Charles Dickens (8 page)

As these remarks were quite unanswerable—which is the happy
property of all remarks that are sufficiently wide of the purpose—
they changed the current of the conversation, and diverted the
general attention to the Veal and Ham-Pie, the cold mutton, the
potatoes, and the tart. In order that the bottled beer might not
be slighted, John Peerybingle proposed To-morrow: the Wedding-Day;
and called upon them to drink a bumper to it, before he proceeded
on his journey.

For you ought to know that he only rested there, and gave the old
horse a bait. He had to go some four of five miles farther on; and
when he returned in the evening, he called for Dot, and took
another rest on his way home. This was the order of the day on all
the Pic-Nic occasions, had been, ever since their institution.

There were two persons present, besides the bride and bridegroom
elect, who did but indifferent honour to the toast. One of these
was Dot, too flushed and discomposed to adapt herself to any small
occurrence of the moment; the other, Bertha, who rose up hurriedly,
before the rest, and left the table.

'Good bye!' said stout John Peerybingle, pulling on his dreadnought
coat. 'I shall be back at the old time. Good bye all!'

'Good bye, John,' returned Caleb.

He seemed to say it by rote, and to wave his hand in the same
unconscious manner; for he stood observing Bertha with an anxious
wondering face, that never altered its expression.

'Good bye, young shaver!' said the jolly Carrier, bending down to
kiss the child; which Tilly Slowboy, now intent upon her knife and
fork, had deposited asleep (and strange to say, without damage) in
a little cot of Bertha's furnishing; 'good bye! Time will come, I
suppose, when YOU'LL turn out into the cold, my little friend, and
leave your old father to enjoy his pipe and his rheumatics in the
chimney-corner; eh? Where's Dot?'

'I'm here, John!' she said, starting.

'Come, come!' returned the Carrier, clapping his sounding hands.
'Where's the pipe?'

'I quite forgot the pipe, John.'

Forgot the pipe! Was such a wonder ever heard of! She! Forgot
the pipe!

'I'll—I'll fill it directly. It's soon done.'

But it was not so soon done, either. It lay in the usual place—
the Carrier's dreadnought pocket—with the little pouch, her own
work, from which she was used to fill it, but her hand shook so,
that she entangled it (and yet her hand was small enough to have
come out easily, I am sure), and bungled terribly. The filling of
the pipe and lighting it, those little offices in which I have
commended her discretion, were vilely done, from first to last.
During the whole process, Tackleton stood looking on maliciously
with the half-closed eye; which, whenever it met hers—or caught
it, for it can hardly be said to have ever met another eye: rather
being a kind of trap to snatch it up—augmented her confusion in a
most remarkable degree.

'Why, what a clumsy Dot you are, this afternoon!' said John. 'I
could have done it better myself, I verify believe!'

With these good-natured words, he strode away, and presently was
heard, in company with Boxer, and the old horse, and the cart,
making lively music down the road. What time the dreamy Caleb
still stood, watching his blind daughter, with the same expression
on his face.

'Bertha!' said Caleb, softly. 'What has happened? How changed you
are, my darling, in a few hours—since this morning. YOU silent
and dull all day! What is it? Tell me!'

'Oh father, father!' cried the Blind Girl, bursting into tears.
'Oh my hard, hard fate!'

Caleb drew his hand across his eyes before he answered her.

'But think how cheerful and how happy you have been, Bertha! How
good, and how much loved, by many people.'

'That strikes me to the heart, dear father! Always so mindful of
me! Always so kind to me!'

Caleb was very much perplexed to understand her.

'To be—to be blind, Bertha, my poor dear,' he faltered, 'is a
great affliction; but—'

'I have never felt it!' cried the Blind Girl. 'I have never felt
it, in its fulness. Never! I have sometimes wished that I could
see you, or could see him—only once, dear father, only for one
little minute—that I might know what it is I treasure up,' she
laid her hands upon her breast, 'and hold here! That I might be
sure and have it right! And sometimes (but then I was a child) I
have wept in my prayers at night, to think that when your images
ascended from my heart to Heaven, they might not be the true
resemblance of yourselves. But I have never had these feelings
long. They have passed away and left me tranquil and contented.'

'And they will again,' said Caleb.

'But, father! Oh my good, gentle father, bear with me, if I am
wicked!' said the Blind Girl. 'This is not the sorrow that so
weighs me down!'

Her father could not choose but let his moist eyes overflow; she
was so earnest and pathetic, but he did not understand her, yet.

'Bring her to me,' said Bertha. 'I cannot hold it closed and shut
within myself. Bring her to me, father!'

She knew he hesitated, and said, 'May. Bring May!'

May heard the mention of her name, and coming quietly towards her,
touched her on the arm. The Blind Girl turned immediately, and
held her by both hands.

'Look into my face, Dear heart, Sweet heart!' said Bertha. 'Read
it with your beautiful eyes, and tell me if the truth is written on
it.'

'Dear Bertha, Yes!'

The Blind Girl still, upturning the blank sightless face, down
which the tears were coursing fast, addressed her in these words:

'There is not, in my soul, a wish or thought that is not for your
good, bright May! There is not, in my soul, a grateful
recollection stronger than the deep remembrance which is stored
there, of the many many times when, in the full pride of sight and
beauty, you have had consideration for Blind Bertha, even when we
two were children, or when Bertha was as much a child as ever
blindness can be! Every blessing on your head! Light upon your
happy course! Not the less, my dear May;' and she drew towards
her, in a closer grasp; 'not the less, my bird, because, to-day,
the knowledge that you are to be His wife has wrung my heart almost
to breaking! Father, May, Mary! oh forgive me that it is so, for
the sake of all he has done to relieve the weariness of my dark
life: and for the sake of the belief you have in me, when I call
Heaven to witness that I could not wish him married to a wife more
worthy of his goodness!'

While speaking, she had released May Fielding's hands, and clasped
her garments in an attitude of mingled supplication and love.
Sinking lower and lower down, as she proceeded in her strange
confession, she dropped at last at the feet of her friend, and hid
her blind face in the folds of her dress.

'Great Power!' exclaimed her father, smitten at one blow with the
truth, 'have I deceived her from the cradle, but to break her heart
at last!'

It was well for all of them that Dot, that beaming, useful, busy
little Dot—for such she was, whatever faults she had, and however
you may learn to hate her, in good time—it was well for all of
them, I say, that she was there: or where this would have ended,
it were hard to tell. But Dot, recovering her self-possession,
interposed, before May could reply, or Caleb say another word.

'Come, come, dear Bertha! come away with me! Give her your arm,
May. So! How composed she is, you see, already; and how good it
is of her to mind us,' said the cheery little woman, kissing her
upon the forehead. 'Come away, dear Bertha. Come! and here's her
good father will come with her; won't you, Caleb? To—be—sure!'

Well, well! she was a noble little Dot in such things, and it must
have been an obdurate nature that could have withstood her
influence. When she had got poor Caleb and his Bertha away, that
they might comfort and console each other, as she knew they only
could, she presently came bouncing back,—the saying is, as fresh
as any daisy; I say fresher—to mount guard over that bridling
little piece of consequence in the cap and gloves, and prevent the
dear old creature from making discoveries.

'So bring me the precious Baby, Tilly,' said she, drawing a chair
to the fire; 'and while I have it in my lap, here's Mrs. Fielding,
Tilly, will tell me all about the management of Babies, and put me
right in twenty points where I'm as wrong as can be. Won't you,
Mrs. Fielding?'

Not even the Welsh Giant, who, according to the popular expression,
was so 'slow' as to perform a fatal surgical operation upon
himself, in emulation of a juggling-trick achieved by his arch-
enemy at breakfast-time; not even he fell half so readily into the
snare prepared for him, as the old lady did into this artful
pitfall. The fact of Tackleton having walked out; and furthermore,
of two or three people having been talking together at a distance,
for two minutes, leaving her to her own resources; was quite enough
to have put her on her dignity, and the bewailment of that
mysterious convulsion in the Indigo trade, for four-and-twenty
hours. But this becoming deference to her experience, on the part
of the young mother, was so irresistible, that after a short
affectation of humility, she began to enlighten her with the best
grace in the world; and sitting bolt upright before the wicked Dot,
she did, in half an hour, deliver more infallible domestic recipes
and precepts, than would (if acted on) have utterly destroyed and
done up that Young Peerybingle, though he had been an Infant
Samson.

To change the theme, Dot did a little needlework—she carried the
contents of a whole workbox in her pocket; however she contrived
it, I don't know—then did a little nursing; then a little more
needlework; then had a little whispering chat with May, while the
old lady dozed; and so in little bits of bustle, which was quite
her manner always, found it a very short afternoon. Then, as it
grew dark, and as it was a solemn part of this Institution of the
Pic-Nic that she should perform all Bertha's household tasks, she
trimmed the fire, and swept the hearth, and set the tea-board out,
and drew the curtain, and lighted a candle. Then she played an air
or two on a rude kind of harp, which Caleb had contrived for
Bertha, and played them very well; for Nature had made her delicate
little ear as choice a one for music as it would have been for
jewels, if she had had any to wear. By this time it was the
established hour for having tea; and Tackleton came back again, to
share the meal, and spend the evening.

Caleb and Bertha had returned some time before, and Caleb had sat
down to his afternoon's work. But he couldn't settle to it, poor
fellow, being anxious and remorseful for his daughter. It was
touching to see him sitting idle on his working-stool, regarding
her so wistfully, and always saying in his face, 'Have I deceived
her from her cradle, but to break her heart!'

When it was night, and tea was done, and Dot had nothing more to do
in washing up the cups and saucers; in a word—for I must come to
it, and there is no use in putting it off—when the time drew nigh
for expecting the Carrier's return in every sound of distant
wheels, her manner changed again, her colour came and went, and she
was very restless. Not as good wives are, when listening for their
husbands. No, no, no. It was another sort of restlessness from
that.

Wheels heard. A horse's feet. The barking of a dog. The gradual
approach of all the sounds. The scratching paw of Boxer at the
door!

'Whose step is that!' cried Bertha, starting up.

'Whose step?' returned the Carrier, standing in the portal, with
his brown face ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night air.
'Why, mine.'

'The other step,' said Bertha. 'The man's tread behind you!'

'She is not to be deceived,' observed the Carrier, laughing. 'Come
along, sir. You'll be welcome, never fear!'

He spoke in a loud tone; and as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman
entered.

'He's not so much a stranger, that you haven't seen him once,
Caleb,' said the Carrier. 'You'll give him house-room till we go?'

'Oh surely, John, and take it as an honour.'

'He's the best company on earth, to talk secrets in,' said John.
'I have reasonable good lungs, but he tries 'em, I can tell you.
Sit down, sir. All friends here, and glad to see you!'

When he had imparted this assurance, in a voice that amply
corroborated what he had said about his lungs, he added in his
natural tone, 'A chair in the chimney-corner, and leave to sit
quite silent and look pleasantly about him, is all he cares for.
He's easily pleased.'

Bertha had been listening intently. She called Caleb to her side,
when he had set the chair, and asked him, in a low voice, to
describe their visitor. When he had done so (truly now; with
scrupulous fidelity), she moved, for the first time since he had
come in, and sighed, and seemed to have no further interest
concerning him.

The Carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was, and
fonder of his little wife than ever.

'A clumsy Dot she was, this afternoon!' he said, encircling her
with his rough arm, as she stood, removed from the rest; 'and yet I
like her somehow. See yonder, Dot!'

He pointed to the old man. She looked down. I think she trembled.

'He's—ha ha ha!—he's full of admiration for you!' said the
Carrier. 'Talked of nothing else, the whole way here. Why, he's a
brave old boy. I like him for it!'

'I wish he had had a better subject, John,' she said, with an
uneasy glance about the room. At Tackleton especially.

'A better subject!' cried the jovial John. 'There's no such thing.
Come, off with the great-coat, off with the thick shawl, off with
the heavy wrappers! and a cosy half-hour by the fire! My humble
service, Mistress. A game at cribbage, you and I? That's hearty.
The cards and board, Dot. And a glass of beer here, if there's any
left, small wife!'