This was a busy day in Duplex Street: in fact, most days were busy
there, and Mrs Jared and Patty were in a state of bustle from morning
till night. For, being a poor man's wife, Mrs Jared had grown of late
years to think that doing nothing stood next door to a sin, and
consequently she worked hard, early and late.
But this was a Saturday--a day upon which all the juveniles rose with
sorrow in their hearts, since it was washing day. Not the washing day
when the copper was lit in the back kitchen, and Mrs Winks from the
Seven Dials came to work with crimpy hands by the day, making the house
full of steam and the cold mutton to taste of soap, but a day when there
was a family wash of the little Pellets. Mrs Jared's task had of late
years grown to be rather heavy, the consequence being that she had
become on her part more vigorous of arm, more bustling of habit.
Certainly during these weekly lamb-washings there used to be a good deal
of outcry--Mrs Jared being the washer, and Patty undertaking the
head-dressing and finger and toe-nails of the smaller members, bringing
to an end her part of the performance by carrying them up pig-a-back to
bed like so many little sacks. But in consequence of numbers, the first
washed had of necessity to go very early to rest--a fact productive of
much crowding and getting behind one another, the strongest in this case
going to the wall, and thrusting the weaker before them.
Mrs Jared had been very busy all day--at least what should have been all
day--though in consequence of a heavy fog, and the neutralising
lamp-light, it seemed to have been all night. She had made a mistake
that morning, and risen two hours before her customary time, the
consequence being that cleaning matters were the same period of time in
advance; and in place of the lavations taking place after tea, they were
all over before, and the shining faces, that had lately been screwed up,
were once more beginning to look happy and contented, though, by some
strange fatality, their owners seemed to be always in Mrs Jared's way.
Everything about the place shone clean and bright: the comfortable front
kitchen was in order, and tea time was near at hand, when Jared Pellet
would descend with Tim Ruggles, grown by long working quite a friend of
the family--coming for so much a day and his meals, and ready to do
anything, from curtailing the goodly proportions of Jared's old
trousers, and making them up for smaller members of the family, and
contriving caps out of waistcoats, to acting in various ways as a
regular tailor-chemist in the new and useful combinations he could
contrive for the little Pellets, of whom one never knew for certain how
many Jared had, for if you tried to count them there were always two or
three fresh little heads peeping out at you from among Mrs Jared's
skirts, like chicks from the wings of a hen.
Tea time at last, and things in a satisfactory state of preparation,
though, as a matter of course, work was never ended in Duplex Street.
Mother and daughter had taken it in turns to change gowns, and to smooth
hair; and then Patty had made that pleasant home-like clinking noise so
familiar to every Englishman, formed by the setting out of the cups and
saucers, and the placing of the spoons in their normal positions.
"Ah-h-h! who is touching the sugar?" cried Mrs Jared, in what was meant
for the tone of an ogress; but from so pleasant-faced a little body
anything like an ogreish sound was out of the question.
But the voice had its effect; for a little, plump, sticky fist was
snatched from the sugar-basin, though not without drawing with it the
depository of sweets, when a large proportion of the sandy-looking
necessary was thrown down upon the newly-swept piece of drugget, amidst
a violent clattering of teacups, and a buzz of small voices, as though a
score of wasps had been attracted to the cloying banquet.
"Oh, Totty, Totty!" exclaimed Mrs Jared, popping the baby down upon the
old chintz-covered sofa--there always was a baby at Jared's--and then
charging the culprit, and a couple more, who had gathered round the
spoil. "Oh dear, dear! and Mr Ruggles will be down directly to tea. O
Patty, why didn't you mind Totty? See what mischief she has been in;
and here's Dicky with quite a handful now."
"She was here just this minute," cried Patty from the back kitchen, "and
I did not miss her."
In fact, it was rather hard to mind Jared's progeny, who, from being
confined in a small house, were exceedingly restless--climbing, falling,
upsetting candles, cutting fingers, or rolling from the top to the
bottom of the kitchen stairs, so that the rag-bag was always in
requisition, and tied-up fingers, sticking-plaistered or bruised heads,
and abrasions in general were matters of course.
"Totty yikes oogar," said the sticky cause of the mischief, in treacly
tones.
"Totty yikes oogar," exclaimed Mrs Jared, angrily imitating her
juvenile's limping speech, and forgetful that she herself had crippled
the words while teaching the little one its first steps in language;
"Totty's a very, very naughty girl, and ought to be well whipped." And
then the troubled dame busied herself in gathering up the spilled
saccharine treasures with a spoon, while Totty, elevating her chin to
make the passage straight, gave vent to a doleful howl, rubbing the
while her sticky hands all over her clean face. Patty tried to look
cross because she had been scolded--an utter impossibility on account of
the dimples in her cheeks, which seemed as though a couple of kisses had
been planted there by loving lips, and the downy, peachy skin had
flinched with the contact, and never since risen--nursing up the sweet
impressions, and holding them as treasures of the past. Then numbers
odd wept for sympathy, as Mrs Jared scraped and scolded, heedless of the
facts that the Dutch clock had given warning for five, and that the tea
was not yet made, the toast not cut, and the bloaters not down to cook.
For, as it had been a Saturday's dinner--_i.e._, scrappy--"snacks," in
honour of Tim Ruggles, were in vogue for tea.
But troubles never come singly; for now the baby having made up its mind
to see what was the matter, contrived to wriggle about until its
nine-months'-old bundle of soft bones, gristle, and flesh rolled off the
sofa, bump on to the floor, where, as soon as it could get its breath,
it burst forth into a wail of astonishment and pain at the hard usage it
had received.
Patty rushed to seize the suffering innocent; Mrs Jared, with her
skirts, knocked down the origin of the mischief; the kettle boiled
violently, and spat and sputtered all over the newly-blackleaded grate
and bright steel fender, adding as well a diabolical hydrogenous smell;
and in the midst of the trouble down came Jared Pellet and Tim Ruggles,
punctual to five o'clock, on purpose to refresh themselves with the
social meal.
"There--if I didn't expect as much!" cried Mrs Jared, snatching the
kettle off the fire with one hand, and hushing Totty with the other;
rushing the children into their ready-set chairs, and Tim Ruggles into
his place, Jared quietly taking his own by the fireside, where he could
set his tea-cup on the oven top. Then Patty set to work toasting; the
little Dutch oven, containing four "real Yarmouths at two for three
halfpence," was placed before the fire, and sent forth a savoury odour;
the tea was made with two spoonfuls extra, and Jared was set to caress
the sticky Totty, now planted upon his knee.
By the end of five minutes that tyrant of the household--the baby--had
subsided into an occasional sob, and was given over into the care of one
of Patty's juniors--both being well bread-and-buttered, the baby having
a wedge in each hand--and sent up into the front room, the nurse _pro
tem_ being strictly ordered not to touch anything. The paraffine lamp
was lit instead of a candle, the fire poked; and now, after so many
preliminaries, the meal was commenced, the tea being fragrant, the toast
just brown enough, the butter better than usual, and the bloaters prime;
Totty declining to abdicate the throne she had ascended, one where she
reigned supreme--her father's knee, to wit; and at last there was peace
in the front kitchen in Duplex Street.
"Did you ever hear such a noise, Mr Ruggles?" said Mrs Jared at length,
her face now all smiles.
"Not my way often, ma'am," said Tim, "at least--that is--we do have
noises."
Mrs Jared looked significantly at her husband, and then sighed, when,
after fidgeting in his chair, Tim said, "A little more sugar, if you
please, ma'am."
"Totty yikes oogar," exclaimed the chubby delinquent, displaying her
sorrow for her late act of piracy by making a grab at the hard roe upon
her father's plate--a delicacy but just set free from overlaying bones,
but the plate was hot, and the little fingers suffered a sharp pang,
when there was another outcry; but with that exception, the meal
progressed in peace to the end, when Jared threw himself back in his
chair, and set himself to amuse Totty, by turning his inflated cheeks
into drums for that young lady to belabour with sticky fists.
But it was at supper time, when the little ones were in bed and Jared
and Tim had concluded their tasks, that there was the real peace. For
now, up-stairs by the fireside, a pipe was produced for Tim, and two
weak glasses of gin and water were mixed--Mrs Jared indulging in
occasional sips from her husband's portion, while, under the influence
of his own, Tim grew communicative respecting his own home, and the
present Mrs Ruggles, and on Patty making some enquiry respecting little
Pine, he laid down his pipe, rubbed his hands softly together, and
looked very serious as he replied to her question.
"For my part," said Mrs Jared, "I don't hold with such sharp correction
of children as you say Mrs Ruggles administers."
Tim did not speak, but his eye fell upon a small cane above the
chimney-piece. His glance was detected by Mrs Jared, who exclaimed:
"You need not look at that, Mr Ruggles, for it is never used, only
talked about; at least," she said, correcting herself, "very seldom. I
don't think it right to be harsh to children, only firm; and if you
begin with firmness, they will seldom require further correction."
"Spare the rod, spoil the child," said Tim, softly exhaling a column of
smoke.
"Stuff!" said Mrs Jared, sharply; "do you mean to say that my children
are spoiled, Mr Ruggles?"
"No, ma'am," said the little tailor, earnestly; "I never saw a better
behaved family.--Nor a bigger," he said to himself.
"But Solomon said so, my dear," said Jared, drily.
"Then Solomon ought to have been ashamed of himself," said Mrs Jared,
tartly; "and it must have been when he was nearly driven mad by some of
his own children. He said plenty of good things, but I don't consider
that one of them; and besides, with all his wisdom, he was not perfect.
Between ourselves, I wonder, Mr Ruggles, that you allow it. When the
little thing came after you the other day, even her little neck was
marked, and as to her arms--why Patty went up--stairs and cried about
them. I'm only a plain-spoken woman, and really, sometimes, I wonder
that you ever married again, and you must excuse me for saying so."
"I often wonder at it myself," thought Tim Ruggles, as he sat poking at
his frizzy hair with the stem of his pipe, and looking very intently
into his gin and water: all at once, though, he exclaimed:
"I'll tell you how it was!"
But before telling them how it was, he refilled and lit his pipe, sat
thoughtfully for a few minutes, and then refreshed himself with a sip of
his gin and water.
Volume 1, Chapter XII.