OFF THE SHELF.
I HAD missed “the enjoyment of that bad weather”—as one of our workmen
called it, when he drew his wages _gratis_—through having too much at
the outset. There had been at least six weeks of frost, some of it very
intense; and it was said by those who make a study of such things, that
Christmas Day, 1860, was the coldest day known in the south of England,
since Christmas Day, 1796. And but for a break at the end of the year,
when a sudden thaw set in before the steady return of low temperature,
it is likely that the Thames would have held an ice-fair above London
Bridge; as in 1814, and as threatened again in 1838. But the removal of
old London Bridge has made perhaps a great difference in that matter.
One of the reasons why I could not get rid of the chill that struck
into my system, was perhaps the renewed attack of cold every night
through all that bitter time. For in old-fashioned houses like my
uncle’s, there was no fireplace in the bedrooms; and a frying-pan full
of hot embers, our Tabby’s device, used to set us a-coughing. Every
now and again I seemed to hear, when I called my wits together, the
crisp light glint of the gliding skate, the hollow heel-tap of the
gliddering slide, and the sharp, merry shouts of boys and men dashing
at the hockey-bung in the jagged, slippery huddle. Then more snow fell,
and the ice grew treacherous, and all was mantled in a white hush again.
But now the days were milder, and the ice had broken up, and the roads
were full of quagmires as they always are, when a long frost has gone
to the bottom of their metal; and everybody said that it was very brave
of my good Aunt Parslow to pay a guinea for a fly, and come all the
way from Leatherhead, to see if I was still alive. And it was not for
the sake of being kept warm on the road—though that was the reason
she assigned for it—that she obtained permission from Mr. Chalker to
bring his pretty daughter on the visit she was paying. Miss Parslow was
long past the age of lovemaking, and had made a sound investment of
her affections among the grateful canine race; but none the less for
that she felt an interest in watching the progress, or it might even
be the backslidings, of her own species in the fine old game. And Sam
Henderson had conquered all her prejudice against him, by riding over
more than once in the worst state of the roads, when no wheels could
pass over them, for no other purpose, as he positively avowed, than to
comfort her kind heart about her dear nephew’s illness.
“Don’t tell me,” she said, as soon as she had seen me, and cried over
me a little, for I was desperately weak; “what he wants is warmth, and
change of air, and particularly careful nursing. He will fall into a
decline, if he stops here; and then what will become of his darling
Kitty? What chance has he here in this wretched little room, like a
frog, or an empty bucket hanging in a well? And here you are giving him
gruel and tapioca! Has he ever had a pint of real turtle? Just answer
me that, Mr. Orchardson.”
“Well, no,” replied my uncle, looking at her with surprise; “I never
heard that turtle was for any but Lord Mayors. Kit has had everything
regardless of expense, that our skilful Dr. Sippets recommended him.
Perhaps you know better than he does, Miss Parslow. And the bottles of
stuff, every two hours day and night, with half a pint rubbed in at
frequent intervals, till he groans, and that shows that it has acted on
his system.”
“System indeed! There is no system in it, except to kill him, in spite
of the Parslow constitution. The roads are very soft, but I shall send
for him to-morrow, with a proper close carriage and a pair of horses.
And if you try to prevent it, let his death lie at your door.”
“There is no doubt,” said my uncle, after some consideration, “that
your house is much warmer, and better fitted up than this with warm
baths, and all that which he ought to have. And Sippets said that
change of air would be a great thing for him. I will see him, before
you go away, and if he thinks it would be safe, let it be so, ma’am.
But you must not suppose that I have grudged him anything. And a very
pretty bill there will be for me to pay.”
Miss Chalker meanwhile had made a great discovery, to wit that she had
never seen Hampton Court; and Sam Henderson, who happened to come in to
ask for me, found out that he had business there that very afternoon.
So after dining with my uncle, off they set together, and Miss Parslow
undertook to call for her companion upon her way back to Leatherhead.
Sam had gone up several pages in Mr. Orchardson’s good books, by his
rescue of me, and even more by his refusal of the handsome reward which
he might have claimed for it. And now there were very few days when
he did not come down, and offer counsel, and perhaps bring a hare or
rabbit. And my uncle liked his stories of the lords and ladies, even
when he was unable to believe them.
“Now, I am not going home without a little talk with you,” said Aunt
Parslow to her host, when the young couple had made off; “I must be
rude enough to ask you just to spare me a little time. And I don’t
think you can do much on the ground just now. It must be quite unfit to
work, after all the snow and thaw, and rain again coming on the top of
it. And the land must be so cold that the spring will be very late. You
see I know a little about gardening, too. Will you try to spare me half
an hour, as I can come so seldom?”
“I am always at the service of the ladies, however busy I may be.” My
uncle’s answer was truly polite, but not so true in other points. “The
spring will be very late, and therefore summer will find us all behind.
I mean, if we get any summer at all.”
“It is quite as likely that we shall not, and that makes it unwise
of us to be in any hurry. Mr. Orchardson, you have a special gift of
never being in a hurry. We women always envy that way of taking things,
because we cannot hope to attain to it. You know what we are, don’t
you?”
“All that is delightful, ma’am; so far as I have had any opportunity
of learning. And all that is reasonable, whenever there is nothing
particular to interfere with it. I assure you that I have the highest
respect for—for the way that you generally go on.”
“You pay me a very high compliment, sir, and I wish that we all
deserved it. But I am sure you will admit that I am reason itself, in
asking you one or two little questions. There was a little money that
fell in, as a sort of windfall, or whatever you call it, to my niece,
the mother of this unlucky Kit. I scarcely know what the exact sum was,
though of course I could easily find out. But it must have been about
two thousand pounds. I believe that it came into your possession as his
next of kin, but in trust for him of course. And I conclude that as he
has long been of age, you have handed it over to Kit himself.”
“Not I, ma’am;” cried my uncle, who was as honest as the day. “That
would have been the worst thing that I could do. I have told him of it
several times, and strongly recommended him to let me apply it for his
benefit. Kit is a sensible and upright fellow, and he knows when he
is in good hands, that he does; and he is capable of managing his own
affairs, without anybody’s interference.”
“Without even his uncle’s?” asked Miss Parslow, with a smile.
“Yes, ma’am; and without even his great-aunt’s,” Mr. Orchardson
answered, with a frown.
“I have no doubt that you have acted for the best;” the lady returned,
for she wished to do no harm, and saw that it would cost me more than
two thousand pounds to have Uncle Corny set against me. “And it is the
best thing that could have happened to him, to come into his capital
when he wants it, without having had a chance of making any hole in
it. I dare say he has not the least idea what it is. It will be a nice
little nest egg, when he wants a nest.”
“I have never let him know how much it is, and I do not mean to tell
him, till I hand it over. I have never touched a penny of it, my dear
madam; which I never would have told you, if you had shown a doubt of
me. I have allowed it to accumulate at four per cent.; and the sum
is now three thousand five hundred pounds, which will be transferred
into the name of Kit, on the day that he marries Miss Fairthorn. I
should have thought myself justified in deducting the twenty-five
pounds reward, for his stupidity in losing himself in the snow; but Mr.
Henderson will not accept it. I have kept Kit from a baby, and he was
dreadful with his clothes, and broke the backs of nearly all the books
he had at school. But I shall not charge him sixpence, ma’am. He has
worked well for me, and he can lay in a tree very nearly as well as I
can.”
“Mr. Orchardson, you are a gentleman,” cried my aunt, much impressed
with the increase of money; “and I would ask you as a favour, in return
for my inquiries, to allow me to discharge Dr. Sippet’s account.”
“With pleasure, Miss Parslow, for it will be very stiff, and the uphill
time of the year is before me. I do not pretend to be a gentleman,
madam; but I should not be a man if I wronged my brother’s baby. The
only thing I ask you is to keep this from Kit’s knowledge, and leave me
to tell him at my own time. I have hinted to him once or twice that he
has something coming; but if I were to tell him he would go and tell
his Kitty, and I wish it to be kept from all that lot.”
“He shall not know a word of it through me, I can assure you. And I
shall consider what I can do for them. But the first thing is to set
him on his legs again.”
At this very moment, I was being set by a happy little accident upon
my legs, as well as enjoying a delight which no money (at the finest
compound interest) can insure. In the corner of the room which my aunt
had so decried, and where I had passed so many miserable weeks, an
old wooden bracket with three little shelves was nailed against the
yellow-ochred wall. I had often cast my weary eyes in that direction,
and vaguely watched a spider, who was in a doleful plight, with his
legs drawn together, and no stomach left between them; such a time was
it since he had tasted a good fly. On the bottom shelf were bottles
of a loathsome disposition, pill-boxes and galley-pots, and measures
no less repulsive to good taste; on the middle shelf lay my mother’s
Prayer-book, and some papers of directions, and orders, and powders and
the like; but what was on the top shelf I could not tell, and had often
wondered languidly in the wanderings of hazy speculation. And I might
have been content to wonder still, without any guide-post of interest,
if I had not heard Miss Parslow say—“Ah, that would do him a lot more
good than those,” as she pointed to the top shelf, and then to the
others.
For a time I forgot all about it, and fell into a little sleep of
indifference; but being aroused by the sound of plates and dishes and
the clinking of glasses down below, I longed to know what they were
having for dinner, and what was the joke they were laughing at. Then a
lovely smell of something came into the room, and my head went round
with the effort of searching itself for the name of that fragrance,
although it was nothing but fried calf’s liver, with which Mrs.
Tapscott was skilful. “Shall I ever have that again, instead of filthy
nastiness?” was all that I had sense enough to want to know; and then
I thought somehow of the starving spider, and looked to ask whether he
was dead yet.
Not only was he not dead, but clearly (after seeing rain once more upon
the window-panes) he had made up his mind that life was worth living,
and a little activity might make it more so. Where he got his stuff
from is more than I can tell, for any man would have vowed that his
meagre body could never have supplied him with the hundredth part of
the dreamiest film of a gossamer. However, he knew his own business
best, and he was at it, as if he were paid by the piece.
Being hungry myself, I could sympathize with him, while detesting his
bloodthirstiness, as every man must who lives on beef and mutton. And I
saw that he was scheming to attach his tent cords to a coign of great
vantage on the top shelf of the bracket.
“When spiders go thrumming, there is wild weather coming,” came
clumsily into my half-saved mind; and then floated into it, like a
gossamer adrift, those mysterious words of Aunt Parslow. Like the
spider, I desired to be on the move, and partly perhaps through the
very same cause—the yearning for a wholesome bit of flesh. At any rate,
being left all alone, for the resources of the establishment were at
full pressure upon hospitality, I resolved to know what was on that
shelf, though it might be my destiny to perish in the attempt.
This was not at all an easy job for a fellow who had spent two months
on his back; and my weakness amazed me, when I tried to walk, and I
seemed to be twice my own proper length. Then I burst into a laugh
at my own condition, and tried to move a little chair to help me get
along, but found it made of lead, and had to coast around it. My sense
of distance also was entirely thrown out, for the room was quite a
little one, and yet it seemed a gallery. At last by some process of
sprawling and crawling I laid hold of the corner bracket, and lifting
myself with some difficulty, contrived to grasp all that was on the top
shelf. A little pile of letters was in my right hand, and a light shot
into my eyes, and a gleam of soft warmth flowed into my heart.
Then I crawled back to my narrow bed, so nearly exchanged for a
narrower, and laid my treasure on my shrunken breast, and turned on my
side, that it might not slide away. I felt as if there were two Kits
now—one who knew nothing about it, and the other who wanted it all to
himself. And perhaps that other Kit was Kitty.
How long I continued in this crazed condition, it is impossible for
me to say; but as sure as the goodness of God is with us, it saved my
reason and my life. For by-and-by, a warmth of blood flowed through me,
and a sense of being in a large sweet world; then memory awoke, and
pain was gone, and I was like a little child looking at its mother. I
did not read a word, nor care to read; but I knew whose hand was on
my heart, and I would not disturb it by a stir of thought, but was
satisfied with it, for it was everything. And so I fell into a long
deep sleep; and when I awoke, I was a man again.