A Little World Part 22

"You see, sir, she's a dry sort of a woman, and very hard; and if she was my wife, I should never expect as there'd be any gravy with the meat for dinner. That's one of the great differences in wives, sir. Ruggles wouldn't never have been so full of wrinkles and furrers in his face if he'd had plenty of gravy. Look at me, sir; I'm a hearty man, work hard, and do a rattling good business in boots and shoes, princip'lly ready-mades. I weigh seventeen stone, and I'm pretty happy, sir; and what's the reason? Gravy, sir, gravy! You never sit down to our table without seeing plenty of gravy on it. Even when it's cold-meat day, sir, there's always a little saved in a tea-cup to eat with your potatoes. My wife was a cook, you know, sir, when I married her, and she well knows the vally of gravy. She won my heart with it, sir, and keeps it too. It's the real milk, of human kindness. You never knew a woman who loved gravy, and liked to see others enjoy it, leather a child as that woman leathers that child of their'n. Ruggles thinks she's a wonder, and of course it would be a sin to undeceive him; but I'm pretty sure of one thing, and that is, that there's never any gravy to speak of on Ruggles' table."

And after his long speech, Mr Purkis, who had just come home very moist and oozy from the church, after having a good polish at the poor-boxes, handed Jared the church keys for him to go and practise.

It was not very far from Purkis's boot and shoe emporium to St Runwald's, and when Jared reached the gates, he stood looking round for his boy--the invisible Ichabod--who was of a very mercurial temperament, and, if first upon the spot, given to indulgence in overing tombstones or standing upon one leg on the top; walking, at the risk of being impaled, round the iron railings of the family vaults; swarming up the rain water-pipes, and turning himself into a living gargoyle; throwing stones into the mouths of the corbels and breaking the windows; carving his initials in the mouldering stone, where "I.G." could often be distinguished, more often, however, with another letter added, greatly to Ichabod's disgust, by evil-disposed street boys, who mocked at his costume generally, and pulled his "tawsel" cap. The consequence of this was that the word, "P.I.G." graced the walls of the church in several places. Before now Ichabod had been upon the roof, and marked out the size of his shoe with a knife-point in the soft lead, and had been upon the top of the tower and amongst the bells, and down in the vaults, where he told his schoolfellows he had seen a live ghost; and the only wonder was, that in all Ichabod's travels he had never been mutilated or killed.

Jared Pellett looked for him east and west, north into the porch, and south towards the street; but there was no Ichabod in sight, so he shook his head, and said to himself that Ichabod was a bad boy--a fact that he had taken into consideration scores of times before--and then applying the large key, he entered the church and swung to the door.

The moment after entering, Jared started as if alarmed, for there, close beside him, stood a figure in the dim aisle, but he recovered himself instantly upon seeing that it was only the old vicar, whilst behind him stood churchwarden Timson; and then it was that Jared saw that they had been emptying the poor-box.

"How do Mr Pellett? Nice day," said the vicar, cordially. Then turning to the churchwarden--

"Must be something more, Mr Timson; feel again."

Mr Timson lifted the lid of the little steel-bound chest and thrust in a fat hand, feeling about in all directions, as if chasing active coins into dark corners, for them to dodge through his fingers and escape again. His face was quite a study as he poked about, and at length he drew forth his hand, looked at it on both sides, and declared that there was nothing more.

"Tut, tut, tut!--how strange! Why I felt sure that I put in a sovereign myself. It must have been last time; and yet I felt so sure, and--and-- yes--to be sure! here it is, 'Sunday, 24th day, one pound!' There!" he continued, triumphantly holding the pocket-book out to the churchwarden, "I knew I did; and yet there's nothing here but silver and copper. Are you sure that you felt well, Mr Timson?"

"Feel again," said the latter, good-temperedly; and again the fat hand went to work, and the face looked more solid, but without success.

"Must have been in the other box," he said at last. The vicar brightened up at this, and they crossed the church to the north door, but from the sc.r.a.ps of conversation Jared Pellett could hear from the organ-loft, it was evident that the quest was without result. Through waiting for the boy, Jared soon dropped into one of his dreamy moods, and became forgetful of things external, until the tardy Ichabod arrived, out of breath, as if he had been exerting himself strenuously to get to the church in time, when the edifice was soon resounding with strains which drowned the rattling of keys and snapping of locks, as well as the conversation of vicar and churchwarden upon the subject of the missing money; but for all that the conversation went on.

"There might have been a great deal taken," said the vicar.

"Heaps," acquiesced Mr Timson.

"For, of course," said Mr Gray, "this is an exceptional time; and in other instances I doubt whether I should be able to miss anything."

"Very true; quite agree with you," said Mr Timson. "Just as you say."

"Pounds might have been abstracted," said the vicar.

"Abstract, an epitome, a taking from," muttered Mr Timson; "yes, just so, pounds, very true, sir."

"Hang it all, Timson, don't be so aggravating," said the vicar, pettishly. "What is the good of agreeing with one in everything, it can't do any good?"

"Just so, sir," said Mr Timson; and then, turning very red and hot, "No, sir, of course not; but can't do any harm."

"Then for goodness' sake come into the vestry;" and the vicar led the way towards the little robing room to count the offerings of the charitable.

"Now, are you sure about that sovereign?" said Mr Timson to the vicar, as they pa.s.sed down the nave.

"Sure!" exclaimed the vicar, "have I not shown you the entry? But there! I must have made a mistake."

"Of course you have," said Timson, triumphantly.

"For it is impossible," continued the vicar, "for any one to have obtained access to the money; and surely no one would be so cruel as rob the poor, eh? What do you think? Calmly and considerately now?"

"Just--," Mr Timson cut off the "so," and rubbed the side of his nose, and looked mysterious. Then, resting one finger upon the vicar's black silk vest, he said, "Once upon a time my desk was robbed--over and over again--without being broken open, and I put in marked money, and still it went; but I found the party out by that plan. And how do you think they got at the money, sir?"

"Crooked wire through the crack," said the vicar.

"No, no--false keys!" said Mr Timson, wagging his head. "False keys, and it was some one that had constant access to my office that did it."

The vicar mused, and fidgeted his neck in his stiff cravat, as involuntarily he turned over in his own mind the list of persons who had private access to the church--clerk, pew-opener, beadle, curate, organist, organ-blower, churchwardens, himself; and then he shook his head again, and the pair proceeded to count the money over once more upon the vestry table, calculated the total amount of silver and copper, made entries, and then tied the money carefully up in a little bag, and all to the accompaniment of Jared's music, which ever and again made the windows of the little vestry to rattle loudly.

"Fine organist, Mr Pellet!" said the vicar, after listening in silence for a few minutes. "We were lucky in getting him, Timson."

"Very fine; quite agree with you," said Mr Timson. "Capital congregations we get, too, now--almost double what they were in old Harvey's time."

"Um!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the vicar, with a curious dry look upon his features.

"Just so, sir," said Mr Timson. "You see, people like music, and will come miles to hear it."

"Well, yes, I suppose so," said the vicar, half sadly; "and ours certainly is a very fine instrument."

"And beautifully played," said Mr Timson; "not but what I think we have too much of it; but people say it is well played."

"Yes," said the vicar, absently, for his thoughts were upon the poor-box; "beautifully played, certainly. By the way, how startled Mr Pellet seemed when he came in!"

"Poor man! yes: he's nervous," said Timson; "those musical chaps generally are. Didn't expect us, you know. Might ask his opinion about the box."

"Yes, we might, certainly," said the vicar; and then, uneasily, "No, I don't think it would be of any use. Let it rest for the present, Mr Timson; perhaps, after all, we may be mistaken."

"Very true, sir," said Timson. "Not often that there is gold in the box. People are not very fond of giving to the poor and lending to the Lord, though that's all of a piece with their behaviour. They're not fond of lending to anybody. Seems to go against a man's nature."

"Not in all cases, Mr Timson," said the vicar, stiffly; "there are many exceptions,--yourself, for instance."

"Present company--present company, sir," said Mr Timson, "always left out of the question;" and Mr Timson looked very fidgety and uncomfortable.

"Not in a case of this description," said the vicar. "A shining light should never be placed beneath a bushel."

Mr Timson looked very unlike a shining light at this time, as he stared at the vicar, and then round the church, and then fidgeted from foot to foot, and held his hat first in one hand, and then in the other, as if in a great hurry to go. But Mr Gray would not come out of the vestry, and Mr Timson had to go in again, for he could not be spared yet. In fact, asking him for the bag once more, the vicar again carefully went through the amount of small change--copper, threepenny and four-penny pieces, sixpences, shillings, and half-crowns--to see whether, after all, his sovereign might not be there, explaining the while to Mr Timson that some gold was very pale, and in dim lights, like that where they were, sovereigns looked almost like shillings.

But though he carefully examined every shilling, and turned it over, there was not one that could for an instant be taken for a sovereign; so, with a sigh, the vicar slowly told up the total, replaced the money in the bag, and tied it exceedingly tight, before once more handing it to the churchwarden, when together they pa.s.sed down the nave, listening to Jared's harmonies.

But the vicar seemed uneasy: the music had lost its charm; and instead of following his usual custom of sitting down in some comfortable pew to listen for half-an-hour, he softly followed the churchwarden into the street, and went homewards shaking his head,--that head being, the while, sorely troubled with thoughts of sacrilege and the missing sovereign.

Volume 2, Chapter II.

GRIT IN THE WHEEL.

"You are precious quiet, Harry," said Lionel, as they strolled on till they reached Trafalgar Square, almost without a word having been spoken.

"I was only thinking," was the reply, and then they walked on again in silence; for Harry Clayton was indeed thinking, deeply too, of his position. There was a vague sense of danger, of disappointment, troubling him. One moment he felt ready to hurry back to the wretched street, and beg Patty to grant him an interview; the next he shrank from it, and asked himself how he could expect her, if she had any proper sense of pride, to listen to him again. Now, too, came a growing feeling of dislike to Lionel. He told himself that life with him would now be insupportable, and he fell to wondering again what the young man had seen. Would he jeer and banter him, and torture him by endeavouring to excite jealousy? However, he felt that he must let matters take their course.

How his thoughts ran riot, though! From time to time the busy traffic of the London streets faded from before his eyes, for a bright little vision to occupy the place--always a fair young face bent towards a dove, the startled look of confusion, and then the subsequent scene.

It was nothing new that it would come--that face; try as he would to drive it from him, there it was again and again, soft, gentle, and pleasing. He told himself that it was absurd; that he had seen in different society hundreds of sweeter faces, but no one had ever so impressed him before.