الفصل الفصل 41 · 第41章

Kit made his way through the crowded streets, dividing the stream of

people, dashing across the busy road-ways, diving into lanes and

alleys, and stopping or turning aside for nothing, until he came in

front of the Old Curiosity Shop, when he came to a stand; partly from

habit and partly from being out of breath.

It was a gloomy autumn evening, and he thought the old place had never

looked so dismal as in its dreary twilight. The windows broken, the

rusty sashes rattling in their frames, the deserted house a dull

barrier dividing the glaring lights and bustle of the street into two

long lines, and standing in the midst, cold, dark, and empty--presented

a cheerless spectacle which mingled harshly with the bright prospects

the boy had been building up for its late inmates, and came like a

disappointment or misfortune. Kit would have had a good fire roaring

up the empty chimneys, lights sparkling and shining through the

windows, people moving briskly to and fro, voices in cheerful

conversation, something in unison with the new hopes that were astir.

He had not expected that the house would wear any different aspect--had

known indeed that it could not--but coming upon it in the midst of

eager thoughts and expectations, it checked the current in its flow,

and darkened it with a mournful shadow.

Kit, however, fortunately for himself, was not learned enough or

contemplative enough to be troubled with presages of evil afar off,

and, having no mental spectacles to assist his vision in this respect,

saw nothing but the dull house, which jarred uncomfortably upon his

previous thoughts. So, almost wishing that he had not passed it,

though hardly knowing why, he hurried on again, making up by his

increased speed for the few moments he had lost.

‘Now, if she should be out,’ thought Kit, as he approached the poor

dwelling of his mother, ‘and I not able to find her, this impatient

gentleman would be in a pretty taking. And sure enough there’s no

light, and the door’s fast. Now, God forgive me for saying so, but if

this is Little Bethel’s doing, I wish Little Bethel was--was farther

off,’ said Kit checking himself, and knocking at the door.

A second knock brought no reply from within the house; but caused a

woman over the way to look out and inquire who that was, awanting Mrs

Nubbles.

‘Me,’ said Kit. ‘She’s at--at Little Bethel, I suppose?’--getting out

the name of the obnoxious conventicle with some reluctance, and laying

a spiteful emphasis upon the words.

The neighbour nodded assent.

‘Then pray tell me where it is,’ said Kit, ‘for I have come on a

pressing matter, and must fetch her out, even if she was in the pulpit.’

It was not very easy to procure a direction to the fold in question, as

none of the neighbours were of the flock that resorted thither, and few

knew anything more of it than the name. At last, a gossip of Mrs

Nubbles’s, who had accompanied her to chapel on one or two occasions

when a comfortable cup of tea had preceded her devotions, furnished the

needful information, which Kit had no sooner obtained than he started

off again.

Little Bethel might have been nearer, and might have been in a

straighter road, though in that case the reverend gentleman who

presided over its congregation would have lost his favourite allusion

to the crooked ways by which it was approached, and which enabled him

to liken it to Paradise itself, in contradistinction to the parish

church and the broad thoroughfare leading thereunto. Kit found it, at

last, after some trouble, and pausing at the door to take breath that

he might enter with becoming decency, passed into the chapel.

It was not badly named in one respect, being in truth a particularly

little Bethel--a Bethel of the smallest dimensions--with a small

number of small pews, and a small pulpit, in which a small gentleman

(by trade a Shoemaker, and by calling a Divine) was delivering in a by

no means small voice, a by no means small sermon, judging of its

dimensions by the condition of his audience, which, if their gross

amount were but small, comprised a still smaller number of hearers, as

the majority were slumbering.

Among these was Kit’s mother, who, finding it matter of extreme

difficulty to keep her eyes open after the fatigues of last night, and

feeling their inclination to close strongly backed and seconded by the

arguments of the preacher, had yielded to the drowsiness that

overpowered her, and fallen asleep; though not so soundly but that she

could, from time to time, utter a slight and almost inaudible groan, as

if in recognition of the orator’s doctrines. The baby in her arms was

as fast asleep as she; and little Jacob, whose youth prevented him from

recognising in this prolonged spiritual nourishment anything half as

interesting as oysters, was alternately very fast asleep and very wide

awake, as his inclination to slumber, or his terror of being personally

alluded to in the discourse, gained the mastery over him.

‘And now I’m here,’ thought Kit, gliding into the nearest empty pew

which was opposite his mother’s, and on the other side of the little

aisle, ‘how am I ever to get at her, or persuade her to come out! I

might as well be twenty miles off. She’ll never wake till it’s all

over, and there goes the clock again! If he would but leave off for a

minute, or if they’d only sing!’

But there was little encouragement to believe that either event would

happen for a couple of hours to come. The preacher went on telling

them what he meant to convince them of before he had done, and it was

clear that if he only kept to one-half of his promises and forgot the

other, he was good for that time at least.

In his desperation and restlessness Kit cast his eyes about the chapel,

and happening to let them fall upon a little seat in front of the

clerk’s desk, could scarcely believe them when they showed him--Quilp!

He rubbed them twice or thrice, but still they insisted that Quilp was

there, and there indeed he was, sitting with his hands upon his knees,

and his hat between them on a little wooden bracket, with the

accustomed grin on his dirty face, and his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

He certainly did not glance at Kit or at his mother, and appeared

utterly unconscious of their presence; still Kit could not help

feeling, directly, that the attention of the sly little fiend was

fastened upon them, and upon nothing else.

But, astounded as he was by the apparition of the dwarf among the

Little Bethelites, and not free from a misgiving that it was the

forerunner of some trouble or annoyance, he was compelled to subdue his

wonder and to take active measures for the withdrawal of his parent, as

the evening was now creeping on, and the matter grew serious.

Therefore, the next time little Jacob woke, Kit set himself to attract

his wandering attention, and this not being a very difficult task (one

sneeze effected it), he signed to him to rouse his mother.

Ill-luck would have it, however, that, just then, the preacher, in a

forcible exposition of one head of his discourse, leaned over upon the

pulpit-desk so that very little more of him than his legs remained

inside; and, while he made vehement gestures with his right hand, and

held on with his left, stared, or seemed to stare, straight into little

Jacob’s eyes, threatening him by his strained look and attitude--so it

appeared to the child--that if he so much as moved a muscle, he, the

preacher, would be literally, and not figuratively, ‘down upon him’

that instant. In this fearful state of things, distracted by the

sudden appearance of Kit, and fascinated by the eyes of the preacher,

the miserable Jacob sat bolt upright, wholly incapable of motion,

strongly disposed to cry but afraid to do so, and returning his

pastor’s gaze until his infant eyes seemed starting from their sockets.

‘If I must do it openly, I must,’ thought Kit. With that he walked

softly out of his pew and into his mother’s, and as Mr Swiveller would

have observed if he had been present, ‘collared’ the baby without

speaking a word.

‘Hush, mother!’ whispered Kit. ‘Come along with me, I’ve got something

to tell you.’

‘Where am I?’ said Mrs Nubbles.

‘In this blessed Little Bethel,’ returned her son, peevishly.

‘Blessed indeed!’ cried Mrs Nubbles, catching at the word. ‘Oh,

Christopher, how have I been edified this night!’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Kit hastily; ‘but come along, mother,

everybody’s looking at us. Don’t make a noise--bring Jacob--that’s

right!’

‘Stay, Satan, stay!’ cried the preacher, as Kit was moving off.

‘This gentleman says you’re to stay, Christopher,’ whispered his mother.

‘Stay, Satan, stay!’ roared the preacher again. ‘Tempt not the woman

that doth incline her ear to thee, but harken to the voice of him that

calleth. He hath a lamb from the fold!’ cried the preacher, raising

his voice still higher and pointing to the baby. ‘He beareth off a

lamb, a precious lamb! He goeth about, like a wolf in the night

season, and inveigleth the tender lambs!’

Kit was the best-tempered fellow in the world, but considering this

strong language, and being somewhat excited by the circumstances in

which he was placed, he faced round to the pulpit with the baby in his

arms, and replied aloud, ‘No, I don’t. He’s my brother.’

‘He’s MY brother!’ cried the preacher.

‘He isn’t,’ said Kit indignantly. ‘How can you say such a thing? And

don’t call me names if you please; what harm have I done? I shouldn’t

have come to take ‘em away, unless I was obliged, you may depend upon

that. I wanted to do it very quiet, but you wouldn’t let me. Now, you

have the goodness to abuse Satan and them, as much as you like, Sir,

and to let me alone if you please.’

So saying, Kit marched out of the chapel, followed by his mother and

little Jacob, and found himself in the open air, with an indistinct

recollection of having seen the people wake up and look surprised, and

of Quilp having remained, throughout the interruption, in his old

attitude, without moving his eyes from the ceiling, or appearing to

take the smallest notice of anything that passed.

‘Oh Kit!’ said his mother, with her handkerchief to her eyes, ‘what

have you done! I never can go there again--never!’

‘I’m glad of it, mother. What was there in the little bit of pleasure

you took last night that made it necessary for you to be low-spirited

and sorrowful tonight? That’s the way you do. If you’re happy or

merry ever, you come here to say, along with that chap, that you’re

sorry for it. More shame for you, mother, I was going to say.’

‘Hush, dear!’ said Mrs Nubbles; ‘you don’t mean what you say I know,

but you’re talking sinfulness.’

‘Don’t mean it? But I do mean it!’ retorted Kit. ‘I don’t believe,

mother, that harmless cheerfulness and good humour are thought greater

sins in Heaven than shirt-collars are, and I do believe that those

chaps are just about as right and sensible in putting down the one as

in leaving off the other--that’s my belief. But I won’t say anything

more about it, if you’ll promise not to cry, that’s all; and you take

the baby that’s a lighter weight, and give me little Jacob; and as we

go along (which we must do pretty quick) I’ll give you the news I

bring, which will surprise you a little, I can tell you. There--that’s

right. Now you look as if you’d never seen Little Bethel in all your

life, as I hope you never will again; and here’s the baby; and little

Jacob, you get atop of my back and catch hold of me tight round the

neck, and whenever a Little Bethel parson calls you a precious lamb or

says your brother’s one, you tell him it’s the truest things he’s said

for a twelvemonth, and that if he’d got a little more of the lamb

himself, and less of the mint-sauce--not being quite so sharp and sour

over it--I should like him all the better. That’s what you’ve got to

say to him, Jacob.’

Talking on in this way, half in jest and half in earnest, and cheering

up his mother, the children, and himself, by the one simple process of

determining to be in a good humour, Kit led them briskly forward; and

on the road home, he related what had passed at the Notary’s house, and

the purpose with which he had intruded on the solemnities of Little

Bethel.

His mother was not a little startled on learning what service was

required of her, and presently fell into a confusion of ideas, of which

the most prominent were that it was a great honour and dignity to ride

in a post-chaise, and that it was a moral impossibility to leave the

children behind. But this objection, and a great many others, founded

on certain articles of dress being at the wash, and certain other

articles having no existence in the wardrobe of Mrs Nubbles, were

overcome by Kit, who opposed to each and every of them, the pleasure of

recovering Nell, and the delight it would be to bring her back in

triumph.

‘There’s only ten minutes now, mother,’ said Kit when they reached

home. ‘There’s a bandbox. Throw in what you want, and we’ll be off

directly.’

To tell how Kit then hustled into the box all sorts of things which

could, by no remote contingency, be wanted, and how he left out

everything likely to be of the smallest use; how a neighbour was

persuaded to come and stop with the children, and how the children at

first cried dismally, and then laughed heartily on being promised all

kinds of impossible and unheard-of toys; how Kit’s mother wouldn’t

leave off kissing them, and how Kit couldn’t make up his mind to be

vexed with her for doing it; would take more time and room than you and

I can spare. So, passing over all such matters, it is sufficient to

say that within a few minutes after the two hours had expired, Kit and

his mother arrived at the Notary’s door, where a post-chaise was

already waiting.

‘With four horses I declare!’ said Kit, quite aghast at the

preparations. ‘Well you ARE going to do it, mother! Here she is, Sir.

Here’s my mother. She’s quite ready, sir.’

‘That’s well,’ returned the gentleman. ‘Now, don’t be in a flutter,

ma’am; you’ll be taken great care of. Where’s the box with the new

clothing and necessaries for them?’

‘Here it is,’ said the Notary. ‘In with it, Christopher.’

‘All right, Sir,’ replied Kit. ‘Quite ready now, sir.’

‘Then come along,’ said the single gentleman. And thereupon he gave

his arm to Kit’s mother, handed her into the carriage as politely as

you please, and took his seat beside her.

Up went the steps, bang went the door, round whirled the wheels, and

off they rattled, with Kit’s mother hanging out at one window waving a

damp pocket-handkerchief and screaming out a great many messages to

little Jacob and the baby, of which nobody heard a word.

Kit stood in the middle of the road, and looked after them with tears

in his eyes--not brought there by the departure he witnessed, but by

the return to which he looked forward. ‘They went away,’ he thought,

‘on foot with nobody to speak to them or say a kind word at parting,

and they’ll come back, drawn by four horses, with this rich gentleman

for their friend, and all their troubles over! She’ll forget that she

taught me to write--’

Whatever Kit thought about after this, took some time to think of, for

he stood gazing up the lines of shining lamps, long after the chaise

had disappeared, and did not return into the house until the Notary and

Mr Abel, who had themselves lingered outside till the sound of the

wheels was no longer distinguishable, had several times wondered what

could possibly detain him.