"That I can go to?"
She shook her head.
"No one that I can bring?"
She shook her head.
"No one is wanted by _me_ my dear. Now that may be considered past and
gone."
Not much more than a week afterwards--for this was far on in the time of
our being so together--I was bending over at her bedside with my ear down
to her lips, by turns listening for her breath and looking for a sign of
life in her face. At last it came in a solemn way--not in a flash but
like a kind of pale faint light brought very slow to the face.
She said something to me that had no sound in it, but I saw she asked me:
"Is this death?"
And I says:
"Poor dear poor dear, I think it is."
Knowing somehow that she wanted me to move her weak right hand, I took it
and laid it on her breast and then folded her other hand upon it, and she
prayed a good good prayer and I joined in it poor me though there were no
words spoke. Then I brought the baby in its wrappers from where it lay,
and I says:
"My dear this is sent to a childless old woman. This is for me to take
care of."
The trembling lip was put up towards my face for the last time, and I
dearly kissed it.
"Yes my dear," I says. "Please God! Me and the Major."
I don't know how to tell it right, but I saw her soul brighten and leap
up, and get free and fly away in the grateful look.
* * * * *
So this is the why and wherefore of its coming to pass my dear that we
called him Jemmy, being after the Major his own godfather with Lirriper
for a surname being after myself, and never was a dear child such a
brightening thing in a Lodgings or such a playmate to his grandmother as
Jemmy to this house and me, and always good and minding what he was told
(upon the whole) and soothing for the temper and making everything
pleasanter except when he grew old enough to drop his cap down Wozenham's
Airy and they wouldn't hand it up to him, and being worked into a state I
put on my best bonnet and gloves and parasol with the child in my hand
and I says "Miss Wozenham I little thought ever to have entered your
house but unless my grandson's cap is instantly restored, the laws of
this country regulating the property of the Subject shall at length
decide betwixt yourself and me, cost what it may." With a sneer upon her
face which did strike me I must say as being expressive of two keys but
it may have been a mistake and if there is any doubt let Miss Wozenham
have the full benefit of it as is but right, she rang the bell and she
says "Jane, is there a street-child's old cap down our Airy?" I says
"Miss Wozenham before your housemaid answers that question you must allow
me to inform you to your face that my grandson is _not_ a street-child
and is _not_ in the habit of wearing old caps. In fact" I says "Miss
Wozenham I am far from sure that my grandson's cap may not be newer than
your own" which was perfectly savage in me, her lace being the commonest
machine-make washed and torn besides, but I had been put into a state to
begin with fomented by impertinence. Miss Wozenham says red in the face
"Jane you heard my question, is there any child's cap down our Airy?"
"Yes Ma'am" says Jane, "I think I did see some such rubbish a-lying
there." "Then" says Miss Wozenham "let these visitors out, and then
throw up that worthless article out of my premises." But here the child
who had been staring at Miss Wozenham with all his eyes and more, frowns
down his little eyebrows purses up his little mouth puts his chubby legs
far apart turns his little dimpled fists round and round slowly over one
another like a little coffee-mill, and says to her "Oo impdent to mi
Gran, me tut oor hi!" "O!" says Miss Wozenham looking down scornfully at
the Mite "this is not a street-child is it not! Really!" I bursts out
laughing and I says "Miss Wozenham if this ain't a pretty sight to you I
don't envy your feelings and I wish you good-day. Jemmy come along with
Gran." And I was still in the best of humours though his cap came flying
up into the street as if it had been just turned on out of the
water-plug, and I went home laughing all the way, all owing to that dear
boy.
The miles and miles that me and the Major have travelled with Jemmy in
the dusk between the lights are not to be calculated, Jemmy driving on
the coach-box which is the Major's brass-bound writing desk on the table,
me inside in the easy-chair and the Major Guard up behind with a brown-
paper horn doing it really wonderful. I do assure you my dear that
sometimes when I have taken a few winks in my place inside the coach and
have come half awake by the flashing light of the fire and have heard
that precious pet driving and the Major blowing up behind to have the
change of horses ready when we got to the Inn, I have half believed we
were on the old North Road that my poor Lirriper knew so well. Then to
see that child and the Major both wrapped up getting down to warm their
feet and going stamping about and having glasses of ale out of the paper
matchboxes on the chimney-piece is to see the Major enjoying it fully as
much as the child I am very sure, and it's equal to any play when Coachee
opens the coach-door to look in at me inside and say "Wery 'past that
'tage.--'Prightened old lady?"
But what my inexpressible feelings were when we lost that child can only
be compared to the Major's which were not a shade better, through his
straying out at five years old and eleven o'clock in the forenoon and
never heard of by word or sign or deed till half-past nine at night, when
the Major had gone to the Editor of the _Times_ newspaper to put in an
advertisement, which came out next day four-and-twenty hours after he was
found, and which I mean always carefully to keep in my lavender drawer as
the first printed account of him. The more the day got on, the more I
got distracted and the Major too and both of us made worse by the
composed ways of the police though very civil and obliging and what I
must call their obstinacy in not entertaining the idea that he was
stolen. "We mostly find Mum" says the sergeant who came round to comfort
me, which he didn't at all and he had been one of the private constables
in Caroline's time to which he referred in his opening words when he said
"Don't give way to uneasiness in your mind Mum, it'll all come as right
as my nose did when I got the same barked by that young woman in your
second floor"--says this sergeant "we mostly find Mum as people ain't
over-anxious to have what I may call second-hand children. _You'll_ get
him back Mum." "O but my dear good sir" I says clasping my hands and
wringing them and clasping them again "he is such an uncommon child!"
"Yes Mum" says the sergeant, "we mostly find that too Mum. The question
is what his clothes were worth." "His clothes" I says "were not worth
much sir for he had only got his playing-dress on, but the dear child!--"
"All right Mum" says the sergeant. "You'll get him back Mum. And even
if he'd had his best clothes on, it wouldn't come to worse than his being
found wrapped up in a cabbage-leaf, a shivering in a lane." His words
pierced my heart like daggers and daggers, and me and the Major ran in
and out like wild things all day long till the Major returning from his
interview with the Editor of the _Times_ at night rushes into my little
room hysterical and squeezes my hand and wipes his eyes and says "Joy
joy--officer in plain clothes came up on the steps as I was letting
myself in--compose your feelings--Jemmy's found." Consequently I fainted
away and when I came to, embraced the legs of the officer in plain
clothes who seemed to be taking a kind of a quiet inventory in his mind
of the property in my little room with brown whiskers, and I says
"Blessings on you sir where is the Darling!" and he says "In Kennington
Station House." I was dropping at his feet Stone at the image of that
Innocence in cells with murderers when he adds "He followed the Monkey."
I says deeming it slang language "O sir explain for a loving grandmother
what Monkey!" He says "Him in the spangled cap with the strap under the
chin, as won't keep on--him as sweeps the crossings on a round table and
don't want to draw his sabre more than he can help." Then I understood
it all and most thankfully thanked him, and me and the Major and him
drove over to Kennington and there we found our boy lying quite
comfortable before a blazing fire having sweetly played himself to sleep
upon a small accordion nothing like so big as a flat-iron which they had
been so kind as to lend him for the purpose and which it appeared had
been stopped upon a very young person.
My dear the system upon which the Major commenced and as I may say
perfected Jemmy's learning when he was so small that if the dear was on
the other side of the table you had to look under it instead of over it
to see him with his mother's own bright hair in beautiful curls, is a
thing that ought to be known to the Throne and Lords and Commons and then
might obtain some promotion for the Major which he well deserves and
would be none the worse for (speaking between friends) L. S. D.-ically.
When the Major first undertook his learning he says to me:
"I'm going Madam," he says "to make our child a Calculating Boy.
"Major," I says, "you terrify me and may do the pet a permanent injury
you would never forgive yourself."
"Madam," says the Major, "next to my regret that when I had my
boot-sponge in my hand, I didn't choke that scoundrel with it--on the
spot--"
"There! For Gracious' sake," I interrupts, "let his conscience find him
without sponges."
"--I say next to that regret, Madam," says the Major "would be the regret
with which my breast," which he tapped, "would be surcharged if this fine
mind was not early cultivated. But mark me Madam," says the Major
holding up his forefinger "cultivated on a principle that will make it a
delight."
"Major" I says "I will be candid with you and tell you openly that if
ever I find the dear child fall off in his appetite I shall know it is
his calculations and shall put a stop to them at two minutes' notice. Or
if I find them mounting to his head" I says, "or striking anyways cold to
his stomach or leading to anything approaching flabbiness in his legs,
the result will be the same, but Major you are a clever man and have seen
much and you love the child and are his own godfather, and if you feel a
confidence in trying try."
"Spoken Madam" says the Major "like Emma Lirriper. All I have to ask,
Madam, is that you will leave my godson and myself to make a week or
two's preparations for surprising you, and that you will give me leave to
have up and down any small articles not actually in use that I may
require from the kitchen."
"From the kitchen Major?" I says half feeling as if he had a mind to cook
the child.
"From the kitchen" says the Major, and smiles and swells, and at the same
time looks taller.
So I passed my word and the Major and the dear boy were shut up together
for half an hour at a time through a certain while, and never could I
hear anything going on betwixt them but talking and laughing and Jemmy
clapping his hands and screaming out numbers, so I says to myself "it has
not harmed him yet" nor could I on examining the dear find any signs of
it anywhere about him which was likewise a great relief. At last one day
Jemmy brings me a card in joke in the Major's neat writing "The Messrs.
Jemmy Jackman" for we had given him the Major's other name too "request
the honour of Mrs. Lirriper's company at the Jackman Institution in the
front parlour this evening at five, military time, to witness a few
slight feats of elementary arithmetic." And if you'll believe me there
in the front parlour at five punctual to the moment was the Major behind
the Pembroke table with both leaves up and a lot of things from the
kitchen tidily set out on old newspapers spread atop of it, and there was
the Mite stood upon a chair with his rosy cheeks flushing and his eyes
sparkling clusters of diamonds.
"Now Gran" says he, "oo tit down and don't oo touch ler people"--for he
saw with every one of those diamonds of his that I was going to give him
a squeeze.
"Very well sir" I says "I am obedient in this good company I am sure."
And I sits down in the easy-chair that was put for me, shaking my sides.
But picture my admiration when the Major going on almost as quick as if
he was conjuring sets out all the articles he names, and says "Three
saucepans, an Italian iron, a hand-bell, a toasting-fork, a
nutmeg-grater, four potlids, a spice-box, two egg-cups, and a chopping-
board--how many?" and when that Mite instantly cries "Tifteen, tut down
tive and carry ler 'toppin-board" and then claps his hands draws up his
legs and dances on his chair.
My dear with the same astonishing ease and correctness him and the Major
added up the tables chairs and sofy, the picters fenders and fire-irons
their own selves me and the cat and the eyes in Miss Wozenham's head, and
whenever the sum was done Young Roses and Diamonds claps his hands and
draws up his legs and dances on his chair.
The pride of the Major! ("_Here's_ a mind Ma'am!" he says to me behind
his hand.)
Then he says aloud, "We now come to the next elementary rule,--which is
called--"
"Umtraction!" cries Jemmy.
"Right," says the Major. "We have here a toasting-fork, a potato in its
natural state, two potlids, one egg-cup, a wooden spoon, and two skewers,
from which it is necessary for commercial purposes to subtract a sprat-
gridiron, a small pickle-jar, two lemons, one pepper-castor, a
blackbeetle-trap, and a knob of the dresser-drawer--what remains?"
"Toatin-fork!" cries Jemmy.
"In numbers how many?" says the Major.
"One!" cries Jemmy.
("_Here's_ a boy, Ma'am!" says the Major to me behind his hand.) Then
the Major goes on:
"We now approach the next elementary rule,--which is entitled--"
"Tickleication" cries Jemmy.
"Correct" says the Major.
But my dear to relate to you in detail the way in which they multiplied
fourteen sticks of firewood by two bits of ginger and a larding needle,
or divided pretty well everything else there was on the table by the
heater of the Italian iron and a chamber candlestick, and got a lemon
over, would make my head spin round and round and round as it did at the
time. So I says "if you'll excuse my addressing the chair Professor
Jackman I think the period of the lecture has now arrived when it becomes
necessary that I should take a good hug of this young scholar." Upon
which Jemmy calls out from his station on the chair, "Gran oo open oor
arms and me'll make a 'pring into 'em." So I opened my arms to him as I
had opened my sorrowful heart when his poor young mother lay a dying, and
he had his jump and we had a good long hug together and the Major prouder
than any peacock says to me behind his hand, "You need not let him know
it Madam" (which I certainly need not for the Major was quite audible)
"but he _is_ a boy!"
In this way Jemmy grew and grew and went to day-school and continued
under the Major too, and in summer we were as happy as the days were
long, and in winter we were as happy as the days were short and there
seemed to rest a Blessing on the Lodgings for they as good as Let
themselves and would have done it if there had been twice the
accommodation, when sore and hard against my will I one day says to the
Major.
"Major you know what I am going to break to you. Our boy must go to
boarding-school."
It was a sad sight to see the Major's countenance drop, and I pitied the
good soul with all my heart.
"Yes Major" I says, "though he is as popular with the Lodgers as you are
yourself and though he is to you and me what only you and me know, still
it is in the course of things and Life is made of partings and we must
part with our Pet."
Bold as I spoke, I saw two Majors and half-a-dozen fireplaces, and when
the poor Major put one of his neat bright-varnished boots upon the fender
and his elbow on his knee and his head upon his hand and rocked himself a
little to and fro, I was dreadfully cut up.
"But" says I clearing my throat "you have so well prepared him Major--he
has had such a Tutor in you--that he will have none of the first drudgery
to go through. And he is so clever besides that he'll soon make his way
to the front rank."
"He is a boy" says the Major--having sniffed--"that has not his like on
the face of the earth."
"True as you say Major, and it is not for us merely for our own sakes to
do anything to keep him back from being a credit and an ornament wherever
he goes and perhaps even rising to be a great man, is it Major? He will
have all my little savings when my work is done (being all the world to
me) and we must try to make him a wise man and a good man, mustn't we
Major?"
"Madam" says the Major rising "Jemmy Jackman is becoming an older file
than I was aware of, and you put him to shame. You are thoroughly right
Madam. You are simply and undeniably right.--And if you'll excuse me,
I'll take a walk."
So the Major being gone out and Jemmy being at home, I got the child into
my little room here and I stood him by my chair and I took his mother's
own curls in my hand and I spoke to him loving and serious. And when I
had reminded the darling how that he was now in his tenth year and when I
had said to him about his getting on in life pretty much what I had said
to the Major I broke to him how that we must have this same parting, and
there I was forced to stop for there I saw of a sudden the
well-remembered lip with its tremble, and it so brought back that time!
But with the spirit that was in him he controlled it soon and he says
gravely nodding through his tears, "I understand Gran--I know it _must_
be, Gran--go on Gran, don't be afraid of _me_." And when I had said all
that ever I could think of, he turned his bright steady face to mine and
he says just a little broken here and there "You shall see Gran that I
can be a man and that I can do anything that is grateful and loving to
you--and if I don't grow up to be what you would like to have me--I hope
it will be--because I shall die." And with that he sat down by me and I
went on to tell him of the school of which I had excellent
recommendations and where it was and how many scholars and what games
they played as I had heard and what length of holidays, to all of which
he listened bright and clear. And so it came that at last he says "And
now dear Gran let me kneel down here where I have been used to say my
prayers and let me fold my face for just a minute in your gown and let me
cry, for you have been more than father--more than mother--more than
brothers sisters friends--to me!" And so he did cry and I too and we
were both much the better for it.
From that time forth he was true to his word and ever blithe and ready,
and even when me and the Major took him down into Lincolnshire he was far
the gayest of the party though for sure and certain he might easily have
been that, but he really was and put life into us only when it came to
the last Good-bye, he says with a wistful look, "You wouldn't have me not
really sorry would you Gran?" and when I says "No dear, Lord forbid!" he
says "I am glad of that!" and ran in out of sight.
But now that the child was gone out of the Lodgings the Major fell into a
regularly moping state. It was taken notice of by all the Lodgers that
the Major moped. He hadn't even the same air of being rather tall than
he used to have, and if he varnished his boots with a single gleam of
interest it was as much as he did.
One evening the Major came into my little room to take a cup of tea and a
morsel of buttered toast and to read Jemmy's newest letter which had
arrived that afternoon (by the very same postman more than middle-aged
upon the Beat now), and the letter raising him up a little I says to the
Major:
"Major you mustn't get into a moping way."
The Major shook his head. "Jemmy Jackman Madam," he says with a deep
sigh, "is an older file than I thought him."
"Moping is not the way to grow younger Major."
"My dear Madam," says the Major, "is there _any_ way of growing younger?"
Feeling that the Major was getting rather the best of that point I made a
diversion to another.
"Thirteen years! Thir-teen years! Many Lodgers have come and gone, in
the thirteen years that you have lived in the parlours Major."
"Hah!" says the Major warming. "Many Madam, many."
"And I should say you have been familiar with them all?"
"As a rule (with its exceptions like all rules) my dear Madam" says the
Major, "they have honoured me with their acquaintance, and not
unfrequently with their confidence."
Watching the Major as he drooped his white head and stroked his black
mustachios and moped again, a thought which I think must have been going
about looking for an owner somewhere dropped into my old noddle if you
will excuse the expression.
"The walls of my Lodgings" I says in a casual way--for my dear it is of
no use going straight at a man who mopes--"might have something to tell
if they could tell it."
The Major neither moved nor said anything but I saw he was attending with
his shoulders my dear--attending with his shoulders to what I said. In
fact I saw that his shoulders were struck by it.
"The dear boy was always fond of story-books" I went on, like as if I was
talking to myself. "I am sure this house--his own home--might write a
story or two for his reading one day or another."
The Major's shoulders gave a dip and a curve and his head came up in his
shirt-collar. The Major's head came up in his shirt-collar as I hadn't
seen it come up since Jemmy went to school.
"It is unquestionable that in intervals of cribbage and a friendly
rubber, my dear Madam," says the Major, "and also over what used to be
called in my young times--in the salad days of Jemmy Jackman--the social
glass, I have exchanged many a reminiscence with your Lodgers."
My remark was--I confess I made it with the deepest and artfullest of
intentions--"I wish our dear boy had heard them!"
"Are you serious Madam?" asked the Major starting and turning full round.
"Why not Major?"
"Madam" says the Major, turning up one of his cuffs, "they shall be
written for him."
"Ah! Now you speak" I says giving my hands a pleased clap. "Now you are
in a way out of moping Major!"
"Between this and my holidays--I mean the dear boy's" says the Major
turning up his other cuff, "a good deal may be done towards it."
"Major you are a clever man and you have seen much and not a doubt of
it."
"I'll begin," says the Major looking as tall as ever he did, "to-morrow."
My dear the Major was another man in three days and he was himself again
in a week and he wrote and wrote and wrote with his pen scratching like
rats behind the wainscot, and whether he had many grounds to go upon or
whether he did at all romance I cannot tell you, but what he has written
is in the left-hand glass closet of the little bookcase close behind you.