himself to the Kenwigs' apartment with all speed. Here he found the four
Miss Kenwigses on their form of audience, and the baby in a dwarf
porter's chair, with a deal tray before it, amusing himself with a toy
horse, while Mrs. Kenwigs spoke to the little girls of the superior
advantages they enjoyed above other children. "But I hope," she said,
"that that will not make them proud; but that they will bless their own
good fortune which has born them superior to common people's children.
And when you go out in the streets, or elsewhere, I desire that you
don't boast of it to the other children," continued Mrs. Kenwigs, "and
that if you must say anything about it, you don't say no more than
'we've got a private master comes to teach us at home, but we ain't
proud, because Ma says its sinful,' Do you hear, Morleena?"
Upon the eldest Miss Kenwigs replying meekly that she did, permission
was conceded for the lesson to commence, and accordingly the four Miss
Kenwigses again arranged themselves upon their form, in a row, with
their tails all one way, while Nicholas Nickleby began his preliminary
explanations.
Some months after this, the Kenwigses were thrown into a fever of rage
and disappointment, by receiving the cruel news of their Uncle
Lillyvick's marriage, which blow was a terrible one to Mrs. Kenwigs,
blighting her hopes for her children's future. After weeping and wailing
in the most agonized fashion, Mrs. Kenwigs drew herself up in proud
defiance, and denounced her uncle in terms direct and plain, stating
that he should never again darken her doors. In this terrible state of
affairs, it remained for Morleena of the flaxen tails, to bring about a
family re-union, and in this way:
It had come to pass that she had received an invitation to repair next
day, per steamer from Westminster bridge, unto the Eel-Pie Island at
Twickenham, there to make merry upon a cold collation, and to dance in
the open air to the music of a locomotive band; the steamer having been
engaged by a dancing-master for his numerous pupils, one of whom had
extended an invitation to Miss Morleena, and Mrs. Kenwigs rightly deemed
the honor of the family was involved in her daughter making the most
splendid appearance possible. Now, between the Italian-ironing of
frills, the flouncing of trousers, the trimming of frocks, the faintings
from overwork and the comings-to again, incidental to the occasion, Mrs.
Kenwigs had been so entirely occupied, that she had not observed, until
within half an hour before, that the flaxen tails of Miss Morleena were
in a manner, run to seed; and that unless she were put under the hands
of a skilful hairdresser she never could achieve that signal triumph
over the daughters of all other people, anything less than which would
be tantamount to defeat. This discovery drove Mrs. Kenwigs to despair,
for the hairdresser lived three streets and eight dangerous crossings
off, and there was nobody to take her. So Mrs. Kenwigs first slapped
Miss Kenwigs for being the cause of her vexation, and then shed tears.
"I can't help it, ma," replied Morleena, also in tears, "my hair _will_
grow!" While they were both still bemoaning and weeping, a fellow lodger
in the house came upon them, and hearing of their difficulty, offered to
escort Miss Morleena to the barber-shop, and at once led her in safety
to that establishment. The proprietor, knowing she had three sisters,
each with two flaxen tails, and all good for sixpence apiece a month at
least, promptly deserted an old gentleman whom he had just lathered for
shaving, and waited on the young lady himself. The old gentleman raising
his head, Miss Kenwigs noticed his face and uttered a shrill little
scream,--it was her Uncle Lillyvick!
Hearing his name pronounced, Mr. Lillyvick groaned, then coughed to hide
it, and consigning himself to the hands of an assistant, commenced a
colloquy with Miss Morleena's escort, rather striving to escape the
notice of Miss Morleena herself, and so remarkable did this behavior
seem to her, that at the imminent hazard of having her ear sliced off,
she could not forbear looking round at him some score of times.
The cutting and curling being at last concluded, the old gentleman, who
had been finished some time, and simply waiting, rose to go also, and
walked out of the establishment with Miss Morleena and her escort,
proceeding with them, in profound silence until they had nearly reached
Miss Morleena's home, when he asked if her family had been very much
overpowered by the news of his marriage.
"It made ma cry when she knew it," answered Miss Morleena, "and pa was
very low in his spirits, but he is better now, and I was very ill, but I
am better too."
"Would you give your great-uncle Lillyvick a kiss, if he was to ask you,
Morleena?" said the collector, with some hesitation.
"Yes, Uncle Lillyvick, I would," returned Miss Morleena with no
hesitation whatsoever, whereupon Mr. Lillyvick caught her in his arms
and kissed her, and being by this time at the door of the house, he
walked straight up into the Kenwigses' sitting-room and put her down in
their midst. The surprise and delight that reigned in the bosom of the
Kenwigses at the unexpected sight, was only heightened by the joyful
intelligence that their uncle's married life had been both brief and
unsatisfactory, and by his further statement:
"Out of regard for you, Susan and Kenwigs, I shall to-morrow morning
settle upon your children, and make payable to their survivors when they
come of age, or marry, that money which I once meant to leave 'em in my
will. The deed shall be executed to-morrow!"
Overcome by this noble and generous offer, and by their emotion, Mr.
Kenwigs, Mrs. Kenwigs, and Miss Morleena Kenwigs all began to sob
together, and the noise communicating itself to the next room where the
other children lay a-bed, and causing them to cry too, Mr. Kenwigs
rushed wildly in, and bringing them out in his arms, by two and two,
tumbled them down in their night-caps and gowns at the feet of Mr.
Lillyvick, and called upon them to thank and bless him.
And this wonderful domestic scene,--this family reconciliation was
brought about by Miss Morleena, eldest of the four little Kenwigses,
with the flaxen tails!
LITTLE NELL
[Illustration: LITTLE NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER]
LITTLE NELL
There was once an old man, whose daughter dying, left in his care two
orphan children, a son twelve years old, and little Nell, a younger
girl. The grandfather was now an old and feeble man, but gathering
himself together as best he could, he began to trade;--in pictures
first--and then in curious ancient things, and from the Old Curiosity
Shop, as it was called, he was able to obtain a slender income.
The boy grew into a wayward youth, and soon quitted his grandfather's
home for companions more suited to his taste, but sweet little Nell
remained, and grew so like her mother, that when the old man had her on
his knee, and looked into her mild blue eyes, he felt as if his daughter
had come back, a child again.
The old man and little Nell dwelt alone,--he loving her with a
passionate devotion, and haunted with a fearful dread lest she should be
left to a life of poverty and want, when he should be called to leave
her. This fear so overmastered him that it led him to the gaming-table,
and--for her sake--he became a professional gambler, hoping to lay by a
vast fortune for her future use. But he lost heavily and constantly,
until his slender resources were exhausted, and he was obliged to borrow
money from the rich little dwarf money-lender, Quilp, pledging his stock
as security for the loans.
But of all this Little Nell knew nothing, or she would have implored
him to give up the dangerous practice. She only knew that, after her
monotonous days, uncheckered by variety and uncheered by pleasant
companionship, the old man, who seemed always agitated by some hidden
care, and weak and wandering in his mind, taking his cloak and hat and
stick, would pass from the house, leaving her alone through the dreary
evenings and long solitary nights.
It was not the absence of such pleasures as make young hearts beat high,
that brought tears to Nell's eyes. It was the sight of the old man's
feeble state of mind and body, and the fear that some night he should
fail to come home, having been overtaken by illness or sudden death.
Such fears as these drove the roses from her smooth young cheeks, and
stilled the songs which before had rung through the dim old shop, while
the gay, lightsome step passed among the dusty treasures. Now she seldom
smiled or sang, and among the few bits of comedy in her sad days, were
the visits of Kit Nubbles, her grandfather's errand boy, a shock-headed,
shambling, comical lad, whose devotion to the beautiful child verged on
worship. Appreciating Nell's loneliness, Kit visited the shop as often
as possible, and the exquisite oddity and awkwardness of his manner so
amused her that at sight of him she would give way to genuine merriment.
Kit himself, being always flattered by the sensation he produced, would
often burst into a loud roar, and stand with his mouth wide open, and
his eyes nearly shut, laughing violently.
Twice every week Nell gave the lad a writing lesson, to the great mirth
and enjoyment of them both, and each time Kit tucked up his sleeves,
squared his elbows, and put his face very close to the copy-book,
squinting horribly at the lines, fairly wallowing in blots, and daubing
himself with ink up to the roots of his hair,--and if he did by accident
form a letter properly, he immediately smeared it out again with his
arm--and at every fresh mistake there was a fresh burst of merriment
from the child and from poor Kit himself.
But of such happy times sweet Nell had few, and she became more anxious
about her grandfather's health, as he became daily more worried over the
secret which he would not share with her, and which preyed upon his mind
and body with increasing ravages.
Fortune did not favor his ventures, and Quilp, having discovered for
what purpose he borrowed such large sums, refused him further loans. In
an agony of apprehension for the future, the old man told Nell that he
had had heavy losses, that they would soon be beggars.
"What if we are?" said the child boldly. "Let us be beggars, and be
happy."
"Beggars--and happy!" said the old man. "Poor child!"
"Dear grandfather," cried the girl, with an energy which shone in her
flushed face, trembling voice, and impassioned, gestures, "O, hear me
pray that we may beg, or work in open roads or fields, to earn a scanty
living, rather than live as we do now."
"Nelly!" said the old man.
"Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now," the child repeated, "do not
let me see such change in you, and not know why, or I shall break my
heart and die. Dear grandfather, let us leave this sad place to-morrow,
and beg our way from door to door."
The old man covered his face with his hands, as the child added, "Let us
be beggars. I have no fear but we shall have enough: I'm sure we shall.
Let us walk through country places, and never think of money again, or
anything that can make you sad, but rest at nights, and have the sun
and wind on our faces in the day, and thank God together! Let us never
set foot in dark rooms or melancholy houses any more, but wander up and
down wherever we like to go, and when you are tired, you shall stop to
rest in the pleasantest places we can find, and I will go and beg
for both."
The child's voice was lost in sobs as she dropped upon the old man's
neck; nor did she weep alone.
That very day news came that the Old Curiosity Shop and its contents
would at once pass into Quilp's hands, in payment of the old man's
debts. In vain he pleaded for one more chance to redeem himself--for one
more loan--Quilp was firm in his refusal of further help, and little
Nell found the old man, overcome by the news, lying upon the floor of
his room, alarmingly ill. For weeks he lay raving in the delirium of
fever, little Nell alone beside him, nursing him with a single-hearted
devotion. The house was no longer theirs; even the sick chamber they
retained by special favor until such time as the old man could be
removed. Meanwhile, Mr. Quilp had taken formal possession of the
premises, and to make sure that no more business was transacted in the
shop, was encamped in the back parlor. So keen was Nell's dread of even
the sound of the dwarfs voice, that she lived in continual apprehension
of meeting him on the stairs, or in the passage, and seldom stirred from
her grandfather's room.
At length the old man began to mend--he was patient and quiet, easily
amused, and made no complaint, but his mind was forever weakened, and he
seemed to have only a dazed recollection of what had happened. Even when
Quilp told him that in two days he must be moved out of the shop, he
seemed not to take it to heart, wandering around the house, a very child
in act and thought. But a change came over him on the second evening; as
he and little Nell sat silently together. He was moved--shed
tears--begged Nell's forgiveness for what he had made her suffer--seemed
like one coming out of a dream--and urged her to help him in acting upon
what they had talked of doing long before.
"We will not stop here another day," he said, "we will go far away from
here. We will travel afoot through the fields and woods, and by the side
of rivers, and trust ourselves to God in the places where He dwells. It
is far better to lie down at night beneath an open sky than to rest in
close rooms, which are always full of care and weary dreams. Thou and I
together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to forget this
time, as if it had never been."
"We will be happy," cried the child. "We never can be, here!"
"No, we never can again--never again--that's truly said," rejoined the
old man. "Let us steal away to-morrow morning, early and softly, that we
may not be seen or heard--and leave no trace or track for them to follow
by. Poor Nell! Thy cheek is pale, and thy eyes are heavy with watching
and weeping for me; but thou wilt be well again, and merry too, when we
are far away. To-morrow morning, dear, we will turn our faces from this
scene of sorrow, and be as free and happy as the birds."
The child's heart beat high with hope and confidence. She had no thought
of hunger or cold, or thirst, or suffering. She saw in this a relief
from the gloomy solitude in which she had lived, an escape from the
heartless people by whom she had been surrounded in her late time of
trial, the restoration of the old man's health and peace, and a life of
tranquil happiness. Sun, and stream, and meadow, and summer days shone
brightly in her view, and there was no dark tint in all the
sparkling picture.
The old man had slept for some hours soundly, and she was yet busily
engaged in preparing for their flight. There were a few articles of
clothing for herself to carry, and a few for him, and a staff to support
his feeble steps. But this was not all her task, for now she must say
farewell to her own little room, where she had so often knelt down and
prayed at night--prayed for the time which she hoped was dawning now!
There were some trifles there, which she would have liked to take away,
but that was impossible. She wept bitterly to leave her poor bird
behind, until the idea occurred to her that it might fall into the hands
of Kit, who would keep and cherish it for her sake. She was calmed and
comforted by this thought, and went to rest with a lighter heart.
At length the day began to glimmer, when she arose and dressed herself
for the journey, and with the old man, trod lightly down the stairs. At
last they reached the ground-floor, got the door open without noise, and
passing into the street, stood still.
"Which way?" said the child.
The old man looked irresolutely and helplessly to the right and left,
then at her, and shook his head. It was plain that she was henceforth
his guide and leader. The child felt it, but had no doubts or
misgivings, and putting her hand in his, led him gently away.
It was the beginning of a day in June; the deep blue sky unsullied by a
cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. The streets were as yet free of
passengers, the houses and shops were closed, and the healthy air of
morning fell like breath from angels on the sleeping town.
The old man and the child passed on through the glad silence, elate with
hope and pleasure. Every object was bright and fresh; nothing reminded
them, otherwise than by contrast, of the monotony and restraint they
had left behind.
Forth from the city, while it yet slumbered, went the two poor
adventurers, wandering they knew not whither, often pressing each
other's hands, or exchanging a smile, as they pursued their way through
the city streets, through the haunts of traffic and great commerce,
where business was already rife. The old man looked about him with a
bewildered gaze, for these were places that he hoped to shun, nor did he
seem at ease until at last they felt that they were clear of London, and
sat down to rest, and eat their frugal breakfast from little
Nell's basket.
The freshness of the day, the singing of the birds, the beauty of the
waving grass, the wild flowers, and the thousand exquisite scents and
sounds that floated in the air, sunk into their breasts, and made them
very glad. The child had repeated her artless prayers once that morning,
more earnestly, perhaps, than she had ever done in her life; but as she
felt all this, they rose to her lips again. The old man took off his
hat--he had no memory for the words--but he said Amen, and that they
were very good.
"Are you tired?" asked the child. "Are you sure you don't feel ill from
this long walk?"
"I shall never feel ill again, now that we are once away," was his
reply. "Let us be stirring, Nell. We are too near to stop and be at
rest. Come!"
They were now in the open country, through which they walked all day,
and slept that night at a cottage where beds were let to travellers.
Next morning they were afoot again, and still kept on until nearly five
o'clock in the afternoon, when they stopped at a laborer's hut, asking
permission to rest awhile and buy a draught of milk. The request was
granted, and after having some refreshments and rest, Nell yielded to
the old man's fretful demand to travel on again, and they trudged
forward for another mile, thankful for a lift given them by a kindly
driver going their way, for they could scarcely crawl along. To them the
jolting cart was a luxurious carriage, and the ride the most delicious
in the world. Nell had scarcely settled herself in one corner of the
cart when she fell fast asleep, and was only awakened by its stopping
when their ways parted. The driver pointing out the town in the near
distance, directed them to take the path leading through the churchyard.
Accordingly, to this spot they directed their weary steps, and presently
came upon two men who were seated upon the grass. It was not difficult
to divine that they were itinerant showmen--exhibitors of the freaks of
Punch--for, perched cross-legged upon a tombstone behind them, was a
figure of that hero himself, his nose and chin as hooked, and his face
as beaming as usual; while scattered upon the ground, and jumbled
together in a long box, were the other persons of the drama. The hero's
wife and one child, the hobby-horse, the doctor, the foreign gentleman,
the executioner, and the devil, all were here. Their owners had
evidently come to that spot to make some needful repairs in their stock,
for one of them was engaged in binding together a small gallows with
thread, while the other was intent upon fixing a new black wig.
They greeted the strangers with a nod, and the old man sitting down
beside them, and looking at the figures with extreme delight, began to
talk. While they chatted, Mr. Short, a little merry, red-faced man with
twinkling eyes, turning over the figures in the box, drew one forth,
saying ruefully to his companion, Codlin by name: "Look here, here's all
this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again. You haven't got needle and
thread, I suppose?"
The little man shook his head, and seeing that they were at a loss,
Nell said timidly:
"I have a needle, sir, in my basket, and thread too. Will you let me try
to mend it for you? I think I could do it neater than you could."
As Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge against a proposal so seasonable,
Nelly was soon busily engaged in her task, and accomplishing it to a
miracle. While she was thus engaged, the merry little man looked at her
with an interest which did not appear to be diminished when he glanced
at her helpless companion. When she had finished her work, he thanked
her, and inquired whither they were travelling.
"N-no further to-night, I think," said the child, looking toward her
grandfather.
"If you're wanting a place to stop at," the man remarked, "I should
advise you to take up at the same house with us. The long, low, white
house there. It's very cheap."
The old man, who would have remained in the churchyard all night if his
new acquaintances had stayed there too, yielded to this suggestion a
ready and rapturous assent, and they all rose and walked away together
to the public house, where, after witnessing an exhibition of the show,
they had a good supper, but Nell was too tired to eat, and was grateful
when they retired to the loft where they were to rest. The old man was
uneasy when he had lain down, and begged that Nell would come and sit at
his bedside as she had done for so many nights. She sat there till he
slept, then went to her own room and sat thinking of the life that was
before them.
She had a little money, but it was very little, and when that was gone,
they must begin to beg. There was one piece of gold among it, and an
emergency might come when its worth to them might be increased a
hundredfold. It would be best to hide this coin, and never produce it
unless their case was absolutely desperate. Her resolution taken, she
sewed the piece of gold into her dress, and going to bed with a lighter
heart, sunk into a deep slumber.
On the following morning, Mr. Short asked Nell, "And where are you going
to-day?"
"Indeed I hardly know," replied the child.
"We're going on to the races," said the little man. "If you'd like to
have us for company, let us travel together."
"Well go with you," said the old man eagerly. "Nell--with them, with
them."
The child considered for a moment, and reflecting that she must soon
beg, and could scarcely do so at a better place, thanked the little man
for his offer, and said they would accompany him.
Presently they started off and made a long day's journey, and were yet
upon the road when night came on. Threatening clouds soon gave place to
a heavy rain, and the party took refuge for the night in a roadside inn,
where they found a mighty fire blazing upon the hearth, and savory
smells coming from iron pots.
Furnished with slippers and dry garments, and overpowered by the warmth
and comfort of the room and the fatigue they had undergone, Nelly and
the old man had not long taken seats in the warm chimney-corner when
they fell asleep.
"Who are they?" whispered the landlord.
Short and Codlin shook their heads. "They're no harm," said Short.
"Depend upon that I tell you what--it's plain that the old man aren't in
his right mind--I believe that he's given his friends the slip and
persuaded this delicate young creature, all along of her fondness for
him, to be his guide and travelling companion--where to, he knows no
more than the man in the moon. Now I'm not a-goin' to stand that. I'm
not a-goin' to see this fair young child a-falling into bad hands, and
getting among people that she's no more fit for, than they are to get
among angels as their ordinary chums. Therefore when they dewelop an
intention of parting company from us, I shall take measures for
detainin' of 'em and restoring them to their friends, who, I dare say,
have had their disconsolation pasted up on every wall in London by
this time.
"Short," said Mr. Codlin, "it's possible there may be uncommon good
sense in what you've said. If there is, and there should be a reward,
Short, remember that we are partners in everything!"
His companion had only time to nod a brief assent to this proposition,
for the child awoke at the instant, as strange footsteps were heard
without, and fresh company entered.