaitedthereforjobs.

And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, red-eyed, stony-toed, tooth-chatteringplaceitwas,towaitin,inthewinter-time,asTobyVeckwellknew.Thewind came tearing round the corner—especially the eastwind—as if ithad sallied forth, express, from the confines of the earth, to have a blow atToby. And oftentimes it seemed to come upon him sooner than it hadexpected,forbouncingroundthecorner,andpassingToby,itwouldsuddenlywheelroundagain,asifitcried‘Why,hereheis!’Incontinentlyhislittlewhiteapronwouldbecaughtupoverhisheadlikeanaughtyboy’sgarments,andhisfeeble little cane would be seen to wrestle and struggle unavailingly in hishand,andhislegswouldundergotremendousagitation,andTobyhimselfallaslant,andfacingnowinthisdirection,nowinthat,wouldbesobangedandbuffeted,andtotouzled,andworried,andhustled,andliftedoffhisfeet,astorenderitastateofthingsbutonedegreeremovedfromapositivemiracle,thathewasn’tcarriedupbodilyintotheairasacolonyoffrogsorsnailsorothervery portable creatures sometimes are, and rained down again, to the greatastonishmentofthenatives,onsomestrangecorneroftheworldwhereticket-portersareunknown.

But,windyweather, inspiteof itsusinghimsoroughly,was,afterall,asortofholidayforToby.That’sthefact.Hedidn’tseemtowaitsolongforasixpenceinthewind,asatothertimes;thehavingtofightwiththatboisterouselement took off his attention, and quite freshened him up, when he wasgetting hungry and low-spirited.A hard frost too, or a fall of snow,was anEvent;anditseemedtodohimgood,somehoworother—itwouldhavebeenhard to say inwhat respect though,Toby!Sowind and frost and snow, andperhapsagoodstiffstormofhail,wereTobyVeck’sred-letterdays.

Wetweatherwastheworst;thecold,damp,clammywet,thatwrappedhimuplikeamoistgreat-coat—theonlykindofgreat-coatTobyowned,orcouldhaveaddedtohiscomfortbydispensingwith.Wetdays,whentheraincameslowly, thickly,obstinatelydown;when thestreet’s throat, likehisown,waschoked with mist; when smoking umbrellas passed and re-passed, spinningroundandroundlikesomanyteetotums,astheyknockedagainsteachotheron the crowded footway, throwing off a little whirlpool of uncomfortablesprinklings;whenguttersbrawledandwaterspoutswerefullandnoisy;whenthewetfromtheprojectingstonesandledgesofthechurchfelldrip,drip,drip,

onToby,makingthewispofstrawonwhichhestoodmeremudinnotime;thosewerethedaysthattriedhim.Then,indeed,youmightseeTobylookinganxiouslyoutfromhisshelterinanangleofthechurchwall—suchameagreshelter that insummer timeitnevercastashadowthicker thanagood-sizedwalkingstickuponthesunnypavement—withadisconsolateandlengthenedface.Butcomingout,aminuteafterwards,towarmhimselfbyexercise,andtrottingupanddownsomedozentimes,hewouldbrighteneventhen,andgobackmorebrightlytohisniche.

TheycalledhimTrottyfromhispace,whichmeantspeedifitdidn’tmakeit.Hecouldhavewalkedfasterperhaps;mostlikely;butrobhimofhistrot,andTobywouldhavetakentohisbedanddied.Itbespatteredhimwithmudin dirtyweather; it cost him aworld of trouble; he could havewalkedwithinfinitely greater ease; but that was one reason for his clinging to it sotenaciously.Aweak,small,spareoldman,hewasaveryHercules,thisToby,inhisgoodintentions.Helovedtoearnhismoney.Hedelightedtobelieve—Tobywasverypoor,andcouldn’twellafford topartwithadelight—thathewas worth his salt. With a shilling or an eighteenpenny message or smallparcel in hand, his courage always high, rose higher. As he trotted on, hewouldcallouttofastPostmenaheadofhim,togetoutoftheway;devoutlybelievingthatinthenaturalcourseofthingshemustinevitablyovertakeandrunthemdown;andhehadperfectfaith—notoftentested—inhisbeingabletocarryanythingthatmancouldlift.

Thus,evenwhenhecameoutofhisnooktowarmhimselfonawetday,Tobytrotted.Making,withhisleakyshoes,acrookedlineofslushyfootprintsin themire; andblowingonhis chillyhandsand rubbing themagainst eachother,poorlydefendedfromthesearchingcoldbythreadbaremufflersofgreyworsted,withaprivateapartmentonlyforthethumb,andacommonroomortapfortherestofthefingers;Toby,withhiskneesbentandhiscanebeneathhisarm,stilltrotted.FallingoutintotheroadtolookupatthebelfrywhentheChimesresounded,Tobytrottedstill.

Hemadethislastexcursionseveraltimesaday,fortheywerecompanytohim; andwhenhe heard their voices, he had an interest in glancing at theirlodging-place, and thinking how theyweremoved, andwhat hammers beatuponthem.PerhapshewasthemorecuriousabouttheseBells,becausetherewerepointsofresemblancebetweenthemselvesandhim.Theyhungthere,inall weathers, with the wind and rain driving in upon them; facing only theoutsidesofallthosehouses;nevergettinganynearertotheblazingfiresthat

gleamed and shone upon thewindows, or came puffing out of the chimneytops; and incapable of participation in any of the good things that wereconstantly being handled, through the street doors and the area railings, toprodigiouscooks.Facescameandwentatmanywindows:sometimesprettyfaces,youthfulfaces,pleasantfaces:sometimesthereverse:butTobyknewnomore(thoughheoftenspeculatedonthesetrifles,standingidleinthestreets)whencetheycame,orwheretheywent,orwhether,whenthelipsmoved,onekindwordwassaidofhiminalltheyear,thandidtheChimesthemselves.

Tobywasnotacasuist—thatheknewof,atleast—andIdon’tmeantosaythat when he began to take to the Bells, and to knit up his first roughacquaintancewiththemintosomethingofacloserandmoredelicatewoof,hepassedthroughtheseconsiderationsonebyone,orheldanyformalrevieworgreatfield-dayinhisthoughts.ButwhatImeantosay,anddosayis,thatasthe functions of Toby’s body, his digestive organs for example, did of theirown cunning, and by a great many operations of which he was altogetherignorant,andtheknowledgeofwhichwouldhaveastonishedhimverymuch,arrive at a certain end; so his mental faculties, without his privity orconcurrence, set all these wheels and springs in motion, with a thousandothers,whentheyworkedtobringabouthislikingfortheBells.

AndthoughIhadsaidhislove,Iwouldnothaverecalledtheword,thoughit would scarcely have expressed his complicated feeling. For, being but asimpleman,heinvestedthemwithastrangeandsolemncharacter.Theyweresomysterious, oftenheard andnever seen; so highup, so far off, so full ofsuchadeepstrongmelody,thatheregardedthemwithaspeciesofawe;andsometimeswhenhelookedupatthedarkarchedwindowsinthetower,hehalfexpectedtobebeckonedtobysomethingwhichwasnotaBell,andyetwaswhathehadheardsooftensoundingintheChimes.Forallthis,Tobyscoutedwith indignation a certain flying rumour that the Chimes were haunted, asimplyingthepossibilityoftheirbeingconnectedwithanyEvilthing.Inshort,theywereveryofteninhisears,andveryofteninhisthoughts,butalwaysinhisgoodopinion;andheveryoftengotsuchacrickinhisneckbystaringwithhismouthwideopen,atthesteeplewheretheyhung,thathewasfaintotakeanextratrotortwo,afterwards,tocureit.

The very thing he was in the act of doing one cold day, when the lastdrowsysoundofTwelveo’clock,juststruck,washumminglikeamelodiousmonsterofaBee,andnotbyanymeansabusybee,allthroughthesteeple!

‘Dinner-time, eh!’ said Toby, trotting up and down before the church.

‘Ah!’

Toby’snosewasvery red,andhiseyelidswerevery red,andhewinkedverymuch,andhisshoulderswereverynearhisears,andhislegswereverystiff,andaltogetherhewasevidentlyalongwayuponthefrostysideofcool.

‘Dinner-time, eh!’ repeated Toby, using his right-hand muffler like aninfantineboxing-glove,andpunishinghischestforbeingcold.‘Ah-h-h-h!’

Hetookasilenttrot,afterthat,foraminuteortwo.

‘There’s nothing,’ saidToby, breaking forth afresh—but here he stoppedshortinhistrot,andwithafaceofgreatinterestandsomealarm,felthisnosecarefullyallthewayup.Itwasbutalittleway(notbeingmuchofanose)andhehadsoonfinished.

‘I thought it was gone,’ said Toby, trotting off again. ‘It’s all right,however.IamsureIcouldn’tblameit if itwastogo.Ithasaprecioushardserviceofitinthebitterweather,andpreciouslittletolookforwardto;forIdon’t take snuff myself. It’s a good deal tried, poor creetur, at the best oftimes;forwhenitdoesgetholdofapleasantwhifforso(whichan’ttoooften)it’sgenerallyfromsomebodyelse’sdinner,a-cominghomefromthebaker’s.’

The reflection reminded him of that other reflection, which he had leftunfinished.

‘There’s nothing,’ said Toby, ‘more regular in its coming round thandinner-time,andnothing less regular in itscominground thandinner.That’sthe great difference between ’em. It’s tookme a long time to find it out. Iwonderwhether itwould beworth any gentleman’swhile, now, to buy thatobserwationforthePapers;ortheParliament!’

Tobywasonlyjoking,forhegravelyshookhisheadinself-depreciation.

‘Why!Lord!’saidToby. ‘ThePapers is fullofobserwationsas it is;andso’s the Parliament.Here’s lastweek’s paper, now;’ taking a very dirty onefrom his pocket, and holding it from him at arm’s length; ‘full ofobserwations! Full of obserwations! I like to know the news aswell as anyman,’saidToby,slowly;foldingitalittlesmaller,andputtingitinhispocketagain: ‘but it almost goes against the grainwithme to read a paper now. Itfrightensmealmost. Idon’tknowwhatwepoorpeoplearecomingto.LordsendwemaybecomingtosomethingbetterintheNewYearnighuponus!’

‘Why,father,father!’saidapleasantvoice,hardby.

ButToby,nothearingit,continuedtotrotbackwardsandforwards:musingashewent,andtalkingtohimself.

‘Itseemsasifwecan’tgoright,ordoright,orberighted,’saidToby.‘Ihadn’t much schooling, myself, when I was young; and I can’t make outwhetherwehaveanybusinesson the faceof the earth,ornot.Sometimes Ithinkwemusthave—alittle;andsometimesI thinkwemustbe intruding. Iget so puzzled sometimes that I am not even able to make up my mindwhetherthereisanygoodatallinus,orwhetherwearebornbad.Weseemtobe dreadful things;we seem to give a deal of trouble;we are always beingcomplainedofandguardedagainst.Onewayorother,wefillthepapers.TalkofaNewYear!’saidToby,mournfully.‘Icanbearupaswellasanothermanatmost times;better thanagoodmany, for Iamasstrongasa lion,andallmen an’t; but supposing it should really be thatwe have no right to aNewYear—supposingwereallyareintruding—’

‘Why,father,father!’saidthepleasantvoiceagain.

Tobyheard it this time; started; stopped;andshorteninghis sight,whichhad been directed a long way off as seeking the enlightenment in the veryheartoftheapproachingyear,foundhimselffacetofacewithhisownchild,andlookingcloseintohereyes.

Brighteyestheywere.Eyesthatwouldbearaworldoflookingin,beforetheir depth was fathomed. Dark eyes, that reflected back the eyes whichsearched them;not flashingly,orat theowner’swill,butwithaclear, calm,honest,patientradiance,claimingkindredwiththatlightwhichHeavencalledintobeing.Eyes thatwerebeautiful and true, andbeamingwithHope.WithHopesoyoungandfresh;withHopesobuoyant,vigorous,andbright,despitethe twenty years of work and poverty onwhich they had looked; that theybecameavoicetoTrottyVeck,andsaid:‘Ithinkwehavesomebusinesshere—alittle!’

Trotty kissed the lips belonging to the eyes, and squeezed the bloomingfacebetweenhishands.

‘Why,Pet,’saidTrotty.‘What’stodo?Ididn’texpectyouto-day,Meg.’

‘NeitherdidIexpecttocome,father,’criedthegirl,noddingherheadandsmilingasshespoke.‘ButhereIam!Andnotalone;notalone!’

‘Why you don’t mean to say,’ observed Trotty, looking curiously at acoveredbasketwhichshecarriedinherhand,‘thatyou—’

‘Smellit,fatherdear,’saidMeg.‘Onlysmellit!’

Trottywasgoing to liftup thecoveratonce, inagreathurry,whenshegailyinterposedherhand.

‘No,no,no,’saidMeg,with thegleeofachild. ‘Lengthenitouta little.Let me just lift up the corner; just the lit-tle ti-ny cor-ner, you know,’ saidMeg,suitingtheactiontothewordwiththeutmostgentleness,andspeakingverysoftly,as ifshewereafraidofbeingoverheardbysomethinginsidethebasket;‘there.Now.What’sthat?’

Toby took the shortestpossible sniff at theedgeof thebasket, andcriedoutinarapture:

‘Why,it’shot!’

‘It’sburninghot!’criedMeg.‘Ha,ha,ha!It’sscaldinghot!’

‘Ha,ha,ha!’roaredToby,withasortofkick.‘It’sscaldinghot!’

‘Butwhatisit,father?’saidMeg.‘Come.Youhaven’tguessedwhatitis.And youmust guesswhat it is. I can’t think of taking it out, till you guesswhat it is.Don’t be in suchahurry!Wait aminute!A littlebitmoreof thecover.Nowguess!’

Megwasinaperfectfrightlestheshouldguessrighttoosoon;shrinkingaway, as she held the basket towards him; curling up her pretty shoulders;stoppingherearwithherhand,asifbysodoingshecouldkeeptherightwordoutofToby’slips;andlaughingsoftlythewholetime.

MeanwhileToby,puttingahandoneachknee,bentdownhisnosetothebasket,andtookalonginspirationatthelid;thegrinuponhiswitheredfaceexpandingintheprocess,asifhewereinhalinglaughinggas.

‘Ah!It’sverynice,’saidToby.‘Itan’t—Isupposeitan’tPolonies?’

‘No,no,no!’criedMeg,delighted.‘NothinglikePolonies!’

‘No,’saidToby,afteranothersniff.‘It’s—it’smellowerthanPolonies.It’sverynice.Itimproveseverymoment.It’stoodecidedforTrotters.An’tit?’

Megwas in an ecstasy.He could not have gonewider of themark than

Trotters—exceptPolonies.

‘Liver?’ said Toby, communing with himself. ‘No. There’s a mildnessabout it that don’t answer to liver. Pettitoes? No. It an’t faint enough forpettitoes.ItwantsthestringinessofCocks’heads.AndIknowitan’tsausages.I’lltellyouwhatitis.It’schitterlings!’

‘No,itan’t!’criedMeg,inaburstofdelight.‘No,itan’t!’

‘Why,whatamIa-thinkingof!’saidToby,suddenlyrecoveringapositionasneartheperpendicularasitwaspossibleforhimtoassume.‘Ishallforgetmyownnamenext.It’stripe!’

Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, protested he should say, in half aminutemore,itwasthebesttripeeverstewed.

‘Andso,’saidMeg,busyingherselfexultinglywiththebasket,‘I’lllaytheclothatonce,father;forIhavebroughtthetripeinabasin,andtiedthebasinupinapocket-handkerchief;andifIliketobeproudforonce,andspreadthatforacloth,andcallitacloth,there’snolawtopreventme;isthere,father?’

‘NotthatIknowof,mydear,’saidToby.‘Butthey’realwaysa-bringingupsomenewlaworother.’

‘And according to what I was reading you in the paper the other day,father;whattheJudgesaid,youknow;wepoorpeoplearesupposedtoknowthemall.Haha!Whatamistake!Mygoodnessme,howclevertheythinkus!’

‘Yes,mydear,’criedTrotty;‘andthey’dbeveryfondofanyoneofusthatdid know ’em all.He’d grow fat upon thework he’d get, thatman, and bepopularwiththegentlefolksinhisneighbourhood.Verymuchso!’

‘He’deathisdinnerwithanappetite,whoeverhewas,ifitsmeltlikethis,’saidMeg,cheerfully.‘Makehaste,forthere’sahotpotatobesides,andhalfapintoffresh-drawnbeerinabottle.Wherewillyoudine,father?OnthePost,orontheSteps?Dear,dear,howgrandweare.Twoplacestochoosefrom!’

‘Thestepsto-day,myPet,’saidTrotty.‘Stepsindryweather.Postinwet.There’sagreaterconveniencyin thestepsatall times,becauseof thesittingdown;butthey’rerheumaticinthedamp.’

‘Thenhere,’saidMeg,clappingherhands,afteramoment’sbustle;‘hereitis,allready!Andbeautifulitlooks!Come,father.Come!’

Sincehisdiscoveryofthecontentsofthebasket,Trottyhadbeenstandinglookingather—andhadbeenspeaking too—inanabstractedmanner,whichshowed that though she was the object of his thoughts and eyes, to theexclusionevenoftripe,heneithersawnorthoughtaboutherasshewasatthatmoment, but had before him some imaginary rough sketch or drama of herfuturelife.Roused,now,byhercheerfulsummons,heshookoffamelancholyshakeoftheheadwhichwasjustcominguponhim,andtrottedtoherside.Ashewasstoopingtositdown,theChimesrang.

‘Amen!’saidTrotty,pullingoffhishatandlookinguptowardsthem.

‘AmentotheBells,father?’criedMeg.

‘Theybrokeinlikeagrace,mydear,’saidTrotty,takinghisseat.‘They’dsay agoodone, I am sure, if they could.Many’s thekind thing they say tome.’

‘TheBellsdo,father!’laughedMeg,asshesetthebasin,andaknifeandfork,beforehim.‘Well!’

‘Seemto,myPet,’saidTrotty,fallingtowithgreatvigour.‘Andwhere’sthedifference?IfIhear’em,whatdoesitmatterwhethertheyspeakitornot?Whyblessyou,mydear,’saidToby,pointingat thetowerwithhisfork,andbecoming more animated under the influence of dinner, ‘how often have Iheardthembellssay,“TobyVeck,TobyVeck,keepagoodheart,Toby!TobyVeck,TobyVeck,keepagoodheart,Toby!”Amilliontimes?More!’

‘Well,Inever!’criedMeg.

Shehad,though—overandoveragain.ForitwasToby’sconstanttopic.

‘Whenthingsisverybad,’saidTrotty;‘verybadindeed,Imean;almostatthe worst; then it’s “Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby! TobyVeck,TobyVeck,jobcomingsoon,Toby!”Thatway.’

‘And it comes—at last, father,’ saidMeg,witha touchof sadness inherpleasantvoice.

‘Always,’answeredtheunconsciousToby.‘Neverfails.’

Whilethisdiscoursewasholding,Trottymadenopauseinhisattackuponthesavourymeatbeforehim,butcutandate,andcutanddrank,andcutandchewed,anddodgedabout,fromtripetohotpotato,andfromhotpotatoback

againtotripe,withanunctuousandunflaggingrelish.Buthappeningnowtolookallroundthestreet—incaseanybodyshouldbebeckoningfromanydoororwindow, for aporter—his eyes, in comingbackagain, encounteredMeg:sittingopposite tohim,withher arms folded andonlybusy inwatchinghisprogresswithasmileofhappiness.

‘Why, Lord forgive me!’ said Trotty, dropping his knife and fork. ‘Mydove!Meg!whydidn’tyoutellmewhatabeastIwas?’

‘Father?’

‘Sittinghere,’saidTrotty,inpenitentexplanation,‘cramming,andstuffing,andgorgingmyself;andyoubeforemethere,neversomuchasbreakingyourpreciousfast,norwantingto,when—’

‘ButIhavebrokenit,father,’interposedhisdaughter,laughing,‘alltobits.Ihavehadmydinner.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Trotty. ‘Two dinners in one day! It an’t possible! YoumightaswelltellmethattwoNewYear’sDayswillcometogether,orthatIhavehadagoldheadallmylife,andneverchangedit.’

‘Ihavehadmydinner,father,forallthat,’saidMeg,comingnearertohim.‘And ifyou’llgoonwithyours, I’ll tellyouhowandwhere;andhowyourdinnercametobebrought;and—andsomethingelsebesides.’

Tobystillappearedincredulous;butshelookedintohisfacewithhercleareyes,andlayingherhanduponhisshoulder,motionedhimtogoonwhilethemeatwashot.SoTrottytookuphisknifeandforkagain,andwenttowork.Butmuchmoreslowlythanbefore,andshakinghishead,asifhewerenotatallpleasedwithhimself.

‘I hadmy dinner, father,’ saidMeg, after a little hesitation, ‘with—withRichard. His dinner-timewas early; and as he brought his dinner with himwhenhecametoseeme,we—wehadittogether,father.’

Trotty took a little beer, and smacked his lips. Then he said, ‘Oh!’—becauseshewaited.

‘AndRichardsays,father—’Megresumed.Thenstopped.

‘WhatdoesRichardsay,Meg?’askedToby.

‘Richardsays,father—’Anotherstoppage.

‘Richard’salongtimesayingit,’saidToby.

‘He says then, father,’ Meg continued, lifting up her eyes at last, andspeaking in a tremble, but quite plainly; ‘another year is nearly gone, andwhere is theuseofwaitingon fromyear to year,when it is sounlikelyweshalleverbebetteroffthanwearenow?Hesayswearepoornow,father,andwe shall be poor then, but we are young now, and years will make us oldbeforeweknowit.Hesaysthatifwewait:peopleinourcondition:untilweseeourwayquiteclearly,thewaywillbeanarrowoneindeed—thecommonway—theGrave,father.’

AboldermanthanTrottyVeckmustneedshavedrawnuponhisboldnesslargely,todenyit.Trottyheldhispeace.

‘And how hard, father, to grow old, and die, and think we might havecheeredandhelpedeachother!Howhardinallourlivestoloveeachother;and to grieve, apart, to see each otherworking, changing, growing old andgrey.Even if Igot thebetterof it,andforgothim(whichInevercould),ohfatherdear,howhardtohaveaheartsofullasmineisnow,andlivetohaveitslowlydrainedouteverydrop,withouttherecollectionofonehappymomentofawoman’slife,tostaybehindandcomfortme,andmakemebetter!’

Trotty sat quite still.Megdriedher eyes, and saidmoregaily: that is tosay,withherealaugh,andthereasob,andherealaughandsobtogether:

‘SoRichardsays,father;ashisworkwasyesterdaymadecertainforsometime to come, and as I love him, and have loved him full three years—ah!longerthanthat,ifheknewit!—willImarryhimonNewYear’sDay;thebestand happiest day, he says, in thewhole year, and one that is almost sure tobringgoodfortunewithit.It’sashortnotice,father—isn’tit?—butIhaven’tmy fortune to be settled, ormywedding dresses to bemade, like the greatladies,father,haveI?Andhesaidsomuch,andsaiditinhisway;sostrongandearnest,andallthetimesokindandgentle;thatIsaidI’dcomeandtalktoyou, father.Andas theypaid themoney for thatworkofmine thismorning(unexpectedly, I am sure!) and as you have fared very poorly for a wholeweek,andasIcouldn’thelpwishingthereshouldbesomethingtomakethisdayasortofholidaytoyouaswellasadearandhappydaytome,father,Imadealittletreatandbroughtittosurpriseyou.’

‘Andseehowheleavesitcoolingonthestep!’saidanothervoice.

It was the voice of this same Richard, who had come upon them

unobserved, and stood before the father and daughter; looking down uponthemwith a face as glowing as the iron onwhich his stout sledge-hammerdaily rung. A handsome, well-made, powerful youngster he was; with eyesthat sparkled like the red-hot droppings from a furnace fire; black hair thatcurled about his swarthy temples rarely; and a smile—a smile that bore outMeg’seulogiumonhisstyleofconversation.

‘Seehowheleavesitcoolingonthestep!’saidRichard.‘Megdon’tknowwhathelikes.Notshe!’

Trotty, all action and enthusiasm, immediately reached up his hand toRichard, andwas going to address him in great hurry,when the house-dooropenedwithoutanywarning,andafootmanverynearlyputhisfootintothetripe.

‘Outofthevayshere,willyou!Youmustalwaysgoandbea-settinonoursteps,mustyou!Youcan’tgoandgiveaturntononeoftheneighboursnever,can’tyou!Willyoucleartheroad,orwon’tyou?’

Strictlyspeaking,thelastquestionwasirrelevant,astheyhadalreadydoneit.

‘What’s thematter,what’s thematter!’ said thegentleman forwhom thedoorwasopened;comingoutofthehouseatthatkindoflight-heavypace—that peculiar compromise between a walk and a jog-trot—with which agentleman upon the smooth down-hill of life, wearing creaking boots, awatch-chain,andcleanlinen,maycomeoutofhishouse:notonlywithoutanyabatement of his dignity, but with an expression of having important andwealthyengagementselsewhere.‘What’sthematter!What’sthematter!’

‘You’realwaysa-beingbegged,andprayed,uponyourbendedkneesyouare,’ said the footmanwith great emphasis to TrottyVeck, ‘to let our door-stepsbe.Whydon’tyoulet’embe?Can’tyoulet’embe?’

‘There!That’lldo, that’lldo!’said thegentleman.‘Halloa there!Porter!’beckoning with his head to Trotty Veck. ‘Come here. What’s that? Yourdinner?’

‘Yes,sir,’saidTrotty,leavingitbehindhiminacorner.

‘Don’t leave it there,’ exclaimed the gentleman. ‘Bring it here, bring ithere.So!Thisisyourdinner,isit?’

‘Yes,sir,’repeatedTrotty,lookingwithafixedeyeandawaterymouth,atthe piece of tripe he had reserved for a last delicious tit-bit; which thegentlemanwasnowturningoverandoverontheendofthefork.

Two other gentlemen had come out with him. One was a low-spiritedgentlemanofmiddleage,ofameagrehabit,andadisconsolateface;whokepthis hands continually in the pockets of his scanty pepper-and-salt trousers,very large and dog’s-eared from that custom; andwas not particularly wellbrushedorwashed.Theother,afull-sized,sleek,well-conditionedgentleman,inabluecoatwithbrightbuttons,andawhitecravat.Thisgentlemanhadavery red face, as if an undue proportion of the blood in his body weresqueezedup into his head;which perhaps accounted for his having also theappearanceofbeingrathercoldabouttheheart.

HewhohadToby’smeatuponthefork,calledtothefirstonebythenameofFiler;andtheybothdrewneartogether.Mr.Filerbeingexceedinglyshort-sighted,wasobligedtogosoclosetotheremnantofToby’sdinnerbeforehecouldmakeoutwhat itwas, thatToby’sheart leapedup intohismouth.ButMr.Filerdidn’teatit.

‘This isadescriptionofanimalfood,Alderman,’saidFiler,makinglittlepunches in it with a pencil-case, ‘commonly known to the labouringpopulationofthiscountry,bythenameoftripe.’

TheAldermanlaughed,andwinked;forhewasamerryfellow,AldermanCute.Oh,andaslyfellowtoo!Aknowingfellow.Uptoeverything.Nottobeimposedupon.Deepinthepeople’shearts!Heknewthem,Cutedid.Ibelieveyou!

‘Butwho eats tripe?’ saidMr. Filer, looking round. ‘Tripe iswithout anexceptiontheleasteconomical,andthemostwastefularticleofconsumptionthat themarketsof this country canbypossibilityproduce.The lossuponapoundoftripehasbeenfoundtobe,intheboiling,seven-eightsofafifthmorethan the lossuponapoundofanyotheranimalsubstancewhatever.Tripe ismore expensive, properly understood, than the hothouse pine-apple. Takinginto account the number of animals slaughtered yearly within the bills ofmortalityalone;andformingalowestimateofthequantityoftripewhichthecarcasesofthoseanimals,reasonablywellbutchered,wouldyield;Ifindthatthewasteon thatamountof tripe, ifboiled,wouldvictualagarrisonof fivehundredmen for fivemonths of thirty-one days each, and a February over.TheWaste,theWaste!’

Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under him. He seemed to havestarvedagarrisonoffivehundredmenwithhisownhand.

‘Whoeatstripe?’saidMr.Filer,warmly.‘Whoeatstripe?’

Trottymadeamiserablebow.

‘Youdo,doyou?’saidMr.Filer.‘ThenI’lltellyousomething.Yousnatchyourtripe,myfriend,outofthemouthsofwidowsandorphans.’

‘Ihopenot,sir,’saidTrotty,faintly.‘I’dsoonerdieofwant!’

‘Divide theamountof tripebefore-mentioned,Alderman,’saidMr.Filer,‘bytheestimatednumberofexistingwidowsandorphans,andtheresultwillbe one pennyweight of tripe to each. Not a grain is left for that man.Consequently,he’sarobber.’

Trottywas so shocked, that itgavehimnoconcern to see theAldermanfinishthetripehimself.Itwasarelieftogetridofit,anyhow.

‘Andwhat do you say?’ asked theAlderman, jocosely, of the red-facedgentlemaninthebluecoat.‘YouhaveheardfriendFiler.Whatdoyousay?’

‘What’s itpossible to say?’ returned thegentleman. ‘What is tobe said?Who can take any interest in a fellow like this,’ meaning Trotty; ‘in suchdegeneratetimesasthese?Lookathim.Whatanobject!Thegoodoldtimes,the grand old times, the great old times! Those were the times for a boldpeasantry, and all that sort of thing. Thosewere the times for every sort ofthing, in fact. There’s nothing now-a-days. Ah!’ sighed the red-facedgentleman.‘Thegoodoldtimes,thegoodoldtimes!’

Thegentlemandidn’tspecifywhatparticulartimeshealludedto;nordidhe say whether he objected to the present times, from a disinterestedconsciousness that they had done nothing very remarkable in producinghimself.

‘Thegoodold times, thegoodold times,’ repeated thegentleman.‘Whattimes theywere!Theywere theonly times. It’sofnouse talkingabout anyother times,ordiscussingwhat thepeopleare in these times.Youdon’t callthese, times, do you? I don’t. Look into Strutt’s Costumes, and see what aPorterusedtobe,inanyofthegoodoldEnglishreigns.’

‘Hehadn’t,inhisverybestcircumstances,ashirttohisback,orastocking

tohis foot;and therewasscarcelyavegetable inallEnglandforhim toputintohismouth,’saidMr.Filer.‘Icanproveit,bytables.’

Butstillthered-facedgentlemanextolledthegoodoldtimes,thegrandoldtimes, the great old times. Nomatter what anybody else said, he still wentturningroundandroundinonesetformofwordsconcerningthem;asapoorsquirrel turns and turns in its revolving cage; touching themechanism, andtrickofwhich, ithasprobablyquiteasdistinctperceptions,asever this red-facedgentlemanhadofhisdeceasedMillennium.

It ispossible thatpoorTrotty’s faith in theseveryvagueOldTimeswasnot entirely destroyed, for he felt vague enough at thatmoment.One thing,however,wasplain tohim, in themidstofhisdistress; towit, thathoweverthesegentlemenmightdifferindetails,hismisgivingsofthatmorning,andofmany othermornings,werewell founded. ‘No, no.We can’t go right or doright,’thoughtTrottyindespair.‘Thereisnogoodinus.Wearebornbad!’

ButTrottyhada father’sheartwithinhim;whichhadsomehowgot intohisbreastinspiteofthisdecree;andhecouldnotbearthatMeg,intheblushofherbriefjoy,shouldhaveherfortunereadbythesewisegentlemen.‘Godhelpher,’thoughtpoorTrotty.‘Shewillknowitsoonenough.’

Heanxiouslysigned,therefore,totheyoungsmith,totakeheraway.Buthewassobusy, talking tohersoftlyata littledistance, thatheonlybecameconscious of this desire, simultaneously with Alderman Cute. Now, theAldermanhadnotyethadhis say,buthewas a philosopher, too—practical,though!Oh,verypractical—and,ashehadnoideaoflosinganyportionofhisaudience,hecried‘Stop!’

‘Now, you know,’ said theAlderman, addressing his two friends,with aself-complacentsmileuponhisfacewhichwashabitualtohim,‘Iamaplainman,andapracticalman;andIgotoworkinaplainpracticalway.That’smyway.There is not the leastmystery or difficulty in dealingwith this sort ofpeopleifyouonlyunderstand’em,andcantalkto’emintheirownmanner.Now,youPorter!Don’tyouevertellme,oranybodyelse,myfriend,thatyouhaven’talwaysenough toeat,andof thebest;becauseIknowbetter. Ihavetastedyour tripe,youknow,andyoucan’t“chaff”me.Youunderstandwhat“chaff”means,eh?That’stherightword,isn’tit?Ha,ha,ha!Lordblessyou,’saidtheAlderman,turningtohisfriendsagain,‘it’stheeasiestthingonearthtodealwiththissortofpeople,ifyouunderstand’em.’

Famousmanforthecommonpeople,AldermanCute!Neveroutoftemperwiththem!Easy,affable,joking,knowinggentleman!

‘You see, my friend,’ pursued the Alderman, ‘there’s a great deal ofnonsensetalkedaboutWant—“hardup,”youknow;that’sthephrase,isn’tit?ha!ha!ha!—andIintendtoPutitDown.There’sacertainamountofcantinvogue about Starvation, and I mean to Put it Down. That’s all! Lord blessyou,’ said the Alderman, turning to his friends again, ‘you may Put Downanythingamongthissortofpeople,ifyouonlyknowthewaytosetaboutit.’

Trotty tookMeg’s hand and drew it through his arm.He didn’t seem toknowwhathewasdoingthough.

‘Yourdaughter,eh?’saidtheAlderman,chuckingherfamiliarlyunderthechin.

Always affable with the working classes, Alderman Cute! Knew whatpleasedthem!Notabitofpride!

‘Where’shermother?’askedthatworthygentleman.

‘Dead,’ said Toby. ‘Hermother got up linen; andwas called toHeavenwhenShewasborn.’

‘Nottogetuplinenthere,Isuppose,’remarkedtheAldermanpleasantly.

Tobymight ormight not have been able to separate hiswife inHeavenfromheroldpursuits.Butquery:IfMrs.AldermanCutehadgonetoHeaven,wouldMr.AldermanCute have pictured her as holding any state or stationthere?

‘Andyou’remakinglovetoher,areyou?’saidCutetotheyoungsmith.

‘Yes,’ returnedRichardquickly, forhewasnettledby thequestion. ‘AndwearegoingtobemarriedonNewYear’sDay.’

‘Whatdoyoumean!’criedFilersharply.‘Married!’

‘Why,yes,we’re thinkingof it,Master,’saidRichard. ‘We’re rather inahurry,yousee,incaseitshouldbePutDownfirst.’

‘Ah!’ cried Filer, with a groan. ‘Put that down indeed, Alderman, andyou’lldosomething.Married!Married!!Theignoranceofthefirstprinciplesof political economy on the part of these people; their improvidence; their

wickedness;is,byHeavens!enoughto—Nowlookatthatcouple,willyou!’

Well? Theywereworth looking at. Andmarriage seemed as reasonableandfairadeedastheyneedhaveincontemplation.

‘Amanmay live to be as old asMethuselah,’ saidMr. Filer, ‘andmaylabour all his life for the benefit of such people as those; andmay heap upfactsonfigures,factsonfigures,factsonfigures,mountainshighanddry;andhecannomorehopetopersuade’emthattheyhavenorightorbusinesstobemarried, thanhecanhopetopersuade’emthat theyhavenoearthlyrightorbusiness to be born. And that we know they haven’t. We reduced it to amathematicalcertaintylongago!’

AldermanCutewasmightilydiverted,andlaidhisrightforefingeronthesideofhisnose,asmuchastosaytobothhisfriends,‘Observeme,willyou!Keepyoureyeonthepracticalman!’—andcalledMegtohim.

‘Comehere,mygirl!’saidAldermanCute.

Theyoungbloodofher loverhadbeenmounting,wrathfully,within thelast few minutes; and he was indisposed to let her come. But, setting aconstraint upon himself, he came forwardwith a stride asMeg approached,andstoodbesideher.Trottykeptherhandwithinhisarmstill,butlookedfromfacetofaceaswildlyasasleeperinadream.

‘Now,I’mgoingtogiveyouawordortwoofgoodadvice,mygirl,’saidtheAlderman,inhisniceeasyway.‘It’smyplacetogiveadvice,youknow,becauseI’maJustice.YouknowI’maJustice,don’tyou?’

Meg timidly said, ‘Yes.’ But everybody knew Alderman Cute was aJustice!Ohdear,soactiveaJusticealways!Whosuchamoteofbrightnessinthepubliceye,asCute!

‘You are going to be married, you say,’ pursued the Alderman. ‘Veryunbecomingandindelicateinoneofyoursex!Butnevermindthat.Afteryouare married, you’ll quarrel with your husband and come to be a distressedwife.Youmaythinknot;butyouwill,becauseItellyouso.Now,Igiveyoufairwarning,thatIhavemadeupmymindtoPutdistressedwivesDown.So,don’t be brought before me. You’ll have children—boys. Those boys willgrow up bad, of course, and run wild in the streets, without shoes andstockings.Mind,myyoungfriend!I’llconvict’emsummarily,everyone,forIamdeterminedtoPutboyswithoutshoesandstockings,Down.Perhapsyour

husbandwilldieyoung(mostlikely)andleaveyouwithababy.Thenyou’llbe turned out of doors, and wander up and down the streets. Now, don’twander nearme,my dear, for I am resolved, to Put all wanderingmothersDown.Allyoungmothers,ofallsortsandkinds,it’smydeterminationtoPutDown. Don’t think to plead illness as an excuse with me; or babies as anexcusewithme;forallsickpersonsandyoungchildren(Ihopeyouknowthechurch-service,butI’mafraidnot)IamdeterminedtoPutDown.Andifyouattempt, desperately, and ungratefully, and impiously, and fraudulentlyattempt, todrownyourself,orhangyourself, I’llhavenopity foryou, for IhavemadeupmymindtoPutallsuicideDown!Ifthereisonething,’saidtheAlderman,withhisself-satisfiedsmile,‘onwhichIcanbesaidtohavemadeupmymindmorethanonanother,itistoPutsuicideDown.Sodon’ttryiton.That’sthephrase,isn’tit?Ha,ha!nowweunderstandeachother.’

Tobyknewnotwhethertobeagonisedorglad,toseethatMeghadturnedadeadlywhite,anddroppedherlover’shand.

‘And as for you, you dull dog,’ said the Alderman, turning with evenincreasedcheerfulnessandurbanitytotheyoungsmith,‘whatareyouthinkingofbeingmarriedfor?Whatdoyouwanttobemarriedfor,yousillyfellow?IfIwas a fine, young, strapping chap like you, I should be ashamedof beingmilksopenoughtopinmyselftoawoman’sapron-strings!Why,she’llbeanoldwomanbeforeyou’reamiddle-agedman!Andapretty figureyou’llcutthen,withadraggle-tailedwifeandacrowdofsquallingchildrencryingafteryouwhereveryougo!’

O,heknewhowtobanterthecommonpeople,AldermanCute!

‘There!Goalongwithyou,’saidtheAlderman,‘andrepent.Don’tmakesuchafoolofyourselfastogetmarriedonNewYear’sDay.You’llthinkverydifferentlyof it, longbeforenextNewYear’sDay:a trimyoung fellow likeyou,withallthegirlslookingafteryou.There!Goalongwithyou!’

Theywentalong.Notarminarm,orhandinhand,orinterchangingbrightglances;but,sheintears;he,gloomyanddown-looking.Werethesetheheartsthat had so latelymade old Toby’s leap up from its faintness?No, no. TheAlderman(ablessingonhishead!)hadPutthemDown.

‘Asyouhappentobehere,’saidtheAldermantoToby,‘youshallcarryaletterforme.Canyoubequick?You’reanoldman.’

Toby, who had been looking after Meg, quite stupidly, made shift to

murmuroutthathewasveryquick,andverystrong.

‘Howoldareyou?’inquiredtheAlderman.

‘I’moversixty,sir,’saidToby.

‘O! Thisman’s a great deal past the average age, you know,’ criedMr.Filerbreakinginasifhispatiencewouldbearsometrying,butthisreallywascarryingmattersalittletoofar.

‘IfeelI’mintruding,sir,’saidToby.‘I—Imisdoubteditthismorning.Ohdearme!’

TheAldermancuthimshortbygivinghimtheletterfromhispocket.Tobywouldhavegotashillingtoo;butMr.Filerclearlyshowingthatinthatcasehewouldrobacertaingivennumberofpersonsofninepence-halfpennya-piece,heonlygotsixpence;andthoughthimselfverywellofftogetthat.

ThentheAldermangaveanarmtoeachofhisfriends,andwalkedoffinhigh feather; but, he immediately came hurrying back alone, as if he hadforgottensomething.

‘Porter!’saidtheAlderman.

‘Sir!’saidToby.

‘Takecareofthatdaughterofyours.She’smuchtoohandsome.’

‘Even her good looks are stolen from somebody or other, I suppose,’thoughtToby, lookingat the sixpence inhishand, and thinkingof the tripe.‘She’s been and robbed five hundred ladies of a bloom a-piece, I shouldn’twonder.It’sverydreadful!’

‘She’s much too handsome, my man,’ repeated the Alderman. ‘Thechances are, that she’ll come to no good, I clearly see.Observewhat I say.Takecareofher!’Withwhich,hehurriedoffagain.

‘Wrong every way. Wrong every way!’ said Trotty, clasping his hands.‘Bornbad.Nobusinesshere!’

TheChimescameclashing inuponhimashesaid thewords.Full, loud,andsounding—butwithnoencouragement.No,notadrop.

‘Thetune’schanged,’criedtheoldman,ashelistened.‘There’snotawordofallthatfancyinit.Whyshouldtherebe?IhavenobusinesswiththeNew

Yearnorwiththeoldoneneither.Letmedie!’

StilltheBells,pealingforththeirchanges,madetheveryairspin.Put’emdown,Put ’emdown!GoodoldTimes,GoodoldTimes!FactsandFigures,FactsandFigures!Put ’emdown,Put ’emdown! If theysaidanything theysaidthis,untilthebrainofTobyreeled.

Hepressedhisbewilderedheadbetweenhishands, as if tokeep it fromsplittingasunder.Awell-timedaction,asithappened;forfindingtheletterinone of them, and being by that means reminded of his charge, he fell,mechanically,intohisusualtrot,andtrottedoff.

CHAPTERII—TheSecondQuarter.

The letter Toby had received from Alderman Cute, was addressed to agreatmaninthegreatdistrictofthetown.Thegreatestdistrictofthetown.Itmust have been the greatest district of the town, because it was commonlycalled ‘theworld’ by its inhabitants.The letter positively seemedheavier inToby’shand,thananotherletter.NotbecausetheAldermanhadsealeditwithaverylargecoatofarmsandnoendofwax,butbecauseoftheweightynameonthesuperscription,andtheponderousamountofgoldandsilverwithwhichitwasassociated.

‘Howdifferentfromus!’thoughtToby,inallsimplicityandearnestness,ashelookedatthedirection.‘Dividethelivelyturtlesinthebillsofmortality,bythenumberofgentlefolksabletobuy’em;andwhosesharedoeshetakebuthisown!Astosnatchingtripefromanybody’smouth—he’dscornit!’

With the involuntary homage due to such an exalted character, Tobyinterposedacornerofhisapronbetweentheletterandhisfingers.

‘Hischildren,’saidTrotty,andamistrosebeforehiseyes;‘hisdaughters—Gentlemenmaywintheirheartsandmarrythem;theymaybehappywivesandmothers;theymaybehandsomelikemydarlingM-e-’.

Hecouldn’t finish thename.The final letter swelled inhis throat, to thesizeofthewholealphabet.

‘Never mind,’ thought Trotty. ‘I know what I mean. That’s more thanenoughforme.’Andwiththisconsolatoryrumination,trottedon.

It was a hard frost, that day. The air was bracing, crisp, and clear. Thewintrysun,thoughpowerlessforwarmth,lookedbrightlydownupontheiceitwas too weak tomelt, and set a radiant glory there. At other times, Trottymighthavelearnedapoorman’slessonfromthewintrysun;but,hewaspastthat,now.

The Year was Old, that day. The patient Year had lived through thereproaches andmisuses of its slanderers, and faithfully performed itswork.Spring,summer,autumn,winter. Ithadlaboured throughthedestinedround,andnowlaiddownitswearyheadtodie.Shutoutfromhope,highimpulse,activehappiness,itself,butactivemessengerofmanyjoystoothers,itmadeappealinitsdeclinetohaveitstoilingdaysandpatienthoursremembered,andto die in peace.Trottymight have read a poorman’s allegory in the fadingyear;buthewaspastthat,now.

Andonlyhe?Orhasthelikeappealbeenevermade,byseventyyearsatonceuponanEnglishlabourer’shead,andmadeinvain!

Thestreetswerefullofmotion,andtheshopsweredeckedoutgaily.TheNew Year, like an Infant Heir to the whole world, was waited for, withwelcomes, presents, and rejoicings.Therewerebooks and toys for theNewYear,glitteringtrinketsfortheNewYear,dressesfortheNewYear,schemesoffortunefortheNewYear;newinventionstobeguileit.Itslifewasparcelledout inalmanacksandpocket-books; thecomingof itsmoons,andstars,andtides,wasknownbeforehandtothemoment;alltheworkingsofitsseasonsintheir days and nights, were calculated with as much precision asMr. Filercouldworksumsinmenandwomen.

TheNewYear, theNewYear.Everywhere theNewYear!TheOldYearwasalreadylookeduponasdead;anditseffectsweresellingcheap,likesomedrownedmariner’s aboardship. Its patternswereLastYear’s, andgoing at asacrifice,before itsbreathwasgone. Its treasuresweremeredirt,beside therichesofitsunbornsuccessor!

Trottyhadnoportion,tohisthinking,intheNewYearortheOld.

‘Put’emdown,Put’emdown!FactsandFigures,FactsandFigures!GoodoldTimes,GoodoldTimes!Put’emdown,Put’emdown!’—histrotwenttothatmeasure,andwouldfititselftonothingelse.

But,eventhatone,melancholyasitwas,broughthim,induetime,totheend of his journey. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley, Member ofParliament.

The door was opened by a Porter. Such a Porter! Not of Toby’s order.Quiteanotherthing.Hisplacewastheticketthough;notToby’s.

ThisPorter underwent somehardpantingbefore he could speak; having

breathedhimselfbycomingincautiouslyoutofhischair,withoutfirsttakingtimetothinkaboutitandcomposehismind.Whenhehadfoundhisvoice—which it took him a long time to do, for itwas a longway off, and hiddenunderaloadofmeat—hesaidinafatwhisper,

‘Who’sitfrom?’

Tobytoldhim.

‘You’re to take it in,yourself,’ said thePorter,pointing toa roomat theendofalongpassage,openingfromthehall.‘Everythinggoesstraightin,onthisdayoftheyear.You’renotabit toosoon;forthecarriageisat thedoornow,andtheyhaveonlycometotownforacoupleofhours,a’purpose.’

Tobywipedhis feet (whichwerequitedry already)withgreat care, andtookthewaypointedouttohim;observingashewentthatitwasanawfullygrandhouse,buthushedandcoveredup,asifthefamilywereinthecountry.Knocking at the room-door, hewas told to enter fromwithin; and doing sofound himself in a spacious library, where, at a table strewnwith files andpapers,were a stately lady in a bonnet; and a not very stately gentleman inblackwhowrotefromherdictation;whileanother,andanolder,andamuchstatelier gentleman, whose hat and cane were on the table, walked up anddown,withonehandinhisbreast,andlookedcomplacentlyfromtimetotimeat his own picture—a full length; a very full length—hanging over thefireplace.

‘Whatisthis?’saidthelast-namedgentleman.‘Mr.Fish,willyouhavethegoodnesstoattend?’

Mr.Fishbeggedpardon,and takingthe letter fromToby,handedit,withgreatrespect.

‘FromAldermanCute,SirJoseph.’

‘Isthisall?Haveyounothingelse,Porter?’inquiredSirJoseph.

Tobyrepliedinthenegative.

‘Youhavenobill ordemanduponme—myname isBowley,Sir JosephBowley—ofanykindfromanybody,haveyou?’saidSirJoseph.‘Ifyouhave,presentit.Thereisacheque-bookbythesideofMr.Fish.Iallownothingtobe carried into theNewYear.Everydescriptionof account is settled in thishouseatthecloseoftheoldone.Sothatifdeathwasto—to—’

‘Tocut,’suggestedMr.Fish.

‘To sever, sir,’ returned Sir Joseph, with great asperity, ‘the cord ofexistence—myaffairswouldbefound,Ihope,inastateofpreparation.’

‘My dear Sir Joseph!’ said the lady, who was greatly younger than thegentleman.‘Howshocking!’

‘MyladyBowley,’returnedSirJoseph,flounderingnowandthen,asinthegreatdepthofhisobservations,‘atthisseasonoftheyearweshouldthinkof—of—ourselves.Weshouldlookintoour—ouraccounts.Weshouldfeelthateveryreturnofsoeventfulaperiodinhumantransactions,involvesamatterofdeepmomentbetweenamanandhis—andhisbanker.’

SirJosephdeliveredthesewordsasifhefeltthefullmoralityofwhathewassaying;anddesiredthatevenTrottyshouldhaveanopportunityofbeingimproved by such discourse. Possibly he had this end before him in stillforbearingtobreakthesealoftheletter,andintellingTrottytowaitwherehewas,aminute.

‘YouweredesiringMr.Fishtosay,mylady—’observedSirJoseph.

‘Mr.Fishhassaidthat,Ibelieve,’returnedhislady,glancingattheletter.‘But,uponmyword,SirJoseph,Idon’tthinkIcanletitgoafterall.Itissoverydear.’

‘Whatisdear?’inquiredSirJoseph.

‘ThatCharity,my love.Theyonly allow twovotes for a subscriptionoffivepounds.Reallymonstrous!’

‘MyladyBowley,’returnedSirJoseph,‘yousurpriseme.Istheluxuryoffeeling inproportion to thenumberofvotes;or is it, toa rightlyconstitutedmind, inproportion to thenumberofapplicants,and thewholesomestateofmind towhich their canvassing reduces them? Is thereno excitementof thepurestkindinhavingtwovotestodisposeofamongfiftypeople?’

‘Not tome, I acknowledge,’ replied the lady. ‘Itboresone.Besides,onecan’tobligeone’sacquaintance.ButyouarethePoorMan’sFriend,youknow,SirJoseph.Youthinkotherwise.’

‘Iam thePoorMan’sFriend,’ observedSir Joseph, glancing at the poormanpresent. ‘AssuchImaybe taunted.AssuchIhavebeen taunted.But I

asknoothertitle.’

‘Blesshimforanoblegentleman!’thoughtTrotty.

‘Idon’tagreewithCutehere,forinstance,’saidSirJoseph,holdingouttheletter. ‘I don’t agree with the Filer party. I don’t agree with any party.MyfriendthePoorMan,hasnobusinesswithanythingofthatsort,andnothingofthatsorthasanybusinesswithhim.MyfriendthePoorMan,inmydistrict,ismybusiness.Nomanorbodyofmenhasanyright to interferebetweenmyfriend andme. That is the ground I take. I assume a—a paternal charactertowardsmyfriend.Isay,“Mygoodfellow,Iwilltreatyoupaternally.”’

Tobylistenedwithgreatgravity,andbegantofeelmorecomfortable.

‘Your only business, my good fellow,’ pursued Sir Joseph, lookingabstractedly at Toby; ‘your only business in life is with me. You needn’ttroubleyourselftothinkaboutanything.Iwillthinkforyou;Iknowwhatisgoodforyou;Iamyourperpetualparent.Suchis thedispensationofanall-wise Providence!Now, the design of your creation is—not that you shouldswill, and guzzle, and associate your enjoyments, brutally, with food; Tobythought remorsefully of the tripe; ‘but that you should feel the Dignity ofLabour.Gofortherectintothecheerfulmorningair,and—andstopthere.Livehard and temperately, be respectful, exercise your self-denial, bring up yourfamilyonnext tonothing,payyourrentasregularlyas theclockstrikes,bepunctual inyourdealings(Isetyouagoodexample;youwillfindMr.Fish,myconfidential secretary,withacash-boxbeforehimat all times); andyoumaytrusttometobeyourFriendandFather.’

‘Nice children, indeed, Sir Joseph!’ said the lady, with a shudder.‘Rheumatisms, and fevers, and crooked legs, and asthmas, and all kinds ofhorrors!’

‘Mylady,’returnedSirJoseph,withsolemnity,‘notthelessamIthePoorMan’sFriendandFather.Not the lessshallhe receiveencouragementatmyhands. Every quarter-day he will be put in communication with Mr. Fish.EveryNewYear’sDay,myselfandfriendswilldrinkhishealth.Onceeveryyear,myselfandfriendswilladdresshimwiththedeepestfeeling.Onceinhislife,hemayevenperhapsreceive; inpublic, in thepresenceof thegentry;aTriflefromaFriend.Andwhen,upheldnomorebythesestimulants,andtheDignityofLabour,hesinksintohiscomfortablegrave,then,mylady’—hereSirJosephblewhisnose—‘IwillbeaFriendandaFather—onthesameterms

—tohischildren.’

Tobywasgreatlymoved.

‘O!Youhaveathankfulfamily,SirJoseph!’criedhiswife.

‘Mylady,’saidSirJoseph,quitemajestically,‘Ingratitudeisknowntobethesinofthatclass.Iexpectnootherreturn.’

‘Ah!Bornbad!’thoughtToby.‘Nothingmeltsus.’

‘Whatmancando,I do,’pursuedSir Joseph. ‘Idomydutyas thePoorMan’sFriendandFather;andIendeavourtoeducatehismind,byinculcatingonalloccasionstheonegreatmorallessonwhichthatclassrequires.Thatis,entire Dependence on myself. They have no business whatever with—withthemselves. If wicked and designing persons tell them otherwise, and theybecome impatient and discontented, and are guilty of insubordinate conductandblack-heartedingratitude;whichisundoubtedlythecase;IamtheirFriendandFatherstill.ItissoOrdained.Itisinthenatureofthings.’

Withthatgreatsentiment,heopenedtheAlderman’sletter;andreadit.

‘Verypoliteandattentive,Iamsure!’exclaimedSirJoseph.‘Mylady,theAlderman is soobligingas to remindme thathehashad“thedistinguishedhonour”—heisverygood—ofmeetingmeat thehouseofourmutualfriendDeedles, thebanker;andhedoesmethefavourtoinquirewhetheritwillbeagreeabletometohaveWillFernputdown.’

‘Mostagreeable!’repliedmyLadyBowley.‘Theworstmanamongthem!Hehasbeencommittingarobbery,Ihope?’

‘Whyno,’ said Sir Joseph’, referring to the letter. ‘Not quite.Very near.Notquite.HecameuptoLondon,itseems,tolookforemployment(tryingtobetterhimself—that’shisstory),andbeingfoundatnightasleepinashed,wastaken into custody, and carried next morning before the Alderman. TheAlderman observes (very properly) that he is determined to put this sort ofthingdown;andthatifitwillbeagreeabletometohaveWillFernputdown,hewillbehappytobeginwithhim.’

‘Lethimbemadeanexampleof,byallmeans,’ returned the lady. ‘Lastwinter,whenIintroducedpinkingandeyelet-holingamongthemenandboysinthevillage,asaniceeveningemployment,andhadthelines,

Oletusloveouroccupations,Blessthesquireandhisrelations,Liveuponourdailyrations,Andalwaysknowourproperstations,

settomusiconthenewsystem,forthemtosingthewhile;thisveryFern—I see him now—touched that hat of his, and said, “I humbly ask yourpardon,mylady,butan’tIsomethingdifferentfromagreatgirl?”Iexpectedit,ofcourse;whocanexpectanythingbutinsolenceandingratitudefromthatclass of people! That is not to the purpose, however. Sir Joseph!Make anexampleofhim!’

‘Hem!’ coughed Sir Joseph. ‘Mr. Fish, if you’ll have the goodness toattend—’

Mr. Fish immediately seized his pen, and wrote from Sir Joseph’sdictation.

‘Private.MydearSir.Iamverymuchindebtedtoyouforyourcourtesyinthe matter of the man William Fern, of whom, I regret to add, I can saynothing favourable. I have uniformly considered myself in the light of hisFriendandFather,buthavebeenrepaid(acommoncase,Igrievetosay)withingratitude, and constant opposition to my plans. He is a turbulent andrebellious spirit. His character will not bear investigation. Nothing willpersuade him to be happy when he might. Under these circumstances, itappearstome,Iown,thatwhenhecomesbeforeyouagain(asyouinformedmehepromisedtodoto-morrow,pendingyourinquiries,andIthinkhemaybe so far relied upon), his committal for some short term as a Vagabond,wouldbeaservice tosociety,andwouldbeasalutaryexample inacountrywhere—for the sake of those who are, through good and evil report, theFriends and Fathers of the Poor, as well as with a view to that, generallyspeaking, misguided class themselves—examples are greatly needed. And Iam,’andsoforth.

‘Itappears,’ remarkedSirJosephwhenhehadsigned this letter,andMr.Fishwassealingit,‘asifthiswereOrdained:really.Atthecloseoftheyear,Iwindupmyaccountandstrikemybalance,evenwithWilliamFern!’

Trotty, who had long ago relapsed, and was very low-spirited, steppedforwardwitharuefulfacetotaketheletter.

‘Withmycomplimentsandthanks,’saidSirJoseph.‘Stop!’

‘Stop!’echoedMr.Fish.

‘You have heard, perhaps,’ said Sir Joseph, oracularly, ‘certain remarksintowhichIhavebeenledrespectingthesolemnperiodoftimeatwhichwehavearrived,andthedutyimposeduponusofsettlingouraffairs,andbeingprepared.Youhaveobserved that I don’t sheltermyself behindmy superiorstandinginsociety,butthatMr.Fish—thatgentleman—hasacheque-bookathiselbow,andisinfacthere,toenablemetoturnoveraperfectlynewleaf,andenteron theepochbeforeuswithacleanaccount.Now,myfriend,canyou lay your hand upon your heart, and say, that you also have madepreparationsforaNewYear?’

‘Iamafraid,sir,’stammeredTrotty,lookingmeeklyathim,‘thatIama—a—littlebehind-handwiththeworld.’

‘Behind-handwith theworld!’ repeated Sir JosephBowley, in a tone ofterribledistinctness.

‘I am afraid, sir,’ faltered Trotty, ‘that there’s a matter of ten or twelveshillingsowingtoMrs.Chickenstalker.’

‘ToMrs.Chickenstalker!’repeatedSirJoseph,inthesametoneasbefore.

‘Ashop,sir,’exclaimedToby,‘inthegeneralline.Alsoa—alittlemoneyonaccountofrent.Avery little,sir. Itoughtn’t tobeowing,Iknow,butwehavebeenhardputtoit,indeed!’

Sir Joseph looked at his lady, and at Mr. Fish, and at Trotty, one afteranother,twiceallround.Hethenmadeadespondentgesturewithbothhandsatonce,asifhegavethethingupaltogether.

‘Howaman,evenamongthisimprovidentandimpracticablerace;anoldman;amangrowngrey;canlookaNewYearintheface,withhisaffairsinthiscondition;howhecanliedownonhisbedatnight,andgetupagaininthemorning, and—There!’ he said, turning his back on Trotty. ‘Take the letter.Taketheletter!’

‘I heartily wish it was otherwise, sir,’ said Trotty, anxious to excusehimself.‘Wehavebeentriedveryhard.’

SirJosephstillrepeating‘Taketheletter,taketheletter!’andMr.Fishnot

only saying the same thing, but giving additional force to the request bymotioningthebearertothedoor,hehadnothingforitbuttomakehisbowandleavethehouse.Andinthestreet,poorTrottypulledhiswornoldhatdownonhis head, to hide the grief he felt at getting no hold on the New Year,anywhere.

Hedidn’tevenlifthishattolookupattheBelltowerwhenhecametotheoldchurchonhisreturn.Hehaltedthereamoment,fromhabit:andknewthatitwasgrowingdark,andthatthesteepleroseabovehim,indistinctandfaint,inthemurkyair.Heknew,too,thattheChimeswouldringimmediately;andthattheysoundedtohisfancy,atsuchatime,likevoicesintheclouds.ButheonlymadethemorehastetodelivertheAlderman’sletter,andgetoutoftheway before they began; for he dreaded to hear them tagging ‘Friends andFathers,FriendsandFathers,’totheburdentheyhadrungoutlast.

Toby discharged himself of his commission, therefore, with all possiblespeed, and setoff trottinghomeward.Butwhatwithhispace,whichwas atbestanawkwardoneinthestreet;andwhatwithhishat,whichdidn’timproveit;he trottedagainstsomebodyin less thannotime,andwassentstaggeringoutintotheroad.

‘I beg your pardon, I’m sure!’ said Trotty, pulling up his hat in greatconfusion,andbetweenthehatandthetornlining,fixinghisheadintoakindofbee-hive.‘IhopeIhaven’thurtyou.’

Astohurtinganybody,TobywasnotsuchanabsoluteSamson,butthathewasmuchmorelikelytobehurthimself:andindeed,hehadflownoutintotheroad,likeashuttlecock.Hehadsuchanopinionofhisownstrength,however,thathewasinrealconcernfortheotherparty:andsaidagain,

‘IhopeIhaven’thurtyou?’

The man against whom he had run; a sun-browned, sinewy, country-lookingman,withgrizzledhair,andaroughchin;staredathimforamoment,as if he suspected him to be in jest. But, satisfied of his good faith, heanswered:

‘No,friend.Youhavenothurtme.’

‘Northechild,Ihope?’saidTrotty.

‘Northechild,’returnedtheman.‘Ithankyoukindly.’

Ashesaidso,heglancedatalittlegirlhecarriedinhisarms,asleep:andshadingherfacewiththelongendofthepoorhandkerchiefheworeabouthisthroat,wentslowlyon.

Thetoneinwhichhesaid‘I thankyoukindly,’penetratedTrotty’sheart.Hewassojadedandfoot-sore,andsosoiledwithtravel,andlookedabouthimsoforlornandstrange,thatitwasacomforttohimtobeabletothankanyone:nomatter forhow little.Toby stoodgazingafterhimasheploddedwearilyaway,withthechild’sarmclingingroundhisneck.

Atthefigureinthewornshoes—nowtheveryshadeandghostofshoes—rough leather leggings, common frock, andbroad slouchedhat,Trotty stoodgazing, blind to thewhole street.And at the child’s arm, clinging round itsneck.

Before he merged into the darkness the traveller stopped; and lookinground, and seeing Trotty standing there yet, seemed undecided whether toreturnorgoon.Afterdoingfirsttheoneandthentheother,hecameback,andTrottywenthalf-waytomeethim.

‘Youcantellme,perhaps,’saidthemanwithafaintsmile,‘andifyoucanIamsureyouwill,andI’dratheraskyouthananother—whereAldermanCutelives.’

‘Closeathand,’repliedToby.‘I’llshowyouhishousewithpleasure.’

‘I was to have gone to him elsewhere to-morrow,’ said the man,accompanying Toby, ‘but I’m uneasy under suspicion, and want to clearmyself, and to be free to go and seekmy bread—I don’t knowwhere. So,maybehe’llforgivemygoingtohishouseto-night.’

‘It’simpossible,’criedTobywithastart,‘thatyourname’sFern!’

‘Eh!’criedtheother,turningonhiminastonishment.

‘Fern!WillFern!’saidTrotty.

‘That’smyname,’repliedtheother.

‘Why then,’ saidTrotty, seizing him by the arm, and looking cautiouslyround, ‘forHeaven’s sake don’t go to him!Don’t go to him!He’ll put youdownassureaseveryouwereborn.Here!comeupthisalley,andI’lltellyouwhatImean.Don’tgotohim.’

Hisnewacquaintance lookedas ifhe thoughthimmad;butheborehimcompany nevertheless. When they were shrouded from observation, Trottytoldhimwhatheknew,andwhatcharacterhehadreceived,andallaboutit.

Thesubjectofhishistorylistenedtoitwithacalmnessthatsurprisedhim.Hedidnotcontradictorinterruptit,once.Henoddedhisheadnowandthen—more in corroboration of an old and worn-out story, it appeared, than inrefutationofit;andonceortwicethrewbackhishat,andpassedhisfreckledhandoverabrow,whereeveryfurrowhehadploughedseemedtohavesetitsimageinlittle.Buthedidnomore.

‘It’strueenoughinthemain,’hesaid,‘master,Icouldsiftgrainfromhuskhereandthere,butletitbeas’tis.Whatodds?Ihavegoneagainsthisplans;to my misfortun’. I can’t help it; I should do the like to-morrow. As tocharacter,themgentlefolkswillsearchandsearch,andpryandpry,andhaveitasfreefromspotorspeckinus,aforethey’llhelpustoadrygoodword!—Well! Ihope theydon’t losegoodopinionaseasyaswedo,or their lives isstrict indeed,andhardlyworth thekeeping.Formyself,master, Inever tookwith that hand’—holding it before him—‘what wasn’t my own; and neverhelditbackfromwork,howeverhard,orpoorlypaid.Whoevercandenyit,lethim chop it off! But when work won’t maintain me like a human creetur;whenmylivingissobad,thatIamHungry,outofdoorsandin;whenIseeawholeworkinglifebeginthatway,goonthatway,andendthatway,withoutachanceorchange;thenIsaytothegentlefolks“Keepawayfromme!Letmycottage be.My doors is dark enoughwithout your darkening of ’emmore.Don’t lookformetocomeupintotheParktohelptheshowwhenthere’saBirthday, or a fine Speechmaking, or what not. Act your Plays andGameswithoutme,andbewelcometo’em,andenjoy’em.We’venowt todowithoneanother.I’mbestletalone!”’

Seeing that the child in his arms had opened her eyes, andwas lookingaboutherinwonder,hecheckedhimselftosayawordortwooffoolishprattleinherear,andstandheronthegroundbesidehim.Thenslowlywindingoneofherlongtressesroundandroundhisroughforefingerlikearing,whileshehungabouthisdustyleg,hesaidtoTrotty:

‘I’mnot a cross-grainedmanbynatu’, I believe; andeasy satisfied, I’msure.Ibearnoill-willagainstnoneof’em.IonlywanttolivelikeoneoftheAlmighty’s creeturs. I can’t—Idon’t—and so there’s a pit dugbetweenme,andthemthatcananddo.There’sothers likeme.Youmight tell ’emoffbyhundredsandbythousands,soonerthanbyones.’

Trottyknewhespoke theTruth in this,andshookhishead tosignifyasmuch.

‘I’vegotabadnamethisway,’saidFern;‘andI’mnotlikely,I’mafeared,togetabetter.’Tan’tlawfultobeoutofsorts,andIamoutofsorts, thoughGodknowsI’dsoonerbearacheerfulspiritifIcould.Well!Idon’tknowasthisAldermancouldhurtmemuchbysendingmetojail;butwithoutafriendtospeakawordforme,hemightdo it;andyousee—!’pointingdownwardwithhisfinger,atthechild.

‘Shehasabeautifulface,’saidTrotty.

‘Whyyes!’repliedtheotherinalowvoice,ashegentlyturneditupwithbothhishandstowardshisown,andlookeduponitsteadfastly.‘I’vethoughtso,manytimes.I’vethoughtso,whenmyhearthwasverycold,andcupboardverybare.Ithoughtsot’othernight,whenweweretakenliketwothieves.Butthey—they shouldn’t try the little face toooften, should they,Lilian?That’shardlyfairuponaman!’

He sunk his voice so low, and gazed upon herwith an air so stern andstrange, thatToby, to divert the current of his thoughts, inquired if hiswifewereliving.

‘Ineverhadone,’hereturned,shakinghishead.‘She’smybrother’schild:aorphan.Nineyearold,thoughyou’dhardlythinkit;butshe’stiredandwornout now. They’d have taken care on her, theUnion—eight-and-twentymileawayfromwherewe live—betweenfourwalls (as they tookcareofmyoldfatherwhenhecouldn’tworknomore,thoughhedidn’ttrouble’emlong);butItookherinstead,andshe’slivedwithmeeversince.Hermotherhadafriendonce,inLondonhere.Wearetryingtofindher,andtofindworktoo;butit’salargeplace.Nevermind.Moreroomforustowalkaboutin,Lilly!’

Meetingthechild’seyeswithasmilewhichmeltedTobymorethantears,heshookhimbythehand.

‘Idon’tsomuchasknowyourname,’hesaid,‘butI’veopenedmyheartfree toyou,forI’mthankful toyou;withgoodreason.I’ll takeyouradvice,andkeepclearofthis—’

‘Justice,’suggestedToby.

‘Ah!’ he said. ‘If that’s the name they give him. This Justice. And to-morrowwilltrywhetherthere’sbetterfortun’tobemetwith,somewheresnear

London.Goodnight.AHappyNewYear!’

‘Stay!’criedTrotty,catchingathishand,asherelaxedhisgrip.‘Stay!TheNewYearnevercanbehappytome,ifwepartlikethis.TheNewYearnevercanbehappytome,ifIseethechildandyougowanderingaway,youdon’tknowwhere,without a shelter for your heads. Come homewithme! I’m apoorman,livinginapoorplace;butIcangiveyoulodgingforonenightandnevermissit.Comehomewithme!Here!I’lltakeher!’criedTrotty,liftingupthechild.‘Aprettyone!I’dcarrytwentytimesherweight,andneverknowI’dgotit.TellmeifIgotooquickforyou.I’mveryfast.Ialwayswas!’Trottysaid this, taking about six of his trotting paces to one stride of his fatiguedcompanion;andwithhisthinlegsquiveringagain,beneaththeloadhebore.

‘Why, she’s as light,’ saidTrotty, trotting in his speech aswell as in hisgait; forhe couldn’t bear tobe thanked, anddreadedamoment’spause; ‘aslightasafeather.LighterthanaPeacock’sfeather—agreatdeallighter.Hereweareandherewego!Roundthisfirstturningtotheright,UncleWill,andpast the pump, and sharp off up the passage to the left, right opposite thepublic-house.Hereweareandherewego!Crossover,UncleWill,andmindthekidneypiemanatthecorner!Hereweareandherewego!DowntheMewshere,UncleWill, and stop at the black door,with “T.Veck, Ticket Porter,”wroteuponaboard;andhereweareandherewego,andhereweareindeed,myprecious.Meg,surprisingyou!’

WithwhichwordsTrotty, inabreathlessstate,set thechilddownbeforehisdaughterinthemiddleofthefloor.ThelittlevisitorlookedonceatMeg;anddoubtingnothing in that face,but trustingeverythingshesaw there; ranintoherarms.

‘Hereweareandherewego!’criedTrotty,runningroundtheroom,andchokingaudibly. ‘Here,UncleWill, here’s a fireyouknow!Whydon’t youcometothefire?Ohhereweareandherewego!Meg,mypreciousdarling,where’sthekettle?Hereitisandhereitgoes,andit’llbileinnotime!’

Trottyreallyhadpickedupthekettlesomewhereorotherinthecourseofhiswildcareerandnowput iton the fire:whileMeg, seating thechild inawarmcorner,kneltdownonthegroundbeforeher,andpulledoffhershoes,and dried her wet feet on a cloth. Ay, and she laughed at Trotty too—sopleasantly,socheerfully,thatTrottycouldhaveblessedherwhereshekneeled;forhehadseenthat,whentheyentered,shewassittingbythefireintears.

‘Why,father!’saidMeg.‘You’recrazyto-night,Ithink.Idon’tknowwhattheBellswouldsaytothat.Poorlittlefeet.Howcoldtheyare!’

‘Oh, they’re warmer now!’ exclaimed the child. ‘They’re quite warmnow!’

‘No, no, no,’ saidMeg. ‘We haven’t rubbed ’em half enough.We’re sobusy. So busy!Andwhen they’re done,we’ll brush out the damp hair; andwhen that’s done, we’ll bring some colour to the poor pale facewith freshwater;andwhenthat’sdone,we’llbesogay,andbrisk,andhappy—!’

Thechild,inaburstofsobbing,claspedherroundtheneck;caressedherfaircheekwithitshand;andsaid,‘OhMeg!ohdearMeg!’

Toby’sblessingcouldhavedonenomore.Whocoulddomore!

‘Why,father!’criedMeg,afterapause.

‘HereIamandhereIgo,mydear!’saidTrotty.

‘Good Gracious me!’ criedMeg. ‘He’s crazy! He’s put the dear child’sbonnetonthekettle,andhungthelidbehindthedoor!’

‘I didn’t go for to do it, my love,’ said Trotty, hastily repairing thismistake.‘Meg,mydear?’

Meglookedtowardshimandsawthathehadelaboratelystationedhimselfbehindthechairoftheirmalevisitor,wherewithmanymysteriousgestureshewasholdingupthesixpencehehadearned.

‘Isee,mydear,’saidTrotty,‘asIwascomingin,halfanounceoftealyingsomewhereonthestairs;andI’mprettysuretherewasabitofbacontoo.AsIdon’trememberwhereitwasexactly,I’llgomyselfandtrytofind’em.’

Withthisinscrutableartifice,Tobywithdrewtopurchasetheviandshehadspoken of, for ready money, at Mrs. Chickenstalker’s; and presently cameback,pretendinghehadnotbeenabletofindthem,atfirst,inthedark.

‘But here they are at last,’ said Trotty, setting out the tea-things, ‘allcorrect! Iwas pretty sure itwas tea, and a rasher. So it is.Meg,my pet, ifyou’lljustmakethetea,whileyourunworthyfathertoaststhebacon,weshallbe ready, immediate. It’s a curious circumstance,’ saidTrotty, proceeding inhiscookery,withtheassistanceofthetoasting-fork,‘curious,butwellknowntomyfriends, thatInevercare,myself, forrashers,norfor tea. I like tosee

otherpeopleenjoy ’em,’ saidTrotty, speakingvery loud, to impress the factuponhisguest,‘buttome,asfood,they’redisagreeable.’

YetTrottysniffedthesavourofthehissingbacon—ah!—asifhelikedit;andwhen he poured the boilingwater in the tea-pot, looked lovingly downintothedepthsof thatsnugcauldron,andsufferedthefragrantsteamtocurlabouthisnose,andwreathehisheadandfaceinathickcloud.However,forallthis,heneitheratenordrank,exceptattheverybeginning,ameremorselforform’ssake,whichheappearedtoeatwithinfiniterelish,butdeclaredwasperfectlyuninterestingtohim.

No.Trotty’soccupationwas,toseeWillFernandLilianeatanddrink;andsowasMeg’s.Andneverdidspectatorsatacitydinnerorcourtbanquetfindsuchhighdelightinseeingothersfeast:althoughitwereamonarchorapope:asthosetwodid,inlookingonthatnight.MegsmiledatTrotty,TrottylaughedatMeg.Megshookherhead,andmadebelief toclapherhands,applaudingTrotty;Trotty conveyed, indumb-show,unintelligiblenarrativesof howandwhen andwhere he had found their visitors, toMeg; and theywere happy.Veryhappy.

‘Although,’ thought Trotty, sorrowfully, as hewatchedMeg’s face; ‘thatmatchisbrokenoff,Isee!’

‘Now, I’ll tellyouwhat,’ saidTrottyafter tea. ‘The littleone, shesleepswithMeg,Iknow.’

‘WithgoodMeg!’criedthechild,caressingher.‘WithMeg.’

‘That’s right,’ said Trotty. ‘And I shouldn’t wonder if she kiss Meg’sfather,won’tshe?I’mMeg’sfather.’

MightilydelightedTrottywas,whenthechildwent timidlytowardshim,andhavingkissedhim,fellbackuponMegagain.

‘She’sassensibleasSolomon,’saidTrotty.‘Herewecomeandherewe—no,wedon’t—Idon’tmeanthat—I—whatwasIsaying,Meg,myprecious?’

Meglookedtowardstheirguest,wholeaneduponherchair,andwithhisfaceturnedfromher,fondledthechild’shead,halfhiddeninherlap.

‘Tobesure,’saidToby.‘Tobesure!Idon’tknowwhatI’mramblingonabout, to-night. My wits are wool-gathering, I think. Will Fern, you comealongwithme.You’retiredtodeath,andbrokendownforwantofrest.You

comealongwithme.’Themanstillplayedwiththechild’scurls,stillleaneduponMeg’schair,stillturnedawayhisface.Hedidn’tspeak,butinhisroughcoarsefingers,clenchingandexpandinginthefairhairofthechild,therewasaneloquencethatsaidenough.

‘Yes,yes,’saidTrotty,answeringunconsciouslywhathesawexpressedinhis daughter’s face. ‘Take herwith you,Meg.Get her to bed. There!Now,Will, I’ll showyouwhereyou lie. It’snotmuchofaplace:onlya loft;but,having a loft, I always say, is one of the great conveniences of living in amews;andtillthiscoach-houseandstablegetsabetterlet,weliveherecheap.There’s plenty of sweet hay up there, belonging to a neighbour; and it’s ascleanashands,andMeg,canmakeit.Cheerup!Don’tgiveway.AnewheartforaNewYear,always!’

Thehandreleasedfromthechild’shair,hadfallen,trembling,intoTrotty’shand. So Trotty, talking without intermission, led him out as tenderly andeasilyasifhehadbeenachildhimself.ReturningbeforeMeg,helistenedforaninstantatthedoorofherlittlechamber;anadjoiningroom.Thechildwasmurmuring a simple Prayer before lying down to sleep; and when she hadrememberedMeg’sname, ‘Dearly,Dearly’—soherwordsran—Trottyheardherstopandaskforhis.

Itwassomeshort timebeforethefoolishlittleoldfellowcouldcomposehimselftomendthefire,anddrawhischairtothewarmhearth.But,whenhehad done so, and had trimmed the light, he took his newspaper from hispocket,andbegantoread.Carelesslyatfirst,andskimmingupanddownthecolumns;butwithanearnestandasadattention,verysoon.

Forthissamedreadedpaperre-directedTrotty’sthoughtsintothechanneltheyhadtakenallthatday,andwhichtheday’seventshadsomarkedoutandshaped.His interest in the twowanderers had set him on another course ofthinking,andahappierone,forthetime;butbeingaloneagain,andreadingofthecrimesandviolencesofthepeople,herelapsedintohisformertrain.

Inthismood,hecametoanaccount(anditwasnotthefirsthehadeverread)ofawomanwhohadlaidherdesperatehandsnotonlyonherownlifebutonthatofheryoungchild.Acrimesoterrible,andsorevoltingtohissoul,dilatedwiththeloveofMeg,thatheletthejournaldrop,andfellbackinhischair,appalled!

‘Unnaturalandcruel!’Tobycried.‘Unnaturalandcruel!Nonebutpeople

whowerebadatheart,bornbad,whohadnobusinessontheearth,coulddosuchdeeds.It’stootrue,allI’veheardto-day;toojust,toofullofproof.We’reBad!’

TheChimestookupthewordssosuddenly—burstoutsoloud,andclear,andsonorous—thattheBellsseemedtostrikehiminhischair.

Andwhatwasthat,theysaid?

‘TobyVeck, TobyVeck, waiting for you Toby! TobyVeck, TobyVeck,waitingforyouToby!Comeandseeus,comeandseeus,Draghimtous,draghimtous,Hauntandhunthim,hauntandhunthim,Breakhisslumbers,breakhisslumbers!TobyVeckTobyVeck,dooropenwideToby,TobyVeckTobyVeck, door open wide Toby—’ then fiercely back to their impetuous strainagain,andringingintheverybricksandplasteronthewalls.

Tobylistened.Fancy,fancy!Hisremorseforhavingrunawayfromthemthat afternoon!No, no. Nothing of the kind. Again, again, and yet a dozentimesagain.‘Hauntandhunthim,hauntandhunthim,Draghimtous,draghimtous!’Deafeningthewholetown!

‘Meg,’saidTrottysoftly:tappingatherdoor.‘Doyouhearanything?’

‘IheartheBells,father.Surelythey’reveryloudto-night.’

‘Issheasleep?’saidToby,makinganexcuseforpeepingin.

‘Sopeacefullyandhappily!Ican’tleaveheryetthough,father.Lookhowsheholdsmyhand!’

‘Meg,’whisperedTrotty.‘ListentotheBells!’

Shelistened,withherfacetowardshimallthetime.Butitunderwentnochange.Shedidn’tunderstandthem.

Trottywithdrew, resumedhisseatby thefire,andoncemore listenedbyhimself.Heremainedherealittletime.

Itwasimpossibletobearit;theirenergywasdreadful.

‘Ifthetower-doorisreallyopen,’saidToby,hastilylayingasidehisapron,but never thinking of his hat, ‘what’s to hinderme from going up into thesteepleandsatisfyingmyself?Ifit’sshut,Idon’twantanyothersatisfaction.That’senough.’

Hewasprettycertainasheslippedoutquietlyintothestreetthatheshouldfind it shutand locked, forheknewthedoorwell,andhadso rarelyseen itopen, that he couldn’t reckon above three times in all. Itwas a low archedportal,outsidethechurch,inadarknookbehindacolumn;andhadsuchgreatironhinges, and suchamonstrous lock, that therewasmorehingeand lockthandoor.

Butwhatwashisastonishmentwhen,comingbare-headedtothechurch;andputtinghishandintothisdarknook,withacertainmisgivingthatitmightbeunexpectedlyseized,andashiveringpropensity todrawitbackagain;hefoundthatthedoor,whichopenedoutwards,actuallystoodajar!

Hethought,onthefirstsurprise,ofgoingback;orofgettingalight,oracompanion, but his courage aided him immediately, and he determined toascendalone.

‘WhathaveItofear?’saidTrotty.‘It’sachurch!Besides,theringersmaybethere,andhaveforgottentoshutthedoor.’Sohewentin,feelinghiswayashewent,likeablindman;foritwasverydark.Andveryquiet,fortheChimesweresilent.

Thedustfromthestreethadblownintotherecess;andlyingthere,heapedup, made it so soft and velvet-like to the foot, that there was somethingstartling,eveninthat.Thenarrowstairwassoclosetothedoor,too,thathestumbledat thevery first; and shutting thedooruponhimself,by striking itwithhisfoot,andcausingittoreboundbackheavily,hecouldn’topenitagain.

Thiswas another reason, however, for going on. Trotty groped hisway,andwenton.Up,up,up,andround,andround;andup,up,up;higher,higher,higherup!

Itwasadisagreeablestaircasefor thatgropingwork;solowandnarrow,thathisgropinghandwasalwaystouchingsomething;anditoftenfeltsolikeamanorghostly figure standinguperect andmaking room forhim topasswithoutdiscovery,thathewouldrubthesmoothwallupwardsearchingforitsface,anddownwardsearchingforitsfeet,whileachilltinglingcreptalloverhim.Twiceorthrice,adoorornichebrokethemonotonoussurface;andthenit seemedagapaswideas thewholechurch;andhe felton thebrinkofanabyss,andgoingtotumbleheadlongdown,untilhefoundthewallagain.

Stillup,up,up;androundandround;andup,up,up;higher,higher,higherup!

At length, thedullandstiflingatmospherebegan to freshen:presently tofeel quitewindy: presently it blew so strong, that he could hardly keep hislegs.But,hegot toanarchedwindowin the tower,breasthigh,andholdingtight,lookeddownuponthehouse-tops,onthesmokingchimneys,ontheblurandblotchof lights (towards theplacewhereMegwaswonderingwherehewasandcalling tohimperhaps),allkneadedup together ina leavenofmistanddarkness.

Thiswasthebelfry,wheretheringerscame.Hehadcaughtholdofoneofthefrayedropeswhichhungdownthroughaperturesintheoakenroof.Atfirsthestarted, thinking itwashair; then trembledat thevery thoughtofwakingthe deep Bell. The Bells themselves were higher. Higher, Trotty, in hisfascination,orinworkingoutthespelluponhim,gropedhisway.Byladdersnow,andtoilsomely,foritwassteep,andnottoocertainholdingforthefeet.

Up,up,up;andclimbandclamber;up,up,up;higher,higher,higherup!

Until, ascending through the floor, andpausingwithhishead just raisedaboveitsbeams,hecameamongtheBells.Itwasbarelypossibletomakeouttheirgreatshapesinthegloom;buttheretheywere.Shadowy,anddark,anddumb.

A heavy sense of dread and loneliness fell instantly upon him, as heclimbedintothisairynestofstoneandmetal.Hisheadwentroundandround.He listened, and then raised a wild ‘Holloa!’ Holloa! was mournfullyprotractedbytheechoes.

Giddy,confused,andoutofbreath,andfrightened,Tobylookedabouthimvacantly,andsunkdowninaswoon.

CHAPTERIII—ThirdQuarter.

Blackarethebroodingcloudsandtroubledthedeepwaters,whentheSeaofThought, firstheaving fromacalm,givesup itsDead.Monstersuncouthand wild, arise in premature, imperfect resurrection; the several parts andshapesofdifferentthingsarejoinedandmixedbychance;andwhen,andhow,andbywhatwonderfuldegrees,eachseparatesfromeach,andeverysenseandobject of themind resumes its usual formand lives again, noman—thougheverymaniseverydaythecasketofthistypeoftheGreatMystery—cantell.

So, when and how the darkness of the night-black steeple changed toshining light; when and how the solitary tower was peopled with amyriadfigures; when and how the whispered ‘Haunt and hunt him,’ breathingmonotonouslythroughhissleeporswoon,becameavoiceexclaimingin thewakingearsofTrotty,‘Breakhisslumbers;’whenandhowheceasedtohavea sluggish and confused idea that such thingswere, companioningahost ofothers that were not; there are no dates or means to tell. But, awake andstanding on his feet upon the boards where he had lately lain, he saw thisGoblinSight.

He saw the tower, whither his charmed footsteps had brought him,swarmingwith dwarf phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of theBells.He sawthem leaping, flying, dropping, pouring from theBellswithout a pause.Hesawthem, roundhimon theground;abovehim, in theair;clambering fromhim, by the ropes below; looking down upon him, from the massive iron-girdedbeams;peepinginuponhim, throughthechinksand loopholes in thewalls; spreading away and away fromhim in enlarging circles, as thewaterripplesgivewaytoahugestonethatsuddenlycomesplashinginamongthem.He saw them, of all aspects and all shapes. He saw them ugly, handsome,crippled, exquisitely formed.He saw themyoung, he saw themold, he sawthemkind,hesawthemcruel,hesawthemmerry,hesawthemgrim;hesawthemdance,andheardthemsing;hesawthemteartheirhair,andheardthemhowl.Hesawtheairthickwiththem.Hesawthemcomeandgo,incessantly.

Hesawthemridingdownward,soaringupward,sailingoffafar,perchingnearat hand, all restless and all violently active.Stone, andbrick, and slate, andtile,becametransparenttohimastothem.Hesawtheminthehouses,busyatthesleepers’beds.Hesawthemsoothingpeopleintheirdreams;hesawthembeating themwith knottedwhips; he saw themyelling in their ears; he sawthemplayingsoftestmusicontheirpillows;hesawthemcheeringsomewiththe songs of birds and the perfume of flowers; he saw them flashing awfulfacesonthetroubledrestofothers,fromenchantedmirrorswhichtheycarriedintheirhands.

He saw these creatures, not only among sleepingmen but waking also,activeinpursuitsirreconcilablewithoneanother,andpossessingorassumingnatures the most opposite. He saw one buckling on innumerable wings toincreasehisspeed;anotherloadinghimselfwithchainsandweights,toretardhis.Hesawsomeputtingthehandsofclocksforward,someputtingthehandsof clocks backward, some endeavouring to stop the clock entirely. He sawthemrepresenting,hereamarriageceremony,thereafuneral;inthischamberanelection,inthataballhesaw,everywhere,restlessanduntiringmotion.

Bewilderedbythehostofshiftingandextraordinaryfigures,aswellasbythe uproar of theBells,which all thiswhilewere ringing,Trotty clung to awoodenpillar for support, and turnedhiswhite facehereand there, inmuteandstunnedastonishment.

Ashegazed,theChimesstopped.Instantaneouschange!Thewholeswarmfainted! their forms collapsed, their speeddeserted them; they sought to fly,but in theactof fallingdiedandmelted intoair.No freshsupplysucceededthem.OnestragglerleapeddownprettybrisklyfromthesurfaceoftheGreatBell,andalightedonhisfeet,buthewasdeadandgonebeforehecouldturnround. Some few of the late company who had gambolled in the tower,remained there, spinning over and over a little longer; but these became ateveryturnmorefaint,andfew,andfeeble,andsoonwentthewayoftherest.Thelastofallwasonesmallhunchback,whohadgotintoanechoingcorner,where he twirled and twirled, and floated by himself a long time; showingsuchperseverance,thatatlasthedwindledtoalegandeventoafoot,beforehefinallyretired;buthevanishedintheend,andthenthetowerwassilent.

Thenandnotbefore,didTrottyseeineveryBellabeardedfigureof thebulk and stature of theBell—incomprehensibly, a figure and theBell itself.Gigantic,grave,anddarklywatchfulofhim,ashestoodrootedtotheground.

Mysteriousandawfulfigures!Restingonnothing;poisedinthenightairof the tower, with their draped and hooded heads merged in the dim roof;motionlessandshadowy.Shadowyanddark,althoughhesawthembysomelight belonging to themselves—none else was there—each with its muffledhanduponitsgoblinmouth.

Hecouldnotplungedownwildlythroughtheopeninginthefloor;forallpowerofmotionhaddesertedhim.Otherwisehewouldhavedoneso—aye,would have thrown himself, headforemost, from the steeple-top, rather thanhaveseenthemwatchinghimwitheyesthatwouldhavewakedandwatchedalthoughthepupilshadbeentakenout.

Again,again,thedreadandterrorofthelonelyplace,andofthewildandfearfulnightthatreignedthere,touchedhimlikeaspectralhand.Hisdistancefromallhelp;thelong,dark,winding,ghost-beleagueredwaythatlaybetweenhimand the earthonwhichmen lived;hisbeinghigh, high, high, up there,where ithadmadehimdizzytosee thebirdsfly in theday;cutofffromallgood people, who at such an hour were safe at home and sleeping in theirbeds; all this struck coldly through him, not as a reflection but a bodilysensation. Meantime his eyes and thoughts and fears, were fixed upon thewatchfulfigures;which,renderedunlikeanyfiguresofthisworldbythedeepgloomandshadeenwrappingandenfoldingthem,aswellasbytheirlooksandformsandsupernaturalhoveringabovethefloor,wereneverthelessasplainlytobeseenaswerethestalwartoakenframes,cross-pieces,barsandbeams,setup there tosupport theBells.Thesehemmed them, inavery forestofhewntimber; from the entanglements, intricacies, and depths of which, as fromamong theboughsofadeadwoodblightedfor theirphantomuse, theykepttheirdarksomeandunwinkingwatch.

Ablastofair—howcoldandshrill!—camemoaningthroughthetower.Asitdiedaway,theGreatBell,ortheGoblinoftheGreatBell,spoke.

‘What visitor is this!’ it said. The voice was low and deep, and Trottyfanciedthatitsoundedintheotherfiguresaswell.

‘I thoughtmy namewas called by the Chimes!’ said Trotty, raising hishandsinanattitudeofsupplication.‘IhardlyknowwhyIamhere,orhowIcame.IhavelistenedtotheChimesthesemanyyears.Theyhavecheeredmeoften.’

‘Andyouhavethankedthem?’saidtheBell.

‘Athousandtimes!’criedTrotty.

‘How?’

‘Iamapoorman,’falteredTrotty,‘andcouldonlythanktheminwords.’

‘Andalwaysso?’inquiredtheGoblinoftheBell.‘Haveyouneverdoneuswronginwords?’

‘No!’criedTrottyeagerly.

‘Neverdoneusfoul,andfalse,andwickedwrong,inwords?’pursuedtheGoblinoftheBell.

Trottywasabouttoanswer,‘Never!’Buthestopped,andwasconfused.

‘ThevoiceofTime,’ said thePhantom, ‘cries toman,Advance!Time isfor his advancement and improvement; for his greater worth, his greaterhappiness, his better life; his progress onward to that goal within itsknowledgeanditsview,andsetthere,intheperiodwhenTimeandHebegan.Agesofdarkness,wickedness, andviolence,havecomeandgone—millionsuncountable, have suffered, lived, and died—to point the way before him.Whoseekstoturnhimback,orstayhimonhiscourse,arrestsamightyenginewhichwillstrikethemeddlerdead;andbethefiercerandthewilder,ever,foritsmomentarycheck!’

‘Ineverdidsotomyknowledge,sir,’saidTrotty.‘ItwasquitebyaccidentifIdid.Iwouldn’tgotodoit,I’msure.’

‘Whoputs into themouthofTime,orof itsservants,’said theGoblinoftheBell, ‘a cry of lamentation for dayswhich have had their trial and theirfailure,andhaveleftdeeptracesofitwhichtheblindmaysee—acrythatonlyservesthepresenttime,byshowingmenhowmuchitneedstheirhelpwhenanyearscan listen to regrets for suchapast—whodoes this,doesawrong.Andyouhavedonethatwrong,tous,theChimes.’

Trotty’s first excess of fear was gone. But he had felt tenderly andgratefully towards the Bells, as you have seen; and when he heard himselfarraignedasonewhohadoffendedthemsoweightily,hisheartwastouchedwithpenitenceandgrief.

‘Ifyouknew,’saidTrotty,claspinghishandsearnestly—‘orperhapsyoudoknow—ifyouknowhowoftenyouhavekeptmecompany;howoftenyou

havecheeredmeupwhenI’vebeenlow;howyouwerequitetheplaythingofmy little daughter Meg (almost the only one she ever had) when first hermother died, and she andmewere left alone; you won’t bearmalice for ahastyword!’

‘Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note bespeaking disregard, or sternregard,ofanyhope,orjoy,orpain,orsorrow,ofthemany-sorrowedthrong;who hears us make response to any creed that gauges human passions andaffections,asitgaugestheamountofmiserablefoodonwhichhumanitymaypineandwither;doesuswrong.Thatwrongyouhavedoneus!’saidtheBell.

‘Ihave!’saidTrotty.‘Ohforgiveme!’

‘Who hears us echo the dull vermin of the earth: the Putters Down ofcrushedandbrokennatures,formedtoberaiseduphigherthansuchmaggotsofthetimecancrawlorcanconceive,’pursuedtheGoblinoftheBell;‘whodoesso,doesuswrong.Andyouhavedoneuswrong!’

‘Notmeaningit,’saidTrotty.‘Inmyignorance.Notmeaningit!’

‘Lastly,andmostofall,’pursued theBell. ‘Whoturnshisbackuponthefallen anddisfiguredof his kind; abandons themasvile; anddoesnot traceand trackwith pitying eyes the unfenced precipice bywhich they fell fromgood—grasping in their fall some tufts and shreds of that lost soil, andclingingtothemstillwhenbruisedanddyinginthegulfbelow;doeswrongtoHeavenandman,totimeandtoeternity.Andyouhavedonethatwrong!’

‘Spareme!’criedTrotty,fallingonhisknees;‘forMercy’ssake!’

‘Listen!’saidtheShadow.

‘Listen!’criedtheotherShadows.

‘Listen!’ said a clear and childlike voice, which Trotty thought herecognisedashavingheardbefore.

Theorgansoundedfaintly in thechurchbelow.Swellingbydegrees, themelodyascended to theroof,andfilled thechoirandnave.Expandingmoreandmore,itroseup,up;up,up;higher,higher,higherup;awakeningagitatedheartswithintheburlypilesofoak:thehollowbells,theiron-bounddoors,thestairsofsolidstone;untilthetowerwallswereinsufficienttocontainit,anditsoaredintothesky.

Nowonderthatanoldman’sbreastcouldnotcontainasoundsovastandmighty. Itbroke from thatweakprison ina rushof tears;andTrottyputhishandsbeforehisface.

‘Listen!’saidtheShadow.

‘Listen!’saidtheotherShadows.

‘Listen!’saidthechild’svoice.

Asolemnstrainofblendedvoices,roseintothetower.

Itwasaverylowandmournfulstrain—aDirge—andashelistened,Trottyheardhischildamongthesingers.

‘Sheisdead!’exclaimedtheoldman.‘Megisdead!HerSpiritcallstome.Ihearit!’

‘TheSpirit ofyour childbewails thedead, andmingleswith thedead—deadhopes, dead fancies, dead imaginingsof youth,’ returned theBell, ‘butshe is living. Learn from her life, a living truth. Learn from the creaturedearest to your heart, how bad the bad are born. See every bud and leafplucked one by one from off the fairest stem, and know how bare andwretcheditmaybe.Followher!Todesperation!’

Each of the shadowy figures stretched its right arm forth, and pointeddownward.

‘TheSpiritoftheChimesisyourcompanion,’saidthefigure.

‘Go!Itstandsbehindyou!’

Trottyturned,andsaw—thechild!ThechildWillFernhadcarriedinthestreet;thechildwhomMeghadwatched,butnow,asleep!

‘Icarriedhermyself,to-night,’saidTrotty.‘Inthesearms!’

‘Showhimwhathecallshimself,’saidthedarkfigures,oneandall.

Thetoweropenedathisfeet.Helookeddown,andbeheldhisownform,lyingatthebottom,ontheoutside:crushedandmotionless.

‘Nomorealivingman!’criedTrotty.‘Dead!’

‘Dead!’saidthefiguresalltogether.

‘GraciousHeaven!AndtheNewYear—’

‘Past,’saidthefigures.

‘What!’hecried,shuddering.‘Imissedmyway,andcomingontheoutsideofthistowerinthedark,felldown—ayearago?’

‘Nineyearsago!’repliedthefigures.

Astheygavetheanswer,theyrecalledtheiroutstretchedhands;andwheretheirfigureshadbeen,theretheBellswere.

And they rung; their time being come again. And once again, vastmultitudesofphantomssprungintoexistence;onceagain,were incoherentlyengaged, as they had been before; once again, faded on the stopping of theChimes;anddwindledintonothing.

‘Whatarethese?’heaskedhisguide.‘IfIamnotmad,whatarethese?’

‘Spiritsof theBells.Their soundupon theair,’ returned thechild. ‘Theytake such shapesandoccupationsas thehopesand thoughtsofmortals, andtherecollectionstheyhavestoredup,givethem.’

‘Andyou,’saidTrottywildly.‘Whatareyou?’

‘Hush,hush!’returnedthechild.‘Lookhere!’

Inapoor,meanroom;workingatthesamekindofembroiderywhichhehadoften,oftenseenbeforeher;Meg,hisowndeardaughter,waspresentedtohisview.Hemadenoefforttoimprinthiskissesonherface;hedidnotstrivetoclasphertohislovingheart;heknewthatsuchendearmentswere,forhim,nomore. But, he held his trembling breath, and brushed away the blindingtears,thathemightlookuponher;thathemightonlyseeher.

Ah! Changed. Changed. The light of the clear eye, how dimmed. Thebloom,howfadedfromthecheek.Beautifulshewas,asshehadeverbeen,butHope,Hope,Hope,ohwherewasthefreshHopethathadspokentohimlikeavoice!

Shelookedupfromherwork,atacompanion.Followinghereyes,theoldmanstartedback.

Inthewomangrown,herecognisedherataglance.Inthelongsilkenhair,he saw the self-same curls; around the lips, the child’s expression lingering

still. See! In the eyes, now turned inquiringlyonMeg, there shone theverylookthatscannedthosefeatureswhenhebroughtherhome!

Thenwhatwasthis,besidehim!

Lookingwithaweintoitsface,hesawasomethingreigningthere:aloftysomething, undefined and indistinct, which made it hardly more than aremembranceofthatchild—asyonderfiguremightbe—yetitwasthesame:thesame:andworethedress.

Hark.Theywerespeaking!

‘Meg,’saidLilian,hesitating. ‘Howoftenyouraiseyourheadfromyourworktolookatme!’

‘Aremylookssoaltered,thattheyfrightenyou?’askedMeg.

‘Nay,dear!Butyousmileatthat,yourself!Whynotsmile,whenyoulookatme,Meg?’

‘Idoso.DoInot?’sheanswered:smilingonher.

‘Nowyoudo,’saidLilian,‘butnotusually.WhenyouthinkI’mbusy,anddon’tseeyou,youlooksoanxiousandsodoubtful,thatIhardlyliketoraisemyeyes.Thereislittlecauseforsmilinginthishardandtoilsomelife,butyouwereoncesocheerful.’

‘AmInotnow!’criedMeg,speakinginatoneofstrangealarm,andrisingtoembraceher.‘DoImakeourwearylifemorewearytoyou,Lilian!’

‘You have been the only thing that made it life,’ said Lilian, ferventlykissingher;‘sometimestheonlythingthatmademecaretoliveso,Meg.Suchwork,suchwork!Somanyhours,somanydays,somanylong,longnightsofhopeless, cheerless, never-ending work—not to heap up riches, not to livegrandly or gaily, not to live upon enough, however coarse; but to earn barebread; to scrape together just enough to toilupon, andwantupon, andkeepaliveinustheconsciousnessofourhardfate!OhMeg,Meg!’sheraisedhervoiceandtwinedherarmsaboutherasshespoke,likeoneinpain.‘Howcanthecruelworldgoround,andbeartolookuponsuchlives!’

‘Lilly!’ saidMeg, soothing her, and putting back her hair from her wetface.‘Why,Lilly!You!Soprettyandsoyoung!’

‘OhMeg!’sheinterrupted,holdingheratarm’s-length,andlookinginher

face imploringly. ‘The worst of all, the worst of all! Strike me old, Meg!Witherme,andshrivelme,andfreemefromthedreadfulthoughtsthattemptmeinmyyouth!’

Trottyturnedtolookuponhisguide.ButtheSpiritofthechildhadtakenflight.Wasgone.

Neitherdidhehimselfremainin thesameplace;for,SirJosephBowley,FriendandFatherofthePoor,heldagreatfestivityatBowleyHall,inhonourofthenataldayofLadyBowley.AndasLadyBowleyhadbeenbornonNewYear’sDay(whichthelocalnewspapersconsideredanespecialpointingofthefinger of Providence to number One, as Lady Bowley’s destined figure inCreation),itwasonaNewYear’sDaythatthisfestivitytookplace.

BowleyHallwasfullofvisitors.Thered-facedgentlemanwasthere,Mr.Filerwas there, the great AldermanCutewas there—AldermanCute had asympathetic feeling with great people, and had considerably improved hisacquaintancewith Sir JosephBowley on the strength of his attentive letter:indeedhadbecomequiteafriendofthefamilysincethen—andmanyguestswerethere.Trotty’sghostwasthere,wanderingabout,poorphantom,drearily;andlookingforitsguide.

There was to be a great dinner in the Great Hall. At which Sir JosephBowley, inhiscelebratedcharacterofFriendandFatherof thePoor,was tomakehisgreatspeech.Certainplum-puddingsweretobeeatenbyhisFriendsandChildreninanotherHallfirst;and,atagivensignal,FriendsandChildrenflocking in among their Friends and Fathers, were to form a familyassemblage,withnotonemanlyeyethereinunmoistenedbyemotion.

But,therewasmorethanthistohappen.Evenmorethanthis.SirJosephBowley,BaronetandMemberofParliament,wastoplayamatchatskittles—realskittles—withhistenants!

‘Whichquiteremindsme,’saidAldermanCute,‘ofthedaysofoldKingHal,stoutKingHal,bluffKingHal.Ah!Finecharacter!’

‘Very,’ saidMr. Filer, dryly. ‘For marrying women and murdering ’em.Considerablymorethantheaveragenumberofwivesbythebye.’

‘You’llmarrythebeautifulladies,andnotmurder’em,eh?’saidAldermanCutetotheheirofBowley,agedtwelve.‘Sweetboy!Weshallhavethislittlegentleman in Parliament now,’ said the Alderman, holding him by the

shoulders,and lookingas reflectiveashecould, ‘beforeweknowwhereweare.Weshallhearofhissuccessesatthepoll;hisspeechesintheHouse;hisovertures fromGovernments; his brilliant achievements of all kinds; ah!weshallmakeourlittleorationsabouthimintheCommonCouncil,I’llbebound;beforewehavetimetolookaboutus!’

‘Oh, thedifferenceofshoesandstockings!’Trotty thought.Buthisheartyearnedtowardsthechild,fortheloveofthosesameshoelessandstockinglessboys,predestined(bytheAlderman)toturnoutbad,whomighthavebeenthechildrenofpoorMeg.

‘Richard,’moanedTrotty,roamingamongthecompany,toandfro;‘whereishe?Ican’tfindRichard!WhereisRichard?’Notlikelytobethere, ifstillalive! But Trotty’s grief and solitude confused him; and he still wentwandering among the gallant company, looking for his guide, and saying,‘WhereisRichard?ShowmeRichard!’

Hewaswandering thus,when he encounteredMr. Fish, the confidentialSecretary:ingreatagitation.

‘Blessmyheartandsoul!’criedMr.Fish.‘Where’sAldermanCute?HasanybodyseentheAlderman?’

SeentheAlderman?Ohdear!WhocouldeverhelpseeingtheAlderman?Hewassoconsiderate,soaffable,heboresomuchinmindthenaturaldesiresoffolkstoseehim,thatifhehadafault,itwasthebeingconstantlyOnView.Andwhereverthegreatpeoplewere,there,tobesure,attractedbythekindredsympathybetweengreatsouls,wasCute.

Severalvoicescried thathewas in thecircle roundSir Joseph.Mr.Fishmadewaythere;foundhim;andtookhimsecretlyintoawindownearathand.Trotty joinedthem.Notofhisownaccord.Hefelt thathisstepswere led inthatdirection.

‘MydearAldermanCute,’saidMr.Fish.‘Alittlemorethisway.Themostdreadful circumstance has occurred. I have this moment received theintelligence.IthinkitwillbebestnottoacquaintSirJosephwithittillthedayisover.YouunderstandSirJoseph,andwillgivemeyouropinion.Themostfrightfulanddeplorableevent!’

‘Fish!’returnedtheAlderman.‘Fish!Mygoodfellow,whatisthematter?Nothing revolutionary, I hope! No—no attempted interference with the

magistrates?’

‘Deedles,thebanker,’gaspedtheSecretary.‘DeedlesBrothers—whowastohavebeenhereto-day—highinofficeintheGoldsmiths’Company—’

‘Notstopped!’exclaimedtheAlderman,‘Itcan’tbe!’

‘Shothimself.’

‘GoodGod!’

‘Put a double-barrelled pistol to hismouth, in his own counting house,’saidMr.Fish,‘andblewhisbrainsout.Nomotive.Princelycircumstances!’

‘Circumstances!’exclaimedtheAlderman.‘Amanofnoblefortune.Oneofthemostrespectableofmen.Suicide,Mr.Fish!Byhisownhand!’

‘Thisverymorning,’returnedMr.Fish.

‘Oh the brain, the brain!’ exclaimed the pious Alderman, lifting up hishands.‘Ohthenerves,thenerves;themysteriesofthismachinecalledMan!Ohthelittlethatunhingesit:poorcreaturesthatweare!Perhapsadinner,Mr.Fish.Perhaps the conduct of his son,who, I haveheard, ranverywild, andwasinthehabitofdrawingbillsuponhimwithouttheleastauthority!Amostrespectableman.OneofthemostrespectablemenIeverknew!Alamentableinstance,Mr. Fish. A public calamity! I shall make a point of wearing thedeepestmourning.Amostrespectableman!ButthereisOneabove.Wemustsubmit,Mr.Fish.Wemustsubmit!’

What, Alderman! No word of Putting Down? Remember, Justice, yourhighmoralboastandpride.Come,Alderman!Balancethosescales.Throwmeintothis,theemptyone,nodinner,andNature’sfountsinsomepoorwoman,dried by starving misery and rendered obdurate to claims for which heroffspringhas authority in holymotherEve.Weighme the two, youDaniel,going to judgment, when your day shall come!Weigh them, in the eyes ofsufferingthousands,audience(notunmindful)ofthegrimfarceyouplay.Orsupposingthatyoustrayedfromyourfivewits—it’snotsofartogo,butthatitmightbe—andlaidhandsuponthatthroatofyours,warningyourfellows(ifyou have a fellow) how they croak their comfortable wickedness to ravingheadsandstrickenhearts.Whatthen?

ThewordsroseupinTrotty’sbreast,asiftheyhadbeenspokenbysomeother voicewithin him.AldermanCute pledged himself toMr. Fish that he

wouldassisthiminbreakingthemelancholycatastrophe toSirJosephwhenthe day was over. Then, before they parted, wringing Mr. Fish’s hand inbitternessofsoul,hesaid,‘Themostrespectableofmen!’Andaddedthathehardlyknew(notevenhe),whysuchafflictionswereallowedonearth.

‘It’s almost enough to make one think, if one didn’t know better,’ saidAldermanCute,‘thatattimessomemotionofacapsizingnaturewasgoingonin things, which affected the general economy of the social fabric. DeedlesBrothers!’

The skittle-playing came offwith immense success. Sir Joseph knockedthe pins about quite skilfully; Master Bowley took an innings at a shorterdistancealso;andeverybodysaidthatnow,whenaBaronetandtheSonofaBaronetplayedat skittles, thecountrywascoming roundagain, as fast as itcouldcome.

At its proper time, the Banquet was served up. Trotty involuntarilyrepairedtotheHallwiththerest,forhefelthimselfconductedthitherbysomestrongerimpulsethanhisownfreewill.Thesightwasgayintheextreme;theladies were very handsome; the visitors delighted, cheerful, and good-tempered.When the lowerdoorswereopened,and thepeople flocked in, intheir rustic dresses, the beauty of the spectaclewas at its height; but Trottyonly murmured more and more, ‘Where is Richard! He should help andcomforther!Ican’tseeRichard!’

Therehadbeensomespeechesmade;andLadyBowley’shealthhadbeenproposed;andSirJosephBowleyhadreturnedthanks,andhadmadehisgreatspeech,showingbyvariouspiecesofevidencethathewasthebornFriendandFather,andsoforth;andhadgivenasaToast,hisFriendsandChildren,andtheDignity of Labour; when a slight disturbance at the bottom of theHallattractedToby’snotice.Aftersomeconfusion,noise,andopposition,onemanbrokethroughtherest,andstoodforwardbyhimself.

NotRichard.No.Butonewhomhehad thoughtof, andhad looked for,manytimes.Inascantiersupplyoflight,hemighthavedoubtedtheidentityofthatwornman,soold,andgrey,andbent;butwithablazeoflampsuponhisgnarledandknottedhead,heknewWillFernassoonashesteppedforth.

‘What is this!’ exclaimed Sir Joseph, rising. ‘Who gave this manadmittance?This is a criminal from prison!Mr. Fish, sir,will you have thegoodness—’

‘Aminute!’saidWillFern.‘Aminute!MyLady,youwasbornonthisdayalongwithaNewYear.Getmeaminute’sleavetospeak.’

Shemadesomeintercessionforhim.SirJosephtookhisseatagain,withnativedignity.

Theraggedvisitor—forhewasmiserablydressed—lookedrounduponthecompany,andmadehishomagetothemwithahumblebow.

‘Gentlefolks!’hesaid.‘You’vedrunktheLabourer.Lookatme!’

‘Justcomefromjail,’saidMr.Fish.

‘Just come from jail,’ saidWill. ‘And neither for the first time, nor thesecond,northethird,noryetthefourth.’

Mr.Filerwasheardtoremarktestily,thatfourtimeswasovertheaverage;andheoughttobeashamedofhimself.

‘Gentlefolks!’repeatedWillFern.‘Lookatme!YouseeI’mattheworst.Beyondallhurtorharm;beyondyourhelp;forthetimewhenyourkindwordsor kind actions could have done me good,’—he struck his hand upon hisbreast, and shook his head, ‘is gone, with the scent of last year’s beans orclover on the air. Let me say a word for these,’ pointing to the labouringpeopleintheHall;‘andwhenyou’remettogether,heartherealTruthspokeoutforonce.’

‘There’s not a man here,’ said the host, ‘who would have him for aspokesman.’

‘Likeenough,SirJoseph.Ibelieveit.Notthelesstrue,perhaps,iswhatIsay.Perhaps that’s aproofon it.Gentlefolks, I’ve livedmanyayear in thisplace.Youmayseethecottagefromthesunkfenceoveryonder.I’veseentheladiesdraw it in theirbooks, ahundred times. It lookswell in apicter, I’veheerdsay;buttherean’tweatherinpicters,andmaybe’tisfitterforthat,thanforaplacetolivein.Well!Ilivedthere.Howhard—howbitterhard,Ilivedthere,Iwon’tsay.Anydayintheyear,andeveryday,youcanjudgeforyourownselves.’

He spoke as he had spoken on the night when Trotty found him in thestreet.Hisvoicewasdeeperandmorehusky,andhada trembling in itnowand then; but he never raised it passionately, and seldom lifted it above thefirmsternlevelofthehomelyfactshestated.

‘’Tisharderthanyouthinkfor,gentlefolks,togrowupdecent,commonlydecent, in such a place. That I growed up a man and not a brute, sayssomethingforme—asIwasthen.AsIamnow,there’snothingcanbesaidformeordoneforme.I’mpastit.’

‘I am glad this man has entered,’ observed Sir Joseph, looking roundserenely. ‘Don’tdisturbhim. Itappears tobeOrdained.He isanexample:alivingexample.Ihopeandtrust,andconfidentlyexpect,thatitwillnotbelostuponmyFriendshere.’

‘Idraggedon,’saidFern,afteramoment’ssilence,‘somehow.Neithermenoranyothermanknowshow;butsoheavy,thatIcouldn’tputacheerfulfaceuponit,ormakebelievethatIwasanythingbutwhatIwas.Now,gentlemen—yougentlemen that sitsatSessions—whenyouseeamanwithdiscontentwritonhisface,yousaystooneanother,“He’ssuspicious.Ihasmydoubts,”saysyou,“aboutWillFern.Watchthatfellow!”Idon’tsay,gentlemen,itain’tquitenat’ral,butIsay’tisso;andfromthathour,whateverWillFerndoes,orletsalone—allone—itgoesagainsthim.’

Alderman Cute stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat-pockets, and leaningbackinhischair,andsmiling,winkedataneighbouringchandelier.Asmuchastosay,‘Ofcourse!Itoldyouso.Thecommoncry!Lordblessyou,weareuptoallthissortofthing—myselfandhumannature.’

‘Now,gentlemen,’saidWillFern,holdingouthishands,andflushingforaninstantinhishaggardface,‘seehowyourlawsaremadetotrapandhuntuswhenwe’rebroughttothis.Itriestoliveelsewhere.AndI’mavagabond.Tojailwithhim!Icomesbackhere.Igoesa-nuttinginyourwoods,andbreaks—whodon’t?—a limberbranchor two.To jailwithhim!Oneofyourkeepersseesme in thebroadday,nearmyownpatchofgarden,withagun.To jailwithhim!Ihasanat’ralangrywordwiththatman,whenI’mfreeagain.Tojailwithhim!Icutsastick.Tojailwithhim!Ieatsarottenappleoraturnip.Tojailwithhim!It’stwentymileaway;andcomingbackIbegsatrifleontheroad.Tojailwithhim!Atlast,theconstable,thekeeper—anybody—findsmeanywhere, a-doinganything.To jailwithhim, forhe’s avagrant, anda jail-birdknown;andjail’stheonlyhomehe’sgot.’

TheAldermannoddedsagaciously,aswhoshouldsay,‘Averygoodhometoo!’

‘DoIsaythistoservemycause!’criedFern.‘Whocangivemebackmy

liberty, who can give me back my good name, who can give me back myinnocentniece?NotalltheLordsandLadiesinwideEngland.But,gentlemen,gentlemen,dealingwithothermenlikeme,beginattherightend.Giveus,inmercy, better homeswhenwe’re a-lying in our cradles; give us better foodwhenwe’rea-workingforourlives;giveuskinderlawstobringusbackwhenwerea-goingwrong;anddon’tsetjail,jail,jail,aforeus,everywhereweturn.There an’t a condescension you can show the Labourer then, that hewon’ttake,asreadyandasgratefulasamancanbe;for,hehasapatient,peaceful,willingheart.Butyoumustputhisrightfulspiritinhimfirst;for,whetherhe’sawreckandruinsuchasme,or is likeoneof themthatstandherenow,hisspiritisdividedfromyouatthistime.Bringitback,gentlefolks,bringitback!Bringitback,aforethedaycomeswhenevenhisBiblechangesinhisalteredmind,andthewordsseemtohimtoread,astheyhavesometimesreadinmyowneyes—injail:“Whitherthougoest,IcanNotgo;wherethoulodgest,IdoNotlodge;thypeopleareNotmypeople;NorthyGodmyGod!”’

AsuddenstirandagitationtookplaceinHall.Trottythoughtatfirst,thatseveral had risen to eject theman; and hence this change in its appearance.But, another moment showed him that the room and all the company hadvanishedfromhissight,andthathisdaughterwasagainbeforehim,seatedatherwork.Butinapoorer,meanergarretthanbefore;andwithnoLilianbyherside.

The frame at which she had worked, was put away upon a shelf andcovered up.The chair inwhich she had sat,was turned against thewall.Ahistorywaswritten in these little things, and inMeg’s grief-worn face.Oh!whocouldfailtoreadit!

Meg strained her eyes upon her work until it was too dark to see thethreads; and when the night closed in, she lighted her feeble candle andworked on. Still her old fatherwas invisible about her; looking down uponher;lovingher—howdearlylovingher!—andtalkingtoherinatendervoiceabout theold times, and theBells.Thoughheknew,poorTrotty, thoughheknewshecouldnothearhim.

A great part of the evening hadworn away, when a knock came at herdoor. She opened it. A man was on the threshold. A slouching, moody,drunken sloven,wasted by intemperance and vice, andwith hismatted hairand unshorn beard in wild disorder; but, with some traces on him, too, ofhavingbeenamanofgoodproportionandgoodfeaturesinhisyouth.

Hestoppeduntilhehadherleavetoenter;andshe,retiringapaceoftwofromtheopendoor,silentlyandsorrowfullylookeduponhim.Trottyhadhiswish.HesawRichard.

‘MayIcomein,Margaret?’

‘Yes!Comein.Comein!’

It was well that Trotty knew him before he spoke; for with any doubtremainingonhismind,theharshdiscordantvoicewouldhavepersuadedhimthatitwasnotRichardbutsomeotherman.

Therewerebut twochairs in the room.Shegavehimhers, and stoodatsomeshortdistancefromhim,waitingtohearwhathehadtosay.

Hesat,however,staringvacantlyatthefloor;withalustrelessandstupidsmile.Aspectacleof suchdeepdegradation,of suchabjecthopelessness,ofsuchamiserabledownfall, thatsheputherhandsbeforeherfaceandturnedaway,lestheshouldseehowmuchitmovedher.

Rousedbytherustlingofherdress,orsomesuchtriflingsound,heliftedhishead,andbegantospeakasiftherehadbeennopausesinceheentered.

‘Stillatwork,Margaret?Youworklate.’

‘Igenerallydo.’

‘Andearly?’

‘Andearly.’

‘Soshesaid.Shesaidyounevertired;orneverownedthatyoutired.Notallthetimeyoulivedtogether.Notevenwhenyoufainted,betweenworkandfasting.ButItoldyouthat,thelasttimeIcame.’

‘Youdid,’sheanswered.‘AndIimploredyoutotellmenothingmore;andyoumademeasolemnpromise,Richard,thatyouneverwould.’

‘Asolemnpromise,’herepeated,withadrivellinglaughandvacantstare.‘A solemnpromise.To be sure.A solemnpromise!’Awakening, as itwere,afteratime;inthesamemannerasbefore;hesaidwithsuddenanimation:

‘HowcanIhelpit,Margaret?WhatamItodo?Shehasbeentomeagain!’

‘Again!’criedMeg,claspingherhands.‘O,doesshethinkofmesooften!

Hasshebeenagain!’

‘Twentytimesagain,’saidRichard.‘Margaret,shehauntsme.Shecomesbehindme in the street, and thrusts it inmy hand. I hear her foot upon theasheswhenI’matmywork(ha,ha!thatan’toften),andbeforeIcanturnmyhead,hervoiceisinmyear,saying,“Richard,don’tlookround.ForHeaven’slove,giveherthis!”ShebringsitwhereIlive:shesendsitinletters;shetapsatthewindowandlaysitonthesill.WhatcanIdo?Lookatit!’

Heheldoutinhishandalittlepurse,andchinkedthemoneyitenclosed.

‘Hideit,’sadMeg.‘Hideit!Whenshecomesagain,tellher,Richard,thatIloveherinmysoul.ThatIneverliedowntosleep,butIblessher,andprayforher.That, inmysolitarywork,Ineverceasetohaveher inmythoughts.That she is with me, night and day. That if I died to-morrow, I wouldrememberherwithmylastbreath.But,thatIcannotlookuponit!’

Heslowlyrecalledhishand,andcrushingthepursetogether,saidwithakindofdrowsythoughtfulness:

‘Itoldherso.Itoldherso,asplainaswordscouldspeak.I’vetakenthisgiftbackandleftitatherdoor,adozentimessincethen.Butwhenshecameatlast,andstoodbeforeme,facetoface,whatcouldIdo?’

‘Yousawher!’exclaimedMeg.‘Yousawher!O,Lilian,mysweetgirl!O,Lilian,Lilian!’

‘Isawher,’hewentontosay,notanswering,butengagedinthesameslowpursuitofhisownthoughts.‘Thereshestood:trembling!“Howdoesshelook,Richard?Doessheeverspeakofme?Isshethinner?Myoldplaceatthetable:what’s inmyoldplace?Andtheframeshetaughtmeouroldworkon—hassheburntit,Richard!”Thereshewas.Iheardhersayit.’

Megcheckedher sobs, andwith the tears streaming fromher eyes, bentoverhimtolisten.Nottoloseabreath.

Withhisarmsrestingonhisknees;andstoopingforwardinhischair,asifwhathesaidwerewrittenonthegroundinsomehalflegiblecharacter,whichitwashisoccupationtodecipherandconnect;hewenton.

‘“Richard, I have fallenvery low; andyoumayguesshowmuch Ihavesuffered inhaving this sentback,when I canbear tobring it inmyhand toyou.Butyou lovedheronce,even inmymemory,dearly.Othersstepped in

between you; fears, and jealousies, and doubts, and vanities, estranged youfromher;butyoudidloveher,eveninmymemory!”IsupposeIdid,’hesaid,interruptinghimself foramoment. ‘Idid!That’sneitherherenor there—“ORichard, ifyoueverdid; ifyouhaveanymemoryforwhat isgoneandlost,takeittoheroncemore.Oncemore!TellherhowIlaidmyheaduponyourshoulder,where her own headmight have lain, andwas so humble to you,Richard.Tellherthatyoulookedintomyface,andsawthebeautywhichsheusedtopraise,allgone:allgone:andinitsplace,apoor,wan,hollowcheek,thatshewouldweeptosee.Tellhereverything,andtakeitback,andshewillnotrefuseagain.Shewillnothavetheheart!”’

Sohesatmusing,andrepeating the lastwords,untilhewokeagain,androse.

‘Youwon’ttakeit,Margaret?’

Sheshookherhead,andmotionedanentreatytohimtoleaveher.

‘Goodnight,Margaret.’

‘Goodnight!’

Heturnedtolookuponher;struckbyhersorrow,andperhapsbythepityforhimselfwhichtrembledinhervoice.Itwasaquickandrapidaction;andforthemomentsomeflashofhisoldbearingkindledinhisform.Inthenexthewentashehadcome.Nordidthisglimmerofaquenchedfireseemtolighthimtoaquickersenseofhisdebasement.

Inanymood,inanygrief,inanytortureofthemindorbody,Meg’sworkmustbedone.Shesatdowntohertask,andpliedit.Night,midnight.Stillsheworked.

Shehadameagrefire, thenightbeingverycold;androseat intervals tomend it.TheChimesranghalf-past twelvewhileshewas thusengaged;andwhentheyceasedsheheardagentleknockingatthedoor.Beforeshecouldsomuchaswonderwhowasthere,atthatunusualhour,itopened.

OYouth andBeauty, happy as ye should be, look at this. OYouth andBeauty,blestandblessingallwithinyourreach,andworkingouttheendsofyourBeneficentCreator,lookatthis!

Shesawtheenteringfigure;screameditsname;cried‘Lilian!’

Itwasswift,andfelluponitskneesbeforeher:clingingtoherdress.

‘Up,dear!Up!Lilian!Myowndearest!’

‘Nevermore,Meg;nevermore!Here!Here!Closetoyou,holdingtoyou,feelingyourdearbreathuponmyface!’

‘SweetLilian!DarlingLilian!Childofmyheart—nomother’slovecanbemoretender—layyourheaduponmybreast!’

‘Nevermore,Meg.Nevermore!WhenI first looked intoyour face,youkneltbeforeme.Onmykneesbeforeyou,letmedie.Letitbehere!’

‘Youhavecomeback.MyTreasure!Wewilllivetogether,worktogether,hopetogether,dietogether!’

‘Ah! Kiss my lips, Meg; fold your arms about me; press me to yourbosom;lookkindlyonme;butdon’traiseme.Letitbehere.Letmeseethelastofyourdearfaceuponmyknees!’

OYouth andBeauty, happy as ye should be, look at this!OYouth andBeauty,workingouttheendsofyourBeneficentCreator,lookatthis!

‘Forgiveme,Meg!Sodear,sodear!Forgiveme!Iknowyoudo,Iseeyoudo,butsayso,Meg!’

She said so, with her lips on Lilian’s cheek.Andwith her arms twinedround—sheknewitnow—abrokenheart.

‘Hisblessingonyou,dearestlove.Kissmeoncemore!Hesufferedhertosit beside His feet, and dry them with her hair. O Meg, what Mercy andCompassion!’

Asshedied,theSpiritofthechildreturning,innocentandradiant,touchedtheoldmanwithitshand,andbeckonedhimaway.

CHAPTERIV—FourthQuarter.

Some new remembrance of the ghostly figures in the Bells; some faintimpressionoftheringingoftheChimes;somegiddyconsciousnessofhavingseentheswarmofphantomsreproducedandreproduceduntiltherecollectionofthemlostitselfintheconfusionoftheirnumbers;somehurriedknowledge,howconveyed to himheknewnot, thatmore years hadpassed; andTrotty,withtheSpiritofthechildattendinghim,stoodlookingonatmortalcompany.

Fat company, rosy-cheeked company, comfortable company. They werebuttwo,buttheywereredenoughforten.Theysatbeforeabrightfire,withasmalllowtablebetweenthem;andunlessthefragranceofhotteaandmuffinslingered longer in that room than inmost others, the table had seen serviceverylately.Butallthecupsandsaucersbeingclean,andintheirproperplacesin thecorner-cupboard;andthebrass toasting-forkhangingin itsusualnookand spreading its four idle fingers out as if it wanted to bemeasured for aglove; there remainednoothervisible tokensof themeal just finished, thansuchaspurredandwashedtheirwhiskersinthepersonofthebaskingcat,andglistenedinthegracious,nottosaythegreasy,facesofherpatrons.

Thiscosycouple(married,evidently)hadmadeafairdivisionofthefirebetween them, and sat looking at the glowing sparks that dropped into thegrate; now nodding off into a doze; now waking up again when some hotfragment,largerthantherest,camerattlingdown,asifthefirewerecomingwithit.

Itwasinnodangerofsuddenextinction,however;foritgleamednotonlyin the little room,andon thepanesofwindow-glass in thedoor,andon thecurtain half drawn across them, but in the little shop beyond.A little shop,quite crammed and choked with the abundance of its stock; a perfectlyvoracious littleshop,withamawasaccommodatingandfullasanyshark’s.Cheese,butter, firewood,soap,pickles,matches,bacon, table-beer,peg-tops,sweetmeats,boys’kites,bird-seed,coldham,birchbrooms,hearth-stones,salt,vinegar,blacking,red-herrings,stationery,lard,mushroom-ketchup,staylaces,

loavesofbread,shuttlecocks,eggs,andslatepencil;everythingwasfishthatcametothenetofthisgreedylittleshop,andallarticleswereinitsnet.Howmanyotherkindsofpettymerchandisewerethere,itwouldbedifficulttosay;butballsofpackthread,ropesofonions,poundsofcandles,cabbage-nets,andbrushes, hung in bunches from the ceiling, like extraordinary fruit; whilevariousoddcanistersemittingaromaticsmells,establishedtheveracityoftheinscriptionover theouterdoor,which informedthepublic that thekeeperofthislittleshopwasalicenseddealerintea,coffee,tobacco,pepper,andsnuff.

Glancing at such of these articles as were visible in the shining of theblaze, and the less cheerful radiance of two smoky lamps which burnt butdimly in the shop itself, as though itsplethora satheavyon their lungs;andglancing, then, at one of the two faces by the parlour-fire;Trotty had smalldifficulty in recognising in the stout old lady, Mrs. Chickenstalker: alwaysinclinedtocorpulency,eveninthedayswhenhehadknownherasestablishedinthegeneralline,andhavingasmallbalanceagainsthiminherbooks.

The features of her companion were less easy to him. The great broadchin,withcreases in it largeenoughtohideafinger in; theastonishedeyes,thatseemedtoexpostulatewiththemselvesforsinkingdeeperanddeeperintotheyieldingfatofthesoftface;thenoseafflictedwiththatdisorderedactionofitsfunctionswhichisgenerallytermedTheSnuffles;theshortthickthroatand labouring chest, with other beauties of the like description; thoughcalculatedtoimpressthememory,Trottycouldatfirstallottonobodyhehadeverknown:andyethehadsomerecollectionofthemtoo.Atlength,inMrs.Chickenstalker’spartnerinthegeneralline,andinthecrookedandeccentricline of life, he recognised the former porter of Sir Joseph Bowley; anapoplectic innocent,who had connected himself in Trotty’smindwithMrs.Chickenstalkeryearsago,bygivinghimadmission to themansionwherehehadconfessedhisobligationstothatlady,anddrawnonhisunluckyheadsuchgravereproach.

Trotty had little interest in a change like this, after the changes he hadseen; but association is very strong sometimes; and he looked involuntarilybehindtheparlour-door,wheretheaccountsofcreditcustomerswereusuallykeptinchalk.Therewasnorecordofhisname.Somenameswerethere,butthey were strange to him, and infinitely fewer than of old; from which heargued that the porterwas an advocate of ready-money transactions, andoncoming into the business had looked pretty sharp after the Chickenstalkerdefaulters.

SodesolatewasTrotty,andsomournfulfortheyouthandpromiseofhisblighted child, that it was a sorrow to him, even to have no place inMrs.Chickenstalker’sledger.

‘Whatsortofanightisit,Anne?’inquiredtheformerporterofSirJosephBowley,stretchingouthislegsbeforethefire,andrubbingasmuchofthemashisshortarmscouldreach;withanairthatadded,‘HereIamifit’sbad,andIdon’twanttogooutifit’sgood.’

‘Blowing and sleeting hard,’ returned his wife; ‘and threatening snow.Dark.Andverycold.’

‘I’mglad to thinkwehadmuffins,’said theformerporter, in the toneofonewhohad set his conscience at rest. ‘It’s a sort of night that’smeant formuffins.Likewisecrumpets.AlsoSallyLunns.’

Theformerportermentionedeachsuccessivekindofeatable,asifheweremusinglysumminguphisgoodactions.Afterwhichherubbedhisfatlegsasbefore, and jerking them at the knees to get the fire upon the yet unroastedparts,laughedasifsomebodyhadtickledhim.

‘You’reinspirits,Tugby,mydear,’observedhiswife.

ThefirmwasTugby,lateChickenstalker.

‘No,’ saidTugby. ‘No.Not particular. I’m a little elewated.Themuffinscamesopat!’

Withthathechuckleduntilhewasblackintheface;andhadsomuchadotobecomeanyothercolour,thathisfatlegstookthestrangestexcursionsintotheair.NorweretheyreducedtoanythinglikedecorumuntilMrs.Tugbyhadthumped him violently on the back, and shaken him as if he were a greatbottle.

‘Good gracious, goodness, lord-a-mercy bless and save the man!’ criedMrs.Tugby,ingreatterror.‘What’shedoing?’

Mr. Tugbywiped his eyes, and faintly repeated that he found himself alittleelewated.

‘Thendon’tbesoagain,that’sadeargoodsoul,’saidMrs.Tugby,‘ifyoudon’twanttofrightenmetodeath,withyourstrugglingandfighting!’

Mr. Tugby said he wouldn’t; but, his whole existence was a fight, in

which, if any judgment might be founded on the constantly-increasingshortnessofhisbreath,and thedeepeningpurpleofhis face,hewasalwaysgettingtheworstofit.

‘So it’s blowing, and sleeting, and threatening snow; and it’s dark, andverycold,isit,mydear?’saidMr.Tugby,lookingatthefire,andrevertingtothecreamandmarrowofhistemporaryelevation.

‘Hardweatherindeed,’returnedhiswife,shakingherhead.

‘Aye, aye! Years,’ said Mr. Tugby, ‘are like Christians in that respect.Someof ’emdiehard; someof ’emdie easy.Thisonehasn’tmanydays torun,andismakingafightforit.Ilikehimallthebetter.There’sacustomer,mylove!’

Attentivetotherattlingdoor,Mrs.Tugbyhadalreadyrisen.

‘Now then!’ said that lady, passing out into the little shop. ‘What’swanted?Oh!Ibegyourpardon,sir,I’msure.Ididn’tthinkitwasyou.’

Shemadethisapologytoagentlemaninblack,who,withhiswristbandstucked up, and his hat cocked loungingly on one side, and his hands in hispockets,satdownastrideonthetable-beerbarrel,andnoddedinreturn.

‘This is a bad business up-stairs,Mrs. Tugby,’ said the gentleman. ‘Themancan’tlive.’

‘Nottheback-atticcan’t!’criedTugby,comingoutintotheshoptojointheconference.

‘The back-attic,Mr. Tugby,’ said the gentleman, ‘is coming down-stairsfast,andwillbebelowthebasementverysoon.’

Looking by turns atTugby and hiswife, he sounded the barrelwith hisknuckles for the depth of beer, andhaving found it, played a tune upon theemptypart.

‘The back-attic,Mr. Tugby,’ said the gentleman: Tugby having stood insilentconsternationforsometime:‘isGoing.’

‘Then,’ said Tugby, turning to hiswife, ‘hemustGo, you know, beforehe’sGone.’

‘Idon’tthinkyoucanmovehim,’saidthegentleman,shakinghishead.‘I

wouldn’t take the responsibilityofsaying itcouldbedone,myself.Youhadbetterleavehimwhereheis.Hecan’tlivelong.’

‘It’stheonlysubject,’saidTugby,bringingthebutter-scaledownuponthecounterwithacrash,byweighinghisfistonit, ‘thatwe’veeverhadawordupon;sheandme;andlookwhatitcomesto!He’sgoingtodiehere,afterall.Goingtodieuponthepremises.Goingtodieinourhouse!’

‘Andwhereshouldhehavedied,Tugby?’criedhiswife.

‘Intheworkhouse,’hereturned.‘Whatareworkhousesmadefor?’

‘Not for that,’ saidMrs.Tugby,withgreat energy. ‘Not for that!NeitherdidImarryyouforthat.Don’tthinkit,Tugby.Iwon’thaveit.Iwon’tallowit. I’d be separated first, and never see your face again.Whenmywidow’snamestoodoverthatdoor,asitdidformanyyears:thishousebeingknownasMrs.Chickenstalker’sfarandwide,andneverknownbuttoitshonestcreditand its good report:whenmywidow’s name stood over that door,Tugby, Iknewhimasahandsome,steady,manly,independentyouth;Iknewherasthesweetest-looking, sweetest-tempered girl, eyes ever saw; I knew her father(pooroldcreetur,hefelldownfromthesteeplewalkinginhissleep,andkilledhimself), for the simplest, hardest-working, childest-hearted man, that everdrew the breath of life; andwhen I turn themout of house and home,mayangelsturnmeoutofHeaven.Astheywould!Andservemeright!’

Heroldface,whichhadbeenaplumpanddimpledonebeforethechangeswhichhadcometopass,seemedtoshineoutofherasshesaidthesewords;and when she dried her eyes, and shook her head and her handkerchief atTugby,withanexpressionoffirmnesswhichitwasquiteclearwasnottobeeasilyresisted,Trottysaid,‘Blessher!Blessher!’

Thenhe listened,withapantingheart, forwhat should follow.Knowingnothingyet,butthattheyspokeofMeg.

IfTugbyhadbeena littleelevated in theparlour,hemore thanbalancedthataccountbybeingnota littledepressed in theshop,wherehenowstoodstaringathiswife,withoutattemptingareply;secretlyconveying,however—either in a fit of abstraction or as a precautionary measure—all the moneyfromthetillintohisownpockets,ashelookedather.

The gentleman upon the table-beer cask, who appeared to be someauthorised medical attendant upon the poor, was far too well accustomed,

evidently, to littledifferencesofopinionbetweenmanandwife, to interposeanyremarkinthisinstance.Hesatsoftlywhistling,andturninglittledropsofbeeroutofthetapupontheground,until therewasaperfectcalm:whenheraisedhishead,andsaidtoMrs.Tugby,lateChickenstalker:

‘There’ssomethinginterestingabout thewoman,evennow.Howdidshecometomarryhim?’

‘Whythat,’saidMrs.Tugby,takingaseatnearhim,‘isnottheleastcruelpartofherstory,sir.Youseetheykeptcompany,sheandRichard,manyyearsago.When theywere a young and beautiful couple, everythingwas settled,and theywere to have beenmarried on a NewYear’s Day. But, somehow,Richard got it into his head, through what the gentlemen told him, that hemightdobetter,andthathe’dsoonrepentit,andthatshewasn’tgoodenoughforhim,andthatayoungmanofspirithadnobusinesstobemarried.Andthegentlemenfrightenedher,andmadehermelancholy,andtimidofhisdesertingher,andofherchildrencomingtothegallows,andofitsbeingwickedtobeman andwife, and a good dealmore of it.And in short, they lingered andlingered, and their trust in one another was broken, and so at last was thematch.But thefaultwashis.Shewouldhavemarriedhim,sir, joyfully.I’veseenherheartswellmanytimesafterwards,whenhepassedherinaproudandcarelessway;andneverdidawomangrievemoretrulyforaman,thansheforRichardwhenhefirstwentwrong.’

‘Oh!hewentwrong,didhe?’saidthegentleman,pullingoutthevent-pegofthetable-beer,andtryingtopeepdownintothebarrelthroughthehole.

‘Well,sir,Idon’tknowthatherightlyunderstoodhimself,yousee.Ithinkhismindwastroubledbytheirhavingbrokewithoneanother;andthatbutforbeingashamedbeforethegentlemen,andperhapsforbeinguncertaintoo,howshemight take it, he’dhavegone throughany sufferingor trial tohavehadMeg’s promise andMeg’s hand again. That’s my belief. He never said so;more’s the pity! He took to drinking, idling, bad companions: all the fineresourcesthatweretobesomuchbetterforhimthantheHomehemighthavehad.He losthis looks, his character, hishealth, his strength,his friends, hiswork:everything!’

‘Hedidn’tloseeverything,Mrs.Tugby,’returnedthegentleman,‘becausehegainedawife;andIwanttoknowhowhegainedher.’

‘I’mcomingtoit,sir, inamoment.Thiswentonforyearsandyears;he

sinking lower and lower; she enduring, poor thing,miseries enough towearher lifeaway.At last,hewassocastdown,andcastout, thatnoonewouldemploy or notice him; and doorswere shut upon him, gowhere hewould.Applyingfromplacetoplace,anddoortodoor;andcomingforthehundredthtime to one gentleman who had often and often tried him (he was a goodworkman to the very end); that gentleman, who knew his history, said, “Ibelieveyouareincorrigible;thereisonlyonepersonintheworldwhohasachanceofreclaimingyou;askmetotrustyounomore,untilshetriestodoit.”Somethinglikethat,inhisangerandvexation.’

‘Ah!’saidthegentleman.‘Well?’

‘Well, sir,hewent toher,andkneeled toher;said itwasso;said iteverhadbeenso;andmadeaprayertohertosavehim.’

‘Andshe?—Don’tdistressyourself,Mrs.Tugby.’

‘Shecametomethatnighttoaskmeaboutlivinghere.“Whathewasoncetome,”shesaid,“isburiedinagrave,sidebysidewithwhatIwastohim.ButIhavethoughtofthis;andIwillmakethetrial.Inthehopeofsavinghim;forthe loveof the light-heartedgirl (you rememberher)whowas tohavebeenmarriedonaNewYear’sDay;andfortheloveofherRichard.”AndshesaidhehadcometoherfromLilian,andLilianhadtrustedtohim,andshenevercouldforgetthat.Sotheyweremarried;andwhentheycamehomehere,andIsawthem,Ihopedthatsuchpropheciesaspartedthemwhentheywereyoung,maynotoftenfulfil themselvesas theydid in thiscase,orIwouldn’tbe themakersofthemforaMineofGold.’

Thegentlemangotoffthecask,andstretchedhimself,observing:

‘Isupposeheusedherill,assoonastheyweremarried?’

‘I don’t think he ever did that,’ saidMrs. Tugby, shaking her head, andwipinghereyes.‘Hewentonbetterforashorttime;but,hishabitsweretoooldandstrongtobegotridof;hesoonfellbackalittle;andwasfallingfastback,whenhisillnesscamesostronguponhim.Ithinkhehasalwaysfeltforher.Iamsurehehas.Ihaveseenhim,inhiscryingfitsandtremblings,trytokiss her hand; and I have heard him call her “Meg,” and say it was hernineteenthbirthday.Therehehasbeen lying,now, theseweeksandmonths.Betweenhimandherbaby,shehasnotbeenabletodoheroldwork;andbynot being able to be regular, she has lost it, even if she could have done it.Howtheyhavelived,Ihardlyknow!’

‘Iknow,’mutteredMr.Tugby;lookingatthetill,androundtheshop,andat his wife; and rolling his head with immense intelligence. ‘Like FightingCocks!’

He was interrupted by a cry—a sound of lamentation—from the upperstoryofthehouse.Thegentlemanmovedhurriedlytothedoor.

‘Myfriend,’hesaid, lookingback,‘youneedn’tdiscusswhetherheshallberemovedornot.Hehassparedyouthattrouble,Ibelieve.’

Saying so, he ran up-stairs, followed byMrs. Tugby; while Mr. Tugbypanted and grumbled after them at leisure: being rendered more thancommonlyshort-windedbytheweightofthetill,inwhichtherehadbeenaninconvenientquantityofcopper.Trotty,withthechildbesidehim,floatedupthestaircaselikemereair.

‘Followher!Followher!Followher!’HeheardtheghostlyvoicesintheBellsrepeattheirwordsasheascended.‘Learnit,fromthecreaturedearesttoyourheart!’

Itwasover.Itwasover.Andthiswasshe,herfather’sprideandjoy!Thishaggard,wretchedwoman,weepingbythebed,ifitdeservedthatname,andpressingtoherbreast,andhangingdownherheadupon,aninfant.Whocantellhowspare,howsickly,andhowpooraninfant!Whocantellhowdear!

‘Thank God!’ cried Trotty, holding up his folded hands. ‘O, God bethanked!Shelovesherchild!’

Thegentleman, not otherwise hard-hearted or indifferent to such scenes,than that he saw them every day, and knew that they were figures of nomoment in the Filer sums—mere scratches in the working of thesecalculations—laidhishandupontheheartthatbeatnomore,andlistenedforthebreath,andsaid,‘Hispainisover.It’sbetterasitis!’Mrs.Tugbytriedtocomfortherwithkindness.Mr.Tugbytriedphilosophy.

‘Come, come!’he said,withhishands inhispockets, ‘youmustn’t giveway,youknow.Thatwon’tdo.Youmustfightup.Whatwouldhavebecomeof me if I had given way when I was porter, and we had as many as sixrunawaycarriage-doublesatourdoor inonenight!But,I fellbackuponmystrengthofmind,anddidn’topenit!’

AgainTrottyheardthevoicessaying,‘Followher!’Heturnedtowardshisguide,andsawitrisingfromhim,passingthroughtheair.‘Followher!’itsaid.

Andvanished.

Hehoveredroundher;satdownatherfeet;lookedupintoherfaceforonetraceofheroldself;listenedforonenoteofheroldpleasantvoice.Heflittedround the child: so wan, so prematurely old, so dreadful in its gravity, soplaintiveinitsfeeble,mournful,miserablewail.Healmostworshippedit.Heclungto itasheronlysafeguard;as the lastunbrokenlinkthatboundher toendurance.He set his father’s hope and trust on the frail baby;watchedhereverylookuponitasshehelditinherarms;andcriedathousandtimes,‘Shelovesit!Godbethanked,shelovesit!’

Hesawthewomantendherinthenight;returntoherwhenhergrudginghusbandwasasleep,andallwasstill;encourageher,shed tearswithher,setnourishmentbeforeher.Hesawthedaycome,andthenightagain;theday,thenight; the timegoby; thehouseofdeath relievedofdeath; the room left toherselfandtothechild;hehearditmoanandcry;hesawitharassher,andtireher out, and when she slumbered in exhaustion, drag her back toconsciousness, andhold herwith its little hands upon the rack; but shewasconstanttoit,gentlewithit,patientwithit.Patient!Wasitslovingmotherinherinmostheartandsoul,andhaditsBeingknittedupwithhersaswhenshecarrieditunborn.

Allthistime,shewasinwant:languishingaway,indireandpiningwant.With the baby in her arms, she wandered here and there, in quest ofoccupation;andwithitsthinfacelyinginherlap,andlookingupinhers,didany work for any wretched sum; a day and night of labour for as manyfarthingsastherewerefiguresonthedial.Ifshehadquarrelledwithit;ifshehad neglected it; if she had looked upon itwith amoment’s hate; if, in thefrenzy of an instant, she had struck it! No. His comfort was, She loved italways.

Shetoldnooneofherextremity,andwanderedabroadinthedaylestsheshouldbequestionedbyheronly friend: foranyhelpshe received fromherhands,occasionedfreshdisputesbetweenthegoodwomanandherhusband;anditwasnewbitternesstobethedailycauseofstrifeanddiscord,wheresheowedsomuch.

She loved it still. She loved itmore andmore.But a change fell on theaspectofherlove.Onenight.

Shewassingingfaintlytoitinitssleep,andwalkingtoandfrotohushit,

whenherdoorwassoftlyopened,andamanlookedin.

‘Forthelasttime,’hesaid.

‘WilliamFern!’

‘Forthelasttime.’

Helistenedlikeamanpursued:andspokeinwhispers.

‘Margaret, my race is nearly run. I couldn’t finish it, without a partingwordwithyou.Withoutonegratefulword.’

‘Whathaveyoudone?’sheasked:regardinghimwithterror.

Helookedather,butgavenoanswer.

After a short silence, hemade a gesture with his hand, as if he set herquestionby;asifhebrusheditaside;andsaid:

‘It’slongago,Margaret,now:butthatnightisasfreshinmymemoryasever’twas.Welittlethought,then,’headded,lookinground,‘thatweshouldevermeetlikethis.Yourchild,Margaret?Letmehaveitinmyarms.Letmeholdyourchild.’

Heputhishatuponthefloor,andtookit.Andhetrembledashetookit,fromheadtofoot.

‘Isitagirl?’

‘Yes.’

Heputhishandbeforeitslittleface.

‘SeehowweakI’mgrown,Margaret,whenIwantthecouragetolookatit! Let her be, a moment. I won’t hurt her. It’s long ago, but—What’s hername?’

‘Margaret,’sheanswered,quickly.

‘I’mgladofthat,’hesaid.‘I’mgladofthat!’Heseemedtobreathemorefreely;andafterpausingforaninstant,tookawayhishand,andlookedupontheinfant’sface.Butcovereditagain,immediately.

‘Margaret!’hesaid;andgaveherbackthechild.‘It’sLilian’s.’

‘Lilian’s!’

‘IheldthesamefaceinmyarmswhenLilian’smotherdiedandlefther.’

‘WhenLilian’smotherdiedandlefther!’sherepeated,wildly.

‘Howshrillyouspeak!Whydoyoufixyoureyesuponmeso?Margaret!’

Shesunkdown inachair,andpressed the infant toherbreast,andweptoverit.Sometimes,shereleaseditfromherembrace,tolookanxiouslyinitsface:thenstrainedittoherbosomagain.Atthosetimes,whenshegazeduponit,thenitwasthatsomethingfierceandterriblebegantominglewithherlove.Thenitwasthatheroldfatherquailed.

‘Followher!’wassoundedthroughthehouse.‘Learnit,fromthecreaturedearesttoyourheart!’

‘Margaret,’saidFern,bendingoverher,andkissingheruponthebrow:‘Ithankyouforthelasttime.Goodnight.Goodbye!Putyourhandinmine,andtellmeyou’ll forgetme from this hour, and try to think the endofmewashere.’

‘Whathaveyoudone?’sheaskedagain.

‘There’llbeaFireto-night,’hesaid,removingfromher.‘There’llbeFiresthiswinter-time,tolightthedarknights,East,West,North,andSouth.Whenyousee thedistantskyred, they’llbeblazing.Whenyousee thedistantskyred,thinkofmenomore;or,ifyoudo,rememberwhataHellwaslightedupinsideofme,andthinkyouseeitsflamesreflectedintheclouds.Goodnight.Goodbye!’Shecalledtohim;buthewasgone.Shesatdownstupefied,untilherinfantrousedhertoasenseofhunger,cold,anddarkness.Shepacedtheroom with it the livelong night, hushing it and soothing it. She said atintervals,‘LikeLilian,whenhermotherdiedandlefther!’Whywasherstepso quick, her eye so wild, her love so fierce and terrible, whenever sherepeatedthosewords?

‘But,itisLove,’saidTrotty.‘ItisLove.She’llneverceasetoloveit.MypoorMeg!’

She dressed the child next morning with unusual care—ah, vainexpenditure of care upon such squalid robes!—and oncemore tried to findsomemeansoflife.ItwasthelastdayoftheOldYear.Shetriedtillnight,andneverbrokeherfast.Shetriedinvain.

Shemingledwithanabjectcrowd,whotarriedinthesnow,untilitpleasedsomeofficerappointedtodispensethepubliccharity(thelawfulcharity;notthatoncepreacheduponaMount),tocallthemin,andquestionthem,andsayto this one, ‘Go to such a place,’ to that one, ‘Comenextweek;’ tomake afootballofanotherwretch, andpasshimhereand there, fromhand tohand,fromhousetohouse,untilheweariedandlaydowntodie;orstartedupandrobbed,andsobecameahighersortofcriminal,whoseclaimsallowedofnodelay.Here,too,shefailed.

She lovedher child, andwished tohave it lyingonherbreast.And thatwasquiteenough.

Itwasnight:ableak,dark,cuttingnight:when,pressingthechildclosetoherforwarmth,shearrivedoutsidethehouseshecalledherhome.Shewassofaint and giddy, that she sawno one standing in the doorway until shewascloseuponit,andabouttoenter.Then,sherecognisedthemasterofthehouse,whohadsodisposedhimself—withhispersonitwasnotdifficult—astofillupthewholeentry.

‘O!’hesaidsoftly.‘Youhavecomeback?’

Shelookedatthechild,andshookherhead.

‘Don’t you think you have lived here long enough without paying anyrent?Don’tyouthinkthat,withoutanymoney,you’vebeenaprettyconstantcustomeratthisshop,now?’saidMr.Tugby.

Sherepeatedthesamemuteappeal.

‘Suppose you try and deal somewhere else,’ he said. ‘And suppose youprovide yourself with another lodging. Come! Don’t you think you couldmanageit?’

Shesaidinalowvoice,thatitwasverylate.To-morrow.

‘NowIseewhatyouwant,’saidTugby;‘andwhatyoumean.Youknowtherearetwopartiesinthishouseaboutyou,andyoudelightinsetting’embytheears.Idon’twantanyquarrels;I’mspeakingsoftlytoavoidaquarrel;butif you don’t go away, I’ll speak out loud, and you shall cause words highenoughtopleaseyou.Butyoushan’tcomein.ThatIamdetermined.’

Sheputherhairbackwithherhand,andlookedinasuddenmanneratthesky,andthedarkloweringdistance.

‘This is the last night of an Old Year, and I won’t carry ill-blood andquarrellings and disturbances into a New One, to please you nor anybodyelse,’saidTugby,whowasquitearetailFriendandFather.‘Iwonderyouan’tashamedofyourself, tocarrysuchpractices intoaNewYear.Ifyouhaven’tanybusiness in theworld,but tobealwaysgivingway, andalwaysmakingdisturbancesbetweenmanandwife,you’dbebetteroutofit.Goalongwithyou.’

‘Followher!Todesperation!’

Again the old man heard the voices. Looking up, he saw the figureshoveringintheair,andpointingwhereshewent,downthedarkstreet.

‘She loves it!’ he exclaimed, in agonised entreaty for her. ‘Chimes! shelovesitstill!’

‘Followher!’Theshadowsweptuponthetrackshehadtaken,likeacloud.

Hejoinedinthepursuit;hekeptclosetoher;helookedintoherface.Hesaw the same fierce and terrible expression mingling with her love, andkindling in her eyes. He heard her say, ‘Like Lilian! To be changed likeLilian!’andherspeedredoubled.

O,forsomethingtoawakenher!Foranysight,orsound,orscent,tocalluptenderrecollectionsinabrainonfire!ForanygentleimageofthePast,torisebeforeher!

‘Iwasher father! Iwasher father!’cried theoldman, stretchingouthishandstothedarkshadowsflyingonabove.‘Havemercyonher,andonme!Wheredoesshego?Turnherback!Iwasherfather!’

Buttheyonlypointedtoher,asshehurriedon;andsaid,‘Todesperation!Learnitfromthecreaturedearesttoyourheart!’Ahundredvoicesechoedit.Theairwasmadeofbreathexpendedinthosewords.Heseemedtotakethemin,ateverygasphedrew.Theywereeverywhere,andnottobeescaped.Andstillshehurriedon;thesamelightinhereyes,thesamewordsinhermouth,‘LikeLilian!TobechangedlikeLilian!’Allatonceshestopped.

‘Now,turnherback!’exclaimedtheoldman,tearinghiswhitehair.‘Mychild!Meg!Turnherback!GreatFather,turnherback!’

Inherownscanty shawl, shewrapped thebabywarm.Withher feveredhands,shesmootheditslimbs,composeditsface,arrangeditsmeanattire.In

herwastedarmsshefoldedit,asthoughsheneverwouldresignitmore.Andwithherdrylips,kisseditinafinalpang,andlastlongagonyofLove.

Puttingitstinyhanduptoherneck,andholdingitthere,withinherdress,next to her distracted heart, she set its sleeping face against her: closely,steadily,againsther:andspedonwardtotheRiver.

TotherollingRiver,swiftanddim,whereWinterNightsatbroodinglikethe last dark thoughts of many who had sought a refuge there before her.Wherescatteredlightsuponthebanksgleamedsullen,red,anddull,astorchesthatwereburningthere,toshowthewaytoDeath.Wherenoabodeoflivingpeoplecastitsshadow,onthedeep,impenetrable,melancholyshade.

TotheRiver!TothatportalofEternity,herdesperatefootstepstendedwiththeswiftnessofitsrapidwatersrunningtothesea.Hetriedtotouchherasshepassedhim,goingdowntoitsdarklevel:but,thewilddistemperedform,thefierceandterriblelove,thedesperationthathadleftallhumancheckorholdbehind,sweptbyhimlikethewind.

Hefollowedher.Shepausedamomenton thebrink,before thedreadfulplunge.Hefelldownonhisknees,andinashriekaddressedthefiguresintheBellsnowhoveringabovethem.

‘Ihavelearntit!’criedtheoldman.‘Fromthecreaturedearesttomyheart!O,saveher,saveher!’

Hecouldwindhisfingersinherdress;couldholdit!Asthewordsescapedhislips,hefelthissenseoftouchreturn,andknewthathedetainedher.

Thefigureslookeddownsteadfastlyuponhim.

‘Ihavelearntit!’criedtheoldman.‘O,havemercyonmeinthishour,if,inmy love forher, soyoungandgood, I slanderedNature in thebreastsofmothersrendereddesperate!Pitymypresumption,wickedness,andignorance,andsaveher.’Hefelthisholdrelaxing.Theyweresilentstill.

‘Havemercyonher!’heexclaimed,‘asoneinwhomthisdreadfulcrimehassprung fromLoveperverted; from thestrongest,deepestLovewe fallencreaturesknow!Thinkwhathermiserymusthavebeen,whensuchseedbearssuch fruit!Heavenmeant her to be good.There is no lovingmother on theearth who might not come to this, if such a life had gone before. O, havemercyonmychild,who,evenatthispass,meansmercytoherown,anddiesherself,andperilsherimmortalsoul,tosaveit!’

Shewasinhisarms.Heheldhernow.Hisstrengthwaslikeagiant’s.

‘IseetheSpiritoftheChimesamongyou!’criedtheoldman,singlingoutthe child, and speaking in some inspiration, which their looks conveyed tohim.‘IknowthatourinheritanceisheldinstoreforusbyTime.IknowthereisaseaofTimetoriseoneday,beforewhichallwhowrongusoroppressuswillbesweptawaylikeleaves.Iseeit,ontheflow!Iknowthatwemusttrustandhope, andneither doubt ourselves, nordoubt thegood inone another. Ihave learnt it from the creature dearest tomyheart. I clasp her inmy armsagain.OSpirits,mercifulandgood,Itakeyourlessontomybreastalongwithher!OSpirits,mercifulandgood,Iamgrateful!’

Hemight have saidmore; but, theBells, theold familiarBells, his owndear, constant, steady friends, theChimes, began to ring the joy-peals for aNewYear: so lustily, somerrily, so happily, so gaily, that he leapt uponhisfeet,andbrokethespellthatboundhim.

‘Andwhateveryoudo,father,’saidMeg,‘don’teat tripeagain,withoutasking somedoctorwhether it’s likely to agreewithyou; forhowyouhavebeengoingon,Goodgracious!’

Shewasworkingwithherneedle,atthelittletablebythefire;dressinghersimplegownwithribbonsforherwedding.Soquietlyhappy,sobloomingandyouthful,sofullofbeautifulpromise,thatheutteredagreatcryasifitwereanAngelinhishouse;thenflewtoclaspherinhisarms.

But,hecaughthisfeet in thenewspaper,whichhadfallenonthehearth;andsomebodycamerushinginbetweenthem.

‘No!’criedthevoiceofthissamesomebody;agenerousandjollyvoiceitwas!‘Notevenyou.Notevenyou.ThefirstkissofMegintheNewYearismine.Mine!Ihavebeenwaitingoutsidethehouse,thishour,toheartheBellsandclaimit.Meg,mypreciousprize,ahappyyear!Alifeofhappyyears,mydarlingwife!’

AndRichardsmotheredherwithkisses.

YouneverinallyourlifesawanythinglikeTrottyafterthis.Idon’tcarewhereyouhave livedorwhatyouhaveseen;younever inallyour lifesawanythingatallapproachinghim!Hesatdowninhischairandbeathiskneesand cried; he sat down in his chair and beat his knees and laughed; he satdowninhischairandbeathiskneesandlaughedandcriedtogether;hegotout

ofhischairandhuggedMeg;hegotoutofhischairandhuggedRichard;hegotoutofhischairandhuggedthembothatonce;hekeptrunninguptoMeg,andsqueezingherfreshfacebetweenhishandsandkissingit,goingfromherbackwardsnottolosesightofit,andrunningupagainlikeafigureinamagiclantern; andwhatever he did, hewas constantly sitting himself down in hischair,andneverstoppinginitforonesinglemoment;being—that’sthetruth—besidehimselfwithjoy.

‘And to-morrow’s your wedding-day, my pet!’ cried Trotty. ‘Your real,happywedding-day!’

‘To-day!’criedRichard,shakinghandswithhim.‘To-day.TheChimesareringingintheNewYear.Hearthem!’

They were ringing! Bless their sturdy hearts, they were ringing! GreatBellsastheywere;melodious,deep-mouthed,nobleBells;castinnocommonmetal;made by no common founder;when had they ever chimed like that,before!

‘But, to-day,mypet,’ saidTrotty. ‘YouandRichardhad somewords to-day.’

‘Because he’s such a bad fellow, father,’ saidMeg. ‘An’t you, Richard?Such a headstrong, violent man! He’d havemade nomore of speaking hismindtothatgreatAlderman,andputtinghimdownIdon’tknowwhere,thanhewouldof—’

‘—KissingMeg,’suggestedRichard.Doingittoo!

‘No. Not a bitmore,’ saidMeg. ‘But I wouldn’t let him, father.Wherewouldhavebeentheuse!’

‘Richardmyboy!’criedTrotty.‘YouwasturnedupTrumpsoriginally;andTrumpsyoumustbe, tillyoudie!But,youwerecryingby the fire to-night,mypet,whenIcamehome!Whydidyoucrybythefire?’

‘Iwasthinkingoftheyearswe’vepassedtogether,father.Onlythat.Andthinkingthatyoumightmissme,andbelonely.’

Trottywasbackingoff to that extraordinarychair again,when the child,whohadbeenawakenedbythenoise,camerunninginhalf-dressed.

‘Why,heresheis!’criedTrotty,catchingherup.‘Here’s littleLilian!Ha

haha!Hereweareandherewego!Ohereweareandherewegoagain!Andhereweareandherewego!andUncleWilltoo!’Stoppinginhistrottogreethimheartily.‘O,UncleWill,thevisionthatI’vehadto-night,throughlodgingyou! O, Uncle Will, the obligations that you’ve laid me under, by yourcoming,mygoodfriend!’

BeforeWillFerncouldmaketheleastreply,abandofmusicburstintotheroom,attendedbyalotofneighbours,screaming‘AHappyNewYear,Meg!’‘AHappyWedding!’ ‘Manyof ’em!’ andother fragmentary goodwishes ofthat sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of Trotty’s) then steppedforward,andsaid:

‘Trotty Veck, my boy! It’s got about, that your daughter is going to bemarriedto-morrow.Therean’tasoulthatknowsyouthatdon’twishyouwell,orthatknowsheranddon’twishherwell.Orthatknowsyouboth,anddon’twishyoubothallthehappinesstheNewYearcanbring.Andhereweare,toplayitinanddanceitin,accordingly.’

Whichwasreceivedwithageneralshout.TheDrumwasratherdrunk,by-the-bye;but,nevermind.

‘What a happiness it is, I’m sure,’ saidTrotty, ‘to be so esteemed!Howkindandneighbourlyyouare!It’sallalongofmydeardaughter.Shedeservesit!’

Theywerereadyforadanceinhalfasecond(MegandRichardatthetop);and theDrumwason theverybrinkof feathering awaywith all his power;when a combination of prodigious sounds was heard outside, and a good-humoured comely woman of some fifty years of age, or thereabouts, camerunning in, attended by a man bearing a stone pitcher of terrific size, andclosely followed by the marrow-bones and cleavers, and the bells; not theBells,butaportablecollectiononaframe.

Trotty said, ‘It’sMrs.Chickenstalker!’And sat downandbeat his kneesagain.

‘Married,andnottellme,Meg!’criedthegoodwoman.‘Never!Icouldn’trest on the last night of the Old Year without coming to wish you joy. Icouldn’thavedoneit,Meg.NotifIhadbeenbed-ridden.SohereIam;andasit’sNewYear’sEve,andtheEveofyourweddingtoo,mydear,Ihadalittleflipmade,andbroughtitwithme.’

Mrs. Chickenstalker’s notion of a little flip did honour to her character.Thepitchersteamedandsmokedandreekedlikeavolcano;andthemanwhohadcarriedit,wasfaint.

‘Mrs.Tugby!’saidTrotty,whohadbeengoingroundandroundher,inanecstasy.—‘Ishouldsay,Chickenstalker—Blessyourheartandsoul!AHappyNewYear, andmanyof ’em!Mrs.Tugby,’ saidTrottywhenhehad salutedher;—‘Ishouldsay,Chickenstalker—ThisisWilliamFernandLilian.’

Theworthydame,tohissurprise,turnedverypaleandveryred.

‘NotLilianFernwhosemotherdiedinDorsetshire!’saidshe.

Her uncle answered ‘Yes,’ and meeting hastily, they exchanged somehurried words together; of which the upshot was, that Mrs. Chickenstalkershookhimbybothhands;salutedTrottyonhischeekagainofherownfreewill;andtookthechildtohercapaciousbreast.

‘WillFern!’saidTrotty,pullingonhisright-handmuffler.‘Notthefriendyouwashopingtofind?’

‘Ay!’returnedWill,puttingahandoneachofTrotty’sshoulders.‘Andliketoprovea’mostasgoodafriend,ifthatcanbe,asoneIfound.’

‘O!’saidTrotty.‘Pleasetoplayupthere.Willyouhavethegoodness!’

Tothemusicof theband,and, thebells, themarrow-bonesandcleavers,all at once; andwhile theChimeswere yet in lusty operation out of doors;Trotty,makingMegandRichard,secondcouple,ledoffMrs.Chickenstalkerdownthedance,anddanceditinastepunknownbeforeorsince;foundedonhisownpeculiartrot.

HadTrottydreamed?Or,arehisjoysandsorrows,andtheactorsinthem,but a dream; himself a dream; the teller of this tale a dreamer, waking butnow?Ifitbeso,Olistener,deartohiminallhisvisions,trytobearinmindthesternrealitiesfromwhichtheseshadowscome;andinyoursphere—noneis too wide, and none too limited for such an end—endeavour to correct,improve,andsoftenthem.SomaytheNewYearbeahappyonetoyou,happytomanymorewhosehappinessdependsonyou!Somayeachyearbehappierthanthelast,andnotthemeanestofourbrethrenorsisterhooddebarredtheirrightfulshare,inwhatourGreatCreatorformedthemtoenjoy.

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