The Old Curiosity Shop

by Dickens, Charles

  camps they had passed in their wayfaring, and but one gipsy--a

  tall athletic man, who stood with his arms folded, leaning against

  a tree at a little distance off, looking now at the fire, and now,

  under his black eyelashes, at three other men who were there, with

  a watchful but half-concealed interest in their conversation. Of

  these, her grandfather was one; the others she recognised as the

  first card-players at the public-house on the eventful night of the

  storm--the man whom they had called Isaac List, and his gruff

  companion. One of the low, arched gipsy-tents, common to that

  people, was pitched hard by, but it either was, or appeared to be,

  empty.

  'Well, are you going?' said the stout man, looking up from the

  ground where he was lying at his ease, into her grandfather's face.

  'You were in a mighty hurry a minute ago. Go, if you like. You're

  your own master, I hope?'

  'Don't vex him,' returned Isaac List, who was squatting like a frog

  on the other side of the fire, and had so screwed himself up that

  he seemed to be squinting all over; 'he didn't mean any offence.'

  'You keep me poor, and plunder me, and make a sport and jest of me

  besides,' said the old man, turning from one to the other. 'Ye'll

  drive me mad among ye.'

  The utter irresolution and feebleness of the grey-haired child,

  contrasted with the keen and cunning looks of those in whose hands

  he was, smote upon the little listener's heart. But she

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  constrained herself to attend to all that passed, and to note each

  look and word.

  'Confound you, what do you mean?' said the stout man rising a

  little, and supporting himself on his elbow. 'Keep you poor!

  You'd keep us poor if you could, wouldn't you? That's the way with

  you whining, puny, pitiful players. When you lose, you're martyrs;

  but I don't find that when you win, you look upon the other losers

  in that light. As to plunder!' cried the fellow, raising his voice--

  'Damme, what do you mean by such ungentlemanly language as

  plunder, eh?'

  The speaker laid himself down again at full length, and gave one or

  two short, angry kicks, as if in further expression of his

  unbounded indignation. It was quite plain that he acted the bully,

  and his friend the peacemaker, for some particular purpose; or

  rather, it would have been to any one but the weak old man; for

  they exchanged glances quite openly, both with each other and with

  the gipsy, who grinned his approval of the jest until his white

  teeth shone again.

  The old man stood helplessly among them for a little time, and then

  said, turning to his assailant:

  'You yourself were speaking of plunder just now, you know. Don't

  be so violent with me. You were, were you not?'

  'Not of plundering among present company! Honour among--among

  gentlemen, Sir,' returned the other, who seemed to have been very

  near giving an awkward termination to the sentence.

  'Don't be hard upon him, Jowl,' said Isaac List. 'He's very sorry

  for giving offence. There--go on with what you were saying--go

  on.'

  'I'm a jolly old tender-hearted lamb, I am,' cried Mr Jowl, 'to be

  sitting here at my time of life giving advice when I know it won't

  be taken, and that I shall get nothing but abuse for my pains. But

  that's the way I've gone through life. Experience has never put a

  chill upon my warm-heartedness.'

  'I tell you he's very sorry, don't I?' remonstrated Isaac List,

  'and that he wishes you'd go on.'

  'Does he wish it?' said the other.

  'Ay,' groaned the old man sitting down, and rocking himself to and

  fro. 'Go on, go on. It's in vain to fight with it; I can't do it;

  go on.'

  'I go on then,' said Jowl, 'where I left off, when you got up so

  quick. If you're persuaded that it's time for luck to turn, as it

  certainly is, and find that you haven't means enough to try it (and

  that's where it is, for you know, yourself, that you never have the

  funds to keep on long enough at a sitting), help yourself to what

  seems put in your way on purpose. Borrow it, I say, and, when

  you're able, pay it back again.'

  'Certainly,' Isaac List struck in, 'if this good lady as keeps the

  wax-works has money, and does keep it in a tin box when she goes to

  bed, and doesn't lock her door for fear of fire, it seems a easy

  thing; quite a Providence, I should call it--but then I've been

  religiously brought up.'

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  'You see, Isaac,' said his friend, growing more eager, and drawing

  himself closer to the old man, while he signed to the gipsy not to

  come between them; 'you see, Isaac, strangers are going in and out

  every hour of the day; nothing would be more likely than for one of

  these strangers to get under the good lady's bed, or lock himself

  in the cupboard; suspicion would be very wide, and would fall a

  long way from the mark, no doubt. I'd give him his revenge to the

  last farthing he brought, whatever the amount was.'

  'But could you?' urged Isaac List. 'Is your bank strong enough?'

  'Strong enough!' answered the other, with assumed disdain. 'Here,

  you Sir, give me that box out of the straw!'

  This was addressed to the gipsy, who crawled into the low tent on

  all fours, and after some rummaging and rustling returned with a

  cash-box, which the man who had spoken opened with a key he wore

  about his person.

  'Do you see this?' he said, gathering up the money in his hand and

  letting it drop back into the box, between his fingers, like water.

  'Do you hear it? Do you know the sound of gold? There, put it

  back--and don't talk about banks again, Isaac, till you've got one

  of your own.'

  Isaac List, with great apparent humility, protested that he had

  never doubted the credit of a gentleman so notorious for his

  honourable dealing as Mr Jowl, and that he had hinted at the

  production of the box, not for the satisfaction of his doubts, for

  he could have none, but with a view to being regaled with a sight

  of so much wealth, which, though it might be deemed by some but an

  unsubstantial and visionary pleasure, was to one in his

  circumstances a source of extreme delight, only to be surpassed by

  its safe depository in his own personal pockets. Although Mr List

  and Mr Jowl addressed themselves to each other, it was remarkable

  that they both looked narrowly at the old man, who, with his eyes

  fixed upon the fire, sat brooding over it, yet listening eagerly--

  as it seemed from a certain involuntary motion of the head, or

  twitching of the face from time to time--to all they said.

  'My advice,' said Jowl, lying down again with a careless air, 'is

  plain--I have given it, in fact. I act as a friend. Why should

  I help a man to the means perhaps of winning all I have, unless I

  considered him my friend? It's foolish, I dare say, to be so

  thoughtful of the welfare of other people, but that's
my

  constitution, and I can't help it; so don't blame me, Isaac List.'

  'I blame you!' returned the person addressed; 'not for the world,

  Mr Jowl. I wish I could afford to be as liberal as you; and, as

  you say, he might pay it back if he won--and if he lost--'

  'You're not to take that into consideration at all,' said Jowl.

  'But suppose he did (and nothing's less likely, from all I know of

  chances), why, it's better to lose other people's money than one's

  own, I hope?'

  'Ah!' cried Isaac List rapturously, 'the pleasures of winning! The

  delight of picking up the money--the bright, shining yellow-boys--

  and sweeping 'em into one's pocket! The deliciousness of having a

  triumph at last, and thinking that one didn't stop short and turn

  back, but went half-way to meet it! The--but you're not going,

  old gentleman?'

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  'I'll do it,' said the old man, who had risen and taken two or

  three hurried steps away, and now returned as hurriedly. 'I'll

  have it, every penny.'

  'Why, that's brave,' cried Isaac, jumping up and slapping him on

  the shoulder; 'and I respect you for having so much young blood

  left. Ha, ha, ha! Joe Jowl's half sorry he advised you now.

  We've got the laugh against him. Ha, ha, ha!'

  'He gives me my revenge, mind,' said the old man, pointing to him

  eagerly with his shrivelled hand: 'mind--he stakes coin against

  coin, down to the last one in the box, be there many or few.

  Remember that!'

  'I'm witness,' returned Isaac. 'I'll see fair between you.'

  'I have passed my word,' said Jowl with feigned reluctance, 'and

  I'll keep it. When does this match come off? I wish it was over.--

  To-night?'

  'I must have the money first,' said the old man; 'and that I'll

  have to-morrow--'

  'Why not to-night?' urged Jowl.

  'It's late now, and I should be flushed and flurried,' said the old

  man. 'It must be softly done. No, to-morrow night.'

  'Then to-morrow be it,' said Jowl. 'A drop of comfort here. Luck

  to the best man! Fill!' The gipsy produced three tin cups, and

  filled them to the brim with brandy. The old man turned aside and

  muttered to himself before he drank. Her own name struck upon the

  listener's ear, coupled with some wish so fervent, that he seemed

  to breathe it in an agony of supplication.

  'God be merciful to us!' cried the child within herself, 'and help

  us in this trying hour! What shall I do to save him!'

  The remainder of their conversation was carried on in a lower tone

  of voice, and was sufficiently concise; relating merely to the

  execution of the project, and the best precautions for diverting

  suspicion. The old man then shook hands with his tempters, and

  withdrew.

  They watched his bowed and stooping figure as it retreated slowly,

  and when he turned his head to look back, which he often did, waved

  their hands, or shouted some brief encouragement. It was not until

  they had seen him gradually diminish into a mere speck upon the

  distant road, that they turned to each other, and ventured to laugh

  aloud.

  'So,' said Jowl, warming his hands at the fire, 'it's done at last.

  He wanted more persuading than I expected. It's three weeks ago,

  since we first put this in his head. What'll he bring, do you

  think?'

  'Whatever he brings, it's halved between us,' returned Isaac List.

  The other man nodded. 'We must make quick work of it,' he said,

  'and then cut his acquaintance, or we may be suspected. Sharp's

  the word.'

  List and the gipsy acquiesced. When they had all three amused

  themselves a little with their victim's infatuation, they dismissed

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  the subject as one which had been sufficiently discussed, and began

  to talk in a jargon which the child did not understand. As their

  discourse appeared to relate to matters in which they were warmly

  interested, however, she deemed it the best time for escaping

  unobserved; and crept away with slow and cautious steps, keeping in

  the shadow of the hedges, or forcing a path through them or the dry

  ditches, until she could emerge upon the road at a point beyond

  their range of vision. Then she fled homeward as quickly as she

  could, torn and bleeding from the wounds of thorns and briars, but

  more lacerated in mind, and threw herself upon her bed, distracted.

  The first idea that flashed upon her mind was flight, instant

  flight; dragging him from that place, and rather dying of want upon

  the roadside, than ever exposing him again to such terrible

  temptations. Then, she remembered that the crime was not to be

  committed until next night, and there was the intermediate time for

  thinking, and resolving what to do. Then, she was distracted with

  a horrible fear that he might be committing it at that moment; with

  a dread of hearing shrieks and cries piercing the silence of the

  night; with fearful thoughts of what he might be tempted and led on

  to do, if he were detected in the act, and had but a woman to

  struggle with. It was impossible to bear such torture. She stole

  to the room where the money was, opened the door, and looked in.

  God be praised! He was not there, and she was sleeping soundly.

  She went back to her own room, and tried to prepare herself for

  bed. But who could sleep--sleep! who could lie passively down,

  distracted by such terrors? They came upon her more and more

  strongly yet. Half undressed, and with her hair in wild disorder,

  she flew to the old man's bedside, clasped him by the wrist, and

  roused him from his sleep.

  'What's this!' he cried, starting up in bed, and fixing his eyes

  upon her spectral face.

  'I have had a dreadful dream,' said the child, with an energy that

  nothing but such terrors could have inspired. 'A dreadful,

  horrible dream. I have had it once before. It is a dream of

  grey-haired men like you, in darkened rooms by night, robbing

  sleepers of their gold. Up, up!'

  The old man shook in every joint, and folded his hands like one who

  prays.

  'Not to me,' said the child, 'not to me--to Heaven, to save us

  from such deeds! This dream is too real. I cannot sleep, I cannot

  stay here, I cannot leave you alone under the roof where such

  dreams come. Up! We must fly.'

  He looked at her as if she were a spirit--she might have been for

  all the look of earth she had--and trembled more and more.

  'There is no time to lose; I will not lose one minute,' said the

  child. 'Up! and away with me!'

  'To-night?' murmured the old man.

  'Yes, to-night,' replied the child. 'To-morrow night will be too

  late. The dream will have come again. Nothing but flight can save

  us. Up!'

  The old man rose from his bed: his forehead bedewed with the cold

  sweat of fear: and, bending before the child as if she had been an

  angel messenger sent to lead him where she would, made ready to

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  follow her. She took him by the hand and led him on. As they

  passed the door of the room he had proposed to rob, she shuddered

  and looked up into his face. What a white face was that, and with

  what a look did he meet hers!

  She took him to her own chamber, and, still holding him by the hand

  as if she feared to lose him for an instant, gathered together the

  little stock she had, and hung her basket on her arm. The old man

  took his wallet from her hands and strapped it on his shoulders--

  his staff, too, she had brought away--and then she led him forth.

  Through the strait streets, and narrow crooked outskirts, their

  trembling feet passed quickly. Up the steep hill too, crowned by

  the old grey castle, they toiled with rapid steps, and had not once

  looked behind.

  But as they drew nearer the ruined walls, the moon rose in all her

  gentle glory, and, from their venerable age, garlanded with ivy,

  moss, and waving grass, the child looked back upon the sleeping

  town, deep in the valley's shade: and on the far-off river with its

  winding track of light: and on the distant hills; and as she did

  so, she clasped the hand she held, less firmly, and bursting into

  tears, fell upon the old man's neck.

  CHAPTER 43

  Her momentary weakness past, the child again summoned the

  resolution which had until now sustained her, and, endeavouring to

  keep steadily in her view the one idea that they were flying from

  disgrace and crime, and that her grandfather's preservation must

  depend solely on her firmness, unaided by one word of advice or any

  helping hand, urged him onward and looked back no more.

  While he, subdued and abashed, seemed to crouch before her, and to

  shrink and cower down, as if in the presence of some superior

  creature, the child herself was sensible of a new feeling within

  her, which elevated her nature, and inspired her with an energy and

  confidence she had never known. There was no divided

  responsibility now; the whole burden of their two lives had fallen

  upon her, and henceforth she must think and act for both. 'I have

  saved him,' she thought. 'In all dangers and distresses, I will

  remember that.'

  At any other time, the recollection of having deserted the friend

  who had shown them so much homely kindness, without a word of

  justification--the thought that they were guilty, in appearance,