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CHAPTER 22
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.
Content of CHAPTER 22 [Charles Dickens' novel: The Old Curiosity Shop]
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