For many months Spikeman and our hero travelled together, during which
time Joey had learnt to grind a knife or a pair of scissors as well as
Spikeman himself, and took most of the work off his hands; they suited
each other, and passed their time most pleasantly, indulging themselves
every day with a few hours' repose and reading on the wayside.
One afternoon, when it was very sultry, they had stopped and ensconced
themselves in a shady copse by the side of the road, not far from an old
mansion, which stood on an eminence, when Spikeman said, "Joey, I think
we are intruding here; and, if so, may be forcibly expelled, which will
not be pleasant; so roll the wheel in, out of sight, and then we may
indulge in a siesta, which, during this heat, will be very agreeable."
"What's a siesta?" said Joey.
"A siesta is a nap in the middle of the day, universally resorted to by
the Spaniards, Italians, and, indeed, by all the inhabitants of hot
climates; with respectable people it is called a siesta, but with a
travelling tinker it must be, I suppose, called a snooze."
"Well, then, a snooze let it be," said Joey, taking his seat on the turf
by Spikeman, in a reclining position.
They had not yet composed themselves to sleep, when they heard a female
voice singing at a little distance. The voice evidently proceeded from
the pleasure-grounds which were between them and the mansion.
"Hush!" said Spikeman, putting up his finger, as he raised himself on
his elbow.
The party evidently advanced nearer to them, and carolled in very
beautiful tones, the song of Ariel:--
"Where the bee sucks, there lurk I,
In the cowslip's bell I lie," etcetera.
"Heigho!" exclaimed a soft voice, after the song had been finished; "I
wish I could creep into a cowslip-bell. Miss Araminta, you are not
coming down the walk yet; it appears you are in no hurry, so I'll begin
my new book."
After this soliloquy there was silence. Spikeman made a sign to Joey to
remain still, and then, creeping on his hands and knees, by degrees
arrived as far as he could venture to the other side of the copse.
In a minute or two another footstep was heard coming down the
gravel-walk, and soon afterwards another voice.
"Well, Melissa, did you think I never would come? I could not help it.
Uncle would have me rub his foot a little."
"Ay, there's the rub," replied the first young lady. "Well, it was a
sacrifice of friendship at the altar of humanity. Poor papa! I wish I
could rub his foot for him; but I always do it to a quadrille tune, and
he always says I rub it too hard. I only follow the music."
"Yes, and so does he; for you sometimes set him a dancing, you giddy
girl."
"I am not fit for a nurse, and that's the fact, Araminta. I can feel
for him, but I cannot sit still a minute; that you know. Poor mamma was
a great loss; and, when she died, I don't know what I should have done,
if it hadn't been for my dear cousin Araminta."
"Nay, you are very useful in your way, for you play and sing to him, and
that soothes him."
"Yes, I do it with pleasure, for I can do but little else; but,
Araminta, my singing is that of the caged bird. I must sing where they
hang my cage. Oh, how I wish I had been a man!"
"I believe that there never was a woman yet who has not, at one time of
her life, said the same thing, however mild and quiet she may have been
in disposition. But, as we cannot, why--"
"Why, the next thing is to wish to be a man's wife, Araminta--is it
not?"
"It is natural, I suppose, to wish so," replied Araminta; "but I seldom
think about it. I must first see the man I can love before I think
about marrying."
"And now tell me, Araminta, what kind of a man do you think you could
fancy?"
"I should like him to be steady, generous, brave, and handsome; of
unexceptionable family, with plenty of money; that's all."
"Oh, that's all! I admire your `that's all.' You are not very likely
to meet with your match, I'm afraid. If he's steady, he is not very
likely to be very generous; and if to those two qualifications you tack
on birth, wealth, beauty, and bravery, I think your `that's all' is very
misplaced. Now, I have other ideas."
"Pray let me have them, Melissa."
"I do not want my husband to be very handsome; but I wish him to be full
of fire and energy--a man that--in fact, a man that could keep me in
tolerable order. I do not care about his having money, as I have plenty
in my own possession to bestow on any man I love; but he must be of good
education--very fond of reading--romantic, not a little; and his
extraction must be, however poor, respectable,--that is, his parents
must not have been tradespeople. You know I prefer riding a spirited
horse to a quiet one; and, if I were to marry, I should like a husband
who would give me some trouble to manage. I think I would master him."
"So have many thought before you, Melissa; but they have been mistaken."
"Yes, because they have attempted it by meekness and submission,
thinking to disarm by that method. It never will do, any more than
getting into a passion. When a man gives up his liberty, he does make a
great sacrifice--that I'm sure of; and a woman should prevent him
feeling that he is chained to her."
"And how would you manage that?" said Araminta.
"By being infinite in my variety, always cheerful, and instead of
permitting him to stay at home, pinned to my apron-string, order him out
away from me, join his amusements, and always have people in the house
that he liked, so as to avoid being too much _tete-a-tete_. The caged
bird ever wants to escape; open the doors, and let him take a flight,
and he will come back of his own accord. Of course, I am supposing my
gentleman to be naturally good-hearted and good-tempered. Sooner than
marry what you call a steady, sober man, I'd run away with a captain of
a privateer. And, one thing more, Araminta, I never would,
passionately, distractedly fond as I might be, acknowledge to my husband
the extent of my devotion and affection for him. I would always have
him to suppose that I could still love him better than what I yet did--
in short, that there was more to be gained; for, depend upon it, when a
man is assured that he has nothing more to gain, his attentions are
over. You can't expect a man to chase nothing, you know."
"You are a wild girl, Melissa. I only hope you will marry well."
"I hope I shall; but I can tell you this, that if I do make a mistake,
at all events my husband will find that he has made a mistake also.
There's a little lurking devil in me, which, if roused up by bad
treatment, would, I expect, make me more than a match for him. I'm
almost sorry that I've so much money of my own, for I suspect every man
who says anything pretty to me; and there are but few in this world who
would scorn to marry for money."
"I believe so, Melissa; but your person would be quite sufficient
without fortune."
"Thanks, coz; for a woman that's very handsome of you. And so now we
will begin our new book."
Miss Melissa now commenced reading; and Spikeman, who had not yet seen
the faces of the two young ladies, crept softly nearer to the side of
the copse, so as to enable him to satisfy his curiosity. In this
position he remained nearly an hour; when the book was closed, and the
young ladies returned to the house, Melissa again singing as she went.
"Joey," said Spikeman, "I did not think that there was such a woman in
existence as that girl; she is just the idea that I have formed of what
a woman ought to be; I must find out who she is; I am in love with her,
and--"
"Mean to make her a tinker's bride," replied Joey, laughing.
"Joey, I shall certainly knock you down, if you apply that term to her.
Come let us go to the village,--it is close at hand."
As soon as they arrived at the village, Spikeman went into the alehouse.
During the remainder of the day he was in a brown study, and Joey
amused himself with a book. At nine o'clock the company had all quitted
the tap-room, and then Spikeman entered into conversation with the
hostess. In the course of conversation, she informed him that the
mansion belonged to Squire Mathews, who had formerly been a great
manufacturer, and who had purchased the place; that the old gentleman
had long suffered from the gout, and saw no company, which was very bad
for the village; that Miss Melissa was his daughter, and he had a son,
who was with his regiment in India, and, it was said, not on very good
terms with his father; that the old gentleman was violent and choleric
because he was always in pain; but that every one spoke well of Miss
Melissa and Miss Araminta, her cousin, who were both very kind to the
poor people. Having obtained these particulars, Spikeman went to bed:
he slept little that night, as Joey, who was his bedfellow, could vouch
for; for he allowed Joey no sleep either, turning and twisting round in
the bed every two minutes. The next morning they arose early, and
proceeded on their way.
"Joey," said Spikeman, after an hour's silence, "I was thinking a great
deal last night."
"So I suppose, for you certainly were not sleeping."
"No, I could not sleep; the fact is, Joey, I am determined to have that
girl, Miss Mathews, if I can; a bold attempt for a tinker, you will say,
but not for a gentleman born as I was. I thought I never should care
for a woman; but there is a current in the affairs of men. I shall now
drift with the current, and if it leads to fortune, so much the better;
if not, he who dares greatly does greatly. I feel convinced that I
should make her a good husband, and it shall not be my fault if I do not
gain her."
"Do you mean to propose in form with your foot on your wheel?"
"No, saucebox, I don't; but I mean to turn my knife-grinder's wheel into
a wheel of fortune; and with your help I will do so."
"You are sure of my help if you are serious," replied Joey; "but how you
are to manage I cannot comprehend."
"I have already made out a programme, although the interweaving of the
plot is not yet decided upon; but I must get to the next town as fast as
I can, as I must make preparations."
On arrival, they took up humble quarters, as usual; and then Spikeman
went to a stationer's, and told them that he had got a commission to
execute for a lady. He bought sealing-wax, a glass seal, with
"Esperance" as a motto, gilt-edged notepaper, and several other
requisites in the stationery line, and ordered them to be packed up
carefully, that he might not soil them; he then purchased scented soap,
a hair-brush, and other articles for the toilet; and having obtained all
these requisites, he added to them one or two pair of common beaver
gloves, and then went to the barber's to get his hair cut.
"I am all ready now, Joey," said he, when he returned to the alehouse;
"and to-morrow we retrace our steps."
"What! back to the village?"
"Yes; and where we shall remain some time, perhaps."
On reaching the village next morning, Spikeman hired a bedroom, and,
leaving Joey to work the grindstone, remained in his apartments. When
Joey returned in the evening, he found Spikeman had been very busy with
the soap, and had restored his hands to something like their proper
colour; he had also shaved himself, and washed his hair clean and
brushed it well.
"You see, Joey, I have commenced operations already; I shall soon be
prepared to act the part of the gentleman who has turned tinker to gain
the love of a fair lady of high degree."
"I wish you success: but what are your plans?"
"That you will find out to-morrow morning; now we must go to bed."