Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings

Published：2026-07-30 05:08:40 Source: baby play gyms for birthday Author: Partners

Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and sewing kits for kids under 30 dollarsHall “Christmas Stories”edition by David Price, email [email protected]

MRS. LIRRIPER’S LODGINGS

CHAPTER I—HOW MRS. LIRRIPER CARRIED ON THE BUSINESS

Whoever would begin to be worried with letting Lodgings that wasn’ta lone woman with a living to get is a thing inconceivable to me, mydear; excuse the familiarity, but it comes natural to me in my own littleroom, when wishing to open my mind to those that I can trust, and Ishould be truly thankful if they were all mankind, but such is not so,for have but a Furnished bill in the window and your watch on the mantelpiece,and farewell to it if you turn your back for but a second, however gentlemanlythe manners; nor is being of your own sex any safeguard, as I have reason,in the form of sugar-tongs to know, for that lady (and a fine womanshe was) got me to run for a glass of water, on the plea of going tobe confined, which certainly turned out true, but it was in the Station-house.

Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street, Strand—situated midway betweenthe City and St. James’s, and within five minutes’ walkof the principal places of public amusement—is my address. I have rented this house many years, as the parish rate-books will testify;and I could wish my landlord was as alive to the fact as I am myself;but no, bless you, not a half a pound of paint to save his life, norso much, my dear, as a tile upon the roof, though on your bended knees.

My dear, you never have found Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strandadvertised in Bradshaw’s Railway Guide, and with the blessingof Heaven you never will or shall so find it.  Some there are whodo not think it lowering themselves to make their names that cheap,and even going the lengths of a portrait of the house not like it witha blot in every window and a coach and four at the door, but what willsuit Wozenham’s lower down on the other side of the way will notsuit me, Miss Wozenham having her opinions and me having mine, thoughwhen it comes to systematic underbidding capable of being proved onoath in a court of justice and taking the form of “If Mrs. Lirripernames eighteen shillings a week, I name fifteen and six,” it thencomes to a settlement between yourself and your conscience, supposingfor the sake of argument your name to be Wozenham, which I am well awareit is not or my opinion of you would be greatly lowered, and as to airybedrooms and a night-porter in constant attendance the less said thebetter, the bedrooms being stuffy and the porter stuff.

It is forty years ago since me and my poor Lirriper got married atSt. Clement’s Danes, where I now have a sitting in a very pleasantpew with genteel company and my own hassock, and being partial to eveningservice not too crowded.  My poor Lirriper was a handsome figureof a man, with a beaming eye and a voice as mellow as a musical instrumentmade of honey and steel, but he had ever been a free liver being inthe commercial travelling line and travelling what he called a limekilnroad—“a dry road, Emma my dear,” my poor Lirripersays to me, “where I have to lay the dust with one drink or anotherall day long and half the night, and it wears me Emma”—andthis led to his running through a good deal and might have run throughthe turnpike too when that dreadful horse that never would stand stillfor a single instant set off, but for its being night and the gate shutand consequently took his wheel, my poor Lirriper and the gig smashedto atoms and never spoke afterwards.  He was a handsome figureof a man, and a man with a jovial heart and a sweet temper; but if theyhad come up then they never could have given you the mellowness of hisvoice, and indeed I consider photographs wanting in mellowness as ageneral rule and making you look like a new-ploughed field.

My poor Lirriper being behindhand with the world and being buriedat Hatfield church in Hertfordshire, not that it was his native placebut that he had a liking for the Salisbury Arms where we went upon ourwedding-day and passed as happy a fortnight as ever happy was, I wentround to the creditors and I says “Gentlemen I am acquainted withthe fact that I am not answerable for my late husband’s debtsbut I wish to pay them for I am his lawful wife and his good name isdear to me.  I am going into the Lodgings gentlemen as a businessand if I prosper every farthing that my late husband owed shall be paidfor the sake of the love I bore him, by this right hand.” It took a long time to do but it was done, and the silver cream-jugwhich is between ourselves and the bed and the mattress in my room up-stairs(or it would have found legs so sure as ever the Furnished bill wasup) being presented by the gentlemen engraved “To Mrs. Lirripera mark of grateful respect for her honourable conduct” gave mea turn which was too much for my feelings, till Mr. Betley which atthat time had the parlours and loved his joke says “Cheer up Mrs.Lirriper, you should feel as if it was only your christening and theywere your godfathers and godmothers which did promise for you.” And it brought me round, and I don’t mind confessing to you mydear that I then put a sandwich and a drop of sherry in a little basketand went down to Hatfield church-yard outside the coach and kissed myhand and laid it with a kind of proud and swelling love on my husband’sgrave, though bless you it had taken me so long to clear his name thatmy wedding-ring was worn quite fine and smooth when I laid it on thegreen green waving grass.

I am an old woman now and my good looks are gone but that’sme my dear over the plate-warmer and considered like in the times whenyou used to pay two guineas on ivory and took your chance pretty muchhow you came out, which made you very careful how you left it aboutafterwards because people were turned so red and uncomfortable by mostlyguessing it was somebody else quite different, and there was once acertain person that had put his money in a hop business that came inone morning to pay his rent and his respects being the second floorthat would have taken it down from its hook and put it in his breast-pocket—youunderstand my dear—for the L, he says of the original—onlythere was no mellowness in hisvoice and I wouldn’t lethim, but his opinion of it you may gather from his saying to it “Speakto me Emma!” which was far from a rational observation no doubtbut still a tribute to its being a likeness, and I think myself it waslike me when I was young and wore that sort of stays.

But it was about the Lodgings that I was intending to hold forthand certainly I ought to know something of the business having beenin it so long, for it was early in the second year of my married lifethat I lost my poor Lirriper and I set up at Islington directly afterwardsand afterwards came here, being two houses and eight-and-thirty yearsand some losses and a deal of experience.

Girls are your first trial after fixtures and they try you even worsethan what I call the Wandering Christians, though why theyshouldroam the earth looking for bills and then coming in and viewing theapartments and stickling about terms and never at all wanting them ordreaming of taking them being already provided, is, a mystery I shouldbe thankful to have explained if by any miracle it could be.  It’swonderful they live so long and thrive so on it but I suppose the exercisemakes it healthy, knocking so much and going from house to house andup and down-stairs all day, and then their pretending to be so particularand punctual is a most astonishing thing, looking at their watches andsaying “Could you give me the refusal of the rooms till twentyminutes past eleven the day after to-morrow in the forenoon, and supposingit to be considered essential by my friend from the country could therebe a small iron bedstead put in the little room upon the stairs?” Why when I was new to it my dear I used to consider before I promisedand to make my mind anxious with calculations and to get quite weariedout with disappointments, but now I says “Certainly by all means”well knowing it’s a Wandering Christian and I shall hear no moreabout it, indeed by this time I know most of the Wandering Christiansby sight as well as they know me, it being the habit of each individualrevolving round London in that capacity to come back about twice a year,and it’s very remarkable that it runs in families and the childrengrow up to it, but even were it otherwise I should no sooner hear ofthe friend from the country which is a certain sign than I should nodand say to myself You’re a Wandering Christian, though whetherthey are (as I haveheard) persons of small property with a tastefor regular employment and frequent change of scene I cannot undertaketo tell you.

Girls as I was beginning to remark are one of your first and yourlasting troubles, being like your teeth which begin with convulsionsand never cease tormenting you from the time you cut them till theycut you, and then you don’t want to part with them which seemshard but we must all succumb or buy artificial, and even where you geta will nine times out of ten you’ll get a dirty face with it andnaturally lodgers do not like good society to be shown in with a smearof black across the nose or a smudgy eyebrow.  Where they pickthe black up is a mystery I cannot solve, as in the case of the willingestgirl that ever came into a house half-starved poor thing, a girl sowilling that I called her Willing Sophy down upon her knees scrubbingearly and late and ever cheerful but always smiling with a black face. And I says to Sophy, “Now Sophy my good girl have a regular dayfor your stoves and keep the width of the Airy between yourself andthe blacking and do not brush your hair with the bottoms of the saucepansand do not meddle with the snuffs of the candles and it stands to reasonthat it can no longer be” yet there it was and always on her nose,which turning up and being broad at the end seemed to boast of it andcaused warning from a steady gentleman and excellent lodger with breakfastby the week but a little irritable and use of a sitting-room when required,his words being “Mrs. Lirriper I have arrived at the point ofadmitting that the Black is a man and a brother, but only in a naturalform and when it can’t be got off.”  Well consequentlyI put poor Sophy on to other work and forbid her answering the dooror answering a bell on any account but she was so unfortunately willingthat nothing would stop her flying up the kitchen-stairs whenever abell was heard to tingle.  I put it to her “O Sophy Sophyfor goodness’ goodness’ sake where does it come from?” To which that poor unlucky willing mortal—bursting out cryingto see me so vexed replied “I took a deal of black into me ma’amwhen I was a small child being much neglected and I think it must be,that it works out,” so it continuing to work out of that poorthing and not having another fault to find with her I says “Sophywhat do you seriously think of my helping you away to New South Waleswhere it might not be noticed?”  Nor did I ever repent themoney which was well spent, for she married the ship’s cook onthe voyage (himself a Mulotter) and did well and lived happy, and sofar as ever I heard it was notnoticed in a new state of societyto her dying day.

In what way Miss Wozenham lower down on the other side of the wayreconciled it to her feelings as a lady (which she is not) to enticeMary Anne Perkinsop from my service is best known to herself, I do notknow and I do not wish to know how opinions are formed at Wozenham’son any point.  But Mary Anne Perkinsop although I behaved handsomelyto her and she behaved unhandsomely to me was worth her weight in goldas overawing lodgers without driving them away, for lodgers would befar more sparing of their bells with Mary Anne than I ever knew themto be with Maid or Mistress, which is a great triumph especially whenaccompanied with a cast in the eye and a bag of bones, but it was thesteadiness of her way with them through her father’s having failedin Pork.  It was Mary Anne’s looking so respectable in herperson and being so strict in her spirits that conquered the tea-and-sugarestgentleman (for he weighed them both in a pair of scales every morning)that I have ever had to deal with and no lamb grew meeker, still itafterwards came round to me that Miss Wozenham happening to pass andseeing Mary Anne take in the milk of a milkman that made free in a rosy-facedway (I think no worse of him) with every girl in the street but wasquite frozen up like the statue at Charing-cross by her, saw Mary Anne’svalue in the lodging business and went as high as one pound per quartermore, consequently Mary Anne with not a word betwixt us says “Ifyou will provide yourself Mrs. Lirriper in a month from this day I havealready done the same,” which hurt me and I said so, and she thenhurt me more by insinuating that her father having failed in Pork hadlaid her open to it.

My dear I do assure you it’s a harassing thing to know whatkind of girls to give the preference to, for if they are lively theyget bell’d off their legs and if they are sluggish you sufferfrom it yourself in complaints and if they are sparkling-eyed they getmade love to, and if they are smart in their persons they try on yourLodgers’ bonnets and if they are musical I defy you to keep themaway from bands and organs, and allowing for any difference you likein their heads their heads will be always out of window just the same. And then what the gentlemen like in girls the ladies don’t, whichis fruitful hot water for all parties, and then there’s temperthough such a temper as Caroline Maxey’s I hope not often. A good-looking black-eyed girl was Caroline and a comely-made girl toyour cost when she did break out and laid about her, as took place firstand last through a new-married couple come to see London in the firstfloor and the lady very high and it wassupposed not liking thegood looks of Caroline having none of her own to spare, but anyhow shedid try Caroline though that was no excuse.  So one afternoon Carolinecomes down into the kitchen flushed and flashing, and she says to me“Mrs. Lirriper that woman in the first has aggravated me pastbearing,” I says “Caroline keep your temper,” Carolinesays with a curdling laugh “Keep my temper?  You’reright Mrs. Lirriper, so I will.  Capital D her!” bursts outCaroline (you might have struck me into the centre of the earth witha feather when she said it) “I’ll give her a touch of thetemper that Ikeep!”  Caroline downs with her hairmy dear, screeches and rushes up-stairs, I following as fast as my tremblinglegs could bear me, but before I got into the room the dinner-clothand pink-and-white service all dragged off upon the floor with a crashand the new-married couple on their backs in the firegrate, him withthe shovel and tongs and a dish of cucumber across him and a mercy itwas summer-time.  “Caroline” I says “be calm,”but she catches off my cap and tears it in her teeth as she passes me,then pounces on the new-married lady makes her a bundle of ribbons takesher by the two ears and knocks the back of her head upon the carpetMurder screaming all the time Policemen running down the street andWozenham’s windows (judge of my feelings when I came to know it)thrown up and Miss Wozenham calling out from the balcony with crocodile’stears “It’s Mrs. Lirriper been overcharging somebody tomadness—she’ll be murdered—I always thought so—Pleesemansave her!”  My dear four of them and Caroline behind thechiffoniere attacking with the poker and when disarmed prize-fightingwith her double fists, and down and up and up and down and dreadful! But I couldn’t bear to see the poor young creature roughly handledand her hair torn when they got the better of her, and I says “GentlemenPolicemen pray remember that her sex is the sex of your mothers andsisters and your sweethearts, and God bless them and you!” And there she was sitting down on the ground handcuffed, taking breathagainst the skirting-board and them cool with their coats in strips,and all she says was “Mrs. Lirriper I’m sorry as ever Itouched you, for you’re a kind motherly old thing,” andit made me think that I had often wished I had been a mother indeedand how would my heart have felt if I had been the mother of that girl! Well you know it turned out at the Police-office that she had done itbefore, and she had her clothes away and was sent to prison, and whenshe was to come out I trotted off to the gate in the evening with justa morsel of jelly in that little basket of mine to give her a mite ofstrength to face the world again, and there I met with a very decentmother waiting for her son through bad company and a stubborn one hewas with his half-boots not laced.  So out came Caroline and Isays “Caroline come along with me and sit down under the wallwhere it’s retired and eat a little trifle that I have broughtwith me to do you good,” and she throws her arms round my neckand says sobbing “O why were you never a mother when there aresuch mothers as there are!” she says, and in half a minute moreshe begins to laugh and says “Did I really tear your cap to shreds?”and when I told her “You certainly did so Caroline” shelaughed again and said while she patted my face “Then why do youwear such queer old caps you dear old thing? if you hadn’t wornsuch queer old caps I don’t think I should have done it even then.” Fancy the girl!  Nothing could get out of her what she was goingto do except O she would do well enough, and we parted she being verythankful and kissing my hands, and I nevermore saw or heard of thatgirl, except that I shall always believe that a very genteel cap whichwas brought anonymous to me one Saturday night in an oilskin basketby a most impertinent young sparrow of a monkey whistling with dirtyshoes on the clean steps and playing the harp on the Airy railings witha hoop-stick came from Caroline.

What you lay yourself open to my dear in the way of being the objectof uncharitable suspicions when you go into the Lodging business I havenot the words to tell you, but never was I so dishonourable as to havetwo keys nor would I willingly think it even of Miss Wozenham lowerdown on the other side of the way sincerely hoping that it may not be,though doubtless at the same time money cannot come from nowhere andit is not reason to suppose that Bradshaws put it in for love be itblotty as it may.  It isa hardship hurting to the feelingsthat Lodgers open their minds so wide to the idea that you are tryingto get the better of them and shut their minds so close to the ideathat they are trying to get the better of you, but as Major Jackmansays to me, “I know the ways of this circular world Mrs. Lirriper,and that’s one of ’em all round it” and many is thelittle ruffle in my mind that the Major has smoothed, for he is a cleverman who has seen much.  Dear dear, thirteen years have passed thoughit seems but yesterday since I was sitting with my glasses on at theopen front parlour window one evening in August (the parlours beingthen vacant) reading yesterday’s paper my eyes for print beingpoor though still I am thankful to say a long sight at a distance, whenI hear a gentleman come posting across the road and up the street ina dreadful rage talking to himself in a fury and d’ing and c’ingsomebody.  “By George!” says he out loud and clutchinghis walking-stick, “I’ll go to Mrs. Lirriper’s. Which is Mrs. Lirriper’s?”  Then looking round andseeing me he flourishes his hat right off his head as if I had beenthe queen and he says, “Excuse the intrusion Madam, but pray Madamcan you tell me at what number in this street there resides a well-knownand much-respected lady by the name of Lirriper?”  A littleflustered though I must say gratified I took off my glasses and courtesiedand said “Sir, Mrs. Lirriper is your humble servant.” “Astonishing!” says he.  “A million pardons! Madam, may I ask you to have the kindness to direct one of your domesticsto open the door to a gentleman in search of apartments, by the nameof Jackman?”  I had never heard the name but a politer gentlemanI never hope to see, for says he, “Madam I am shocked at youropening the door yourself to no worthier a fellow than Jemmy Jackman. After you Madam.  I never precede a lady.”  Then hecomes into the parlours and he sniffs, and he says “Hah! These are parlours!  Not musty cupboards” he says “butparlours, and no smell of coal-sacks.”  Now my dear it havingbeen remarked by some inimical to the whole neighbourhood that it alwayssmells of coal-sacks which might prove a drawback to Lodgers if encouraged,I says to the Major gently though firmly that I think he is referringto Arundel or Surrey or Howard but not Norfolk.  “Madam”says he “I refer to Wozenham’s lower down over the way—Madamyou can form no notion what Wozenham’s is—Madam it is avast coal-sack, and Miss Wozenham has the principles and manners ofa female heaver—Madam from the manner in which I have heard hermention you I know she has no appreciation of a lady, and from the mannerin which she has conducted herself towards me I know she has no appreciationof a gentleman—Madam my name is Jackman—should you requireany other reference than what I have already said, I name the Bank ofEngland—perhaps you know it!”  Such was the beginningof the Major’s occupying the parlours and from that hour to thisthe same and a most obliging Lodger and punctual in all respects exceptone irregular which I need not particularly specify, but made up forby his being a protection and at all times ready to fill in the papersof the Assessed Taxes and Juries and that, and once collared a youngman with the drawing-room clock under his coat, and once on the parapetswith his own hands and blankets put out the kitchen chimney and afterwardsattending the summons made a most eloquent speech against the Parishbefore the magistrates and saved the engine, and ever quite the gentlemanthough passionate.  And certainly Miss Wozenham’s detainingthe trunks and umbrella was not in a liberal spirit though it may havebeen according to her rights in law or an act Iwould myselfhave stooped to, the Major being so much the gentleman that though heis far from tall he seems almost so when he has his shirt-frill outand his frock-coat on and his hat with the curly brims, and in whatservice he was I cannot truly tell you my dear whether Militia or Foreign,for I never heard him even name himself as Major but always simple “JemmyJackman” and once soon after he came when I felt it my duty tolet him know that Miss Wozenham had put it about that he was no Majorand I took the liberty of adding “which you are sir” hiswords were “Madam at any rate I am not a Minor, and sufficientfor the day is the evil thereof” which cannot be denied to bethe sacred truth, nor yet his military ways of having his boots withonly the dirt brushed off taken to him in the front parlour every morningon a clean plate and varnishing them himself with a little sponge anda saucer and a whistle in a whisper so sure as ever his breakfast isended, and so neat his ways that it never soils his linen which is scrupulousthough more in quality than quantity, neither that nor his mustachioswhich to the best of my belief are done at the same time and which areas black and shining as his boots, his head of hair being a lovely white.

It was the third year nearly up of the Major’s being in theparlours that early one morning in the month of February when Parliamentwas coming on and you may therefore suppose a number of impostors wereabout ready to take hold of anything they could get, a gentleman anda lady from the country came in to view the Second, and I well rememberthat I had been looking out of window and had watched them and the heavysleet driving down the street together looking for bills.  I didnot quite take to the face of the gentleman though he was good-lookingtoo but the lady was a very pretty young thing and delicate, and itseemed too rough for her to be out at all though she had only come fromthe Adelphi Hotel which would not have been much above a quarter ofa mile if the weather had been less severe.  Now it did so happenmy dear that I had been forced to put five shillings weekly additionalon the second in consequence of a loss from running away full dressedas if going out to a dinner-party, which was very artful and had mademe rather suspicious taking it along with Parliament, so when the gentlemanproposed three months certain and the money in advance and leave thenreserved to renew on the same terms for six months more, I says I wasnot quite certain but that I might have engaged myself to another partybut would step down-stairs and look into it if they would take a seat. They took a seat and I went down to the handle of the Major’sdoor that I had already began to consult finding it a great blessing,and I knew by his whistling in a whisper that he was varnishing hisboots which was generally considered private, however he kindly callsout “If it’s you, Madam, come in,” and I went in andtold him.

“Well, Madam,” says the Major rubbing his nose—asI did fear at the moment with the black sponge but it was only his knuckle,he being always neat and dexterous with his fingers—“well,Madam, I suppose you would be glad of the money?”

I was delicate of saying “Yes” too out, for a littleextra colour rose into the Major’s cheeks and there was irregularitywhich I will not particularly specify in a quarter which I will notname.

“I am of opinion, Madam,” says the Major, “thatwhen money is ready for you—when it is ready for you, Mrs. Lirriper—youought to take it.  What is there against it, Madam, in this caseup-stairs?”

“I really cannot say there is anything against it, sir, stillI thought I would consult you.”

“You said a newly-married couple, I think, Madam?” saysthe Major.

I says “Ye-es.  Evidently.  And indeed the younglady mentioned to me in a casual way that she had not been married manymonths.”

The Major rubbed his nose again and stirred the varnish round andround in its little saucer with his piece of sponge and took to hiswhistling in a whisper for a few moments.  Then he says “Youwould call it a Good Let, Madam?”

“O certainly a Good Let sir.”

“Say they renew for the additional six months.  Wouldit put you about very much Madam if—if the worst was to come tothe worst?” said the Major.

“Well I hardly know,” I says to the Major.  “Itdepends upon circumstances.  Would youobject Sir for instance?”

“I?” says the Major.  “Object?  JemmyJackman?  Mrs. Lirriper close with the proposal.”

So I went up-stairs and accepted, and they came in next day whichwas Saturday and the Major was so good as to draw up a Memorandum ofan agreement in a beautiful round hand and expressions that soundedto me equally legal and military, and Mr. Edson signed it on the Mondaymorning and the Major called upon Mr. Edson on the Tuesday and Mr. Edsoncalled upon the Major on the Wednesday and the Second and the parlourswere as friendly as could be wished.

The three months paid for had run out and we had got without anyfresh overtures as to payment into May my dear, when there came an obligationupon Mr. Edson to go a business expedition right across the Isle ofMan, which fell quite unexpected upon that pretty little thing and isnot a place that according to my views is particularly in the way toanywhere at any time but that may be a matter of opinion.  So shorta notice was it that he was to go next day, and dreadfully she criedpoor pretty, and I am sure I cried too when I saw her on the cold pavementin the sharp east wind—it being a very backward spring that year—takinga last leave of him with her pretty bright hair blowing this way andthat and her arms clinging round his neck and him saying “Therethere there.  Now let me go Peggy.”  And by that timeit was plain that what the Major had been so accommodating as to sayhe would not object to happening in the house, would happen in it, andI told her as much when he was gone while I comforted her with my armup the staircase, for I says “You will soon have others to keepup for my pretty and you must think of that.”

His letter never came when it ought to have come and what she wentthrough morning after morning when the postman brought none for herthe very postman himself compassionated when she ran down to the door,and yet we cannot wonder at its being calculated to blunt the feelingsto have all the trouble of other people’s letters and none ofthe pleasure and doing it oftener in the mud and mizzle than not andat a rate of wages more resembling Little Britain than Great. But at last one morning when she was too poorly to come running down-stairshe says to me with a pleased look in his face that made me next to lovethe man in his uniform coat though he was dripping wet “I havetaken you first in the street this morning Mrs. Lirriper, for here’sthe one for Mrs. Edson.”  I went up to her bedroom with itas fast as ever I could go, and she sat up in bed when she saw it andkissed it and tore it open and then a blank stare came upon her. “It’s very short!” she says lifting her large eyesto my face.  “O Mrs. Lirriper it’s very short!” I says “My dear Mrs. Edson no doubt that’s because yourhusband hadn’t time to write more just at that time.” “No doubt, no doubt,” says she, and puts her two hands onher face and turns round in her bed.

I shut her softly in and I crept down-stairs and I tapped at theMajor’s door, and when the Major having his thin slices of baconin his own Dutch oven saw me he came out of his chair and put me downon the sofa.  “Hush!” says he, “I see something’sthe matter.  Don’t speak—take time.”  Isays “O Major I’m afraid there’s cruel work up-stairs.” “Yes yes” says he “I had begun to be afraid of it—taketime.”  And then in opposition to his own words he ragesout frightfully, and says “I shall never forgive myself Madam,that I, Jemmy Jackman, didn’t see it all that morning—didn’tgo straight up-stairs when my boot-sponge was in my hand—didn’tforce it down his throat—and choke him dead with it on the spot!”

The Major and me agreed when we came to ourselves that just at presentwe could do no more than take on to suspect nothing and use our bestendeavours to keep that poor young creature quiet, and what I ever shouldhave done without the Major when it got about among the organ-men thatquiet was our object is unknown, for he made lion and tiger war uponthem to that degree that without seeing it I could not have believedit was in any gentleman to have such a power of bursting out with fire-ironswalking-sticks water-jugs coals potatoes off his table the very hatoff his head, and at the same time so furious in foreign languages thatthey would stand with their handles half-turned fixed like the SleepingUgly—for I cannot say Beauty.

Ever to see the postman come near the house now gave me such I fearthat it was a reprieve when he went by, but in about another ten daysor a fortnight he says again, “Here’s one for Mrs. Edson.—Isshe pretty well?”  “She is pretty well postman, butnot well enough to rise so early as she used” which was so fargospel-truth.

I carried the letter in to the Major at his breakfast and I saystottering “Major I have not the courage to take it up to her.”

“It’s an ill-looking villain of a letter,” saysthe Major.

“I have not the courage Major” I says again in a tremble“to take it up to her.”

After seeming lost in consideration for some moments the Major says,raising his head as if something new and useful had occurred to hismind “Mrs. Lirriper, I shall never forgive myself that I, JemmyJackman, didn’t go straight up-stairs that morning when my boot-spongewas in my hand—and force it down his throat—and choke himdead with it.”

“Major” I says a little hasty “you didn’tdo it which is a blessing, for it would have done no good and I thinkyour sponge was better employed on your own honourable boots.”

So we got to be rational, and planned that I should tap at her bedroomdoor and lay the letter on the mat outside and wait on the upper landingfor what might happen, and never was gunpowder cannon-balls or shellsor rockets more dreaded than that dreadful letter was by me as I tookit to the second floor.

A terrible loud scream sounded through the house the minute aftershe had opened it, and I found her on the floor lying as if her lifewas gone.  My dear I never looked at the face of the letter whichwas lying, open by her, for there was no occasion.

Everything I needed to bring her round the Major brought up withhis own hands, besides running out to the chemist’s for what wasnot in the house and likewise having the fiercest of all his many skirmisheswith a musical instrument representing a ball-room I do not know inwhat particular country and company waltzing in and out at folding-doorswith rolling eyes.  When after a long time I saw her coming to,I slipped on the landing till I heard her cry, and then I went in andsays cheerily “Mrs. Edson you’re not well my dear and it’snot to be wondered at,” as if I had not been in before. Whether she believed or disbelieved I cannot say and it would signifynothing if I could, but I stayed by her for hours and then she God everblesses me! and says she will try to rest for her head is bad.

“Major,” I whispers, looking in at the parlours, “Ibeg and pray of you don’t go out.”

The Major whispers, “Madam, trust me I will do no such a thing. How is she?”

I says “Major the good Lord above us only knows what burnsand rages in her poor mind.  I left her sitting at her window. I am going to sit at mine.”

It came on afternoon and it came on evening.  Norfolk is a delightfulstreet to lodge in—provided you don’t go lower down—butof a summer evening when the dust and waste paper lie in it and straychildren play in it and a kind of a gritty calm and bake settles onit and a peal of church-bells is practising in the neighbourhood itis a trifle dull, and never have I seen it since at such a time andnever shall I see it evermore at such a time without seeing the dullJune evening when that forlorn young creature sat at her open cornerwindow on the second and me at my open corner window (the other corner)on the third.  Something merciful, something wiser and better farthan my own self, had moved me while it was yet light to sit in my bonnetand shawl, and as the shadows fell and the tide rose I could sometimes—whenI put out my head and looked at her window below—see that sheleaned out a little looking down the street.  It was just settlingdark when I saw herin the street.

So fearful of losing sight of her that it almost stops my breathwhile I tell it, I went down-stairs faster than I ever moved in allmy life and only tapped with my hand at the Major’s door in passingit and slipping out.  She was gone already.  I made the samespeed down the street and when I came to the corner of Howard StreetI saw that she had turned it and was there plain before me going towardsthe west.  O with what a thankful heart I saw her going along!

She was quite unacquainted with London and had very seldom been outfor more than an airing in our own street where she knew two or threelittle children belonging to neighbours and had sometimes stood amongthem at the street looking at the water.  She must be going athazard I knew, still she kept the by-streets quite correctly as longas they would serve her, and then turned up into the Strand.  Butat every corner I could see her head turned one way, and that way wasalways the river way.

It may have been only the darkness and quiet of the Adelphi thatcaused her to strike into it but she struck into it much as readilyas if she had set out to go there, which perhaps was the case. She went straight down to the Terrace and along it and looked over theiron rail, and I often woke afterwards in my own bed with the horrorof seeing her do it.  The desertion of the wharf below and theflowing of the high water there seemed to settle her purpose. She looked about as if to make out the way down, and she struck outthe right way or the wrong way—I don’t know which, for Idon’t know the place before or since—and I followed herthe way she went.

It was noticeable that all this time she never once looked back. But there was now a great change in the manner of her going, and insteadof going at a steady quick walk with her arms folded before her,—amongthe dark dismal arches she went in a wild way with her arms opened wide,as if they were wings and she was flying to her death.

We were on the wharf and she stopped.  I stopped.  I sawher hands at her bonnet-strings, and I rushed between her and the brinkand took her round the waist with both my arms.  She might havedrowned me, I felt then, but she could never have got quit of me.

Down to that moment my mind had been all in a maze and not half anidea had I had in it what I should say to her, but the instant I touchedher it came to me like magic and I had my natural voice and my sensesand even almost my breath.

“Mrs. Edson!” I says “My dear!  Take care. How ever did you lose your way and stumble on a dangerous place likethis?  Why you must have come here by the most perplexing streetsin all London.  No wonder you are lost, I’m sure.  Andthis place too!  Why I thought nobody ever got here, except meto order my coals and the Major in the parlours to smoke his cigar!”—forI saw that blessed man close by, pretending to it.

“Hah—Hah—Hum!” coughs the Major.

“And good gracious me” I says, “why here he is!”

“Halloa! who goes there?” says the Major in a militarymanner.

“Well!” I says, “if this don’t beat everything! Don’t you know us Major Jackman?”

“Halloa!” says the Major.  “Who calls on JemmyJackman?” (and more out of breath he was, and did it less likelife than I should have expected.)

“Why here’s Mrs. Edson Major” I says, “strollingout to cool her poor head which has been very bad, has missed her wayand got lost, and Goodness knows where she might have got to but forme coming here to drop an order into my coal merchant’s letter-boxand you coming here to smoke your cigar!—And you really are notwell enough my dear” I says to her “to be half so far fromhome without me.  And your arm will be very acceptable I am sureMajor” I says to him “and I know she may lean upon it asheavy as she likes.”  And now we had both got her—thanksbe Above!—one on each side.

She was all in a cold shiver and she so continued till I laid heron her own bed, and up to the early morning she held me by the handand moaned and moaned “O wicked, wicked, wicked!” But when at last I made believe to droop my head and be overpoweredwith a dead sleep, I heard that poor young creature give such touchingand such humble thanks for being preserved from taking her own lifein her madness that I thought I should have cried my eyes out on thecounterpane and I knew she was safe.

Being well enough to do and able to afford it, me and the Major laidour little plans next day while she was asleep worn out, and so I saysto her as soon as I could do it nicely:

“Mrs. Edson my dear, when Mr. Edson paid me the rent for thesefarther six months—”

She gave a start and I felt her large eyes look at me, but I wenton with it and with my needlework.

“—I can’t say that I am quite sure I dated thereceipt right.  Could you let me look at it?”

She laid her frozen cold hand upon mine and she looked through mewhen I was forced to look up from my needlework, but I had taken theprecaution of having on my spectacles.

“I have no receipt” says she.

“Ah!  Then he has got it” I says in a careless way. “It’s of no great consequence.  A receipt’s areceipt.”

From that time she always had hold of my hand when I could spareit which was generally only when I read to her, for of course she andme had our bits of needlework to plod at and neither of us was veryhandy at those little things, though I am still rather proud of my sharein them too considering.  And though she took to all I read toher, I used to fancy that next to what was taught upon the Mount shetook most of all to His gentle compassion for us poor women and to Hisyoung life and to how His mother was proud of Him and treasured Hissayings in her heart.  She had a grateful look in her eyes thatnever never never will be out of mine until they are closed in my lastsleep, and when I chanced to look at her without thinking of it I wouldalways meet that look, and she would often offer me her trembling lipto kiss, much more like a little affectionate half broken-hearted childthan ever I can imagine any grown person.

One time the trembling of this poor lip was so strong and her tearsran down so fast that I thought she was going to tell me all her woe,so I takes her two hands in mine and I says:

“No my dear not now, you had best not try to do it now. Wait for better times when you have got over this and are strong, andthen you shall tell me whatever you will.  Shall it be agreed?”

With our hands still joined she nodded her head many times, and shelifted my hands and put them to her lips and to her bosom.  “Onlyone word now my dear” I says.  “Is there any one?”

She looked inquiringly “Any one?”

“That I can go to?”

She shook her head.

“No one that I can bring?”

She shook her head.

“No one is wanted by memy dear.  Now that maybe considered past and gone.”

Not much more than a week afterwards—for this was far on inthe time of our being so together—I was bending over at her bedsidewith my ear down to her lips, by turns listening for her breath andlooking for a sign of life in her face.  At last it came in a solemnway—not in a flash but like a kind of pale faint light broughtvery slow to the face.

She said something to me that had no sound in it, but I saw she askedme:

“Is this death?”

And I says:

“Poor dear poor dear, I think it is.”

Knowing somehow that she wanted me to move her weak right hand, Itook it and laid it on her breast and then folded her other hand uponit, and she prayed a good good prayer and I joined in it poor me thoughthere were no words spoke.  Then I brought the baby in its wrappersfrom where it lay, and I says:

“My dear this is sent to a childless old woman.  Thisis for me to take care of.”

The trembling lip was put up towards my face for the last time, andI dearly kissed it.

“Yes my dear,” I says.  “Please God! Me and the Major.”

I don’t know how to tell it right, but I saw her soul brightenand leap up, and get free and fly away in the grateful look.

* * * *

So this is the why and wherefore of its coming to pass my dear thatwe called him Jemmy, being after the Major his own godfather with Lirriperfor a surname being after myself, and never was a dear child such abrightening thing in a Lodgings or such a playmate to his grandmotheras Jemmy to this house and me, and always good and minding what he wastold (upon the whole) and soothing for the temper and making everythingpleasanter except when he grew old enough to drop his cap down Wozenham’sAiry and they wouldn’t hand it up to him, and being worked intoa state I put on my best bonnet and gloves and parasol with the childin my hand and I says “Miss Wozenham I little thought ever tohave entered your house but unless my grandson’s cap is instantlyrestored, the laws of this country regulating the property of the Subjectshall at length decide betwixt yourself and me, cost what it may.” With a sneer upon her face which did strike me I must say as being expressiveof two keys but it may have been a mistake and if there is any doubtlet Miss Wozenham have the full benefit of it as is but right, she rangthe bell and she says “Jane, is there a street-child’s oldcap down our Airy?”  I says “Miss Wozenham before yourhousemaid answers that question you must allow me to inform you to yourface that my grandson is nota street-child and is notin the habit of wearing old caps.  In fact” I says “MissWozenham I am far from sure that my grandson’s cap may not benewer than your own” which was perfectly savage in me, her lacebeing the commonest machine-make washed and torn besides, but I hadbeen put into a state to begin with fomented by impertinence. Miss Wozenham says red in the face “Jane you heard my question,is there any child’s cap down our Airy?”  “YesMa’am” says Jane, “I think I did see some such rubbisha-lying there.”  “Then” says Miss Wozenham “letthese visitors out, and then throw up that worthless article out ofmy premises.”  But here the child who had been staring atMiss Wozenham with all his eyes and more, frowns down his little eyebrowspurses up his little mouth puts his chubby legs far apart turns hislittle dimpled fists round and round slowly over one another like alittle coffee-mill, and says to her “Oo impdent to mi Gran, metut oor hi!”  “O!” says Miss Wozenham lookingdown scornfully at the Mite “this is not a street-child is itnot!  Really!” I bursts out laughing and I says “MissWozenham if this ain’t a pretty sight to you I don’t envyyour feelings and I wish you good-day.  Jemmy come along with Gran.” And I was still in the best of humours though his cap came flying upinto the street as if it had been just turned on out of the water-plug,and I went home laughing all the way, all owing to that dear boy.

The miles and miles that me and the Major have travelled with Jemmyin the dusk between the lights are not to be calculated, Jemmy drivingon the coach-box which is the Major’s brass-bound writing deskon the table, me inside in the easy-chair and the Major Guard up behindwith a brown-paper horn doing it really wonderful.  I do assureyou my dear that sometimes when I have taken a few winks in my placeinside the coach and have come half awake by the flashing light of thefire and have heard that precious pet driving and the Major blowingup behind to have the change of horses ready when we got to the Inn,I have half believed we were on the old North Road that my poor Lirriperknew so well.  Then to see that child and the Major both wrappedup getting down to warm their feet and going stamping about and havingglasses of ale out of the paper matchboxes on the chimney-piece is tosee the Major enjoying it fully as much as the child I am very sure,and it’s equal to any play when Coachee opens the coach-door tolook in at me inside and say “Wery ’past that ’tage.—’Prightenedold lady?”

But what my inexpressible feelings were when we lost that child canonly be compared to the Major’s which were not a shade better,through his straying out at five years old and eleven o’clockin the forenoon and never heard of by word or sign or deed till half-pastnine at night, when the Major had gone to the Editor of the Timesnewspaper to put in an advertisement, which came out next day four-and-twentyhours after he was found, and which I mean always carefully to keepin my lavender drawer as the first printed account of him.  Themore the day got on, the more I got distracted and the Major too andboth of us made worse by the composed ways of the police though verycivil and obliging and what I must call their obstinacy in not entertainingthe idea that he was stolen.  “We mostly find Mum”says the sergeant who came round to comfort me, which he didn’tat all and he had been one of the private constables in Caroline’stime to which he referred in his opening words when he said “Don’tgive way to uneasiness in your mind Mum, it’ll all come as rightas my nose did when I got the same barked by that young woman in yoursecond floor”—says this sergeant “we mostly find Mumas people ain’t over-anxious to have what I may call second-handchildren.  You’llget him back Mum.”  “Obut my dear good sir” I says clasping my hands and wringing themand clasping them again “he is such an uncommon child!” “Yes Mum” says the sergeant, “we mostly find thattoo Mum.  The question is what his clothes were worth.” “His clothes” I says “were not worth much sir forhe had only got his playing-dress on, but the dear child!—” “All right Mum” says the sergeant.  “You’llget him back Mum.  And even if he’d had his best clotheson, it wouldn’t come to worse than his being found wrapped upin a cabbage-leaf, a shivering in a lane.”  His words piercedmy heart like daggers and daggers, and me and the Major ran in and outlike wild things all day long till the Major returning from his interviewwith the Editor of the Timesat night rushes into my little roomhysterical and squeezes my hand and wipes his eyes and says “Joyjoy—officer in plain clothes came up on the steps as I was lettingmyself in—compose your feelings—Jemmy’s found.” Consequently I fainted away and when I came to, embraced the legs ofthe officer in plain clothes who seemed to be taking a kind of a quietinventory in his mind of the property in my little room with brown whiskers,and I says “Blessings on you sir where is the Darling!”and he says “In Kennington Station House.”  I was droppingat his feet Stone at the image of that Innocence in cells with murdererswhen he adds “He followed the Monkey.”  I says deemingit slang language “O sir explain for a loving grandmother whatMonkey!”  He says “Him in the spangled cap with thestrap under the chin, as won’t keep on—him as sweeps thecrossings on a round table and don’t want to draw his sabre morethan he can help.”  Then I understood it all and most thankfullythanked him, and me and the Major and him drove over to Kennington andthere we found our boy lying quite comfortable before a blazing firehaving sweetly played himself to sleep upon a small accordion nothinglike so big as a flat-iron which they had been so kind as to lend himfor the purpose and which it appeared had been stopped upon a very youngperson.

My dear the system upon which the Major commenced and as I may sayperfected Jemmy’s learning when he was so small that if the dearwas on the other side of the table you had to look under it insteadof over it to see him with his mother’s own bright hair in beautifulcurls, is a thing that ought to be known to the Throne and Lords andCommons and then might obtain some promotion for the Major which hewell deserves and would be none the worse for (speaking between friends)L. S. D.-ically.  When the Major first undertook his learning hesays to me:

“I’m going Madam,” he says “to make our childa Calculating Boy.

“Major,” I says, “you terrify me and may do thepet a permanent injury you would never forgive yourself.”

“Madam,” says the Major, “next to my regret thatwhen I had my boot-sponge in my hand, I didn’t choke that scoundrelwith it—on the spot—”

“There!  For Gracious’ sake,” I interrupts,“let his conscience find him without sponges.”

“—I say next to that regret, Madam,” says the Major“would be the regret with which my breast,” which he tapped,“would be surcharged if this fine mind was not early cultivated. But mark me Madam,” says the Major holding up his forefinger “cultivatedon a principle that will make it a delight.”

“Major” I says “I will be candid with you and tellyou openly that if ever I find the dear child fall off in his appetiteI shall know it is his calculations and shall put a stop to them attwo minutes’ notice.  Or if I find them mounting to his head”I says, “or striking anyways cold to his stomach or leading toanything approaching flabbiness in his legs, the result will be thesame, but Major you are a clever man and have seen much and you lovethe child and are his own godfather, and if you feel a confidence intrying try.”

“Spoken Madam” says the Major “like Emma Lirriper. All I have to ask, Madam, is that you will leave my godson and myselfto make a week or two’s preparations for surprising you, and thatyou will give me leave to have up and down any small articles not actuallyin use that I may require from the kitchen.”

“From the kitchen Major?” I says half feeling as if hehad a mind to cook the child.

“From the kitchen” says the Major, and smiles and swells,and at the same time looks taller.

So I passed my word and the Major and the dear boy were shut up togetherfor half an hour at a time through a certain while, and never couldI hear anything going on betwixt them but talking and laughing and Jemmyclapping his hands and screaming out numbers, so I says to myself “ithas not harmed him yet” nor could I on examining the dear findany signs of it anywhere about him which was likewise a great relief. At last one day Jemmy brings me a card in joke in the Major’sneat writing “The Messrs. Jemmy Jackman” for we had givenhim the Major’s other name too “request the honour of Mrs.Lirriper’s company at the Jackman Institution in the front parlourthis evening at five, military time, to witness a few slight feats ofelementary arithmetic.”  And if you’ll believe me therein the front parlour at five punctual to the moment was the Major behindthe Pembroke table with both leaves up and a lot of things from thekitchen tidily set out on old newspapers spread atop of it, and therewas the Mite stood upon a chair with his rosy cheeks flushing and hiseyes sparkling clusters of diamonds.

“Now Gran” says he, “oo tit down and don’too touch ler people”—for he saw with every one of thosediamonds of his that I was going to give him a squeeze.

“Very well sir” I says “I am obedient in this goodcompany I am sure.”  And I sits down in the easy-chair thatwas put for me, shaking my sides.

But picture my admiration when the Major going on almost as quickas if he was conjuring sets out all the articles he names, and says“Three saucepans, an Italian iron, a hand-bell, a toasting-fork,a nutmeg-grater, four potlids, a spice-box, two egg-cups, and a chopping-board—howmany?” and when that Mite instantly cries “Tifteen, tutdown tive and carry ler ’toppin-board” and then claps hishands draws up his legs and dances on his chair.

My dear with the same astonishing ease and correctness him and theMajor added up the tables chairs and sofy, the picters fenders and fire-ironstheir own selves me and the cat and the eyes in Miss Wozenham’shead, and whenever the sum was done Young Roses and Diamonds claps hishands and draws up his legs and dances on his chair.

The pride of the Major!  (“Here’sa mindMa’am!” he says to me behind his hand.)

Then he says aloud, “We now come to the next elementary rule,—whichis called—”

“Umtraction!” cries Jemmy.

“Right,” says the Major.  “We have here atoasting-fork, a potato in its natural state, two potlids, one egg-cup,a wooden spoon, and two skewers, from which it is necessary for commercialpurposes to subtract a sprat-gridiron, a small pickle-jar, two lemons,one pepper-castor, a blackbeetle-trap, and a knob of the dresser-drawer—whatremains?”

“Toatin-fork!” cries Jemmy.

“In numbers how many?” says the Major.

“One!” cries Jemmy.

(“Here’sa boy, Ma’am!” says the Majorto me behind his hand.)  Then the Major goes on:

“We now approach the next elementary rule,—which is entitled—”

“Tickleication” cries Jemmy.

“Correct” says the Major.

But my dear to relate to you in detail the way in which they multipliedfourteen sticks of firewood by two bits of ginger and a larding needle,or divided pretty well everything else there was on the table by theheater of the Italian iron and a chamber candlestick, and got a lemonover, would make my head spin round and round and round as it did atthe time.  So I says “if you’ll excuse my addressingthe chair Professor Jackman I think the period of the lecture has nowarrived when it becomes necessary that I should take a good hug of thisyoung scholar.”  Upon which Jemmy calls out from his stationon the chair, “Gran oo open oor arms and me’ll make a ’pringinto ’em.”  So I opened my arms to him as I had openedmy sorrowful heart when his poor young mother lay a dying, and he hadhis jump and we had a good long hug together and the Major prouder thanany peacock says to me behind his hand, “You need not let himknow it Madam” (which I certainly need not for the Major was quiteaudible) “but he isa boy!”

In this way Jemmy grew and grew and went to day-school and continuedunder the Major too, and in summer we were as happy as the days werelong, and in winter we were as happy as the days were short and thereseemed to rest a Blessing on the Lodgings for they as good as Let themselvesand would have done it if there had been twice the accommodation, whensore and hard against my will I one day says to the Major.

“Major you know what I am going to break to you.  Ourboy must go to boarding-school.”

It was a sad sight to see the Major’s countenance drop, andI pitied the good soul with all my heart.

“Yes Major” I says, “though he is as popular withthe Lodgers as you are yourself and though he is to you and me whatonly you and me know, still it is in the course of things and Life ismade of partings and we must part with our Pet.”

Bold as I spoke, I saw two Majors and half-a-dozen fireplaces, andwhen the poor Major put one of his neat bright-varnished boots uponthe fender and his elbow on his knee and his head upon his hand androcked himself a little to and fro, I was dreadfully cut up.

“But” says I clearing my throat “you have so wellprepared him Major—he has had such a Tutor in you—that hewill have none of the first drudgery to go through.  And he isso clever besides that he’ll soon make his way to the front rank.”

“He is a boy” says the Major—having sniffed—“thathas not his like on the face of the earth.”

“True as you say Major, and it is not for us merely for ourown sakes to do anything to keep him back from being a credit and anornament wherever he goes and perhaps even rising to be a great man,is it Major?  He will have all my little savings when my work isdone (being all the world to me) and we must try to make him a wiseman and a good man, mustn’t we Major?”

“Madam” says the Major rising “Jemmy Jackman isbecoming an older file than I was aware of, and you put him to shame. You are thoroughly right Madam.  You are simply and undeniablyright.—And if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take a walk.”

So the Major being gone out and Jemmy being at home, I got the childinto my little room here and I stood him by my chair and I took hismother’s own curls in my hand and I spoke to him loving and serious. And when I had reminded the darling how that he was now in his tenthyear and when I had said to him about his getting on in life prettymuch what I had said to the Major I broke to him how that we must havethis same parting, and there I was forced to stop for there I saw ofa sudden the well-remembered lip with its tremble, and it so broughtback that time!  But with the spirit that was in him he controlledit soon and he says gravely nodding through his tears, “I understandGran—I know it mustbe, Gran—go on Gran, don’tbe afraid of me.”  And when I had said all that everI could think of, he turned his bright steady face to mine and he saysjust a little broken here and there “You shall see Gran that Ican be a man and that I can do anything that is grateful and lovingto you—and if I don’t grow up to be what you would liketo have me—I hope it will be—because I shall die.” And with that he sat down by me and I went on to tell him of the schoolof which I had excellent recommendations and where it was and how manyscholars and what games they played as I had heard and what length ofholidays, to all of which he listened bright and clear.  And soit came that at last he says “And now dear Gran let me kneel downhere where I have been used to say my prayers and let me fold my facefor just a minute in your gown and let me cry, for you have been morethan father—more than mother—more than brothers sistersfriends—to me!”  And so he did cry and I too and wewere both much the better for it.

From that time forth he was true to his word and ever blithe andready, and even when me and the Major took him down into Lincolnshirehe was far the gayest of the party though for sure and certain he mighteasily have been that, but he really was and put life into us only whenit came to the last Good-bye, he says with a wistful look, “Youwouldn’t have me not really sorry would you Gran?” and whenI says “No dear, Lord forbid!” he says “I am gladof that!” and ran in out of sight.

But now that the child was gone out of the Lodgings the Major fellinto a regularly moping state.  It was taken notice of by all theLodgers that the Major moped.  He hadn’t even the same airof being rather tall than he used to have, and if he varnished his bootswith a single gleam of interest it was as much as he did.

One evening the Major came into my little room to take a cup of teaand a morsel of buttered toast and to read Jemmy’s newest letterwhich had arrived that afternoon (by the very same postman more thanmiddle-aged upon the Beat now), and the letter raising him up a littleI says to the Major:

“Major you mustn’t get into a moping way.”

The Major shook his head.  “Jemmy Jackman Madam,”he says with a deep sigh, “is an older file than I thought him.”

“Moping is not the way to grow younger Major.”

“My dear Madam,” says the Major, “is there anyway of growing younger?”

Feeling that the Major was getting rather the best of that pointI made a diversion to another.

“Thirteen years!  Thir-teen years!  Many Lodgershave come and gone, in the thirteen years that you have lived in theparlours Major.”

“Hah!” says the Major warming.  “Many Madam,many.”

“And I should say you have been familiar with them all?”

“As a rule (with its exceptions like all rules) my dear Madam”says the Major, “they have honoured me with their acquaintance,and not unfrequently with their confidence.”

Watching the Major as he drooped his white head and stroked his blackmustachios and moped again, a thought which I think must have been goingabout looking for an owner somewhere dropped into my old noddle if youwill excuse the expression.

“The walls of my Lodgings” I says in a casual way—formy dear it is of no use going straight at a man who mopes—“mighthave something to tell if they could tell it.”

The Major neither moved nor said anything but I saw he was attendingwith his shoulders my dear—attending with his shoulders to whatI said.  In fact I saw that his shoulders were struck by it.

“The dear boy was always fond of story-books” I wenton, like as if I was talking to myself.  “I am sure thishouse—his own home—might write a story or two for his readingone day or another.”

The Major’s shoulders gave a dip and a curve and his head cameup in his shirt-collar.  The Major’s head came up in hisshirt-collar as I hadn’t seen it come up since Jemmy went to school.

“It is unquestionable that in intervals of cribbage and a friendlyrubber, my dear Madam,” says the Major, “and also over whatused to be called in my young times—in the salad days of JemmyJackman—the social glass, I have exchanged many a reminiscencewith your Lodgers.”

My remark was—I confess I made it with the deepest and artfullestof intentions—“I wish our dear boy had heard them!”

“Are you serious Madam?” asked the Major starting andturning full round.

“Why not Major?”

“Madam” says the Major, turning up one of his cuffs,“they shall be written for him.”

“Ah!  Now you speak” I says giving my hands a pleasedclap.  “Now you are in a way out of moping Major!”

“Between this and my holidays—I mean the dear boy’s”says the Major turning up his other cuff, “a good deal may bedone towards it.”

“Major you are a clever man and you have seen much and nota doubt of it.”

“I’ll begin,” says the Major looking as tall asever he did, “to-morrow.”

My dear the Major was another man in three days and he was himselfagain in a week and he wrote and wrote and wrote with his pen scratchinglike rats behind the wainscot, and whether he had many grounds to goupon or whether he did at all romance I cannot tell you, but what hehas written is in the left-hand glass closet of the little bookcaseclose behind you.

CHAPTER II—HOW THE PARLOURS ADDED A FEW WORDS

I have the honour of presenting myself by the name of Jackman. I esteem it a proud privilege to go down to posterity through the instrumentalityof the most remarkable boy that ever lived,—by the name of JEMMYJACKMAN LIRRIPER,—and of my most worthy and most highly respectedfriend, Mrs. Emma Lirriper, of Eighty-one, Norfolk Street, Strand, inthe County of Middlesex, in the United Kingdom of Great Britain andIreland.

It is not for me to express the rapture with which we received thatdear and eminently remarkable boy, on the occurrence of his first Christmasholidays.  Suffice it to observe that when he came flying intothe house with two splendid prizes (Arithmetic, and Exemplary Conduct),Mrs. Lirriper and myself embraced with emotion, and instantly took himto the Play, where we were all three admirably entertained.

Nor is it to render homage to the virtues of the best of her goodand honoured sex—whom, in deference to her unassuming worth, Iwill only here designate by the initials E. L.—that I add thisrecord to the bundle of papers with which our, in a most distinguisheddegree, remarkable boy has expressed himself delighted, before re-consigningthe same to the left-hand glass closet of Mrs. Lirriper’s littlebookcase.

Neither is it to obtrude the name of the old original superannuatedobscure Jemmy Jackman, once (to his degradation) of Wozenham’s,long (to his elevation) of Lirriper’s.  If I could be consciouslyguilty of that piece of bad taste, it would indeed be a work of supererogation,now that the name is borne by JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER.

No, I take up my humble pen to register a little record of our strikinglyremarkable boy, which my poor capacity regards as presenting a pleasantlittle picture of the dear boy’s mind.  The picture may beinteresting to himself when he is a man.

Our first reunited Christmas-day was the most delightful one we haveever passed together.  Jemmy was never silent for five minutes,except in church-time.  He talked as we sat by the fire, he talkedwhen we were out walking, he talked as we sat by the fire again, hetalked incessantly at dinner, though he made a dinner almost as remarkableas himself.  It was the spring of happiness in his fresh youngheart flowing and flowing, and it fertilised (if I may be allowed sobold a figure) my much-esteemed friend, and J. J. the present writer.

There were only we three.  We dined in my esteemed friend’slittle room, and our entertainment was perfect.  But everythingin the establishment is, in neatness, order, and comfort, always perfect. After dinner our boy slipped away to his old stool at my esteemed friend’sknee, and there, with his hot chestnuts and his glass of brown sherry(really, a most excellent wine!) on a chair for a table, his face outshonethe apples in the dish.

We talked of these jottings of mine, which Jemmy had read throughand through by that time; and so it came about that my esteemed friendremarked, as she sat smoothing Jemmy’s curls:

“And as you belong to the house too, Jemmy,—and so muchmore than the Lodgers, having been born in it,—why, your storyought to be added to the rest, I think, one of these days.”

Jemmy’s eyes sparkled at this, and he said, “So Ithink, Gran.”

Then he sat looking at the fire, and then he began to laugh in asort of confidence with the fire, and then he said, folding his armsacross my esteemed friend’s lap, and raising his bright face tohers.  “Would you like to hear a boy’s story, Gran?”

“Of all things,” replied my esteemed friend.

“Would you, godfather?”

“Of all things,” I too replied.

“Well, then,” said Jemmy, “I’ll tell youone.”

Here our indisputably remarkable boy gave himself a hug, and laughedagain, musically, at the idea of his coming out in that new line. Then he once more took the fire into the same sort of confidence asbefore, and began:

“Once upon a time, When pigs drank wine, And monkeys chewedtobaccer, ’Twas neither in your time nor mine, But that’sno macker—”

“Bless the child!” cried my esteemed friend, “what’samiss with his brain?”

“It’s poetry, Gran,” returned Jemmy, shouting withlaughter.  “We always begin stories that way at school.”

“Gave me quite a turn, Major,” said my esteemed friend,fanning herself with a plate.  “Thought he was light-headed!”

“In those remarkable times, Gran and godfather, there was oncea boy,—not me, you know.”

“No, no,” says my respected friend, “not you. Not him, Major, you understand?”

“No, no,” says I.

“And he went to school in Rutlandshire—”

“Why not Lincolnshire?” says my respected friend.

“Why not, you dear old Gran?  Because Igo to schoolin Lincolnshire, don’t I?”

“Ah, to be sure!” says my respected friend.  “Andit’s not Jemmy, you understand, Major?”

“No, no,” says I.

“Well!” our boy proceeded, hugging himself comfortably,and laughing merrily (again in confidence with the fire), before heagain looked up in Mrs. Lirriper’s face, “and so he wastremendously in love with his schoolmaster’s daughter, and shewas the most beautiful creature that ever was seen, and she had browneyes, and she had brown hair all curling beautifully, and she had adelicious voice, and she was delicious altogether, and her name wasSeraphina.”

“What’s the name of yourschoolmaster’sdaughter, Jemmy?” asks my respected friend.

“Polly!” replied Jemmy, pointing his forefinger at her. “There now!  Caught you!  Ha, ha, ha!”

When he and my respected friend had had a laugh and a hug together,our admittedly remarkable boy resumed with a great relish:

“Well!  And so he loved her.  And so he thought abouther, and dreamed about her, and made her presents of oranges and nuts,and would have made her presents of pearls and diamonds if he couldhave afforded it out of his pocket-money, but he couldn’t. And so her father—O, he WAS a Tartar!  Keeping the boys upto the mark, holding examinations once a month, lecturing upon all sortsof subjects at all sorts of times, and knowing everything in the worldout of book.  And so this boy—”

“Had he any name?” asks my respected friend.

“No, he hadn’t, Gran.  Ha, ha!  There now! Caught you again!”

After this, they had another laugh and another hug, and then ourboy went on.

“Well!  And so this boy, he had a friend about as oldas himself at the same school, and his name (for He hada name,as it happened) was—let me remember—was Bobbo.”

“Not Bob,” says my respected friend.

“Of course not,” says Jemmy.  “What made youthink it was, Gran?  Well!  And so this friend was the cleverestand bravest and best-looking and most generous of all the friends thatever were, and so he was in love with Seraphina’s sister, andso Seraphina’s sister was in love with him, and so they all grewup.”

“Bless us!” says my respected friend.  “Theywere very sudden about it.”

“So they all grew up,” our boy repeated, laughing heartily,“and Bobbo and this boy went away together on horseback to seektheir fortunes, and they partly got their horses by favour, and partlyin a bargain; that is to say, they had saved up between them seven andfourpence, and the two horses, being Arabs, were worth more, only theman said he would take that, to favour them.  Well!  And sothey made their fortunes and came prancing back to the school, withtheir pockets full of gold, enough to last for ever.  And so theyrang at the parents’ and visitors’ bell (not the back gate),and when the bell was answered they proclaimed ‘The same as ifit was scarlet fever!  Every boy goes home for an indefinite period!’ And then there was great hurrahing, and then they kissed Seraphina andher sister,—each his own love, and not the other’s on anyaccount,—and then they ordered the Tartar into instant confinement.”

“Poor man!” said my respected friend.

“Into instant confinement, Gran,” repeated Jemmy, tryingto look severe and roaring with laughter; “and he was to havenothing to eat but the boys’ dinners, and was to drink half acask of their beer every day.  And so then the preparations weremade for the two weddings, and there were hampers, and potted things,and sweet things, and nuts, and postage-stamps, and all manner of things. And so they were so jolly, that they let the Tartar out, and he wasjolly too.”

“I am glad they let him out,” says my respected friend,“because he had only done his duty.”

“O, but hadn’t he overdone it, though!” cried Jemmy. “Well!  And so then this boy mounted his horse, with hisbride in his arms, and cantered away, and cantered on and on till hecame to a certain place where he had a certain Gran and a certain godfather,—notyou two, you know.”

“No, no,” we both said.

“And there he was received with great rejoicings, and he filledthe cupboard and the bookcase with gold, and he showered it out on hisGran and his godfather because they were the two kindest and dearestpeople that ever lived in this world.  And so while they were sittingup to their knees in gold, a knocking was heard at the street door,and who should it be but Bobbo, also on horseback with his bride inhis arms, and what had he come to say but that he would take (at doublerent) all the Lodgings for ever, that were not wanted by this a boyand this Gran and this godfather, and that they would all live together,and all be happy!  And so they were, and so it never ended!”

“And was there no quarrelling?” asked my respected friend,as Jemmy sat upon her lap and hugged her.

“No!  Nobody ever quarrelled.”

“And did the money never melt away?”

“No!  Nobody could ever spend it all.”

“And did none of them ever grow older?”

“No!  Nobody ever grew older after that.”

“And did none of them ever die?”

“O, no, no, no, Gran!” exclaimed our dear boy, layinghis cheek upon her breast, and drawing her closer to him.  “Nobodyever died.”

“Ah, Major, Major!” says my respected friend, smilingbenignly upon me, “this beats our stories.  Let us end withthe Boy’s story, Major, for the Boy’s story is the bestthat is ever told!”

In submission to which request on the part of the best of women,I have here noted it down as faithfully as my best abilities, coupledwith my best intentions, would admit, subscribing it with my name,

J. JACKMAN.
THE PARLOURS.
MRS. LIRRIPER’S LODGINGS.

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