Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

JOHN HALIFAX GENTLEMAN.

66

CHAPTER 1.

"GET out o' Mr Fletcher's road, ye idle, lounging little—” Vagabond," I think the woman (Sally Watkins, once my nurse) was going to say, but she changed her mind.

My father and I both glanced around, surprised at her unusual reticence of epithets; but when the lad addressed turned, fixed his eyes on each of us for a moment, and made way for us, we ceased wonder. Ragged, muddy, and miserable as he appeared, the poor boy looked anything but a vagabond."

66

"Thee need not go out into the wet, my lad. Keep close to the wall, and there will be shelter enough both for us and thee," said my father, as he pulled my little hand-carriage, into the alley, under cover, from the pelting rain. The lad with a grateful look, put out a hand likewise, and pushed me farther in. A strong hand it was-roughened and browned with labor-though he was scarcely as old as I. What would I not have given to have been so stalwart and so tall!

Sally called from her house door, "Wouldn't Master Phineas come in and sit by the fire a bit?" But it was always a trouble to me to move or walk, and I liked staying at the mouth of the alley, watching the autumnal shower come sweeping down the street; besides, I wanted to look again at the stranger lad.

He had scarcely stirred, but remained leaning against the wall, either through weariness or in order to be out of our way. He took little or no notice of us, but remained with his eyes fixed upon the pavement--for we actually boasted pavement in the High Street of our town of Norton Bury—watching the

eddying rain-drops, which, each as it fell, threw up a little raist of spray. It was a serious, haggard face for a boy of nly fourteen or so. Let me call it up before me: I can asily, even after more than fifty years.

Brown eyes, deep-sunken, with strongly-marked brows, a lose like most other Saxon noses, nothing particular; lips well-shaped, lying one upon the other firm and close; a square, sharply-outlined, resolute chin, of that type which gives character and determination to the whole physiognomy, and without which, in the fairest features, as in the best dispositions, one is always conscious of a certain want.

As I have stated, in person the lad was tall and strongly built; and I, poor puny wretch ! so revered physical strength. Everything in him seemed to indicate that which I had not; his muscular limbs, his square, broad shoulders, his healthy cheek, though it was sharp and thin-even to his crisp curls of bright thick hair.

Thus he stood, principal figure in a picture which is even yet as clear to me as yesterday-the narrow, dirty, alley leading out of the High Street yet showing a glimmer of green field at the farther end; the open house doors on either side, through which came the drowsy burr of many a stocking-loom, the prattle of children paddling in the gutter, and sailing thereon a fleet of potato-parings. In front, the High Street with the mayor's house opposite, porticoed and grand; and beyond, just where the rain-clouds were breaking, rose up out of a nest of trees the square tower of our ancient abbey, -Norton Bury's boast and pride. On it there came a sudden stream of light: I saw the stranger lad lift up his head and look at it.

"The rain will be over soon," I said, but doubted if he heard me. What could he be thinking of so intently? a poor working lad, whom few would have given credit for thinking at all.

I do not suppose my father gave a second glance or thought to the boy, whom, from a common sense of justice, he had made take shelter besides us. In truth, worthy man, he had no lack of subjects to occupy his mind, being sole architect of a long up-hill but now thriving trade. I saw, by the hardening of his features, and the restless way in which he poked his stick into the little water-pools, that he was longing to be in his tan-yard close by.

He pulled out his great silver watch-the dread of our house for it was a watch which seemed to have imbibed something of its master's character; remorseless as justice or fate, it never erred a moment.

"Twenty-three minutes lost by this shower. Phineas, my

son, how am I to get thee safe home? Unles thee wilt go with me to the tan-yard-”

I shook my head. It was very hard for Abel Fletcher to have for his only child such a sickly creature as I, now at sixteen, as helpless and useless to him as a baby.

66

[ocr errors]

'Well, well, I must find some one to go home with thee; for though, with some skill, my father had invented a sort of carriage, in which, with a little external aid, I could propel myself, so as to be his companion occasionally in his walks between our house, the tan-yard, and the Friends' meetinghouse, still he never trusted me anywhere alone. "Here, Sally Sally Watkins! do any o' thy lads want to earn an honest penny?"

Sally was out of earshot; but I noticed that as the lad near us heard my father's words, the color rushed over his face, and he started forward involuntarily. I had not before perceived how wasted and hungry-looking he was.

"Father!" I whispered. But here the boy had mustered up his courage and voice.

66

Sir, I want work; may I earn the penny?"

He spoke in tolerably good English-different from our coarse broad, Gshire drawl; and, taking off his tattered old cap, looked in manly, fearless fashion, right up into my father's face. The old man scanned him closely.

"What is thy name, lad?"

"John Halifax."

"Where dost thee come from?" "Cornwall."

"Hast thee any parents living ?"

"No."

I wished my father would not question thus; but possibly he had his own motives, which are rarely harsh, though his actions often appeared so.

"How old might thee be, John Halifax?"

66. Fourteen, sir."

"Thee art used to work?”

"Yes."

"What sort of work?"

"Anything I can do."

I listened nervously to this catechism, which went on be hind my back.

66

"Well," said my father, after a pause, "thee shall take my son home, and I'll give theea groat. Let me see-art the a lad to be trusted?" And, holding him at arms-length, regarding him meanwhile with eyes that were the terror of all the rogues in Norton Bury, Abel Fletcher jingled temptingly

« AnteriorContinuar »