CHAPTER II - The Second Quarter.

THE letter Toby had received from Alderman Cute, was addressed to a

great man in the great district of the town. The greatest district

of the town. It must have been the greatest district of the town,

because it was commonly called 'the world' by its inhabitants. The

letter positively seemed heavier in Toby's hand, than another

letter. Not because the Alderman had sealed it with a very large

coat of arms and no end of wax, but because of the weighty name on

the superscription, and the ponderous amount of gold and silver

with which it was associated.

'How different from us!' thought Toby, in all simplicity and

earnestness, as he looked at the direction. 'Divide the lively

turtles in the bills of mortality, by the number of gentlefolks

able to buy 'em; and whose share does he take but his own! As to

snatching tripe from anybody's mouth - he'd scorn it!'

With the involuntary homage due to such an exalted character, Toby

interposed a corner of his apron between the letter and his

fingers.

'His children,' said Trotty, and a mist rose before his eyes; 'his

daughters - Gentlemen may win their hearts and marry them; they may

be happy wives and mothers; they may be handsome like my darling M-

e-'.

He couldn't finish the name. The final letter swelled in his

throat, to the size of the whole alphabet.

'Never mind,' thought Trotty. 'I know what I mean. That's more

than enough for me.' And with this consolatory rumination, trotted

on.

It was a hard frost, that day. The air was bracing, crisp, and

clear. The wintry sun, though powerless for warmth, looked

brightly down upon the ice it was too weak to melt, and set a

radiant glory there. At other times, Trotty might have learned a

poor man's lesson from the wintry sun; but, he was past that, now.

The Year was Old, that day. The patient Year had lived through the

reproaches and misuses of its slanderers, and faithfully performed

its work. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. It had laboured through

the destined round, and now laid down its weary head to die. Shut

out from hope, high impulse, active happiness, itself, but active

messenger of many joys to others, it made appeal in its decline to

have its toiling days and patient hours remembered, and to die in

peace. Trotty might have read a poor man's allegory in the fading

year; but he was past that, now.

And only he? Or has the like appeal been ever made, by seventy

years at once upon an English labourer's head, and made in vain!

The streets were full of motion, and the shops were decked out

gaily. The New Year, like an Infant Heir to the whole world, was

waited for, with welcomes, presents, and rejoicings. There were

books and toys for the New Year, glittering trinkets for the New

Year, dresses for the New Year, schemes of fortune for the New

Year; new inventions to beguile it. Its life was parcelled out in

almanacks and pocket-books; the coming of its moons, and stars, and

tides, was known beforehand to the moment; all the workings of its

seasons in their days and nights, were calculated with as much

precision as Mr. Filer could work sums in men and women.

The New Year, the New Year. Everywhere the New Year! The Old Year

was already looked upon as dead; and its effects were selling

cheap, like some drowned mariner's aboardship. Its patterns were

Last Year's, and going at a sacrifice, before its breath was gone.

Its treasures were mere dirt, beside the riches of its unborn

successor!

Trotty had no portion, to his thinking, in the New Year or the Old.

'Put 'em down, Put 'em down! Facts and Figures, Facts and Figures!

Good old Times, Good old Times! Put 'em down, Put 'em down!' - his

trot went to that measure, and would fit itself to nothing else.

But, even that one, melancholy as it was, brought him, in due time,

to the end of his journey. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley,

Member of Parliament.

The door was opened by a Porter. Such a Porter! Not of Toby's

order. Quite another thing. His place was the ticket though; not

Toby's.

This Porter underwent some hard panting before he could speak;

having breathed himself by coming incautiously out of his chair,

without first taking time to think about it and compose his mind.

When he had found his voice - which it took him a long time to do,

for it was a long way off, and hidden under a load of meat - he

said in a fat whisper,

'Who's it from?'

Toby told him.

'You're to take it in, yourself,' said the Porter, pointing to a

room at the end of a long passage, opening from the hall.

'Everything goes straight in, on this day of the year. You're not

a bit too soon; for the carriage is at the door now, and they have

only come to town for a couple of hours, a' purpose.'

Toby wiped his feet (which were quite dry already) with great care,

and took the way pointed out to him; observing as he went that it

was an awfully grand house, but hushed and covered up, as if the

family were in the country. Knocking at the room-door, he was told

to enter from within; and doing so found himself in a spacious

library, where, at a table strewn with files and papers, were a

stately lady in a bonnet; and a not very stately gentleman in black

who wrote from her dictation; while another, and an older, and a

much statelier gentleman, whose hat and cane were on the table,

walked up and down, with one hand in his breast, and looked

complacently from time to time at his own picture - a full length;

a very full length - hanging over the fireplace.

'What is this?' said the last-named gentleman. 'Mr. Fish, will you

have the goodness to attend?'

Mr. Fish begged pardon, and taking the letter from Toby, handed it,

with great respect.

'From Alderman Cute, Sir Joseph.'

'Is this all? Have you nothing else, Porter?' inquired Sir Joseph.

Toby replied in the negative.

'You have no bill or demand upon me - my name is Bowley, Sir Joseph

Bowley - of any kind from anybody, have you?' said Sir Joseph. 'If

you have, present it. There is a cheque-book by the side of Mr.

Fish. I allow nothing to be carried into the New Year. Every

description of account is settled in this house at the close of the

old one. So that if death was to - to - '

'To cut,' suggested Mr. Fish.

'To sever, sir,' returned Sir Joseph, with great asperity, 'the

cord of existence - my affairs would be found, I hope, in a state

of preparation.'

'My dear Sir Joseph!' said the lady, who was greatly younger than

the gentleman. 'How shocking!'

'My lady Bowley,' returned Sir Joseph, floundering now and then, as

in the great depth of his observations, 'at this season of the year

we should think of - of - ourselves. We should look into our - our

accounts. We should feel that every return of so eventful a period

in human transactions, involves a matter of deep moment between a

man and his - and his banker.'

Sir Joseph delivered these words as if he felt the full morality of

what he was saying; and desired that even Trotty should have an

opportunity of being improved by such discourse. Possibly he had

this end before him in still forbearing to break the seal of the

letter, and in telling Trotty to wait where he was, a minute.

'You were desiring Mr. Fish to say, my lady - ' observed Sir

Joseph.

'Mr. Fish has said that, I believe,' returned his lady, glancing at

the letter. 'But, upon my word, Sir Joseph, I don't think I can

let it go after all. It is so very dear.'

'What is dear?' inquired Sir Joseph.

'That Charity, my love. They only allow two votes for a

subscription of five pounds. Really monstrous!'

'My lady Bowley,' returned Sir Joseph, 'you surprise me. Is the

luxury of feeling in proportion to the number of votes; or is it,

to a rightly constituted mind, in proportion to the number of

applicants, and the wholesome state of mind to which their

canvassing reduces them? Is there no excitement of the purest kind

in having two votes to dispose of among fifty people?'

'Not to me, I acknowledge,' replied the lady. 'It bores one.

Besides, one can't oblige one's acquaintance. But you are the Poor

Man's Friend, you know, Sir Joseph. You think otherwise.'

'I AM the Poor Man's Friend,' observed Sir Joseph, glancing at the

poor man present. 'As such I may be taunted. As such I have been

taunted. But I ask no other title.'

'Bless him for a noble gentleman!' thought Trotty.

'I don't agree with Cute here, for instance,' said Sir Joseph,

holding out the letter. 'I don't agree with the Filer party. I

don't agree with any party. My friend the Poor Man, has no

business with anything of that sort, and nothing of that sort has

any business with him. My friend the Poor Man, in my district, is

my business. No man or body of men has any right to interfere

between my friend and me. That is the ground I take. I assume a -

a paternal character towards my friend. I say, "My good fellow, I

will treat you paternally."'

Toby listened with great gravity, and began to feel more

comfortable.

'Your only business, my good fellow,' pursued Sir Joseph, looking

abstractedly at Toby; 'your only business in life is with me. You

needn't trouble yourself to think about anything. I will think for

you; I know what is good for you; I am your perpetual parent. Such

is the dispensation of an all-wise Providence! Now, the design of

your creation is - not that you should swill, and guzzle, and

associate your enjoyments, brutally, with food; Toby thought

remorsefully of the tripe; 'but that you should feel the Dignity of

Labour. Go forth erect into the cheerful morning air, and - and

stop there. Live hard and temperately, be respectful, exercise

your self-denial, bring up your family on next to nothing, pay your

rent as regularly as the clock strikes, be punctual in your

dealings (I set you a good example; you will find Mr. Fish, my

confidential secretary, with a cash-box before him at all times);

and you may trust to me to be your Friend and Father.'

'Nice children, indeed, Sir Joseph!' said the lady, with a shudder.

'Rheumatisms, and fevers, and crooked legs, and asthmas, and all

kinds of horrors!'

'My lady,' returned Sir Joseph, with solemnity, 'not the less am I

the Poor Man's Friend and Father. Not the less shall he receive

encouragement at my hands. Every quarter-day he will be put in

communication with Mr. Fish. Every New Year's Day, myself and

friends will drink his health. Once every year, myself and friends

will address him with the deepest feeling. Once in his life, he

may even perhaps receive; in public, in the presence of the gentry;

a Trifle from a Friend. And when, upheld no more by these

stimulants, and the Dignity of Labour, he sinks into his

comfortable grave, then, my lady' - here Sir Joseph blew his nose -

'I will be a Friend and a Father - on the same terms - to his

children.'

Toby was greatly moved.

'O! You have a thankful family, Sir Joseph!' cried his wife.

'My lady,' said Sir Joseph, quite majestically, 'Ingratitude is

known to be the sin of that class. I expect no other return.'

'Ah! Born bad!' thought Toby. 'Nothing melts us.'

'What man can do, I do,' pursued Sir Joseph. 'I do my duty as the

Poor Man's Friend and Father; and I endeavour to educate his mind,

by inculcating on all occasions the one great moral lesson which

that class requires. That is, entire Dependence on myself. They

have no business whatever with - with themselves. If wicked and

designing persons tell them otherwise, and they become impatient

and discontented, and are guilty of insubordinate conduct and

black-hearted ingratitude; which is undoubtedly the case; I am

their Friend and Father still. It is so Ordained. It is in the

nature of things.'

With that great sentiment, he opened the Alderman's letter; and

read it.

'Very polite and attentive, I am sure!' exclaimed Sir Joseph. 'My

lady, the Alderman is so obliging as to remind me that he has had

"the distinguished honour" - he is very good - of meeting me at the

house of our mutual friend Deedles, the banker; and he does me the

favour to inquire whether it will be agreeable to me to have Will

Fern put down.'

'MOST agreeable!' replied my Lady Bowley. 'The worst man among

them! He has been committing a robbery, I hope?'

'Why no,' said Sir Joseph', referring to the letter. 'Not quite.

Very near. Not quite. He came up to London, it seems, to look for

employment (trying to better himself - that's his story), and being

found at night asleep in a shed, was taken into custody, and

carried next morning before the Alderman. The Alderman observes

(very properly) that he is determined to put this sort of thing

down; and that if it will be agreeable to me to have Will Fern put

down, he will be happy to begin with him.'

'Let him be made an example of, by all means,' returned the lady.

'Last winter, when I introduced pinking and eyelet-holing among the

men and boys in the village, as a nice evening employment, and had

the lines,

O let us love our occupations,

Bless the squire and his relations,

Live upon our daily rations,

And always know our proper stations,

set to music on the new system, for them to sing the while; this

very Fern - I see him now - touched that hat of his, and said, "I

humbly ask your pardon, my lady, but AN'T I something different

from a great girl?" I expected it, of course; who can expect

anything but insolence and ingratitude from that class of people!

That is not to the purpose, however. Sir Joseph! Make an example

of him!'

'Hem!' coughed Sir Joseph. 'Mr. Fish, if you'll have the goodness

to attend - '

Mr. Fish immediately seized his pen, and wrote from Sir Joseph's

dictation.

'Private. My dear Sir. I am very much indebted to you for your

courtesy in the matter of the man William Fern, of whom, I regret

to add, I can say nothing favourable. I have uniformly considered

myself in the light of his Friend and Father, but have been repaid

(a common case, I grieve to say) with ingratitude, and constant

opposition to my plans. He is a turbulent and rebellious spirit.

His character will not bear investigation. Nothing will persuade

him to be happy when he might. Under these circumstances, it

appears to me, I own, that when he comes before you again (as you

informed me he promised to do to-morrow, pending your inquiries,

and I think he may be so far relied upon), his committal for some

short term as a Vagabond, would be a service to society, and would

be a salutary example in a country where - for the sake of those

who are, through good and evil report, the Friends and Fathers of

the Poor, as well as with a view to that, generally speaking,

misguided class themselves - examples are greatly needed. And I

am,' and so forth.

'It appears,' remarked Sir Joseph when he had signed this letter,

and Mr. Fish was sealing it, 'as if this were Ordained: really.

At the close of the year, I wind up my account and strike my

balance, even with William Fern!'

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

stepped forward with a rueful face to take the letter.

'With my compliments and thanks,' said Sir Joseph. 'Stop!'

'Stop!' echoed Mr. Fish.

'You have heard, perhaps,' said Sir Joseph, oracularly, 'certain

remarks into which I have been led respecting the solemn period of

time at which we have arrived, and the duty imposed upon us of

settling our affairs, and being prepared. You have observed that I

don't shelter myself behind my superior standing in society, but

that Mr. Fish - that gentleman - has a cheque-book at his elbow,

and is in fact here, to enable me to turn over a perfectly new

leaf, and enter on the epoch before us with a clean account. Now,

my friend, can you lay your hand upon your heart, and say, that you

also have made preparations for a New Year?'

'I am afraid, sir,' stammered Trotty, looking meekly at him, 'that

I am a - a - little behind-hand with the world.'

' Behind-hand with the world!' repeated Sir Joseph Bowley, in a

tone of terrible distinctness.

'I am afraid, sir,' faltered Trotty, 'that there's a matter of ten

or twelve shillings owing to Mrs. Chickenstalker.'

'To Mrs. Chickenstalker!' repeated Sir Joseph, in the same tone as

before.

'A shop, sir,' exclaimed Toby, 'in the general line. Also a - a

little money on account of rent. A very little, sir. It oughtn't

to be owing, I know, but we have been hard put to it, indeed!'

Sir Joseph looked at his lady, and at Mr. Fish, and at Trotty, one

after another, twice all round. He then made a despondent gesture

with both hands at once, as if he gave the thing up altogether.

'How a man, even among this improvident and impracticable race; an

old man; a man grown grey; can look a New Year in the face, with

his affairs in this condition; how he can lie down on his bed at

night, and get up again in the morning, and - There!' he said,

turning his back on Trotty. 'Take the letter. Take the letter!'

'I heartily wish it was otherwise, sir,' said Trotty, anxious to

excuse himself. 'We have been tried very hard.'

Sir Joseph still repeating 'Take the letter, take the letter!' and

Mr. Fish not only saying the same thing, but giving additional

force to the request by motioning the bearer to the door, he had

nothing for it but to make his bow and leave the house. And in the

street, poor Trotty pulled his worn old hat down on his head, to

hide the grief he felt at getting no hold on the New Year,

anywhere.

He didn't even lift his hat to look up at the Bell tower when he

came to the old church on his return. He halted there a moment,

from habit: and knew that it was growing dark, and that the

steeple rose above him, indistinct and faint, in the murky air. He

knew, too, that the Chimes would ring immediately; and that they

sounded to his fancy, at such a time, like voices in the clouds.

But he only made the more haste to deliver the Alderman's letter,

and get out of the way before they began; for he dreaded to hear

them tagging 'Friends and Fathers, Friends and Fathers,' to the

burden they had rung out last.

Toby discharged himself of his commission, therefore, with all

possible speed, and set off trotting homeward. But what with his

pace, which was at best an awkward one in the street; and what with

his hat, which didn't improve it; he trotted against somebody in

less than no time, and was sent staggering out into the road.

'I beg your pardon, I'm sure!' said Trotty, pulling up his hat in

great confusion, and between the hat and the torn lining, fixing

his head into a kind of bee-hive. 'I hope I haven't hurt you.'

As to hurting anybody, Toby was not such an absolute Samson, but

that he was much more likely to be hurt himself: and indeed, he

had flown out into the road, like a shuttlecock. He had such an

opinion of his own strength, however, that he was in real concern

for the other party: and said again,

'I hope I haven't hurt you?'

The man against whom he had run; a sun-browned, sinewy, country-

looking man, with grizzled hair, and a rough chin; stared at him

for a moment, as if he suspected him to be in jest. But, satisfied

of his good faith, he answered:

'No, friend. You have not hurt me.'

'Nor the child, I hope?' said Trotty.

'Nor the child,' returned the man. 'I thank you kindly.'

As he said so, he glanced at a little girl he carried in his arms,

asleep: and shading her face with the long end of the poor

handkerchief he wore about his throat, went slowly on.

The tone in which he said 'I thank you kindly,' penetrated Trotty's

heart. He was so jaded and foot-sore, and so soiled with travel,

and looked about him so forlorn and strange, that it was a comfort

to him to be able to thank any one: no matter for how little.

Toby stood gazing after him as he plodded wearily away, with the

child's arm clinging round his neck.

At the figure in the worn shoes - now the very shade and ghost of

shoes - rough leather leggings, common frock, and broad slouched

hat, Trotty stood gazing, blind to the whole street. And at the

child's arm, clinging round its neck.

Before he merged into the darkness the traveller stopped; and

looking round, and seeing Trotty standing there yet, seemed

undecided whether to return or go on. After doing first the one

and then the other, he came back, and Trotty went half-way to meet

him.

'You can tell me, perhaps,' said the man with a faint smile, 'and

if you can I am sure you will, and I'd rather ask you than another

- where Alderman Cute lives.'

'Close at hand,' replied Toby. 'I'll show you his house with

pleasure.'

'I was to have gone to him elsewhere to-morrow,' said the man,

accompanying Toby, 'but I'm uneasy under suspicion, and want to

clear myself, and to be free to go and seek my bread - I don't know

where. So, maybe he'll forgive my going to his house to-night.'

'It's impossible,' cried Toby with a start, 'that your name's

Fern!'

'Eh!' cried the other, turning on him in astonishment.

'Fern! Will Fern!' said Trotty.

'That's my name,' replied the other.

'Why then,' said Trotty, seizing him by the arm, and looking

cautiously round, 'for Heaven's sake don't go to him! Don't go to

him! He'll put you down as sure as ever you were born. Here! come

up this alley, and I'll tell you what I mean. Don't go to HIM.'

His new acquaintance looked as if he thought him mad; but he bore

him company nevertheless. When they were shrouded from

observation, Trotty told him what he knew, and what character he

had received, and all about it.

The subject of his history listened to it with a calmness that

surprised him. He did not contradict or interrupt it, once. He

nodded his head now and then - more in corroboration of an old and

worn-out story, it appeared, than in refutation of it; and once or

twice threw back his hat, and passed his freckled hand over a brow,

where every furrow he had ploughed seemed to have set its image in

little. But he did no more.

'It's true enough in the main,' he said, 'master, I could sift

grain from husk here and there, but let it be as 'tis. What odds?

I have gone against his plans; to my misfortun'. I can't help it;

I should do the like to-morrow. As to character, them gentlefolks

will search and search, and pry and pry, and have it as free from

spot or speck in us, afore they'll help us to a dry good word! -

Well! I hope they don't lose good opinion as easy as we do, or

their lives is strict indeed, and hardly worth the keeping. For

myself, master, I never took with that hand' - holding it before

him - 'what wasn't my own; and never held it back from work,

however hard, or poorly paid. Whoever can deny it, let him chop it

off! But when work won't maintain me like a human creetur; when my

living is so bad, that I am Hungry, out of doors and in; when I see

a whole working life begin that way, go on that way, and end that

way, without a chance or change; then I say to the gentlefolks

"Keep away from me! Let my cottage be. My doors is dark enough

without your darkening of 'em more. Don't look for me to come up

into the Park to help the show when there's a Birthday, or a fine

Speechmaking, or what not. Act your Plays and Games without me,

and be welcome to 'em, and enjoy 'em. We've nowt to do with one

another. I'm best let alone!"'

Seeing that the child in his arms had opened her eyes, and was

looking about her in wonder, he checked himself to say a word or

two of foolish prattle in her ear, and stand her on the ground

beside him. Then slowly winding one of her long tresses round and

round his rough forefinger like a ring, while she hung about his

dusty leg, he said to Trotty:

'I'm not a cross-grained man by natu', I believe; and easy

satisfied, I'm sure. I bear no ill-will against none of 'em. I

only want to live like one of the Almighty's creeturs. I can't - I

don't - and so there's a pit dug between me, and them that can and

do. There's others like me. You might tell 'em off by hundreds

and by thousands, sooner than by ones.'

Trotty knew he spoke the Truth in this, and shook his head to

signify as much.

'I've got a bad name this way,' said Fern; 'and I'm not likely, I'm

afeared, to get a better. 'Tan't lawful to be out of sorts, and I

AM out of sorts, though God knows I'd sooner bear a cheerful spirit

if I could. Well! I don't know as this Alderman could hurt ME

much by sending me to jail; but without a friend to speak a word

for me, he might do it; and you see - !' pointing downward with his

finger, at the child.

'She has a beautiful face,' said Trotty.

'Why yes!' replied the other in a low voice, as he gently turned it

up with both his hands towards his own, and looked upon it

steadfastly. 'I've thought so, many times. I've thought so, when

my hearth was very cold, and cupboard very bare. I thought so

t'other night, when we were taken like two thieves. But they -

they shouldn't try the little face too often, should they, Lilian?

That's hardly fair upon a man!'

He sunk his voice so low, and gazed upon her with an air so stern

and strange, that Toby, to divert the current of his thoughts,

inquired if his wife were living.

'I never had one,' he returned, shaking his head. 'She's my

brother's child: a orphan. Nine year old, though you'd hardly

think it; but she's tired and worn out now. They'd have taken care

on her, the Union - eight-and-twenty mile away from where we live -

between four walls (as they took care of my old father when he

couldn't work no more, though he didn't trouble 'em long); but I

took her instead, and she's lived with me ever since. Her mother

had a friend once, in London here. We are trying to find her, and

to find work too; but it's a large place. Never mind. More room

for us to walk about in, Lilly!'

Meeting the child's eyes with a smile which melted Toby more than

tears, he shook him by the hand.

'I don't so much as know your name,' he said, 'but I've opened my

heart free to you, for I'm thankful to you; with good reason. I'll

take your advice, and keep clear of this - '

'Justice,' suggested Toby.

'Ah!' he said. 'If that's the name they give him. This Justice.

And to-morrow will try whether there's better fortun' to be met

with, somewheres near London. Good night. A Happy New Year!'

'Stay!' cried Trotty, catching at his hand, as he relaxed his grip.

'Stay! The New Year never can be happy to me, if we part like

this. The New Year never can be happy to me, if I see the child

and you go wandering away, you don't know where, without a shelter

for your heads. Come home with me! I'm a poor man, living in a

poor place; but I can give you lodging for one night and never miss

it. Come home with me! Here! I'll take her!' cried Trotty,

lifting up the child. 'A pretty one! I'd carry twenty times her

weight, and never know I'd got it. Tell me if I go too quick for

you. I'm very fast. I always was!' Trotty said this, taking

about six of his trotting paces to one stride of his fatigued

companion; and with his thin legs quivering again, beneath the load

he bore.

'Why, she's as light,' said Trotty, trotting in his speech as well

as in his gait; for he couldn't bear to be thanked, and dreaded a

moment's pause; 'as light as a feather. Lighter than a Peacock's

feather - a great deal lighter. Here we are and here we go! Round

this first turning to the right, Uncle Will, and past the pump, and

sharp off up the passage to the left, right opposite the public-

house. Here we are and here we go! Cross over, Uncle Will, and

mind the kidney pieman at the corner! Here we are and here we go!

Down the Mews here, Uncle Will, and stop at the black door, with

"T. Veck, Ticket Porter," wrote upon a board; and here we are and

here we go, and here we are indeed, my precious. Meg, surprising

you!'

With which words Trotty, in a breathless state, set the child down

before his daughter in the middle of the floor. The little visitor

looked once at Meg; and doubting nothing in that face, but trusting

everything she saw there; ran into her arms.

'Here we are and here we go!' cried Trotty, running round the room,

and choking audibly. 'Here, Uncle Will, here's a fire you know!

Why don't you come to the fire? Oh here we are and here we go!

Meg, my precious darling, where's the kettle? Here it is and here

it goes, and it'll bile in no time!'

Trotty really had picked up the kettle somewhere or other in the

course of his wild career and now put it on the fire: while Meg,

seating the child in a warm corner, knelt down on the ground before

her, and pulled off her shoes, and dried her wet feet on a cloth.

Ay, and she laughed at Trotty too - so pleasantly, so cheerfully,

that Trotty could have blessed her where she kneeled; for he had

seen that, when they entered, she was sitting by the fire in tears.

'Why, father!' said Meg. 'You're crazy to-night, I think. I don't

know what the Bells would say to that. Poor little feet. How cold

they are!'

'Oh, they're warmer now!' exclaimed the child. 'They're quite warm

now!'

'No, no, no,' said Meg. 'We haven't rubbed 'em half enough. We're

so busy. So busy! And when they're done, we'll brush out the damp

hair; and when that's done, we'll bring some colour to the poor

pale face with fresh water; and when that's done, we'll be so gay,

and brisk, and happy - !'

The child, in a burst of sobbing, clasped her round the neck;

caressed her fair cheek with its hand; and said, 'Oh Meg! oh dear

Meg!'

Toby's blessing could have done no more. Who could do more!

'Why, father!' cried Meg, after a pause.

'Here I am and here I go, my dear!' said Trotty.

'Good Gracious me!' cried Meg. 'He's crazy! He's put the dear

child's bonnet on the kettle, and hung the lid behind the door!'

'I didn't go for to do it, my love,' said Trotty, hastily repairing

this mistake. 'Meg, my dear?'

Meg looked towards him and saw that he had elaborately stationed

himself behind the chair of their male visitor, where with many

mysterious gestures he was holding up the sixpence he had earned.

'I see, my dear,' said Trotty, 'as I was coming in, half an ounce

of tea lying somewhere on the stairs; and I'm pretty sure there was

a bit of bacon too. As I don't remember where it was exactly, I'll

go myself and try to find 'em.'

With this inscrutable artifice, Toby withdrew to purchase the

viands he had spoken of, for ready money, at Mrs. Chickenstalker's;

and presently came back, pretending he had not been able to find

them, at first, in the dark.

'But here they are at last,' said Trotty, setting out the tea-

things, 'all correct! I was pretty sure it was tea, and a rasher.

So it is. Meg, my pet, if you'll just make the tea, while your

unworthy father toasts the bacon, we shall be ready, immediate.

It's a curious circumstance,' said Trotty, proceeding in his

cookery, with the assistance of the toasting-fork, 'curious, but

well known to my friends, that I never care, myself, for rashers,

nor for tea. I like to see other people enjoy 'em,' said Trotty,

speaking very loud, to impress the fact upon his guest, 'but to me,

as food, they're disagreeable.'

Yet Trotty sniffed the savour of the hissing bacon - ah! - as if he

liked it; and when he poured the boiling water in the tea-pot,

looked lovingly down into the depths of that snug cauldron, and

suffered the fragrant steam to curl about his nose, and wreathe his

head and face in a thick cloud. However, for all this, he neither

ate nor drank, except at the very beginning, a mere morsel for

form's sake, which he appeared to eat with infinite relish, but

declared was perfectly uninteresting to him.

No. Trotty's occupation was, to see Will Fern and Lilian eat and

drink; and so was Meg's. And never did spectators at a city dinner

or court banquet find such high delight in seeing others feast:

although it were a monarch or a pope: as those two did, in looking

on that night. Meg smiled at Trotty, Trotty laughed at Meg. Meg

shook her head, and made belief to clap her hands, applauding

Trotty; Trotty conveyed, in dumb-show, unintelligible narratives of

how and when and where he had found their visitors, to Meg; and

they were happy. Very happy.

'Although,' thought Trotty, sorrowfully, as he watched Meg's face;

'that match is broken off, I see!'

'Now, I'll tell you what,' said Trotty after tea. 'The little one,

she sleeps with Meg, I know.'

'With good Meg!' cried the child, caressing her. 'With Meg.'

'That's right,' said Trotty. 'And I shouldn't wonder if she kiss

Meg's father, won't she? I'M Meg's father.'

Mightily delighted Trotty was, when the child went timidly towards

him, and having kissed him, fell back upon Meg again.

'She's as sensible as Solomon,' said Trotty. 'Here we come and

here we - no, we don't - I don't mean that - I - what was I saying,

Meg, my precious?'

Meg looked towards their guest, who leaned upon her chair, and with

his face turned from her, fondled the child's head, half hidden in

her lap.

'To be sure,' said Toby. 'To be sure! I don't know what I'm

rambling on about, to-night. My wits are wool-gathering, I think.

Will Fern, you come along with me. You're tired to death, and

broken down for want of rest. You come along with me.' The man

still played with the child's curls, still leaned upon Meg's chair,

still turned away his face. He didn't speak, but in his rough

coarse fingers, clenching and expanding in the fair hair of the

child, there was an eloquence that said enough.

'Yes, yes,' said Trotty, answering unconsciously what he saw

expressed in his daughter's face. 'Take her with you, Meg. Get

her to bed. There! Now, Will, I'll show you where you lie. It's

not much of a place: only a loft; but, having a loft, I always

say, is one of the great conveniences of living in a mews; and till

this coach-house and stable gets a better let, we live here cheap.

There's plenty of sweet hay up there, belonging to a neighbour; and

it's as clean as hands, and Meg, can make it. Cheer up! Don't

give way. A new heart for a New Year, always!'

The hand released from the child's hair, had fallen, trembling,

into Trotty's hand. So Trotty, talking without intermission, led

him out as tenderly and easily as if he had been a child himself.

Returning before Meg, he listened for an instant at the door of her

little chamber; an adjoining room. The child was murmuring a

simple Prayer before lying down to sleep; and when she had

remembered Meg's name, 'Dearly, Dearly' - so her words ran - Trotty

heard her stop and ask for his.

It was some short time before the foolish little old fellow could

compose himself to mend the fire, and draw his chair to the warm

hearth. But, when he had done so, and had trimmed the light, he

took his newspaper from his pocket, and began to read. Carelessly

at first, and skimming up and down the columns; but with an earnest

and a sad attention, very soon.

For this same dreaded paper re-directed Trotty's thoughts into the

channel they had taken all that day, and which the day's events had

so marked out and shaped. His interest in the two wanderers had

set him on another course of thinking, and a happier one, for the

time; but being alone again, and reading of the crimes and

violences of the people, he relapsed into his former train.

In this mood, he came to an account (and it was not the first he

had ever read) of a woman who had laid her desperate hands not only

on her own life but on that of her young child. A crime so

terrible, and so revolting to his soul, dilated with the love of

Meg, that he let the journal drop, and fell back in his chair,

appalled!

'Unnatural and cruel!' Toby cried. 'Unnatural and cruel! None but

people who were bad at heart, born bad, who had no business on the

earth, could do such deeds. It's too true, all I've heard to-day;

too just, too full of proof. We're Bad!'

The Chimes took up the words so suddenly - burst out so loud, and

clear, and sonorous - that the Bells seemed to strike him in his

chair.

And what was that, they said?

'Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck,

waiting for you Toby! Come and see us, come and see us, Drag him

to us, drag him to us, Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt him,

Break his slumbers, break his slumbers! Toby Veck Toby Veck, door

open wide Toby, Toby Veck Toby Veck, door open wide Toby - ' then

fiercely back to their impetuous strain again, and ringing in the

very bricks and plaster on the walls.

Toby listened. Fancy, fancy! His remorse for having run away from

them that afternoon! No, no. Nothing of the kind. Again, again,

and yet a dozen times again. 'Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt

him, Drag him to us, drag him to us!' Deafening the whole town!

'Meg,' said Trotty softly: tapping at her door. 'Do you hear

anything?'

'I hear the Bells, father. Surely they're very loud to-night.'

'Is she asleep?' said Toby, making an excuse for peeping in.

'So peacefully and happily! I can't leave her yet though, father.

Look how she holds my hand!'

'Meg,' whispered Trotty. 'Listen to the Bells!'

She listened, with her face towards him all the time. But it

underwent no change. She didn't understand them.

Trotty withdrew, resumed his seat by the fire, and once more

listened by himself. He remained here a little time.

It was impossible to bear it; their energy was dreadful.

'If the tower-door is really open,' said Toby, hastily laying aside

his apron, but never thinking of his hat, 'what's to hinder me from

going up into the steeple and satisfying myself? If it's shut, I

don't want any other satisfaction. That's enough.'

He was pretty certain as he slipped out quietly into the street

that he should find it shut and locked, for he knew the door well,

and had so rarely seen it open, that he couldn't reckon above three

times in all. It was a low arched portal, outside the church, in a

dark nook behind a column; and had such great iron hinges, and such

a monstrous lock, that there was more hinge and lock than door.

But what was his astonishment when, coming bare-headed to the

church; and putting his hand into this dark nook, with a certain

misgiving that it might be unexpectedly seized, and a shivering

propensity to draw it back again; he found that the door, which

opened outwards, actually stood ajar!

He thought, on the first surprise, of going back; or of getting a

light, or a companion, but his courage aided him immediately, and

he determined to ascend alone.

'What have I to fear?' said Trotty. 'It's a church! Besides, the

ringers may be there, and have forgotten to shut the door.' So he

went in, feeling his way as he went, like a blind man; for it was

very dark. And very quiet, for the Chimes were silent.

The dust from the street had blown into the recess; and lying

there, heaped up, made it so soft and velvet-like to the foot, that

there was something startling, even in that. The narrow stair was

so close to the door, too, that he stumbled at the very first; and

shutting the door upon himself, by striking it with his foot, and

causing it to rebound back heavily, he couldn't open it again.

This was another reason, however, for going on. Trotty groped his

way, and went on. Up, up, up, and round, and round; and up, up,

up; higher, higher, higher up!

It was a disagreeable staircase for that groping work; so low and

narrow, that his groping hand was always touching something; and it

often felt so like a man or ghostly figure standing up erect and

making room for him to pass without discovery, that he would rub

the smooth wall upward searching for its face, and downward

searching for its feet, while a chill tingling crept all over him.

Twice or thrice, a door or niche broke the monotonous surface; and

then it seemed a gap as wide as the whole church; and he felt on

the brink of an abyss, and going to tumble headlong down, until he

found the wall again.

Still up, up, up; and round and round; and up, up, up; higher,

higher, higher up!

At length, the dull and stifling atmosphere began to freshen:

presently to feel quite windy: presently it blew so strong, that

he could hardly keep his legs. But, he got to an arched window in

the tower, breast high, and holding tight, looked down upon the

house-tops, on the smoking chimneys, on the blur and blotch of

lights (towards the place where Meg was wondering where he was and

calling to him perhaps), all kneaded up together in a leaven of

mist and darkness.

This was the belfry, where the ringers came. He had caught hold of

one of the frayed ropes which hung down through apertures in the

oaken roof. At first he started, thinking it was hair; then

trembled at the very thought of waking the deep Bell. The Bells

themselves were higher. Higher, Trotty, in his fascination, or in

working out the spell upon him, groped his way. By ladders now,

and toilsomely, for it was steep, and not too certain holding for

the feet.

Up, up, up; and climb and clamber; up, up, up; higher, higher,

higher up!

Until, ascending through the floor, and pausing with his head just

raised above its beams, he came among the Bells. It was barely

possible to make out their great shapes in the gloom; but there

they were. Shadowy, and dark, and dumb.

A heavy sense of dread and loneliness fell instantly upon him, as

he climbed into this airy nest of stone and metal. His head went

round and round. He listened, and then raised a wild 'Holloa!'

Holloa! was mournfully protracted by the echoes.

Giddy, confused, and out of breath, and frightened, Toby looked

about him vacantly, and sunk down in a swoon.

Read next: CHAPTER III - Third Quarter.

Read previous: CHAPTER I - First Quarter.

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