LITTLE DORRIT.
Many years ago, when people could be put in prison for debt, a poorgentleman, who was unfortunate enough to lose all his money, was broughtto the Marshalsea prison. As there seemed no prospect of being able topay his debts, his wife and their two little children came to live therewith him. The elder child was a boy of three; the younger a little girlof two years old, and not long afterwards another little girl was born.The three children played in the courtyard, and were happy, on thewhole, for they were too young to remember a happier state of things.
But the youngest child, who had never been outside the prison walls, wasa thoughtful little creature, and wondered what the outside world couldbe like. Her great friend, the turnkey, who was also her godfather,became very fond of her, and as soon as she could walk and talk, hebought a little arm-chair and stood it by his fire at the lodge, andcoaxed her with cheap toys to come and sit with him.
One day, she was sitting in the lodge gazing wistfully up at the skythrough the barred window. The turnkey, after watching her some time,said:--
"Thinking of the fields, ain't you?"
"Where are they?" she asked.
"Why, they're--over there, my dear," said the turnkey, waving his keyvaguely, "just about there."
"Does anybody open them and shut them? Are they locked?"
"Well," said the turnkey, discomfited, "not in general."
"Are they pretty, Bob?" She called him Bob, because he wished it.
"Lovely. Full of flowers. There's buttercups, and there's daisies, andthere's--" here he hesitated, not knowing the names of manyflowers--"there's dandelions, and all manner of games."
"Is it very pleasant to be there, Bob?"
"Prime," said the turnkey.
"Was father ever there?"
"Hem!" coughed the turnkey. "O yes, he was there, sometimes."
"Is he sorry not to be there now?"
"N--not particular," said the turnkey.
"Nor any of the people?" she asked, glancing at the listless crowdwithin. "O are you quite sure and certain, Bob?"
At this point, Bob gave in and changed the subject. But after this chat,the turnkey and little Amy would go out on his free Sunday afternoons tosome meadows or green lanes, and she would pick grass and flowers tobring home, while he smoked his pipe.
When Amy was only eight years old, her mother died, and the poor fatherwas more helpless and broken-down than ever, and as Fanny was a carelesschild, and Edward idle, the little one, who had the bravest and truestheart, was inspired by her love and unselfishness to be the littlemother of the forlorn family, and struggled to get some little educationfor herself and her brother and sister. She went as often as she couldto an evening school outside, and managed to get her brother and sistersent to a day-school at intervals, during three or four years. Atthirteen, she could read and keep accounts. Once, amongst the debtors, adancing-master came in, and as Fanny had a great desire to learndancing, little Amy went timidly to the new prisoner, and said,
"If you please, I was born here, sir."
"Oh! You are the young lady, are you?" said he.
"Yes, sir."
"And what can I do for you?"
"Nothing for me, sir, thank you; but if, while you stay here, you couldbe so kind as to teach my sister cheap."
"My child, I'll teach her for nothing," said the dancing-master.
Fanny was a very apt pupil, and the good-natured dancing-master went ongiving her lessons even after his release, and Amy was so emboldenedwith the success of her attempt that, when a milliner came in, she wentto her on her own behalf, and begged her to teach her.
"I am afraid you are so weak, you see," the milliner objected.
"I don't think I am weak, ma'am."
"And you are so very, very little, you see," the milliner stillobjected.
THE BLIND TOY MAKER.]
LITTLE DORRIT AND MAGGIE. "SHE HAS NEVER GROWN OLDER SINCE."]
"Yes, I am afraid I am very little indeed," returned the child, andbegan to sob, so that the milliner was touched, and took her in hand andmade her a clever workwoman.
But the father could not bear the idea that his children should work fortheir living, so they had to keep it all secret. Fanny became a dancer,and lived with a poor old uncle, who played the clarionet at the smalltheatre where Fanny was engaged. Amy, or little Dorrit as she wasgenerally called, her father's name being Dorrit, earned small sums bygoing out to do needlework. She got Edward into a great many situations,but he was an idle, careless fellow, and always came back to be a burdenand care to his poor little sister. At last she saved up enough to sendhim out to Canada.
"God bless you, dear Tip" (his name had been shortened to Tip), "don'tbe too proud to come and see us when you have made your fortune," shesaid.
But Tip only went as far as Liverpool, and appeared once more before hispoor little second mother, in rags, and with no shoes.
In the end, after another trial, Tip returned telling Amy, that thistime he was "one of the regulars."
"Oh! Don't say you are a prisoner, Tip. Don't, don't!"
But he was--and Amy nearly broke her heart. So with all these cares andworries struggling bravely on, little Dorrit passed the first twenty-twoyears of her life. Then the son of a lady, Mrs. Clennem, to whose houseAmy went to do needlework, was interested in the pale, patient littlecreature, and learning her history resolved to do his best to try andget her father released, and to help them all.
One day when he was walking home with little Dorrit a voice was heardcalling, "Little Mother, Little Mother," and a strange figure camebouncing up to them and fell down, scattering her basketful of potatoeson the ground. "Oh Maggie," said Little Dorrit, "what a clumsy child youare!"
She was about eight and twenty, with large bones, large features, largehands and feet, large eyes and no hair. Little Dorrit told Mr. Clennemthat Maggie was the grand-daughter of her old nurse, and that hergrandmother had been very unkind to her and beat her. "When Maggie wasten years old, she had a fever, and she has never grown older since."
"Ten years old," said Maggie. "But what a nice hospital! So comfortablewasn't it? Such a Ev'nly place! Such beds there is there! Suchlemonades! Such oranges! Such delicious broth and wine! Such chicking!Oh, AIN'T it a delightful place to stop at!"
"Then when she came out, her grandmother did not know what to do withher, and was very unkind. But after some time, Maggie tried to improve,and was very attentive and industrious, and now she can earn her ownliving entirely, sir!"
Little Dorrit did not say who had taken pains to teach and encourage thepoor half-witted creature, but Mr. Clennem guessed from the name LittleMother, and the fondness of the poor creature for Amy.
Thanks to Mr. Clennem, a great change took place in the fortunes of thefamily, and not long after this wretched night, it was discovered thatMr. Dorrit was owner of a large property, and they became very rich.
When, in his turn, Mr. Clennem became a prisoner in the Marshalsealittle Dorrit came to comfort and console him, and after many changes offortune, she became his wife, and they lived happy ever after.
Charles Dickens' Children Stories Page 7