Chapter 22

The Old Curiosity Shop

by Charles Dickens

The remainder of that day and the whole of the next were a busy
time for the Nubbles family, to whom everything connected with Kit's
outfit and departure was matter of as great moment as if he had been
about to penetrate into the interior of Africa, or to take a cruise
round the world. It would be difficult to suppose that there ever
was a box which was opened and shut so many times within
four-and-twenty hours, as that which contained his wardrobe and
necessaries; and certainly there never was one which to two small
eyes presented such a mine of clothing, as this mighty chest with its
three shirts and proportionate allowance of stockings and
pocket-handkerchiefs, disclosed to the astonished vision of little
Jacob. At last it was conveyed to the carrier's, at whose house at
Finchley Kit was to find it next day; and the box being gone, there
remained but two questions for consideration: firstly, whether the
carrier would lose, or dishonestly feign to lose, the box upon the
road; secondly, whether Kit's mother perfectly understood how to take
care of herself in the absence of her son.

'I don't think there's hardly a chance of his really losing it,
but carriers are under great temptation to pretend they lose things,
no doubt,' said Mrs Nubbles apprehensively, in reference to the first
point.

'No doubt about it,' returned Kit, with a serious look; 'upon my
word, mother, I don't think it was right to trust it to itself.
Somebody ought to have gone with it, I'm afraid.'

'We can't help it now,' said his mother; 'but it was foolish and
wrong. People oughtn't to be tempted.'

Kit inwardly resolved that he would never tempt a carrier any
more, save with an empty box; and having formed this Christian
determination, he turned his thoughts to the second question.

'You know you must keep up your spirits, mother, and not be
lonesome because I'm not at home. I shall very often be able to look
in when I come into town I dare say, and I shall send you a letter
sometimes, and when the quarter comes round, I can get a holiday of
course; and then see if we don't take little Jacob to the play, and
let him know what oysters means.'

'I hope plays mayn't be sinful, Kit, but I'm a'most afraid,'
said Mrs Nubbles.

'I know who has been putting that in your head,' rejoined her
son disconsolately; 'that's Little Bethel again. Now I say, mother,
pray don't take to going there regularly, for if I was to see your
good-humoured face that has always made home cheerful, turned into a
grievous one, and the baby trained to look grievous too, and to call
itself a young sinner (bless its heart) and a child of the devil
(which is calling its dead father names); if I was to see this, and
see little Jacob looking grievous likewise, I should so take it to
heart that I'm sure I should go and list for a soldier, and run my
head on purpose against the first cannon-ball I saw coming my
way.'

'Oh, Kit, don't talk like that.'

'I would, indeed, mother, and unless you want to make me feel
very wretched and uncomfortable, you'll keep that bow on your bonnet,
which you'd more than half a mind to pull off last week. Can you
suppose there's any harm in looking as cheerful and being as cheerful
as our poor circumstances will permit? Do I see anything in the way
I'm made, which calls upon me to be a snivelling, solemn, whispering
chap, sneaking about as if I couldn't help it, and expressing myself
in a most unpleasant snuffle? on the contrary, don't I see every
reason why I shouldn't? just hear this! Ha ha ha! An't that as
nat'ral as walking, and as good for the health? Ha ha ha! An't that
as nat'ral as a sheep's bleating, or a pig's grunting, or a horse's
neighing, or a bird's singing? Ha ha ha! Isn't it, mother?'

There was something contagious in Kit's laugh, for his mother,
who had looked grave before, first subsided into a smile, and then
fell to joining in it heartily, which occasioned Kit to say that he
knew it was natural, and to laugh the more. Kit and his mother,
laughing together in a pretty loud key, woke the baby, who, finding
that there was something very jovial and agreeable in progress, was
no sooner in its mother's arms than it began to kick and laugh, most
vigorously. This new illustration of his argument so tickled Kit,
that he fell backward in his chair in a state of exhaustion, pointing
at the baby and shaking his sides till he rocked again. After
recovering twice or thrice, and as often relapsing, he wiped his eyes
and said grace; and a very cheerful meal their scanty supper was.

With more kisses, and hugs, and tears, than many young gentlemen
who start upon their travels, and leave well-stocked homes behind
them, would deem within the bounds of probability (if matter so low
could be herein set down), Kit left the house at an early hour next
morning, and set out to walk to Finchley; feeling a sufficient pride
in his appearance to have warranted his excommunication from Little
Bethel from that time forth, if he had ever been one of that mournful
congregation.

Lest anybody should feel a curiosity to know how Kit was clad,
it may be briefly remarked that he wore no livery, but was dressed in
a coat of pepper-and-salt with waistcoat of canary colour, and nether
garments of iron-grey; besides these glories, he shone in the lustre
of a new pair of boots and an extremely stiff and shiny hat, which on
being struck anywhere with the knuckles, sounded like a drum. And in
this attire, rather wondering that he attracted so little attention,
and attributing the circumstance to the insensibility of those who
got up early, he made his way towards Abel Cottage.

Without encountering any more remarkable adventure on the road,
than meeting a lad in a brimless hat, the exact counterpart of his
old one, on whom he bestowed half the sixpence he possessed, Kit
arrived in course of time at the carrier's house, where, to the
lasting honour of human nature, he found the box in safety. Receiving
from the wife of this immaculate man, a direction to Mr Garland's, he
took the box upon his shoulder and repaired thither directly.

To be sure, it was a beautiful little cottage with a thatched
roof and little spires at the gable-ends, and pieces of stained glass
in some of the windows, almost as large as pocket-books. On one side
of the house was a little stable, just the size for the pony, with a
little room over it, just the size for Kit. White curtains were
fluttering, and birds in cages that looked as bright as if they were
made of gold, were singing at the windows; plants were arranged on
either side of the path, and clustered about the door; and the garden
was bright with flowers in full bloom, which shed a sweet odour all
round, and had a charming and elegant appearance. Everything within
the house and without, seemed to be the perfection of neatness and
order. In the garden there was not a weed to be seen, and to judge
from some dapper gardening-tools, a basket, and a pair of gloves
which were lying in one of the walks, old Mr Garland had been at work
in it that very morning.

Kit looked about him, and admired, and looked again, and this a
great many times before he could make up his mind to turn his head
another way and ring the bell. There was abundance of time to look
about him again though, when he had rung it, for nobody came, so
after ringing it twice or thrice he sat down upon his box, and
waited.

He rang the bell a great many times, and yet nobody came. But
at last, as he was sitting upon the box thinking about giants'
castles, and princesses tied up to pegs by the hair of their heads,
and dragons bursting out from behind gates, and other incidents of
the like nature, common in story-books to youths of low degree on
their first visit to strange houses, the door was gently opened, and
a little servant-girl, very tidy, modest, and demure, but very pretty
too, appeared. 'I suppose you're Christopher,sir,' said the
servant-girl.

Kit got off the box, and said yes, he was.

'I'm afraid you've rung a good many times perhaps,' she
rejoined, 'but we couldn't hear you, because we've been catching the
pony.'

Kit rather wondered what this meant, but as he couldn't stop
there, asking questions, he shouldered the box again and followed the
girl into the hall, where through a back-door he descried Mr Garland
leading Whisker in triumph up the garden, after that self-willed pony
had (as he afterwards learned) dodged the family round a small
paddock in the rear, for one hour and three quarters.

The old gentleman received him very kindly and so did the old
lady, whose previous good opinion of him was greatly enhanced by his
wiping his boots on the mat until the soles of his feet burnt again.
He was then taken into the parlour to be inspected in his new
clothes; and when he had been surveyed several times, and had
afforded by his appearance unlimited satisfaction, he was taken into
the stable (where the pony received him with uncommon complaisance);
and thence into the little chamber he had already observed, which was
very clean and comfortable: and thence into the garden, in which the
old gentleman told him he would be taught to employ himself, and
where he told him, besides, what great things he meant to do to make
him comfortable, and happy, if he found he deserved it. All these
kindnesses, Kit acknowledged with various expressions of gratitude,
and so many touches of the new hat, that the brim suffered
considerably. When the old gentleman had said all he had to say in
the way of promise and advice, and Kit had said all he had to say in
the way of assurance and thankfulness, he was handed over again to
the old lady, who, summoning the little servant-girl (whose name was
Barbara) instructed her to take him down stairs and give him
something to eat and drink, after his walk.

Down stairs, therefore, Kit went; and at the bottom of the
stairs there was such a kitchen as was never before seen or heard of
out of a toy-shop window, with everything in it as bright and
glowing, and as precisely ordered too, as Barbara herself. And in
this kitchen, Kit sat himself down at a table as white as a
tablecloth, to eat cold meat, and drink small ale, and use his knife
and fork the more awkwardly, because there was an unknown Barbara
looking on and observing him.

It did not appear, however, that there was anything remarkably
tremendous about this strange Barbara, who having lived a very quiet
life, blushed very much and was quite as embarrassed and uncertain
what she ought to say or do, as Kit could possibly be. When he had
sat for some little time, attentive to the ticking of the sober
clock, he ventured to glance curiously at the dresser, and there,
among the plates and dishes, were Barbara's little work-box with a
sliding lid to shut in the balls of cotton, and Barbara's
prayer-book, and Barbara's hymn-book, and Barbara's Bible. Barbara's
little looking-glass hung in a good light near the window, and
Barbara's bonnet was on a nail behind the door. From all these mute
signs and tokens of her presence, he naturally glanced at Barbara
herself, who sat as mute as they, shelling peas into a dish; and just
when Kit was looking at her eyelashes and wondering--quite in the
simplicity of his heart-- what colour her eyes might be, it
perversely happened that Barbara raised her head a little to look at
him, when both pair of eyes were hastily withdrawn, and Kit leant
over his plate, and Barbara over her pea-shells, each in extreme
confusion at having been detected by the other.