CHAPTER NINETEEN.
AT HOME IN CANADA.
The family of Mr Merryboy was a small one. Besides those who assistedhim on the farm--and who were in some cases temporary servants--hishousehold consisted of his wife, his aged mother, a female servant, anda small girl. The latter was a diamond from the London diggings, whohad been imported the year before. She was undergoing the process ofbeing polished, and gave promise of soon becoming a very valuable gem.It was this that induced her employer to secure our two masculine gemsfrom the same diggings.
Mrs Merryboy was a vigorous, hearty, able-bodied lady, who loved workvery much for the mere exercise it afforded her; who, like her husband,was constitutionally kind, and whose mind was of that serious type whichtakes concern with the souls of the people with whom it has to do aswell as with their bodies. Hence she gave her waif a daily lesson inreligious and secular knowledge; she reduced work on the Sabbath-days tothe lowest possible point in the establishment, and induced her husband,who was a little shy as well as bluff and off-hand, to institute familyworship, besides hanging on her walls here and there sweet and strikingtexts from the Word of God.
Old Mrs Merryboy, the mother, must have been a merry girl in her youth;for, even though at the age of eighty and partially deaf, she wasextremely fond of a joke, practical or otherwise, and had her face soseamed with the lines of appreciative humour, and her nutcracker mouthso set in a smile of amiable fun, and her coal-black eyes so lit up withthe fires of unutterable wit, that a mere glance at her stirred up yoursources of comicality to their depths, while a steady gaze usuallyresulted in a laugh, in which she was sure to join with an apparentbelief that, whatever the joke might be, it was uncommonly good. Shedid not speak much. Her looks and smiles rendered speech almostunnecessary. Her figure was unusually diminutive.
Little Martha, the waif, was one of those mild, reticent, tiny thingsthat one feels a desire to fondle without knowing why. Her very smallface was always, and, as Bobby remarked, awfully grave, yet a readysmile must have lurked close at hand somewhere, for it could be evokedby the smallest provocation at any time, but fled the instant theprovoking cause ceased. She seldom laughed, but when she did the burstwas a hearty one, and over immediately. Her brown hair was smooth, herbrown eyes were gentle, her red mouth was small and round. Obediencewas ingrained in her nature. Original action seemed never to haveentered her imagination. She appeared to have been born with the ideathat her sphere in life was to do as she was directed. To resist andfight were to her impossibilities. To be defended and kissed seemed tobe her natural perquisites. Yet her early life had been calculated tofoster other and far different qualities, as we shall learn ere long.
Tim Lumpy took to this little creature amazingly. She was so littlethat by contrast he became quite big, and felt so! When in Martha'spresence he absolutely felt big and like a lion, a roaring lion capableof defending her against all comers! Bobby was also attracted by her,but in a comparatively mild degree.
On the morning after their arrival the two boys awoke to find that thewindows of their separate little rooms opened upon a magnificentprospect of wood and water, and that, the partition of their apartmentconsisting of a single plank-wall, with sundry knots knocked out, theywere not only able to converse freely, but to peep at each otherawkwardly--facts which they had not observed the night before, owing tosleepiness.
"I say, Tim," said Bob, "you seem to have a jolly place in there."
"First-rate," replied Tim, "an' much the same as your own. I had a goodsquint at you before you awoke. Isn't the place splendacious?"
"Yes, Tim, it is. I've been lookin' about all the mornin' for Adam an'Eve, but can't see 'em nowhere."
"What d'ee mean?"
"Why, that we've got into the garden of Eden, to be sure."
"Oh! stoopid," returned Tim, "don't you know that they was both banishedfrom Eden?"
"So they was. I forgot that. Well, it don't much matter, for there's aprettier girl than Eve here. Don't you see her? Martha, I think theycalled her--down there by the summer-'ouse, feedin' the hanimals, orgivin' 'em their names."
"There you go again, you ignorant booby," said Tim; "it wasn't Eve asgave the beasts their names. It was Adam."
"An' wot's the difference, I should like to know? wasn't they both made_one_ flesh? However, I think little Martha would have named 'em betterif she'd bin there. What a funny little thing she is!"
"Funny!" returned Tim, contemptuously; "she's a _trump_!"
During the conversation both boys had washed and rubbed their faces tillthey absolutely shone like rosy apples. They also combed and brushedtheir hair to such an extent that each mass lay quite flat on its littlehead, and bade fair to become solid, for the Guardian's loving counselshad not been forgotten, and they had a sensation of wishing to pleasehim even although absent.
Presently the house, which had hitherto been very quiet, began suddenlyto resound with the barking of a little dog and the noisy voice of ahuge man. The former rushed about, saying "Good-morning" as well as itcould with tail and tongue to every one, including the household cat,which resented the familiarity with arched back and demoniacal glare.The latter stamped about on the wooden floors, and addressed similarsalutations right and left in tones that would have suited the commanderof an army. There was a sudden stoppage of the hurricane, and apleasant female voice was heard.
"I say, Bob, that's the missus," whispered Tim through a knot-hole.
Then there came another squall, which seemed to drive madly about allthe echoes in the corridors above and in the cellars below. Again thenoise ceased, and there came up a sound like a wheezy squeak.
"I say, Tim, that's the old 'un," whispered Bob through the knot-hole.
Bob was right, for immediately on the wheezy squeak ceasing, thehurricane burst forth in reply:
"Yes, mother, that's just what I shall do. You're always right. Inever knew such an old thing for wise suggestions! I'll set both boysto milk the cows after breakfast. The sooner they learn the better, forour new girl has too much to do in the house to attend to that; besides,she's either clumsy or nervous, for she has twice overturned themilk-pail. But after all, I don't wonder, for that red cow has severaltimes showed a desire to fling a hind-leg into the girl's face, andstick a horn in her gizzard. The boys won't mind that, you know. Pitythat Martha's too small for the work; but she'll grow--she'll grow."
"Yes, she'll grow, Franky," replied the old lady, with as knowing a lookas if the richest of jokes had been cracked. The look was, of course,lost on the boys above, and so was the reply, because it reached them inthe form of a wheezy squeak.
"Oh! I say! Did you ever! Milk the keows! On'y think!" whisperedBob.
"Ay, an' won't I do it with my mouth open too, an' learn 'ow to send thestream up'ards!" said Tim.
Their comments were cut short by the breakfast-bell; at the same timethe hurricane again burst forth:
"Hallo! lads--boys! Youngsters! Are you up?--ah! here you are.Good-morning, and as tidy as two pins. That's the way to get along inlife. Come now, sit down. Where's Martha? Oh! here we are. Sitbeside me, little one."
The hurricane suddenly fell to a gentle breeze, while part of a chapterof the Bible and a short prayer were read. Then it burst forth againwith redoubled fury, checked only now and then by the unavoidablestuffing of the vent-hole.
"You've slept well, dears, I hope?" said Mrs Merryboy, helping each ofour waifs to a splendid fried fish.
Sitting there, partially awe-stricken by the novelty of theirsurroundings, they admitted that they had slept well.
"Get ready for work then," said Mr Merryboy, through a rather largemouthful. "No time to lose. Eat--eat well--for there's lots to do. Noidlers on Brankly Farm, I can tell you. And we don't let young folk lieabed till breakfast-time every day. We let you rest this morning, Boband Tim, just by way of an extra refresher before beginning. Here, tuckinto the bread and butter, little man, it'll make you grow. Mo
re tea,Susy," (to his wife). "Why, mother, you're eating nothing--nothing atall. I declare you'll come to live on air at last."
The old lady smiled benignly, as though rather tickled with that joke,and was understood by the boys to protest that she had eaten more thanenough, though her squeak had not yet become intelligible to them.
"If you do take to living on air, mother," said her daughter-in-law, "weshall have to boil it up with a bit of beef and butter to make itstrong."
Mrs Merryboy, senior, smiled again at this, though she had not heard aword of it. Obviously she made no pretence of hearing, but took it asgood on credit, for she immediately turned to her son, put her hand toher right ear, and asked what Susy said.
In thunderous tones the joke was repeated, and the old lady almost wentinto fits over it, insomuch that Bob and Tim regarded her with a spiceof anxiety mingled with their amusement, while little Martha looked ather in solemn wonder.
Twelve months' experience had done much to increase Martha's love forthe old lady, but it had done nothing to reduce her surprise; forMartha, as yet, did not understand a joke. This, of itself, formed asubject of intense amusement to old Mrs Merryboy, who certainly madethe most of circumstances, if ever woman did.
"Have some more fish, Bob," said Mrs Merryboy, junior.
Bob accepted more, gratefully. So did Tim, with alacrity.
"What sort of a home had you in London, Tim?" asked Mrs Merryboy.
"Well, ma'am, I hadn't no home at all."
"No home at all, boy; what do you mean? You must have lived somewhere."
"Oh yes, ma'am, I always lived somewheres, but it wasn't nowheres inpartikler. You see I'd neither father nor mother, an' though a good old'ooman did take me in, she couldn't purvide a bed or blankets, an' her'ome was stuffy, so I preferred to live in the streets, an' sleep of anight w'en I couldn't pay for a lodgin', in empty casks and underwegitable carts in Covent Garden Market, or in empty sugar 'ogsheads. Iliked the 'ogsheads best w'en I was 'ungry, an' that was most always,'cause I could sometimes pick a little sugar that was left in the cracksan' 'oles, w'en they 'adn't bin cleaned out a'ready. Also I slep' underrailway-arches, and on door-steps. But sometimes I 'ad raitherdisturbed nights, 'cause the coppers wouldn't let a feller sleep insitch places if they could 'elp it."
"Who are the `coppers?'" asked the good lady of the house, who listenedin wonder to Tim's narration.
"The coppers, ma'am, the--the--pl'eece."
"Oh! the police?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Where in the world did they expect you to sleep?" asked Mrs Merryboywith some indignation.
"That's best known to themselves, ma'am," returned Tim; "p'raps we might'ave bin allowed to sleep on the Thames, if we'd 'ad a mind to, or onthe hatmosphere, but never 'avin' tried it on, I can't say."
"Did you lead the same sort of life, Bob?" asked the farmer, who had bythat time appeased his appetite.
"Pretty much so, sir," replied Bobby, "though I wasn't quite so 'ard upas Tim, havin' both a father and mother as well as a 'ome. But they wascostly possessions, so I was forced to give 'em up."
"What! you don't mean that you forsook them?" said Mr Merryboy with atouch of severity.
"No, sir, but father forsook me and the rest of us, by gettin' into theStone Jug--wery much agin' my earnest advice,--an' mother an' sisterboth thought it was best for me to come out here."
The two waifs, being thus encouraged, came out with their experiencespretty freely, and made such a number of surprising revelations, thatthe worthy backwoodsman and his wife were lost in astonishment, to theobvious advantage of old Mrs Merryboy, who, regarding the varyingexpressions of face around her as the result of a series of excellentjokes, went into a state of chronic laughter of a mild type.
"Have some more bread and butter, and tea, Bob and some more sausage,"said Mrs Merryboy, under a sudden impulse.
Bob declined. Yes, that London street-arab absolutely declined food!So did Tim Lumpy!
"Now, my lads, are you quite sure," said Mr Merryboy, "that you've hadenough to eat?"
They both protested, with some regret, that they had.
"You couldn't eat another bite if you was to try, could you?"
"Vell, sir," said Bob, with a spice of the `old country' insolencestrong upon him, "there's no sayin' what might be accomplished with aheffort, but the consikences, you know, might be serious."
The farmer received this with a thunderous guffaw, and, bidding the boysfollow him, went out.
He took them round the farm buildings, commenting on and explainingeverything, showed them cattle and horses, pigs and poultry, barns andstables, and then asked them how they thought they'd like to work there.
"Uncommon!" was Bobby Frog's prompt reply, delivered with emphasis.
"Fust rate!" was Tim Lumpy's sympathetic sentiment.
"Well, then, the sooner we begin the better. D'you see that lot ofcord-wood lying tumbled about in the yard, Bob?"
"Yes, sir."
"You go to work on it, then, and pile it up against that fence, same asyou see this one done. An' let's see how neatly you'll do it. Don'thurry. What we want in Canada is not so much to see work done quicklyas done well."
Taking Tim to another part of the farm, he set him to remove a huge heapof stones with a barrow and shovel, and, leaving them, returned to thehouse.
Both boys set to work with a will. It was to them the beginning oflife; they felt that, and were the more anxious to do well inconsequence. Remembering the farmer's caution, they did not hurry, butTim built a cone of stones with the care and artistic exactitude of anarchitect, while Bobby piled his billets of wood with as much regard tosymmetrical proportion as was possible in the circumstances.
About noon they became hungry, but hunger was an old foe whom they hadbeen well trained to defy, so they worked on utterly regardless of him.
Thereafter a welcome sound was heard--the dinner-bell!
Having been told to come in on hearing it, they left work at once, ranto the pump, washed themselves, and appeared in the dining-room lookinghot, but bright and jovial, for nothing brightens the human countenanceso much, (by gladdening the heart), as the consciousness of havingperformed duty well.
From the first this worthy couple, who were childless, received the boysinto their home as sons, and on all occasions treated them as such.Martha Mild, (her surname was derived from her character), had beensimilarly received and treated.
"Well, lads," said the farmer as they commenced the meal--which was asecond edition of breakfast, tea included, but with more meat andvegetables--"how did you find the work? pretty hard--eh?"
"Oh! no, sir, nothink of the kind," said Bobby, who was resolved to showa disposition to work like a man and think nothing of it.
"Ah, good. I'll find you some harder work after dinner."
Bobby blamed himself for having been so prompt in reply.
"The end of this month, too, I'll have you both sent to school,"continued the farmer with a look of hearty good-will, that Tim thoughtwould have harmonised better with a promise to give them jam-tart andcream. "It's vacation time just now, and the schoolmaster's away for aholiday. When he comes back you'll have to cultivate mind as well assoil, my boys, for I've come under an obligation to look after youreducation, and even if I hadn't, I'd do it to satisfy my ownconscience."
The _couleur-de-rose_ with which Bob and Tim had begun to invest theirfuture faded perceptibly on hearing this. The viands, however, were sogood that it did not disturb them very much. They ate away heartily,and in silence. Little Martha was not less diligent, for she had beenbusy all the morning in the dairy and kitchen, playing, rather thanworking, at domestic concerns, yet in her play doing much real work, andacquiring useful knowledge, as well as an appetite.
After dinner the farmer rose at once. He was one of those who find itunnecessary either to drink or smoke after meals. Indeed, strong drinkand tobacco were unknown in his house, and, curiously enough, nobodyseemed t
o be a whit the worse for their absence. There were somepeople, indeed, who even went the length of asserting that they were allthe better for their absence!
"Now for the hard work I promised you, boys; come along."