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IfullyexpectedtofindaConstableinthekitchen,waitingtotakemeup.
ButnotonlywastherenoConstablethere,butnodiscoveryhadyetbeenmadeoftherobbery.
Mrs.Joewasprodigiouslybusyingettingthehousereadyforthefestivitiesoftheday,andJoehadbeenputuponthekitchendoor—steptokeephimoutofthedust—pan—anarticleintowhichhisdestinyalwaysledhimsoonerorlater,whenmysisterwasvigorouslyreapingthefloorsofherestablishment.
“Andwherethedeuceha’youbeen?”wasMrs.Joe’sChristmassalutation,whenIandmyconscienceshowedourselves.
IsaidIhadbeendowntoheartheCarols.“Ah!well!”observedMrs.Joe.“Youmightha’doneworse.”Notadoubtofthat,Ithought.
“PerhapsifIwarn’tablacksmith’swife,and(what’sthesamething)aslavewithherapronneveroff,IshouldhavebeentoheartheCarols,”saidMrs.Joe.
“I’mratherpartialtoCarols,myself,andthat’sthebestofreasonsformyneverhearingany.”
Joe,whohadventuredintothekitchenaftermeasthedust—panhadretiredbeforeus,drewthebackofhishandacrosshisnosewithaconciliatoryairwhenMrs.Joedartedalookathim,and,whenhereyeswerewithdrawn,secretlycrossedhistwoforefingers,andexhibitedthemtome,asourtokenthatMrs.Joewasinacrosstemper.
Thiswassomuchhernormalstate,thatJoeandIwouldoften,forweekstogether,be,astoourfingers,likemonumentalCrusadersastotheirlegs.
Weweretohaveasuperbdinner,consistingofalegofpickledporkandgreens,andapairofroaststuffedfowls.
Ahandsomemince—piehadbeenmadeyesterdaymorning(whichaccountedforthemincemeatnotbeingmissed),andthepuddingwasalreadyontheboil.
Theseextensivearrangementsoccasionedustobecutoffunceremoniouslyinrespectofbreakfast;“forIan’t,”saidMrs.Joe,“Ian’ta—goingtohavenoformalcrammingandbustingandwashingupnow,withwhatI’vegotbeforeme,Ipromiseyou!”
So,wehadourslicesservedout,asifweweretwothousandtroopsonaforcedmarchinsteadofamanandboyathome;andwetookgulpsofmilkandwater,withapologeticcountenances,fromajugonthedresser.
Inthemeantime,Mrs.Joeputcleanwhitecurtainsup,andtackedanewflowered—flounceacrossthewidechimneytoreplacetheoldone,anduncoveredthelittlestateparlouracrossthepassage,whichwasneveruncoveredatanyothertime,butpassedtherestoftheyearinacoolhazeofsilverpaper,whichevenextendedtothefourlittlewhitecrockerypoodlesonthemantelshelf,eachwithablacknoseandabasketofflowersinhismouth,andeachthecounterpartoftheother.
Mrs.Joewasaverycleanhousekeeper,buthadanexquisiteartofmakinghercleanlinessmoreuncomfortableandunacceptablethandirtitself.
CleanlinessisnexttoGodliness,andsomepeopledothesamebytheirreligion.
Mysisterhavingsomuchtodo,wasgoingtochurchvicariously;thatistosay,JoeandIweregoing.
Inhisworkingclothes,Joewasawell—knitcharacteristic—lookingblacksmith;inhisholidayclothes,hewasmorelikeascarecrowingoodcircumstances,thananythingelse.
Nothingthatheworethen,fittedhimorseemedtobelongtohim;andeverythingthatheworethen,grazedhim.
Onthepresentfestiveoccasionheemergedfromhisroom,whentheblithebellsweregoing,thepictureofmisery,inafullsuitofSundaypenitentials.
Astome,IthinkmysistermusthavehadsomegeneralideathatIwasayoungoffenderwhomanAccoucheurPolicemenhadtakenup(onmybirthday)anddeliveredovertoher,tobedealtwithaccordingtotheoutragedmajestyofthelaw.
IwasalwaystreatedasifIhadinsistedonbeingborn,inoppositiontothedictatesofreason,religion,andmorality,andagainstthedissuadingargumentsofmybestfriends.
EvenwhenIwastakentohaveanewsuitofclothes,thetailorhadorderstomakethemlikeakindofReformatory,andonnoaccounttoletmehavethefreeuseofmylimbs.
JoeandIgoingtochurch,therefore,musthavebeenamovingspectacleforcompassionateminds.
Yet,whatIsufferedoutside,wasnothingtowhatIunderwentwithin.
TheterrorsthathadassailedmewheneverMrs.Joehadgonenearthepantry,oroutoftheroom,wereonlytobeequalledbytheremorsewithwhichmyminddweltonwhatmyhandshaddone.
Undertheweightofmywickedsecret,IponderedwhethertheChurchwouldbepowerfulenoughtoshieldmefromthevengeanceoftheterribleyoungman,ifIdivulgedtothatestablishment.
Iconceivedtheideathatthetimewhenthebannswerereadandwhentheclergymansaid,“Yearenowtodeclareit!”
wouldbethetimeformetoriseandproposeaprivateconferenceinthevestry.
IamfarfrombeingsurethatImightnothaveastonishedoursmallcongregationbyresortingtothisextrememeasure,butforitsbeingChristmasDayandnoSunday.
Mr.Wopsle,theclerkatchurch,wastodinewithus;andMr.HubblethewheelwrightandMrs.Hubble;andUnclePumblechook(Joe’suncle,butMrs.Joeappropriatedhim),whowasawell—to—docorn—chandlerinthenearesttown,anddrovehisownchaise—cart.Thedinnerhourwashalf—pastone.
WhenJoeandIgothome,wefoundthetablelaid,andMrs.Joedressed,andthedinnerdressing,andthefrontdoorunlocked(itneverwasatanyothertime)forthecompanytoenterby,andeverythingmostsplendid.Andstill,notawordoftherobbery.
Thetimecame,withoutbringingwithitanyrelieftomyfeelings,andthecompanycame.
Mr.Wopsle,unitedtoaRomannoseandalargeshiningbaldforehead,hadadeepvoicewhichhewasuncommonlyproudof;indeeditwasunderstoodamonghisacquaintancethatifyoucouldonlygivehimhishead,hewouldreadtheclergymanintofits;hehimselfconfessedthatiftheChurchwas“thrownopen,”meaningtocompetition,hewouldnotdespairofmakinghismarkinit.
TheChurchnotbeing“thrownopen,”hewas,asIhavesaid,ourclerk.
ButhepunishedtheAmenstremendously;andwhenhegaveoutthepsalm—alwaysgivingthewholeverse—helookedallroundthecongregationfirst,asmuchastosay,“Youhaveheardmyfriendoverhead;obligemewithyouropinionofthisstyle!”
Iopenedthedoortothecompany—makingbelievethatitwasahabitofourstoopenthatdoor—andIopeneditfirsttoMr.Wopsle,nexttoMr.andMrs.Hubble,andlastofalltoUnclePumblechook.
N.B.,Iwasnotallowedtocallhimuncle,undertheseverestpenalties.
“Mrs.Joe,”saidUnclePumblechook:alargehard—breathingmiddle—agedslowman,withamouthlikeafish,dullstaringeyes,andsandyhairstandinguprightonhishead,sothathelookedasifhehadjustbeenallbutchoked,andhadthatmomentcometo;“Ihavebroughtyou,asthecomplimentsoftheseason—Ihavebroughtyou,Mum,abottleofsherrywine—andIhavebroughtyou,Mum,abottleofportwine.”
EveryChristmasDayhepresentedhimself,asaprofoundnovelty,withexactlythesamewords,andcarryingthetwobottleslikedumb—bells.
EveryChristmasDay,Mrs.Joereplied,asshenowreplied,“Oh,Un—clePum—ble—chook!ThisISkind!”
EveryChristmasDay,heretorted,ashenowretorted,“It’snomorethanyourmerits.
Andnowareyouallbobbish,andhow’sSixpennorthofhalfpence?”meaningme.
Wedinedontheseoccasionsinthekitchen,andadjourned,forthenutsandorangesandapples,totheparlour;whichwasachangeverylikeJoe’schangefromhisworkingclothestohisSundaydress.
Mysisterwasuncommonlylivelyonthepresentoccasion,andindeedwasgenerallymoregraciousinthesocietyofMrs.Hubblethaninothercompany.
IrememberMrs.Hubbleasalittlecurlysharp—edgedpersoninsky—blue,whoheldaconventionallyjuvenileposition,becauseshehadmarriedMr.Hubble—Idon’tknowatwhatremoteperiod—whenshewasmuchyoungerthanhe.
IrememberMrHubbleasatoughhigh—shoulderedstoopingoldman,ofasawdustyfragrance,withhislegsextraordinarilywideapart:sothatinmyshortdaysIalwayssawsomemilesofopencountrybetweenthemwhenImethimcomingupthelane.
AmongthisgoodcompanyIshouldhavefeltmyself,evenifIhadn’trobbedthepantry,inafalseposition.
NotbecauseIwassqueezedinatanacuteangleofthetable—cloth,withthetableinmychest,andthePumblechookianelbowinmyeye,norbecauseIwasnotallowedtospeak(Ididn’twanttospeak),norbecauseIwasregaledwiththescalytipsofthedrumsticksofthefowls,andwiththoseobscurecornersofporkofwhichthepig,whenliving,hadhadtheleastreasontobevain.
No;Ishouldnothavemindedthat,iftheywouldonlyhaveleftmealone.Buttheywouldn’tleavemealone.
Theyseemedtothinktheopportunitylost,iftheyfailedtopointtheconversationatme,everynowandthen,andstickthepointintome.
ImighthavebeenanunfortunatelittlebullinaSpanisharena,Igotsosmartinglytouchedupbythesemoralgoads.
Itbeganthemomentwesatdowntodinner.
Mr.Wopslesaidgracewiththeatricaldeclamation—asitnowappearstome,somethinglikeareligiouscrossoftheGhostinHamletwithRichardtheThird—andendedwiththeveryproperaspirationthatwemightbetrulygrateful.
Uponwhichmysisterfixedmewithhereye,andsaid,inalowreproachfulvoice,“Doyouhearthat?Begrateful.”
“Especially,”saidMr.Pumblechook,“begrateful,boy,tothemwhichbroughtyouupbyhand.”
Mrs.Hubbleshookherhead,andcontemplatingmewithamournfulpresentimentthatIshouldcometonogood,asked,“Whyisitthattheyoungarenevergrateful?”
ThismoralmysteryseemedtoomuchforthecompanyuntilMr.Hubbleterselysolveditbysaying,“Naterallywicious.”Everybodythenmurmured“True!”
andlookedatmeinaparticularlyunpleasantandpersonalmanner.
Joe’sstationandinfluenceweresomethingfeebler(ifpossible)whentherewascompany,thanwhentherewasnone.
Buthealwaysaidedandcomfortedmewhenhecould,insomewayofhisown,andhealwaysdidsoatdinner—timebygivingmegravy,iftherewereany.
Therebeingplentyofgravyto—day,Joespoonedintomyplate,atthispoint,abouthalfapint.
Alittlelateroninthedinner,Mr.Wopslereviewedthesermonwithsomeseverity,andintimated—intheusualhypotheticalcaseoftheChurchbeing“thrownopen”—whatkindofsermonhewouldhavegiventhem.
Afterfavouringthemwithsomeheadsofthatdiscourse,heremarkedthatheconsideredthesubjectoftheday’shomily,ill—chosen;whichwasthelessexcusable,headded,whenthereweresomanysubjects“goingabout.”
“Trueagain,”saidUnclePumblechook.“You’vehitit,sir!
Plentyofsubjectsgoingabout,forthemthatknowhowtoputsaltupontheirtails.That’swhat’swanted.
Amanneedn’tgofartofindasubject,ifhe’sreadywithhissalt—box.”
Mr.Pumblechookadded,afterashortintervalofreflection,“LookatPorkalone.There’sasubject!Ifyouwantasubject,lookatPork!”
“True,sir.Manyamoralfortheyoung,”returnedMr.Wopsle;andIknewhewasgoingtolugmein,beforehesaidit;“mightbededucedfromthattext.”
(“Youlistentothis,”saidmysistertome,inasevereparenthesis.)
Joegavemesomemoregravy.
“Swine,”pursuedMr.Wopsle,inhisdeepestvoice,andpointinghisforkatmyblushes,asifhewerementioningmyChristianname;“Swinewerethecompanionsoftheprodigal.
ThegluttonyofSwineisputbeforeus,asanexampletotheyoung.”
(Ithoughtthisprettywellinhimwhohadbeenpraisinguptheporkforbeingsoplumpandjuicy.)
“Whatisdetestableinapig,ismoredetestableinaboy.”
“Orgirl,”suggestedMr.Hubble.
“Ofcourse,orgirl,Mr.Hubble,”assentedMr.Wopsle,ratherirritably,“butthereisnogirlpresent.”
“Besides,”saidMr.Pumblechook,turningsharponme,“thinkwhatyou’vegottobegratefulfor.Ifyou’dbeenbornaSqueaker——”
“Hewas,ifeverachildwas,”saidmysister,mostemphatically.
Joegavemesomemoregravy.
“Well,butImeanafour—footedSqueaker,”saidMr.Pumblechook.“Ifyouhadbeenbornsuch,wouldyouhavebeenherenow?Notyou——”
“Unlessinthatform,”saidMr.Wopsle,noddingtowardsthedish.
“ButIdon’tmeaninthatform,sir,”returnedMr.Pumblechook,whohadanobjectiontobeinginterrupted;“Imean,enjoyinghimselfwithhiseldersandbetters,andimprovinghimselfwiththeirconversation,androllinginthelapofluxury.Wouldhehavebeendoingthat?No,hewouldn’t.
Andwhatwouldhavebeenyourdestination?”turningonmeagain.
“Youwouldhavebeendisposedofforsomanyshillingsaccordingtothemarketpriceofthearticle,andDunstablethebutcherwouldhavecomeuptoyouasyoulayinyourstraw,andhewouldhavewhippedyouunderhisleftarm,andwithhisrighthewouldhavetuckeduphisfrocktogetapenknifefromoutofhiswaistcoat—pocket,andhewouldhaveshedyourbloodandhadyourlife.Nobringingupbyhandthen.
Notabitofit!”
Joeofferedmemoregravy,whichIwasafraidtotake.
“Hewasaworldoftroubletoyou,ma’am,”saidMrs.Hubble,commiseratingmysister.
“Trouble?”echoedmysister;“trouble?”
andthenenteredonafearfulcatalogueofalltheillnessesIhadbeenguiltyof,andalltheactsofsleeplessnessIhadcommitted,andallthehighplacesIhadtumbledfrom,andallthelowplacesIhadtumbledinto,andalltheinjuriesIhaddonemyself,andallthetimesshehadwishedmeinmygrave,andIhadcontumaciouslyrefusedtogothere.
IthinktheRomansmusthaveaggravatedoneanotherverymuch,withtheirnoses.
Perhaps,theybecametherestlesspeopletheywere,inconsequence.
Anyhow,Mr.Wopsle’sRomannosesoaggravatedme,duringtherecitalofmymisdemeanours,thatIshouldhavelikedtopullituntilhehowled.
But,allIhadendureduptothistime,wasnothingincomparisonwiththeawfulfeelingsthattookpossessionofmewhenthepausewasbrokenwhichensueduponmysister’srecital,andinwhichpauseeverybodyhadlookedatme(asIfeltpainfullyconscious)withindignationandabhorrence.
“Yet,”saidMr.Pumblechook,leadingthecompanygentlybacktothethemefromwhichtheyhadstrayed,“Pork—regardedasbiled—isrich,too;ain’tit?”
“Havealittlebrandy,uncle,”saidmysister.
OHeavens,ithadcomeatlast!Hewouldfinditwasweak,hewouldsayitwasweak,andIwaslost!Iheldtighttothelegofthetableunderthecloth,withbothhands,andawaitedmyfate.
Mysisterwentforthestonebottle,camebackwiththestonebottle,andpouredhisbrandyout:nooneelsetakingany.
Thewretchedmantrifledwithhisglass—tookitup,lookedatitthroughthelight,putitdown—prolongedmymisery.
Allthistime,Mrs.JoeandJoewerebrisklyclearingthetableforthepieandpudding.
Icouldn’tkeepmyeyesoffhim.Alwaysholdingtightbythelegofthetablewithmyhandsandfeet,Isawthemiserablecreaturefingerhisglassplayfully,takeitup,smile,throwhisheadback,anddrinkthebrandyoff.
Instantlyafterwards,thecompanywereseizedwithunspeakableconsternation,owingtohisspringingtohisfeet,turningroundseveraltimesinanappallingspasmodicwhooping—coughdance,andrushingoutatthedoor;hethenbecamevisiblethroughthewindow,violentlyplungingandexpectorating,makingthemosthideousfaces,andapparentlyoutofhismind.
Iheldontight,whileMrs.JoeandJoerantohim.
Ididn’tknowhowIhaddoneit,butIhadnodoubtIhadmurderedhimsomehow.
Inmydreadfulsituation,itwasareliefwhenhewasbroughtback,and,surveyingthecompanyallroundasiftheyhaddisagreedwithhim,sankdownintohischairwiththeonesignificantgasp,“Tar!”
Ihadfilledupthebottlefromthetar—waterjug.Iknewhewouldbeworseby—and—by.Imovedthetable,likeaMediumofthepresentday,bythevigourofmyunseenholduponit.
“Tar!”criedmysister,inamazement.“Why,howevercouldTarcomethere?”
But,UnclePumblechook,whowasomnipotentinthatkitchen,wouldn’theartheword,wouldn’thearofthesubject,imperiouslywaveditallawaywithhishand,andaskedforhotgin—and—water.
Mysister,whohadbeguntobealarminglymeditative,hadtoemployherselfactivelyingettingthegin,thehotwater,thesugar,andthelemon—peel,andmixingthem.
Forthetimebeingatleast,Iwassaved.
Istillheldontothelegofthetable,butclutcheditnowwiththefervourofgratitude.
Bydegrees,Ibecamecalmenoughtoreleasemygraspandpartakeofpudding.Mr.Pumblechookpartookofpudding.Allpartookofpudding.
Thecourseterminated,andMr.Pumblechookhadbeguntobeamunderthegenialinfluenceofgin—and—water.
IbegantothinkIshouldgetovertheday,whenmysistersaidtoJoe,“Cleanplates—cold.”
Iclutchedthelegofthetableagainimmediately,andpressedittomybosomasifithadbeenthecompanionofmyyouthandfriendofmysoul.
Iforesawwhatwascoming,andIfeltthatthistimeIreallywasgone.
“Youmusttaste,”saidmysister,addressingtheguestswithherbestgrace,“Youmusttaste,tofinishwith,suchadelightfulanddeliciouspresentofUnclePumblechook’s!”
Mustthey!Letthemnothopetotasteit!
“Youmustknow,”saidmysister,rising,“it’sapie;asavouryporkpie.”
Thecompanymurmuredtheircompliments.UnclePumblechook,sensibleofhavingdeservedwellofhisfellow—creatures,said—quitevivaciously,allthingsconsidered—“Well,Mrs.Joe,we’lldoourbestendeavours;letushaveacutatthissamepie.”
Mysisterwentouttogetit.Iheardherstepsproceedtothepantry.
IsawMr.Pumblechookbalancehisknife.
Isawre—awakeningappetiteintheRomannostrilsofMr.Wopsle.
IheardMr.Hubbleremarkthat“abitofsavouryporkpiewouldlayatopofanythingyoucouldmention,anddonoharm,”andIheardJoesay,“Youshallhavesome,Pip.”
IhaveneverbeenabsolutelycertainwhetherIutteredashrillyellofterror,merelyinspirit,orinthebodilyhearingofthecompany.
IfeltthatIcouldbearnomore,andthatImustrunaway.
Ireleasedthelegofthetable,andranformylife.
But,Irannofurtherthanthehousedoor,forthereIranheadforemostintoapartyofsoldierswiththeirmuskets:oneofwhomheldoutapairofhandcuffstome,saying,“Hereyouare,looksharp,comeon!”
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