headed by an old bandy dog, who erected himself upon his hind legs, and
looked around at his companions, who immediately stood upon their hind
legs in a grave and melancholy row. These dogs each wore a kind of
little coat of some gaudy color, trimmed with tarnished spangles, and
one of them had a cap upon his head, tied under his chin, which had
fallen down upon his nose, and completely obscured one eye. Add to this,
that the gaudy coats were all wet through with rain, and that the
wearers were all splashed and dirty, and some idea may be formed of the
unusual appearance of the new visitors to the inn. Jerry, the manager of
these dancing dogs, disencumbering himself of a barrel-organ, and
retaining in his hand a small whip, came up to the fire and entered into
conversation. The landlord then busied himself in laying the cloth for
supper, which, being at length ready to serve, little Nell ventured to
say grace, and supper began.
At this juncture the poor dogs were standing upon their hind legs quite
surprisingly. The child, having pity on them, was about to cast some
morsels of food to them before she tasted it herself, hungry though she
was, when their master interposed.
"No, my dear, no, not an atom from anybody's hand but mine, please. That
dog," said Jerry, pointing out the old leader of the troop, and speaking
in a terrible voice, "lost a half-penny to-day. He goes without
his supper."
The unfortunate creature dropped upon his forelegs directly, wagged his
tail, and looked imploringly at his master.
"You must be more careful, sir," said Jerry, walking coolly to the chair
where he had placed the organ, and setting the stop. "Come here. Now,
sir, you play away at that while we have supper, and leave off if
you dare."
The dog immediately began to grind most mournful music. His master,
having shown him the whip, called up the others, who, at his directions,
formed in a row, standing upright as a file of soldiers.
"Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at them attentively, "the dog
whose name is called, eats. Carlo!"
The lucky individual whose name was called, snapped up the morsel thrown
towards him, but none of the others moved a muscle. Meanwhile the dog in
disgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes in quick time, sometimes in
slow, but never leaving off for an instant. When the knives and forks
rattled very much, or any of his fellows got an unusually large piece of
fat, he accompanied the music with a short howl; but he immediately
checked it on his master looking around, and applied himself with
increased diligence to the Old Hundredth.
That night, from various conversations in which Codlin and Short took
pains to engage her, little Nell began to have misgivings concerning
their protestations of friendship, and to suspect their motives. These
misgivings made the child anxious and uneasy, as the party travelled on
towards the town where the races were to begin next day.
It was dark when they reached the town, and there all was tumult and
confusion. The streets were filled with throngs of people, the
church-bells rang out their noisy peals, and flags streamed from windows
and house-tops, while shrill flageolets and deafening drums added to
the uproar.
Through this delirious scene, the child, frightened and repelled by all
she saw, led on her bewildered charge, clinging close to her conductor,
and trembling lest she should be separated from him, and left to find
her way alone. Quickening their steps they made for the racecourse,
which was upon an open heath. There were many people here, none of the
best-favored or best clad, busily erecting tents, but the child felt it
an escape from the town, and drew her breath more freely. After a scanty
supper, she and the old man lay down to rest in a corner of a tent, and
slept, despite the busy preparations that were going on around them all
night long.
And now they had come to the time when they must beg their bread. Soon
after sunrise in the morning Nell stole out, and plucked a few wild
roses and such humble flowers, to make into little nosegays and offer to
the ladies in the carriages when the company arrived. Her thoughts were
not idle while she was thus employed. When she returned and was seated
beside the old man, tying her flowers together, while Codlin and Short
lay dozing in another corner, she said in a low voice:
"Grandfather, don't look at those I talk of, and don't seem as if I
spoke of anything but what I'm about. What was that you told me before
we left the old house?--that if they knew what we were going to do, they
would say that you were mad, and part us?"
The old man turned to her with an aspect of wild terror; but she checked
him by a look, adding, "Grandfather, these men suspect that we have
secretly left our friends, and mean to carry us before some gentlemen,
and have us taken care of, and sent back. If you let your hand tremble
so, we can never get away from them, but if you're only quiet now, we
shall do so easily."
"How?" muttered the old man. "Dear Nelly, how? They will shut me up in a
stone room, dark and cold, and chain me to the wall, Nell--flog me with
whips, and never let me see thee more!"
"You're trembling again!" said the child. "Keep close to me all day. I
shall find a time when we can steal away. When I do, mind you come with
me, and do not stop or speak a word. Hush! that's all."
"Halloa! what are you up to, my dear?" said Mr. Codlin, raising his head
and yawning.
"Making some nosegays," the child replied; "I'm going to try to sell
some. Will you have one?--as a present, I mean." Mr. Codlin stuck it in
his buttonhole with an air of ineffable complacency, and laid himself
down again.
As the morning wore on, the tents assumed a more brilliant appearance.
Men, who had lounged about in smock frocks and leather leggings, came
out in silken vests and hats and plumes, as jugglers or mountebanks.
Black-eyed gypsy girls, hooded in showy handkerchiefs, sallied forth to
tell fortunes. The dancing dogs, the stilts, the little lady and the
tall man and all the other attractions, with organs out of number, and
bands innumerable, emerged from the corners in which they had passed the
night, and flourished boldly in the sun.
Along the uncleared course, Short led his party, sounding the brazen
trumpet, and at his heels went Thomas Codlin, bearing the show, and
keeping his eyes on Nelly and her grandfather, as they rather lingered
in the rear. The child bore upon her arm the little basket with her
flowers, and sometimes stopped, with timid looks, to offer them at some
gay carriage, but, alas! there were many bolder beggars there, adepts at
their trade, and although some ladies smiled gently as they shook their
heads, and others cried: "See, what a pretty face!" they let the pretty
face pass on, and never thought that it looked tired or hungry, and
among all that gay throng, there was but one lady, who, taking her
flowers, put money in the child's trembling hand.
At length, late in the day, Mr. Codlin pitched the show in a convenient
spot, and the spectators were soon in the very triumph of the scene. The
child, sitting down with the old man close behind it, was roused from
her meditation by a loud laugh at some witticism of Mr. Short.
If they were ever to get away unseen, that was the very moment. Short
and Codlin were absorbed in giving the show, and in coaxing sixpences
from the people's pockets, and the spectators were looking on with
laughing faces. That was the moment for escape. They seized it and fled.
They made a path through booths, and carriages, and throngs of people,
and never once stopped to look behind, but creeping under the brow of
the hill at a quick pace, made for the open fields, and not until they
were quite exhausted ventured to sit down to rest upon the borders of a
little wood, and some time elapsed before the child could reassure her
trembling companion, or restore him to a state of moderate
tranquillity. His terrors affected her. Separation from her grandfather
was the greatest evil she could dread; and feeling for the time, as
though, go where they would, they were to be hunted down, and could
never be safe in hiding, her heart failed her, and her courage drooped.
Then, remembering how weak her companion was, and how destitute and
helpless he would be if she failed him, she was animated with new
strength and fortitude, and assured him that they had nothing to fear.
Luring him onward through the woods with happy looks and smiles, the
serenity which she had at first assumed, stole into her breast in
earnest. The old man cast no longer fearful looks behind, but felt at
ease and cheerful, for the further they passed into the deep green shade
of the woods, the more they felt that the tranquil mind of God was
there, and shed its peace on them.
At length the path brought them to a public road which to their great
joy at last led into the centre of a small village. Uncertain where to
seek a lodging, they approached an old man sitting in a garden before
his cottage. He was the schoolmaster, and had "School" written over his
window in black letters. He was a pale, simple-looking man, and sat
among his flowers and beehives, taking no notice of the travellers,
until Nell approached him, dropping a curtsey, and asking if he could
direct them anywhere to obtain a shelter for the night.
"You have been walking a long way?" said the schoolmaster.
"A long way, sir," the child replied.
"You're a young traveller, my child," he said, laying his hand gently on
her head. "Your grandchild, friend?"
"Aye, sir," cried the old man, "and the stay and comfort of my life."
"Come in," said the schoolmaster.
Without further preface, he conducted them into his little schoolroom,
which was parlor and kitchen likewise, and told them they were welcome
to remain till morning. Before they had done thanking him, he spread the
table, and besought them to eat and drink.
After a sound night's rest in the little cottage, Nell rose early, and
was attempting to make the room in which she had supped last night neat
and comfortable, when their kind host came in. She asked leave to
prepare breakfast, and the three soon partook of it together. While the
meal was in progress, their host remarked that the old man stood in need
of rest, and that he should be glad of their company for another night.
It required no great persuasion to induce the child to answer that they
would remain. She was happy to show her gratitude to the kind
schoolmaster by performing such household duties as his little cottage
stood in need of. When these were done, she took some needlework from
her basket, and sat down beside the lattice, where the honeysuckle and
woodbine filled the room with their delicious breath. Her grandfather
was basking in the sun outside, breathing the perfume of the flowers,
and idly watching the clouds as they floated on before the light summer
wind. Presently the schoolmaster took his seat behind his desk, and as
he seemed pleased to have little Nell beside him, she busied herself
with her work, entering into conversation with the schoolmaster while
the scholars conned their lessons, and watching the boys with eager and
attentive interest.
Upon the following morning there remained for the travellers only to
take leave of the poor schoolmaster, and wander forth once more. With a
trembling and reluctant hand, the child held out to their kind host the
money which the lady had given her at the races for her flowers,
faltering in her thanks, and blushing as she offered it. But he bade her
put it up, and kissing her cheek, wished her good fortune and happiness,
adding, "If you ever pass this way again, you will not forget the little
village school?"
"We shall never forget it, sir," rejoined Nell, "nor ever forget to be
grateful to you for your kindness to us."
They bade him farewell very many times, often looking back, until they
could see him no more. They trudged onward now at a quicker pace,
resolving to keep the main road, and go wherever it might lead them. The
afternoon had worn away into a beautiful evening when the road struck
across a common. On the border of this common, a caravan was drawn up
to rest.
It was not a shabby, dingy cart, but a smart little house upon wheels,
with white dimity curtains festooning the windows, and window-shutters
of green picked out with panels of a staring red. Neither was it a poor
caravan drawn by a single donkey or emaciated horse, for a pair of
horses in pretty good condition were released from the shafts, and
grazing upon the frowzy grass. Neither was it a gypsy caravan, for at
the open door (graced with a bright brass knocker) sat a Christian lady,
stout and comfortable to look upon, who wore a large bonnet, trembling
with bows. And that it was not an unprovided or destitute caravan, was
clear from this lady's occupation, which was the very refreshing one of
drinking tea. The tea things were set forth upon a drum covered with a
napkin; and there sat this roving lady, taking her tea and enjoying the
prospect. As she was in the act of setting down her cup, she beheld an
old man and a young child walking slowly by, and glancing at her
proceedings with eyes of modest but hungry admiration.
"Hey!" cried the lady of the caravan, "Yes, to be sure--Who won the
Helter-Skelter Plate?"
"Won what, ma'am?" asked Nell.
"The Helter-Skelter Plate at the races, child. Can't you say who won the
Helter-Skelter Plate when you're asked a question civilly?"
"I don't know, ma'am."
"Don't know!" repeated the lady of the caravan; "Why, you were there. I
saw you with my own eyes."
Nell was not a little alarmed to hear this, supposing that the lady
might be intimately acquainted with the firm of Short and Codlin; but
what followed tended to reassure her.
"And very sorry I was," said the lady of the caravan, "to see you in
company with a Punch--a low practical, wulgar wretch, that people should
scorn to look at."
"I was not there by choice," rejoined the child; "we didn't know our
way, and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them.
Do you--do you know them, ma'am?"
"Know 'em, child!" cried the lady of the caravan in a sort of shriek.
"Know them! But you're young and inexperienced, and that's your excuse
for asking sich a question. Do I look as if I know'd them? Does this
caravan look as if it know'd 'em?"
"No, ma'am, no," said the child, fearing that she had committed some
grievous fault, "I beg your pardon."
It was granted immediately, and the child then explained that they had
left the races on the first day, and were travelling to the next town,
and ventured to inquire how far it was. The stout lady's reply was
rather discouraging, and Nell could scarcely repress a tear at hearing
that it was eight miles off. Her grandfather made no complaint, and the
two were about to pass on, when the lady of the caravan called to the
child to return. Beckoning to her to ascend the steps, she asked,--"Are
you hungry?"
"Not very, but we are tired, and it's--it is a long way."
"Well, hungry or not, you had better have some tea," rejoined her new
acquaintance. "I suppose you're agreeable to that, old gentleman?"
The grandfather humbly pulled off his hat, and thanked her, and sitting
down, they made a hearty meal, enjoying it to the utmost.
While they were thus engaged, the lady of the caravan held a short
conversation with her driver, after which she informed Nell that she and
her grandfather were to go forward in the caravan with her, for which
kindness Nell thanked the lady with unaffected earnestness. She helped
with great alacrity to put away the tea-things, and mounted into the
vehicle, followed by her delighted grandfather. Their patroness then
shut the door, and away they went, with a great noise of flapping, and
creaking, and straining, and the bright brass knocker, knocking one
perpetual double knock of its own accord as they jolted heavily along.
When they had travelled slowly forward for some short distance, Nell
looked around the caravan, and observed it more closely. One half of it
was carpeted, with a sleeping place, after the fashion of a berth on
board ship, partitioned off at the farther end, which was shaded with
fair, white curtains, and looked comfortable enough,--though by what
kind of gymnastic exercise the lady of the caravan ever contrived to get
into it,--was an unfathomable mystery. The other half served for a
kitchen, and was fitted up with a stove, whose small chimney passed
through the roof. It held, also, a closet or larder, and the necessary
cooking utensils, which latter necessaries hung upon the walls, which
in the other portion of the establishment were decorated with a number
of well-thumbed musical instruments.
Presently the old man fell asleep, and the lady of the caravan invited
Nell to come and sit beside her.
"Well, child," she said, "how do you like this way of travelling?"
Nell replied that she thought that it was very pleasant indeed. Instead
of speaking again, the lady of the caravan sat looking at the child for
a long time in silence, then getting up, brought out a roll of canvas
about a yard in width, which she laid upon the floor, and spread open
with her foot until it nearly reached from one end of the caravan to
the other.
"There, child," she said, "read that."
Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the
inscription, "JARLEY'S WAX-WORK."
"Read it again," said the lady complacently.
"Jarley's Wax-Work," repeated Nell.
"That's me," said the lady. "I am Mrs. Jarley."
The lady of the caravan then unfolded another scroll, whereon was the
inscription, "One hundred figures the full size of life," then several
smaller ones with such inscriptions as, "The genuine and only Jarley,"
"Jarley is the delight of the nobility and gentry," "The royal family
are the patrons of Jarley." When she had exhibited these to the
astonished child, she brought forth hand-bills, some of which were
couched in the form of parodies on popular melodies, as, "Believe me, if
all Jarley's Wax-Work so rare," "I saw thy show in youthful prime,"
"Over the water to Jarley." While others were composed with a view to
the lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on the favorite air
of "If I had a donkey," beginning:
"If I know'd a donkey what wouldn't go
To see MRS. JARLEY'S wax-work show,
Do you think I'd acknowledge him?
Oh, no, no!
Then run to Jarley's"--
besides other compositions in prose, all having the same moral--namely,
that the reader must make haste to Jarley's, and that children and
servants were admitted at half price, Mrs. Jarley then rolled these
testimonials up, and having put them carefully away, sat down and looked
at the child in triumph.
"I never saw any wax-work, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than
Punch?"
"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at
all."
"Oh!" said Nell, with all possible humility.
"It isn't funny at all," repeated Mrs. Jarley. "It's calm and classical.
No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings, like
your precious Punches, but always the same, with a constantly unchanging
air of coldness and gentility; and so life-like, that if wax-work only
spoke and walked about, you'd hardly know the difference."
"Is it here, ma'am?" asked Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this
description.
"Is what here, child?"
"The wax-work, ma'am."
"Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could such a
collection be here? It's gone on in the other wans to the room where
it'll be exhibited the day after to-morrow. You're going to the same
town, and you'll see it, I dare say."
"I shall not be in the town, I think, ma'am," said the child.
This answer appeared to greatly astonish Mrs. Jarley, who asked so many
questions that Nell was led to tell her some of the details concerning
their poverty and wanderings, after which the lady of the caravan
relapsed into a thoughtful silence. At length she shook off her fit of
meditation, and held a long conversation with the driver, which
conference being concluded, she beckoned Nell to approach.
"And the old gentleman, too," said Mrs. Jarley. "I want to have a word
with him. Do you want a good situation for your granddaughter, master?
If you do, I can put her in the way of getting one. What do you say?"
"I can't leave her, ma'am," answered the old man. "What would become of
me without her?"
"I should have thought you were old enough to take care of yourself, if
you ever will be," retorted Mrs. Jarley sharply.
"But he never will be," whispered the child. "Pray do not speak harshly
to him. We are very thankful to you," she added aloud. "But neither of
us could part from the other, if all the wealth of the world were halved
between us."
Mrs. Jarley was a little disconcerted by this reception of her proposal,
but presently she addressed the grandfather again:
"If you're really disposed to employ yourself," she said, "you could
help to dust the figures, and take the checks, and so forth. What I want
your granddaughter for is to point 'em out to the company. It's not a
common offer, bear in mind," said the lady. "It's Jarley's wax-work,
remember. The duties very light and genteel, the company particularly
select. There is none of your open-air wagrancy at Jarley's, recollect;
there is no tarpaulin and saw-dust at Jarley's, remember. Every
expectation held out in the hand-bills is realized to the utmost, and
the whole forms an effect of imposing brilliancy hitherto unrivalled in
this kingdom. Remember that the price of admission is only sixpence,
and that this is an opportunity which may never occur again!"
Descending from the sublime to the details of common life, when she had
reached this point, Mrs. Jarley remarked that she could pledge herself
to no specific salary until she had tested Nell's ability, but that she
could promise both good board and lodging for the child and her
grandfather. Her offer was thankfully accepted.
"And you'll never be sorry for it," said Mrs. Jarley. "I'm pretty sure
of that. So, as that's all settled, let us have a bit of supper."
In the mean while the caravan blundered on, and came at last upon a
town, near midnight. As it was too late to repair to the exhibition
rooms, they drew up near to another caravan bearing the great name of
Jarley, which being empty, was assigned to the old man as his
sleeping-place. As for Nell herself, she was to sleep in Mrs. Jarley's
own travelling-carriage as a signal mark of that lady's favor.
On the following morning Nell was put to work at once, helping to unpack
the chests and arrange the draperies in the exhibition rooms. When this
was accomplished, the stupendous collection of figures was uncovered,
standing more or less unsteadily upon their legs, and all their
countenances expressing great surprise. All the gentlemen were very
pigeon-breasted and very blue about the beards, and all the ladies were
miraculous figures; and all the ladies and all the gentlemen were
looking intensely nowhere, and staring with extraordinary earnestness
at nothing.
When Nell had exhausted her first raptures at this glorious sight, Mrs.
Jarley ordered the room to be cleared of all but herself and the child,
and was at great pains to instruct Nell in her duty.
"That," said Mrs. Jarley, in her exhibition tones, as Nell touched a
figure, "is an unfortunate maid-of-honor in the time of Queen Elizabeth,
who died from pricking her finger in consequence of working upon a
Sunday. Observe the blood which is trickling from her finger; also the
gold-eyed needle of the period, with which she is at work."
All this Nell repeated twice or thrice, pointing to the finger and the
needle at the right times, and then passed on to the next.
"That, ladies and gentlemen," said Mrs. Jarley, "is Jasper Packlemerton,
who courted and married fourteen wives, and destroyed them all by
tickling the soles of their feet when they were sleeping in the
consciousness of innocence and virtue. On being brought to the scaffold,
and asked if he was sorry for what he had done, he replied yes, he was
sorry for having let 'em off so easy, and hoped all Christian husbands
would pardon him the offence. Let this be a warning to all young ladies
to be particular in the character of the gentlemen of their choice.
Observe that his fingers are curved, as if in the act of tickling, and
that his face is represented with a wink, as he appeared when committing
his barbarous murders."