Kabanata Kabanata 22 · 第22章

The remainder of that day and the whole of the next were a busy time

for the Nubbles family, to whom everything connected with Kit’s outfit

and departure was matter of as great moment as if he had been about to

penetrate into the interior of Africa, or to take a cruise round the

world. It would be difficult to suppose that there ever was a box

which was opened and shut so many times within four-and-twenty hours,

as that which contained his wardrobe and necessaries; and certainly

there never was one which to two small eyes presented such a mine of

clothing, as this mighty chest with its three shirts and proportionate

allowance of stockings and pocket-handkerchiefs, disclosed to the

astonished vision of little Jacob. At last it was conveyed to the

carrier’s, at whose house at Finchley Kit was to find it next day; and

the box being gone, there remained but two questions for consideration:

firstly, whether the carrier would lose, or dishonestly feign to lose,

the box upon the road; secondly, whether Kit’s mother perfectly

understood how to take care of herself in the absence of her son.

‘I don’t think there’s hardly a chance of his really losing it, but

carriers are under great temptation to pretend they lose things, no

doubt,’ said Mrs Nubbles apprehensively, in reference to the first

point.

‘No doubt about it,’ returned Kit, with a serious look; ‘upon my word,

mother, I don’t think it was right to trust it to itself. Somebody

ought to have gone with it, I’m afraid.’

‘We can’t help it now,’ said his mother; ‘but it was foolish and wrong.

People oughtn’t to be tempted.’

Kit inwardly resolved that he would never tempt a carrier any more,

save with an empty box; and having formed this Christian determination,

he turned his thoughts to the second question.

‘_You_ know you must keep up your spirits, mother, and not be lonesome

because I’m not at home. I shall very often be able to look in when I

come into town I dare say, and I shall send you a letter sometimes, and

when the quarter comes round, I can get a holiday of course; and then

see if we don’t take little Jacob to the play, and let him know what

oysters means.’

‘I hope plays mayn’t be sinful, Kit, but I’m a’most afraid,’ said Mrs

Nubbles.

‘I know who has been putting that in your head,’ rejoined her son

disconsolately; ‘that’s Little Bethel again. Now I say, mother, pray

don’t take to going there regularly, for if I was to see your

good-humoured face that has always made home cheerful, turned into a

grievous one, and the baby trained to look grievous too, and to call

itself a young sinner (bless its heart) and a child of the devil (which

is calling its dead father names); if I was to see this, and see little

Jacob looking grievous likewise, I should so take it to heart that I’m

sure I should go and list for a soldier, and run my head on purpose

against the first cannon-ball I saw coming my way.’

‘Oh, Kit, don’t talk like that.’

‘I would, indeed, mother, and unless you want to make me feel very

wretched and uncomfortable, you’ll keep that bow on your bonnet, which

you’d more than half a mind to pull off last week. Can you suppose

there’s any harm in looking as cheerful and being as cheerful as our

poor circumstances will permit? Do I see anything in the way I’m made,

which calls upon me to be a snivelling, solemn, whispering chap,

sneaking about as if I couldn’t help it, and expressing myself in a

most unpleasant snuffle? on the contrary, don’t I see every reason why

I shouldn’t? just hear this! Ha ha ha! An’t that as nat’ral as

walking, and as good for the health? Ha ha ha! An’t that as nat’ral

as a sheep’s bleating, or a pig’s grunting, or a horse’s neighing, or a

bird’s singing? Ha ha ha! Isn’t it, mother?’

There was something contagious in Kit’s laugh, for his mother, who had

looked grave before, first subsided into a smile, and then fell to

joining in it heartily, which occasioned Kit to say that he knew it was

natural, and to laugh the more. Kit and his mother, laughing together

in a pretty loud key, woke the baby, who, finding that there was

something very jovial and agreeable in progress, was no sooner in its

mother’s arms than it began to kick and laugh, most vigorously. This

new illustration of his argument so tickled Kit, that he fell backward

in his chair in a state of exhaustion, pointing at the baby and shaking

his sides till he rocked again. After recovering twice or thrice, and

as often relapsing, he wiped his eyes and said grace; and a very

cheerful meal their scanty supper was.

With more kisses, and hugs, and tears, than many young gentlemen who

start upon their travels, and leave well-stocked homes behind them,

would deem within the bounds of probability (if matter so low could be

herein set down), Kit left the house at an early hour next morning, and

set out to walk to Finchley; feeling a sufficient pride in his

appearance to have warranted his excommunication from Little Bethel

from that time forth, if he had ever been one of that mournful

congregation.

Lest anybody should feel a curiosity to know how Kit was clad, it may

be briefly remarked that he wore no livery, but was dressed in a coat

of pepper-and-salt with waistcoat of canary colour, and nether garments

of iron-grey; besides these glories, he shone in the lustre of a new

pair of boots and an extremely stiff and shiny hat, which on being

struck anywhere with the knuckles, sounded like a drum. And in this

attire, rather wondering that he attracted so little attention, and

attributing the circumstance to the insensibility of those who got up

early, he made his way towards Abel Cottage.

Without encountering any more remarkable adventure on the road, than

meeting a lad in a brimless hat, the exact counterpart of his old one,

on whom he bestowed half the sixpence he possessed, Kit arrived in

course of time at the carrier’s house, where, to the lasting honour of

human nature, he found the box in safety. Receiving from the wife of

this immaculate man, a direction to Mr Garland’s, he took the box upon

his shoulder and repaired thither directly.

To be sure, it was a beautiful little cottage with a thatched roof and

little spires at the gable-ends, and pieces of stained glass in some of

the windows, almost as large as pocket-books. On one side of the house

was a little stable, just the size for the pony, with a little room

over it, just the size for Kit. White curtains were fluttering, and

birds in cages that looked as bright as if they were made of gold, were

singing at the windows; plants were arranged on either side of the

path, and clustered about the door; and the garden was bright with

flowers in full bloom, which shed a sweet odour all round, and had a

charming and elegant appearance. Everything within the house and

without, seemed to be the perfection of neatness and order. In the

garden there was not a weed to be seen, and to judge from some dapper

gardening-tools, a basket, and a pair of gloves which were lying in one

of the walks, old Mr Garland had been at work in it that very morning.

Kit looked about him, and admired, and looked again, and this a great

many times before he could make up his mind to turn his head another

way and ring the bell. There was abundance of time to look about him

again though, when he had rung it, for nobody came, so after ringing it

twice or thrice he sat down upon his box, and waited.

He rang the bell a great many times, and yet nobody came. But at last,

as he was sitting upon the box thinking about giants’ castles, and

princesses tied up to pegs by the hair of their heads, and dragons

bursting out from behind gates, and other incidents of the like nature,

common in story-books to youths of low degree on their first visit to

strange houses, the door was gently opened, and a little servant-girl,

very tidy, modest, and demure, but very pretty too, appeared.

‘I suppose you’re Christopher, sir,’ said the servant-girl.

Kit got off the box, and said yes, he was.

‘I’m afraid you’ve rung a good many times perhaps,’ she rejoined, ‘but

we couldn’t hear you, because we’ve been catching the pony.’

Kit rather wondered what this meant, but as he couldn’t stop there,

asking questions, he shouldered the box again and followed the girl

into the hall, where through a back-door he descried Mr Garland leading

Whisker in triumph up the garden, after that self-willed pony had (as

he afterwards learned) dodged the family round a small paddock in the

rear, for one hour and three quarters.

The old gentleman received him very kindly and so did the old lady,

whose previous good opinion of him was greatly enhanced by his wiping

his boots on the mat until the soles of his feet burnt again. He was

then taken into the parlour to be inspected in his new clothes; and

when he had been surveyed several times, and had afforded by his

appearance unlimited satisfaction, he was taken into the stable (where

the pony received him with uncommon complaisance); and thence into the

little chamber he had already observed, which was very clean and

comfortable: and thence into the garden, in which the old gentleman

told him he would be taught to employ himself, and where he told him,

besides, what great things he meant to do to make him comfortable, and

happy, if he found he deserved it. All these kindnesses, Kit

acknowledged with various expressions of gratitude, and so many touches

of the new hat, that the brim suffered considerably. When the old

gentleman had said all he had to say in the way of promise and advice,

and Kit had said all he had to say in the way of assurance and

thankfulness, he was handed over again to the old lady, who, summoning

the little servant-girl (whose name was Barbara) instructed her to take

him down stairs and give him something to eat and drink, after his walk.

Down stairs, therefore, Kit went; and at the bottom of the stairs there

was such a kitchen as was never before seen or heard of out of a

toy-shop window, with everything in it as bright and glowing, and as

precisely ordered too, as Barbara herself. And in this kitchen, Kit

sat himself down at a table as white as a tablecloth, to eat cold meat,

and drink small ale, and use his knife and fork the more awkwardly,

because there was an unknown Barbara looking on and observing him.

It did not appear, however, that there was anything remarkably

tremendous about this strange Barbara, who having lived a very quiet

life, blushed very much and was quite as embarrassed and uncertain what

she ought to say or do, as Kit could possibly be. When he had sat for

some little time, attentive to the ticking of the sober clock, he

ventured to glance curiously at the dresser, and there, among the

plates and dishes, were Barbara’s little work-box with a sliding lid to

shut in the balls of cotton, and Barbara’s prayer-book, and Barbara’s

hymn-book, and Barbara’s Bible. Barbara’s little looking-glass hung in

a good light near the window, and Barbara’s bonnet was on a nail behind

the door. From all these mute signs and tokens of her presence, he

naturally glanced at Barbara herself, who sat as mute as they, shelling

peas into a dish; and just when Kit was looking at her eyelashes and

wondering--quite in the simplicity of his heart--what colour her eyes

might be, it perversely happened that Barbara raised her head a little

to look at him, when both pair of eyes were hastily withdrawn, and Kit

leant over his plate, and Barbara over her pea-shells, each in extreme

confusion at having been detected by the other.