The morning had been fine for November; but before midday the clouds had gathered, the rain had begun, and the inveterate4 fog of the season had closed dingily5 over the wet streets, far and near. The garden in the middle of Baregrove Square—with its close-cut turf, its vacant beds, its bran-new rustic6 seats, its withered7 young trees that had not yet grown as high as the railings around them—seemed to be absolutely rotting away in yellow mist and softly-steady rain, and was deserted8 even by the cats. All blinds were drawn9 down for the most part over all windows; what light came from the sky came like light seen through dusty glass; the grim brown hue10 of the brick houses looked more dirtily mournful than ever; the smoke from the chimney-pots was lost mysteriously in deepening superincumbent fog; the muddy gutters12 gurgled; the heavy rain-drops dripped into empty areas audibly. No object great or small, no out-of-door litter whatever appeared anywhere, to break the dismal13 uniformity of line and substance in the perspective of the square. No living being moved over the watery14 pavement, save the solitary15 Snoxell. He plodded16 on into a Crescent, and still the awful Sunday solitude17 spread grimly humid all around him. He next entered a street with some closed shops in it; and here, at last, some consoling signs of human life attracted his attention. He now saw the crossing-sweeper of the district (off duty till church came out) smoking a pipe under the covered way that led to a mews. He detected, through half closed shutters18, a chemist’s apprentice19 yawing over a large book. He passed a navigator, an ostler, and two costermongers wandering wearily backwards20 and forwards before a closed public-house door. He heard the heavy clop clop of thickly-booted feet advancing behind him, and a stern voice growling21, “Now then! be off with you, or you’ll get locked up!”—and, looking round, saw an orange-girl, guilty of having obstructed22 an empty pavement by sitting on the curb-stone, driven along before a policeman, who was followed admiringly by a ragged23 boy gnawing24 a piece of orange-peel. Having delayed a moment to watch this Sunday procession of three with melancholy25 curiosity as it moved by him, Snoxell was about to turn the corner of a street which led directly to the church, when a shrill26 series of cries in a child’s voice struck on his ear and stopped his progress immediately.
The page stood stock-still in astonishment27 for an instant—then pulled the new silk umbrella from under his arm, and turned the corner in a violent hurry. His suspicions had not deceived him. There was Mr. Thorpe himself walking sternly homeward through the rain, before church was over. He led by the hand “Master Zack,” who was trotting28 along under protest, with his hat half off his head, hanging as far back from his father’s side as he possibly could, and howling all the time at the utmost pitch of a very powerful pair of lungs.
Mr. Thorpe stopped as he passed the page, and snatched the umbrella out of Snoxell’s hand, with unaccustomed impetuity; said sharply, “Go to your mistress, go on to the church;” and then resumed his road home, dragging his son after him faster than ever.
“Snoxy! Snoxy!” screamed Master Zack, turning round towards the page, so that he tripped himself up and fell against his father’s legs at every third step; “I’ve been a naughty boy at church!”
“Ah! you look like it, you do,” muttered Snoxell to himself sarcastically31, as he went on. With that expression of opinion, the page approached the church portico32, and waited sulkily among his fellow servants and their umbrellas for the congregation to come out.
When Mr. Goodworth and Mrs. Thorpe left the church, the old gentleman, regardless of appearances, seized eagerly on the despised gingham umbrella, because it was the largest he could get, and took his daughter home under it in triumph. Mrs. Thorpe was very silent, and sighed dolefully once or twice, when her father’s attention wandered from her to the people passing along the street.
“You’re fretting33 about Zack,” said the old gentleman, looking round suddenly at his daughter. “Never mind! leave it to me. I’ll undertake to beg him off this time.”
“It’s very disheartening and shocking to find him behaving so,” said Mrs. Thorpe, “after the careful way we’ve brought him up in, too!”
“Nonsense, my love! No, I don’t mean that—I beg your pardon. But who can be surprised that a child of six years old should be tired of a sermon forty minutes long by my watch? I was tired of it myself I know, though I wasn’t candid34 enough to show it as the boy did. There! there! we won’t begin to argue: I’ll beg Zack off this time, and we’ll say no more about it.”
Mr. Goodworth’s announcement of his benevolent35 intentions towards Zack seemed to have very little effect on Mrs. Thorpe; but she said nothing on that subject or any other during the rest of the dreary36 walk home, through rain, fog, and mud, to Baregrove Square.
Rooms have their mysterious peculiarities37 of physiognomy as well as men. There are plenty of rooms, all of much the same size, all furnished in much the same manner, which, nevertheless, differ completely in expression (if such a term may be allowed) one from the other; reflecting the various characters of their inhabitants by such fine varieties of effect in the furniture-features generally common to all, as are often, like the infinitesimal varieties of eyes, noses, and mouths, too intricately minute to be traceable. Now, the parlor38 of Mr. Thorpe’s house was neat, clean, comfortably and sensibly furnished. It was of the average size. It had the usual side-board, dining-table, looking-glass, scroll39 fender, marble chimney-piece with a clock on it, carpet with a drugget over it, and wire window-blinds to keep people from looking in, characteristic of all respectable London parlors40 of the middle class. And yet it was an inveterately41 severe-looking room—a room that seemed as if it had never been convivial42, never uproarious, never anything but sternly comfortable and serenely43 dull—a room which appeared to be as unconscious of acts of mercy, and easy unreasoning over-affectionate forgiveness to offenders44 of any kind—juvenile45 or otherwise—as if it had been a cell in Newgate, or a private torturing chamber46 in the Inquisition. Perhaps Mr. Goodworth felt thus affected47 by the parlor (especially in November weather) as soon as he entered it—for, although he had promised to beg Zack off, although Mr. Thorpe was sitting alone by the table and accessible to petitions, with a book in his hand, the old gentleman hesitated uneasily for a minute or two, and suffered his daughter to speak first.
“Where is Zack?” asked Mrs. Thorpe, glancing quickly and nervously48 all round her.
“He is locked up in my dressing-room,” answered her husband without taking his eyes off the book.
“In your dressing-room!” echoed Mrs. Thorpe, looking as startled and horrified49 as if she had received a blow instead of an answer; “in your dressing-room! Good heavens, Zachary! how do you know the child hasn’t got at your razors?”
“They are locked up,” rejoined Mr. Thorpe, with the mildest reproof50 in his voice, and the mournfullest self-possession in his manner. “I took care before I left the boy, that he should get at nothing which could do him any injury. He is locked up, and will remain locked up, because”—
“I say, Thorpe! won’t you let him off this time?” interrupted Mr. Goodworth, boldly plunging51 head foremost, with his petition for mercy, into the conversation.
“If you had allowed me to proceed, sir,” said Mr. Thorpe, who always called his father-in-law Sir, “I should have simply remarked that, after having enlarged to my son (in such terms, you will observe, as I thought best fitted to his comprehension) on the disgrace to his parents and himself of his behavior this morning, I set him as a task three verses to learn out of the ‘select Bible Texts for Children;’ choosing the verses which seemed most likely, if I may trust my own judgment52 on the point, to impress on him what his behavior ought to be for the future in church. He flatly refused to learn what I told him. It was, of course, quite impossible to allow my authority to be set at defiance53 by my own child (whose disobedient disposition54 has always, God knows, been a source of constant trouble and anxiety to me); so I locked him up, and locked up he will remain until he has obeyed me. My dear,” (turning to his wife and handing her a key), “I have no objection, if you wish, to your going and trying what you can do towards overcoming the obstinacy55 of this unhappy child.”
Mrs. Thorpe took the key, and went up stairs immediately—went up to do what all women have done, from the time of the first mother; to do what Eve did when Cain was wayward in his infancy56, and cried at her breast—in short, went up to coax57 her child.
Mr. Thorpe, when his wife closed the door, carefully looked down the open page on his knee for the place where he had left off—found it—referred back a moment to the last lines of the preceding leaf—and then went on with his book, not taking the smallest notice of Mr. Goodworth.
“Thorpe!” cried the old gentleman, plunging head-foremost again, into his son-in-law’s reading this time instead of his talk, “You may say what you please; but your notion of bringing up Zack is a wrong one altogether.”
With the calmest imaginable expression of face, Mr. Thorpe looked up from his book; and, first carefully putting a paper-knife between the leaves, placed it on the table. He then crossed one of his legs over the other, rested an elbow on each arm of his chair, and clasped his hands in front of him. On the wall opposite hung several lithographed portraits of distinguished58 preachers, in and out of the Establishment—mostly represented as very sturdily-constructed men with bristly hair, fronting the spectator interrogatively and holding thick books in their hands. Upon one of these portraits—the name of the original of which was stated at the foot of the print to be the Reverend Aaron Yollop—Mr. Thorpe now fixed59 his eyes, with a faint approach to a smile on his face (he never was known to laugh), and with a look and manner which said as plainly as if he had spoken it: “This old man is about to say something improper61 or absurd to me; but he is my wife’s father, it is my duty to bear with him, and therefore I am perfectly62 resigned.”
“It’s no use looking in that way, Thorpe,” growled63 the old gentleman; “I’m not to be put down by looks at my time of life. I may have my own opinions I suppose, like other people; and I don’t see why I shouldn’t express them, especially when they relate to my own daughter’s boy. It’s very unreasonable64 of me, I dare say, but I think I ought to have a voice now and then in Zack’s bringing up.”
Mr. Thorpe bowed respectfully—partly to Mr. Goodworth, partly to the Reverend Aaron Yollop. “I shall always be happy, sir, to listen to any expression of your opinion—”
“My opinion’s this,” burst out Mr. Goodworth. “You’ve no business to take Zack to church at all, till he’s some years older than he is now. I don’t deny that there may be a few children, here and there, at six years old, who are so very patient, and so very—(what’s the word for a child that knows a deal more than he has any business to know at his age? Stop! I’ve got it!—precocious65—that’s the word)—so very patient and so very precocious that they will sit quiet in the same place for two hours; making believe all the time that they understand every word of the service, whether they really do or not. I don’t deny that there may be such children, though I never met with them myself, and should think them all impudent66 little hypocrites if I did! But Zack isn’t one of that sort: Zack’s a genuine child (God bless him)! Zack—”
“Do I understand you, my dear sir,” interposed Mr. Thorpe, sorrowfully sarcastic30, “to be praising the conduct of my son in disturbing the congregation, and obliging me to take him out of church?”
“Nothing of the sort,” retorted the old gentleman; “I’m not praising Zack’s conduct, but I am blaming yours. Here it is in plain words:—You keep on cramming67 church down his throat; and he keeps on puking at it as if it was physic, because he don’t know any better, and can’t know any better at his age. Is that the way to make him take kindly68 to religious teaching? I know as well as you do, that he roared like a young Turk at the sermon. And pray what was the subject of the sermon? Justification69 by Faith. Do you mean to tell me that he, or any other child at his time of life, could understand anything of such a subject as that; or get an atom of good out of it? You can’t—you know you can’t! I say again, it’s no use taking him to church yet; and what’s more, it’s worse than no use, for you only associate his first ideas of religious instruction with everything in the way of restraint and discipline and punishment that can be most irksome to him. There! that’s my opinion, and I should like to hear what you’ve got to say against it?”
“Latitudinarianism,” said Mr. Thorpe, looking and speaking straight at the portrait of the Reverend Aaron Yollop.
“You can’t fob me off with long words, which I don’t understand, and which I don’t believe you can find in Johnson’s Dictionary,” continued Mr. Goodworth doggedly70. “You would do much better to take my advice, and let Zack go to church, for the present, at his mother’s knees. Let his Morning Service be about ten minutes long; let your wife tell him, out of the New Testament71, about Our Savior’s goodness and gentleness to little children; and then let her teach him, from the Sermon on the Mount, to be loving and truthful72 and forbearing and forgiving, for Our Savior’s sake. If such precepts73 as those are enforced—as they may be in one way or another—by examples drawn from his own daily life; from people around him; from what he meets with and notices and asks about, out of doors and in—mark my words, he’ll take kindly to his religious instruction. I’ve seen that in other children: I’ve seen it in my own children, who were all brought up so. Of course, you don’t agree with me! Of course you’ve got another objection all ready to bowl me down with?”
“Rationalism,” said Mr. Thorpe, still looking steadily74 at the lithographed portrait of the Reverend Aaron Yollop.
“Well, your objection’s a short one this time at any rate; and that’s a blessing75!” said the old gentleman rather irritably76. “Rationalism—eh? I understand that ism, I rather suspect, better than the other. It means in plain English, that you think I’m wrong in only wanting to give religious instruction the same chance with Zack which you let all other kinds of instruction have—the chance of becoming useful by being first made attractive. You can’t get him to learn to read by telling him that it will improve his mind—but you can by getting him to look at a picture book. You can’t get him to drink senna and salts by reasoning with him about its doing him good—but you can by promising77 him a lump of sugar to take after it. You admit this sort of principle so far, because you’re obliged; but the moment anybody wants (in a spirit of perfect reverence78 and desire to do good) to extend it to higher things, you purse up your lips, shake your head, and talk about Rationalism—as if that was an answer! Well! well! it’s no use talking—go your own way—I wash my hands of the business altogether. But now I am at it I’ll just say this one thing more before I’ve done:—your way of punishing the boy for his behavior in church is, in my opinion, about as bad and dangerous a one as could possibly be devised. Why not give him a thrashing, if you must punish the miserable79 little urchin80 for what’s his misfortune as much as his fault? Why not stop his pudding, or something of that sort? Here you are associating verses in the Bible, in his mind, with the idea of punishment and being locked up in the cold! You may make him get his text by heart, I dare say, by fairly tiring him out; but I tell you what I’m afraid you’ll make him learn too, if you don’t mind—you’ll make him learn to dislike the Bible as much as other boys dislike the birch-rod!”
“Sir,” cried Mr. Thorpe, turning suddenly round, and severely81 confronting Mr. Goodworth, “once for all, I must most respectfully insist on being spared for the future any open profanities in conversation, even from your lips. All my regard and affection for you, as Mrs. Thorpe’s father, shall not prevent me from solemnly recording82 my abhorrence83 of such awful infidelity as I believe to be involved in the words you have just spoken! My religious convictions recoil—”
“Stop, sir!” said Mr. Goodworth, seriously and sternly.
Mr. Thorpe obeyed at once. The old gentleman’s manner was generally much more remarkable84 for heartiness85 than for dignity; but it altered completely while he now spoke60. As he struck his hand on the table, and rose from his chair, there was something in his look which it was not wise to disregard.
“Mr. Thorpe,” he went on, more calmly, but very decidedly, “I refrain from telling you what my opinion is of the ‘respect’ and ‘affection’ which have allowed you to rebuke87 me in such terms as you have chosen. I merely desire to say that I shall never need a second reproof of the same kind at your hands; for I shall never again speak to you on the subject of my grandson’s education. If, in consideration of this assurance, you will now permit me, in my turn—not to rebuke—but to offer you one word of advice, I would recommend you not to be too ready in future, lightly and cruelly to accuse a man of infidelity because his religious opinions happen to differ on some subjects from yours. To infer a serious motive88 for your opponent’s convictions, however wrong you may think them, can do you no harm: to infer a scoffing89 motive can do him no good. We will say nothing more about this, if you please. Let us shake hands, and never again revive a subject about which we disagree too widely ever to discuss it with advantage.”
At this moment the servant came in with lunch. Mr. Goodworth poured himself out a glass of sherry, made a remark on the weather, and soon resumed his cheerful, everyday manner. But he did not forget the pledge that he had given to Mr. Thorpe. From that time forth, he never by word or deed interfered90 again in his grandson’s education.
While the theory of Mr. Thorpe’s system of juvenile instruction was being discussed in the free air of the parlor, the practical working of that theory, so far as regarded the case of Master Zack, was being exemplified in anything but a satisfactory manner, in the prison-region of the dressing-room.
While she ascended91 the first flight of stairs, Mrs. Thorpe’s ears informed her that her son was firing off one uninterrupted volley of kicks against the door of his place of confinement92. As this was by no means an unusual circumstance, whenever the boy happened to be locked up for bad behavior, she felt distressed93, but not at all surprised at what she heard; and went into the drawing-room, on her way up stairs, to deposit her Bible and Prayerbook (kept in a morocco case, with gold clasps) on the little side-table, upon which they were always placed during week-days. Possibly, she was so much agitated94 that her hand trembled; possibly, she was in too great a hurry; possibly, the household imp29 who rules the brittle95 destinies of domestic glass and china, had marked her out as his destroying angel for that day; but however it was, in placing the morocco case on the table, she knocked down and broke an ornament96 standing97 near it—a little ivory model of a church steeple in the florid style, enshrined in a glass case. Picking up the fragments, and mourning over the catastrophe98, occupied some little time, more than she was aware of, before she at last left the drawing-room, to proceed on her way to the upper regions.
As she laid her hand on the banisters, it struck her suddenly and significantly, that the noises in the dressing-room above had entirely99 ceased.
The instant she satisfied herself of this, her maternal100 imagination, uninfluenced by what Mr. Thorpe had said below stairs, conjured101 up an appalling102 vision of Zack before his father’s looking-glass, with his chin well lathered103, and a bare razor at his naked throat. The child had indeed a singular aptitude104 for amusing himself with purely105 adult occupations. Having once been incautiously taken into church by his nurse, to see a female friend of hers married, Zack had, the very next day, insisted on solemnizing the nuptial106 ceremony from recollection, before a bride and bridegroom of his own age, selected from his playfellows in the garden of the square. Another time, when the gardener had incautiously left his lighted pipe on a bench while he went to gather a flower for one of the local nursery-maids, whom he was accustomed to favor horticulturally in this way, Zack contrived107, undetected, to take three greedy whiffs of pigtail in close succession; was discovered reeling about the grass like a little drunkard; and had to be smuggled108 home (deadly pale, and bathed in cold perspiration) to recover, out of his mother’s sight, in the congenial gloom of the back kitchen. Although the precise infantine achievements here cited were unknown to Mrs. Thorpe, there were plenty more, like them, which she had discovered; and the warning remembrance of which now hurried the poor lady up the second flight of stairs in a state of breathless agitation109 and alarm.
Zack, however, had not got at the razors; for they were all locked up, as Mr. Thorpe had declared. But he had, nevertheless, discovered in the dressing-room a means of perpetrating domestic mischief110, which his father had never thought of providing against. Finding that kicking, screaming, stamping, sobbing111, and knocking down chairs, were quite powerless as methods of enforcing his liberation, he suddenly suspended his proceedings112; looked all round the room; observed the cock which supplied his father’s bath with water; and instantly resolved to flood the house. He had set the water going in the bath, had filled it to the brim, and was anxiously waiting, perched up on a chair, to see it overflow—when his mother unlocked the dressing-room door, and entered the room.
“Oh, you naughty, wicked, shocking child!” cried Mrs. Thorpe, horrified at what she beheld113, but instantly stopping the threatened deluge114 from motives115 of precaution connected with the drawing-room ceiling. “Oh, Zack! Zack! what will you do next? What would your papa say if he heard of this? You wicked, wicked, wicked child, I’m ashamed to look at you!”
And, in very truth, Zack offered at that moment a sufficiently116 disheartening spectacle for a mother’s eyes to dwell on. There stood the young imp, sturdy and upright in his chair, wriggling117 his shoulders in and out of his frock, and holding his hands behind him in unconscious imitation of the favorite action of Napoleon the Great. His light hair was all rumpled118 down over his forehead; his lips were swelled119; his nose was red; and from his bright blue eyes Rebellion looked out frankly120 mischievous121, amid a surrounding halo of dirt and tears, rubbed circular by his knuckles122. After gazing on her son in mute despair for a minute or so, Mrs. Thorpe took the only course that was immediately open to her—or, in other words, took the child off the chair.
“Have you learnt your lesson, you wicked boy?” she asked.
“No, I havn’t,” answered Zack, resolutely123.
“Then come to the table with me: your papa’s waiting to hear you. Come here and learn your lesson directly,” said Mrs. Thorpe, leading the way to the table.
“I won’t!” rejoined Zack, emphasizing the refusal by laying tight hold of the wet sides of the bath with both hands.
It was lucky for this rebel of six years old that he addressed those two words to his mother only. If his nurse had heard them, she would instantly have employed that old-established resource in all educational difficulties, familiarly known to persons of her condition under the appellation124 of “a smack125 on the head;” if Mr. Thorpe had heard them, the boy would have been sternly torn away, bound to the back of a chair, and placed ignominiously126 with his chin against the table; if Mr. Goodworth had heard them, the probability is that he would instantly have lost his temper, and soused his grandson head over ears in the bath. Not one of these ideas occurred to Mrs. Thorpe, who possessed127 no ideas. But she had certain substitutes which were infinitely128 more useful in the present emergency: she had instincts.
“Look up at me, Zack,” she said, returning to the bath, and sitting in the chair by its side; “I want to say something to you.”
The boy obeyed directly. His mother opened her lips, stopped suddenly, said a few words, stopped again, hesitated—and then ended her first sentence of admonition in the most ridiculous manner, by snatching at the nearest towel, and bearing Zack off to the wash-hand basin.
The plain fact was, that Mrs. Thorpe was secretly vain of her child. She had long since, poor woman, forced down the strong strait-waistcoats of prudery and restraint over every other moral weakness but this—of all vanities the most beautiful; of all human failings surely the most pure! Yes, she was proud of Zack! The dear, naughty, handsome, church-disturbing, door-kicking, house-flooding Zack! If he had been a plain-featured boy, she could have gone on more sternly with her admonition: but to look coolly on his handsome face, made ugly by dirt, tears, and rumpled hair; to speak to him in that state, while soap, water, brush and towel, were all within reach, was more than the mother (or the woman either, for that matter) had the self-denial to do! So, before it had well begun, the maternal lecture ended impotently in the wash-hand basin.
When the boy had been smartened and brushed up, Mrs. Thorpe took him on her lap; and suppressing a strong desire to kiss him on both his round, shining cheeks, said these words:—
“I want you to learn your lesson, because you will please me by obeying your papa. I have always been kind to you,—now I want you to be kind to me.”
For the first time, Zack hung down his head, and seemed unprepared with an answer. Mrs. Thorpe knew by experience what this symptom meant. “I think you are beginning to be sorry for what you have done, and are going to be a good boy,” she said. “If you are, I know you will give me a kiss.” Zack hesitated again—then suddenly reached up, and gave his mother a hearty129 and loud-sounding kiss on the tip of her chin. “And now you will learn your lesson?” continued Mrs. Thorpe. “I have always tried to make you happy, and I am sure you are ready, by this time, to try and make me happy—are you not, Zack?”
“Yes, I am,” said Zack manfully. His mother took him at once to the table, on which the “select Bible Texts for Children” lay open, and tried to lift him into a chair “No!” said the boy, resisting and shaking his head resolutely; “I want to learn my lesson on your lap.”
Mrs. Thorpe humored him immediately. She was not a handsome, not even a pretty woman; and the cold atmosphere of the dressing-room by no means improved her personal appearance. But, notwithstanding this, she looked absolutely attractive and interesting at the present moment, as she sat with Zack in her arms, bending over him while he studied his three verses in the “Bible Texts.” Women who have been ill-used by nature have this great advantage over men in the same predicament—wherever there is a child present, they have a means ready at hand, which they can all employ alike, for hiding their personal deficiencies. Who ever saw an awkward woman look awkward with a baby in her arms? Who ever saw an ugly woman look ugly when she was kissing a child?
Zack, who was a remarkably130 quick boy when he chose to exert himself, got his lesson by heart in so short a time that his mother insisted on hearing him twice over, before she could satisfy herself that he was really perfect enough to appear in his father’s presence. The second trial decided86 her doubts, and she took him in triumph down stairs.
Mr. Thorpe was reading intently, Mr. Goodworth was thinking profoundly, the rain was falling inveterately, the fog was thickening dirtily, and the austerity of the severe-looking parlor was hardening apace into its most adamantine Sunday grimness, as Zack was brought to say his lesson at his father’s knees. He got through it perfectly again; but his childish manner, during this third trial, altered from frankness to distrustfulness; and he looked much oftener, while he said his task, at Mr. Goodworth than at his father. When the texts had been repeated, Mr. Thorpe just said to his wife, before resuming his book—“You may tell the nurse, my dear, to get Zachary’s dinner ready for him—though he doesn’t deserve it for behaving so badly about learning his lesson.”
“Please, grandpapa, may I look at the picture-book you brought for me last night, after I was in bed?” said Zack, addressing Mr. Goodworth, and evidently feeling that he was entitled to his reward now he had suffered his punishment.
“Certainly not on a Sunday,” interposed Mr. Thorpe; “your grandpapa’s book is not a book for Sundays.”
Mr. Goodworth started, and seemed about to speak; but recollecting131 what he had said to Mr. Thorpe, contented132 himself with poking133 the fire. The book in question was a certain romance, entitled “Jack and the Bean Stalk,” adorned134 with illustrations in the freest style of water-color art.
“If you want to look at picture-books, you know what books you may have to-day; and your mamma will get them for you when she comes in again,” continued Mr. Thorpe.
The works now referred to were, an old copy of the “Pilgrim’s Progress” containing four small prints of the period of the last century; and a “Life of Moses,” illustrated135 by severe German outlines in the manner of the modern school. Zack knew well enough what books his father meant, and exhibited his appreciation136 of them by again beginning to wriggle137 his shoulders in and out of his frock. He had evidently had more than enough already of the “Pilgrim’s Progress” and the “Life of Moses.”
Mr. Thorpe said nothing more, and returned to his reading. Mr. Goodworth put his hands in his pockets, yawned disconsolately138, and looked, with a languidly satirical expression in his eyes, to see what his grandson would do next. If the thought passing through the old gentleman’s mind at that moment had been put into words, it would have been exactly expressed in the following sentence:—“You miserable little boy! When I was your age, how I should have kicked at all this!”
Zack was not long in finding a new resource. He spied Mr. Goodworth’s cane139 standing in a corner; and, instantly getting astride of it, prepared to amuse himself with a little imaginary horse-exercise up and down the room. He had just started at a gentle canter, when his father called out, “Zachary!” and brought the boy to a stand-still directly.
“Put back the stick where you took it from,” said Mr. Thorpe; “you mustn’t do that on Sunday. If you want to move about, you can walk up and down the room.”
Zack paused, debating for an instant whether he should disobey or burst out crying.
“Put back the stick,” repeated Mr. Thorpe.
Zack remembered the dressing-room and the “select Bible Texts for Children,” and wisely obeyed. He was by this time completely crushed down into as rigid140 a state of Sunday discipline as his father could desire. After depositing the stick in the corner, he slowly walked up to Mr. Goodworth, with a comical expression of amazement141 and disgust in his chubby142 face, and meekly143 laid down his head on his grandfather’s knee.
“Never say die, Zack,” said the kind old gentleman, rising and taking the boy in his arms. “While nurse is getting your dinner ready, let’s look out of window, and see if it’s going to clear up.”
Mr. Thorpe raised his head disapprovingly144 from his book, but said nothing this time.
“Ah, rain! rain! rain!” muttered Mr. Goodworth, staring desperately145 out at the miserable prospect146, while Zack amused himself by rubbing his nose vacantly backwards and forwards against a pane147 of glass. “Rain! rain! Nothing but rain and fog in November. Hold up, Zack! Ding-dong, ding-dong; there go the bells for afternoon church! I wonder whether it will be fine to-morrow? Think of the pudding, my boy!” whispered the old gentleman with a benevolent remembrance of the consolation148 which that thought had often afforded to him, when he was a child himself.
“Yes,” said Zack, acknowledging the pudding suggestion, but declining to profit by it. “And, please, when I’ve had my dinner, will somebody put me to bed?”
“Put you to bed!” exclaimed Mr. Goodworth. “Why, bless the boy! what’s come to him now? He used always to be wanting to stop up.”
“I want to go to bed, and get to to-morrow, and have my picture-book,” was the weary and whimpering answer.
“I’ll be hanged, if I don’t want to go to bed too!” soliloquized the old gentleman under his breath, “and get to to-morrow, and have my ‘Times’ at breakfast. I’m as bad as Zack, every bit!”
“Grandpapa,” continued the child, more wearily than before, “I want to whisper something in your ear.”
Mr. Goodworth bent11 down a little. Zack looked round cunningly towards his father—then putting his mouth close to his grandfather’s ear, communicated the conclusion at which he had arrived, after the events of the day, in these words—
“I say, granpapa, I hate Sunday!”
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1
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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2
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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4
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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5
dingily
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| adv.暗黑地，邋遢地 | |
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6
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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7
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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8
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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9
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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10
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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11
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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12
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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13
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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14
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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15
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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16
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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17
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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18
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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19
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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20
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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21
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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22
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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23
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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24
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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25
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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26
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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27
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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28
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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29
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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30
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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31
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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32
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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33
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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34
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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35
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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36
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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37
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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38
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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39
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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40
parlors
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| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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41
inveterately
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| adv.根深蒂固地，积习地 | |
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42
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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43
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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44
offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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45
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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46
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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47
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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48
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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49
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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50
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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51
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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52
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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53
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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54
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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55
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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56
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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57
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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58
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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59
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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60
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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61
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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62
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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63
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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64
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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65
precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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66
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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67
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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68
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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69
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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70
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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71
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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72
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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73
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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74
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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75
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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76
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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77
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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78
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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79
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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80
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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81
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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82
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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83
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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84
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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85
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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86
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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87
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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88
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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89
scoffing
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| n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
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90
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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91
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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93
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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94
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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95
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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96
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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97
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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98
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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99
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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100
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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101
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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102
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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103
lathered
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| v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的过去式和过去分词 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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104
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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105
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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106
nuptial
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| adj.婚姻的，婚礼的 | |
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107
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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108
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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109
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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110
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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111
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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112
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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113
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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114
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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115
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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116
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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117
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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118
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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120
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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121
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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122
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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127
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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129
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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132
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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133
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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134
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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136
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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137
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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139
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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141
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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142
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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143
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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144
disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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145
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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146
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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148
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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