by Ruskin Bond
Little Jack's mouth twisted; he rubbed his eyes with a grimy fist and cried:
I Will grind your tobacco for you, he continued, and pray to God for you; and if I don't you can kill me like Sidoroff's goat. And if you think I ought to work I can ask the steward please to let me take the boots, or I can do the ploughing in place of Teddy. Dear Grandpa, I can't stand it; I shall die. I wanted to run away to the village on foot, but I haven't any boots, and it is so cold. And when I am big I will always take care of you and not allow anyone to hurt you at all, and when you die I will pray to God for you as I do for my mother, Pelagea.
Moscow is a big city. All the houses are manor houses, and there are lots of horses, but no sheep, and the dogs are not fierce. The children don't carry stars,1 and they don't let anyone sing in church, and in one store I saw in the window how they were selling fish-hooks with the lines on them, and there was a fish on every hook, and the hooks were very large and one held a sturgeon that weighed forty pounds. I saw a store where they sell all kinds of guns just like our master's guns; some cost a hundred roubles. But at the butcher's there are grouse and partridges and hares; but the butcher won't tell where they were killed.
Dear Grandpa, when they have the Christmas tree at the big house, keep some gold nuts for me and put them away in the green chest. Ask Miss Olga for them and say they are for Little Jack.
Little Jack heaved a shuddering sigh and stared at the window again. He remembered how his grandfather used to go to the forest for the Christmas tree, and take his grandchild with him. Those were jolly days. Grandfather wheezed and grunted, and the snow wheezed and grunted, and Little Jack wheezed and grunted in sympathy. Before cutting down the tree grandfather would finish smoking his pipe and slowly take snuff, laughing all the time at little, shivering Jacky. The young fir trees, muffled in snow, stood immovable and wondered: 'Which of us is going to die?' Hares flew like arrows across the snow, and grandfather could never help crying: 'Hold on! Hold on! Hold on! Oh, the bobtailed devil!'
Then grandfather would drag the fallen fir tree up to the big house, and there they would all set to work trimming it. The busiest of all was Miss Olga, Jack's favourite. While Jack's mother, Pelagea, was still alive and a housemaid at the big house, Miss Olga used to give Little Jack candy, and because she had nothing better to do had taught him to read and write and to count up to a hundred, and even to dance the quadrille.
When Pelagea died the little orphan was banished to the kitchen, where his grandfather was, and from there he was sent to Moscow, to Aliakin, the shoemaker.
Do come, dear grandpapa (Little Jack went on). Please come; I beg you for Christ's sake to come and take me away. Have pity on your poor little orphan, because everyone scolds me, and I'm so hungry, and it's so lonely - I can't tell you how lonely it is. I cry all day long. And the other day my master hit me on the head with a boot tree, so that I fell down and almost didn't come to again. And give my love to Nelly and one-eyed Gregory and to the coachman, and don't let anyone use my accordion.
Your grandson,
John Jukoff
Dear Grandpapa, do come.
Little Jack folded the paper in four and put it in an envelope which he had bought that evening for one copeck. He reflected an instant, then dipped his pen in the ink and wrote the address:
To my Grandpapa in the Village.
Then he scratched his head, thought a moment, and added:
Constantine Makaritch.
Delighted to have finished his letter without interruption, he put on his cap and, without waiting to throw his little overcoat over his shoulders, ran out into the street in his shirt.
The butcher, whom he had asked the evening before, had told him that one drops letters into the mail-boxes, and that from there they are carried all over the world in mail wagons with ringing bells, driven by drivers who are drunk. Little Jack ran to the nearest mailbox and dropped his letter in the opening.
An hour later he was sound asleep, lulled by the sweetest hopes. He dreamed; he saw a stove. On the stove sat his grandfather swinging his bare legs and reading his letter to the cook. Near the stove walked The Eel, wagging his tail.
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1 A Russian peasant custom at Christmas time.
The Baker's Boy
Samuel Smiles
Robert Dick (1811-1866) was a native of Tullibody, in Clackmannanshire, who became a baker, living in turn in Leith, Glasgow and Greenock, and finally at Thurso. He devoted his spare time to the study of geology and botany, and was inspired by Hugh Miller's Old Red Sandstone, published in 1841. He was soon in communication with Miller, and sent him many rare geological specimens collected in his own district. In this way he made many valuable contributions to the growth of geological knowledge.
ROBERT DICK WAS APPRENTICED TO MR AIKMAN, A BAKER IN Tullibody, when he was thirteen years old. Mr Aikman had a large business, and supplied bread to people in the neighbouring villages as far as the Bridge of Allan.
The life of a baker is by no means interesting. One day is like another. The baker is up in the morning at three or four. The oven fire is kindled first. The flour is mixed with yeast and salt and water, laboriously kneaded together. The sponge is then set in some warm place. The dough begins to rise. After mingling with more flour, and thorough kneading, the mass is weighed into lumps of the proper size, which are shaped into loaves and 'bricks', or into 'baps', penny and half-penny. This is the batch, which, after a short time, is placed in the oven until it is properly baked and ready to be taken out. The bread is then sold or delivered to the customers. When delivered out of doors, the bread is placed on a flat baker's basket, and carried on the head from place to place.
Robert Dick got up first and kindled the fire, so as to heat the oven preparatory to the batch being put in. His nephew, Mr Alexander of Dunfermline, says, 'He got up at three in the morning, and worked and drudged until seven and eight, and sometimes nine o'clock at night.'
As he grew older, and was strong enough to carry the basket on his head, he was sent about to deliver the bread in the neighbouring villages. He was sent to Menstrie, to Lipney on the Ochils, to Blairlogie at the foot of Dunmyat, and farther westward to the Bridge of Allan, about six miles from Tullibody.
The afternoons on which he delivered the bread were a great pleasure to Dick. He had an opportunity for observing nature, which had charms for him in all its moods. When he went up the hills to Lipney, he wandered on his return through Menstrie Glen. He watched the growth of the plants. He knew them individually, one from the other. He began to detect the differences between them, though he then knew little about orders, classes, and genera. When the hazel-nuts were ripe he gathered them and brought loads of them home, for the enjoyment of his master's brains. They all had a great love for the prentice Robert.
He must also, in course of time, have obtained some special acquaintance with botany. At all events, he inquired, many years after, about some particular plants which he had observed during his residence at Dam's Burn and Tullibody. 'Send me,' he said to his eldest sister, 'a twig with the blossom and some leaves, from the Tron Tree in Tullibody.' The Tron Tree is a lime tree standing nearly opposite the house in which Robert was born.
'Send me also,' he said, 'a specimen of the wild geranium, which you will find on the old road close by the foot of the hills between Menstrie and Alva. I also want a water-plant (describing it) which grows in the river Devon.' The two former were sent to him, but the water-plant could not be found.
Robert's apprenticeship lasted for three years and a half. He got no wages - only his meals and his bed. He occupied a small room over the bakehouse. His father had still to clothe him, and his washing was done at home. On Saturdays he went with his 'duds' to Dam's Burn. But either soap was scarce, or good-will was wanting. His step-mother would not give him clean stockings except once a fortnight. His sister Agnes used to accompany him home to Tullibody in the evening, and at the Aikmans' door she exchanged sto
ckings with him, promising to have his own well darned and washed by the following Sunday.
The day of rest was a day of pleasure to him. He did not care to stay within doors. He had shoes now, and could wander up the hills to the top of Dunmyat or Bencleuch, and see the glorious prospect of the country below; the windings of the Devon, the windings of the Forth, and the country far away, from the castle of Stirling on the one hand to the castle of Edinburgh on the other.
Dick continued to be a great reader. He read every book that he could lay his hands on. Popular books were not so common then as they are now. But he contrived to borrow some volumes of the old Edinburgh Encyclopaedia, and this gave him an insight into science. It helped him in his knowledge of botany. He could now find out for himself the names of the plants; and he even began to make a collection. It could only have been a small one, for his time was principally occupied by labour. Yet, with a thirst for knowledge, and a determination to obtain it, a great deal may be accomplished in even the humblest station.
In 1826, Mr Dick was advanced to the office of supervisor of excise, and removed to Thurso. Robert was then left to himself in Tullibody. He had still two years more to serve. One day followed another in the usual round of daily toil. The toil was, however, mingled with pleasure, and he walked through the country with his bread basket, and watched Nature with ever-increasing delight.
He made no acquaintances. The Aikmans say that he was very kind to his master's children - that he was constantly bringing them flowers from the fields, or nuts from the glens, or anything curious or interesting which he had picked up in the course of his journeys. He occupied a little of his time in bird-stuffing. He stuffed a hare, which he called 'a tinkler's lion.' It needs scarcely be said that the children were very fond of their father's prentice.
At length his time was out. He was only seventeen. But he had to leave Tullibody, and try to find work as a journeyman. He bundled up his clothes and set out for Alloa, where he caught the boat for Leith. He never saw Tullibody again, though he long remembered it. His father and mother were buried in the churchyard there; and he could not help having a longing affection for the place. But he could never spare money enough to revisit the place of his birth.
Long after, when writing to his brother-in-law, he said, 'And ye have been up to Alloa. Well, I do believe that is a bonnie country, altho' I fancy it is not in any sense the poor man's country. Nothing but men of money there; though feint a hair did I care for their grandeur while I lived there. The hills and woods, and freedom to run upon them and through them, was all I cared about.
What though, like commoners of air,
We wander out we know not where,
But either house or hall?
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods,
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods
Are free alike to all.
I daresay I might pick up a plant or a stone with very different feelings from those I felt in the days of old. But let them go! There is no use in repining.'
Again, when writing to a fellow botanist, who doubted whether Digitalis purpurea was a native of Caithness, he said, 'I have seen more of the plant in Caithness than I ever saw about Stirling, Alloa, or on the Ochil hills - more than I ever saw in the woods of Tullibody.'
Robert Dick found a journeyman's situation at Leith, where he remained for six months. His life there was composed of the usual round of getting up early in the morning, kneading, baking, and going about the streets with his basket on his head, delivering bread to the customers. It was a lonely life; and the more lonely, as he was far away from Nature and the hills that he loved.
From Leith he went to Glasgow, and afterwards to Greenock. He was a journeyman baker for about three years. His wages were small; his labour was heavy; and he did not find that he was making much progress. He continued to correspond with his father, and told him of his position. The father said, 'Come to Thurso, and set up a baker's shop here.' There were then only three bakers' shops in the whole county of Caithness - one at Thurso, one at Castleton, and another at Wick.
In that remote district 'baker's bread' had scarcely come into fashion. The people there lived chiefly on oatmeal and bere2 - oatmeal porridge and cakes, and barley bannocks, with plenty of milk. Upon this fare men and women grew up strong and healthy. Many of them only got a baker's loaf for 'the Sabbath'.
Robert Dick took his father's advice. He went almost to the world's end to set up his trade. He arrived at Thurso in the summer of 1830, when he was about twenty years old. A shop was taken in Wilson's Lane, nearly opposite his father's house. An oven had to be added to the premises before the business could be begun; and in the meantime Robert surveyed the shore along Thurso Bay.
Thurso is within sight of Orkney, the Ultima Thule of the Romans. It is the northernmost town in Great Britain. John o' Groat's - the Land's End of Scotland - is farther to the east. It consists of only a few green mounds, indicating where John o' Groat's House once stood.
Thurso is situated at the southern end of Thurso Bay, at the mouth of the Thurso river - the most productive salmon river in Scotland. The fish, after feeding and cleaning themselves in the Pentland Firth, make for the fresh water. The first river they come to is the Thurso, up which they swim in droves.
Thurso Bay, whether in fair or foul weather, is a grand sight. On the eastern side, the upright cliffs of Dunnet Head run far to the northward, forming the most northerly point of the Scottish mainland. On the west, a high crest of land juts out into the sea, forming at its extremity the bold precipitous rocks of Holborn Head. Looking out of the Bay you see the Orkney Islands in the distance, the Old Man of Hoy standing up at its western promontory. At sunset the light glints along the island, showing the bold prominences and depressions in the red sandstone cliffs. Out into the ocean the distant sails of passing ships are seen against the sky, white as a gull's wing.
The long swelling waves of the Atlantic come rolling in upon the beach. The noise of their breaking in stormy weather is like thunder. From Thurso they are seen dashing over the Holborn Head, though some two hundred feet high; and the cliffs beyond Dunnet Bay are hid in spray.
Robert Dick was delighted with the sea in all its aspects. The sea opens many a mind. The sea is the most wonderful thing a child can see; and it long continues to fill the thoughtful mind with astonishment. The seashore on the western coast is full of strange sights. There is nothing but sea between Thurso and the coasts of Labrador.
The wash of the ocean comes by the Gulf Stream round the western coasts of Scotland, and along the northern coasts of Norway. Hence, the bits of driftwood, the tropical seaweed, and the tropical nuts, thrown upon the shore at Thurso.
In the same way, bits of mahogany are sometimes carried by the ocean current from Honduras or the Bay of Mexico, and thrown upon the shore on the northernmost coasts of Norway. One evening, while walking along the beach near Thurso, Robert Dick took up a singular-looking nut, which he examined. He remarked to the friend who accompanied him, 'That has been brought by the ocean current and the prevailing winds all the way from one of the West Indian Islands. How strange that we should find it here!'
Robert Dick always admired the magnificent sea pictures of Thurso Bay - its waves that gently rocked or wildly raged. He enjoyed the salt-laden breath of the sea wind; and even the cries of the sea birds. Here is his description of the sea-mew: 'Ha ga tirwa!' How strange and uncouth! How very unnatural the cry seemed. It was only the cry of a sea bird. It was within the sight of the ocean. There had been a storm. It was over, but the waves in long rolling breakers dashed themselves in a rage on the sandy shore, and then were quiet. But quiet only for the moment. 'Ha ga tirwa!' Restless and unwearied, another and another long wave followed and burst into spray. And thus it has ever been 'since evening was, and morning was.' It was then evening, the stars began to twinkle; and after a little the full moon rose. But still 'Ha ga tirwa!'
Robert Dick, Baker and Botanist
Samue
l Smiles
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2Bere or bar (Norwegian), a commoner kind of barley.
The Sea in the Bottle
Lionel Seepaul
From Trinidad and Tobago comes the entertaining story of a boy who was a little too smart for his own good . . .
'I held my breath. Did he suspect me?'
WHEN MR CLAYTON, MY NEIGHBOUR WHO SOLD FRUITS FOR A living, gave me a penny a week to watch over his orchard, little did he suspect me. As far as he knew I was the best boy in the village. Promptly and regularly I went to the village school. On Sundays I seldom missed Sunday school. Before church began, I would ring the church bell which could be heard for miles around Waterloo village.
Afterwards I did errands for the villagers. For Widow Critchlow I fetched a bucket of water when her arms ached. And for blind Mr Lomas I brought back in the brown paper bag three loaves of hot bread from the village baker, and the daily newspaper which I read to him at a penny a week.