Now it must not be supposed that Mrs Frog, having provided for her baby and got rid of it, remained thereafter quite indifferent to it. On the contrary, she felt the blank more than she had expected, and her motherly heart began to yearn3 for it powerfully.
To gratify this yearning4 to some extent, she got into the habit of paying frequent visits, sometimes by night and sometimes by day, to the street in which Samuel Twitter lived, and tried to see her baby through the stone walls of the house! Her eyes being weak, as well as her imagination, she failed in this effort, but the mere5 sight of the house where little Matty was, sufficed to calm her maternal6 yearnings in some slight degree.
By the way, that name reminds us of our having omitted to mention that baby Frog’s real name was Matilda, and her pet name Matty, so that the name of Mita, fixed7 on by the Twitters, was not so wide of the mark as it might have been.
One night Mrs Frog, feeling the yearning strong upon her, put on her bonnet8 and shawl—that is to say, the bundle of dirty silk, pasteboard, and flowers which represented the one, and the soiled tartan rag that did duty for the other.
“Where are ye off to, old woman?” asked Ned, who, having been recently successful in some little “job,” was in high good humour.
“I’m goin’ round to see Mrs Tibbs, Ned. D’you want me?”
“No, on’y I’m goin’ that way too, so we’ll walk together.”
Mrs Frog, we regret to say, was not particular as to the matter of truth. She had no intention of going near Mrs Tibbs, but, having committed herself, made a virtue9 of necessity, and resolved to pay that lady a visit.
The conversation by the way was not sufficiently10 interesting to be worthy11 of record. Arrived at Twitter’s street an idea struck Mrs Frog.
“Ned,” said she, “I’m tired.”
“Well, old girl, you’d better cut home.”
“I think I will, Ned, but first I’ll sit down on this step to rest a bit.”
“All right, old girl,” said Ned, who would have said the same words if she had proposed to stand on her head on the step—so easy was he in his mind as to how his wife spent her time; “if you sit for half-an-hour or so I’ll be back to see you ’ome again. I’m on’y goin’ to Bundle’s shop for a bit o’ baccy. Ain’t I purlite now? Don’t it mind you of the courtin’ days?”
“Ah! Ned,” exclaimed the wife, while a sudden gush12 of memory brought back the days when he was handsome and kind,—but Ned was gone, and the slightly thawed13 spring froze up again.
She sat down on the cold step of a door which happened to be somewhat in the shade, and gazed at the opposite windows. There was a light in one of them. She knew it well. She had often watched the shadows that crossed the blind after the gas was lighted, and once she had seen some one carrying something which looked like a baby! It might have been a bundle of soiled linen14, or undarned socks, but it might have been Matty, and the thought sent a thrill to the forlorn creature’s heart.
On the present occasion she was highly favoured, for, soon after Ned had left, the shadows came again on the blind, and came so near it as to be distinctly visible. Yes, there could be no doubt now, it was a baby, and as there was only one baby in that house it followed that the baby was her baby—little Matty! Here was something to carry home with her, and think over and dream about. But there was more in store for her. The baby, to judge from the shadowy action of its fat limbs on the blind, became what she called obstropolous. More than that, it yelled, and its mother heard the yell—faintly, it is true, but sufficiently to send a thrill of joy to her longing15 heart.
Then a sudden fear came over her. What if it was ill, and they were trying to soothe16 it to rest! How much better she could do that if she only had the baby!
“Oh! fool that I was to part with her!” she murmured, “but no. It was best. She would surely have bin17 dead by this time.”
The sound of the little voice, however, had roused such a tempest of longing in Mrs Frog’s heart, that, under an irresistible18 impulse, she ran across the road and rang the bell. The door was promptly19 opened by Mrs Twitter’s domestic.
“Is—is the baby well?” stammered20 Mrs Frog, scarce knowing what she said.
“You’ve nothink to do wi’ the baby that I knows on,” returned Mrs Twitter’s domestic, who was not quite so polite as her mistress.
“No, honey,” said Mrs Frog in a wheedling21 tone, rendered almost desperate by the sudden necessity for instant invention, “but the doctor said I was to ask if baby had got over it, or if ’e was to send round the—the—I forget its name—at once.”
“What doctor sent you?” asked Mrs Twitter, who had come out of the parlour on hearing the voices through the doorway22, and with her came a clear and distinct yell which Mrs Frog treasured up in her thinly clad but warm bosom23, as though it had been a strain from Paradise. “There must surely be some mistake, my good woman, for my baby is quite well.”
“Oh! thank you, thank you—yes, there must have been some mistake,” said Mrs Frog, scarce able to restrain a laugh of joy at the success of her scheme, as she retired24 precipitately25 from the door and hurried away.
She did not go far, however, but, on hearing the door shut, turned back and took up her position again on the door-step.
Poor Mrs Frog had been hardened and saddened by sorrow, and suffering, and poverty, and bad treatment; nevertheless she was probably one of the happiest women in London just then.
“My baby,” she said, quoting part of Mrs Twitter’s remarks with a sarcastic26 laugh, “no, madam, she’s not your baby yet!”
As she sat reflecting on this agreeable fact, a heavy step was heard approaching. It was too slow for that of Ned. She knew it well—a policeman!
There are hard-hearted policemen in the force—not many, indeed, but nothing is perfect in this world, and there are a few hard-hearted policemen. He who approached was one of these.
“Move on,” he said in a stern voice.
“Please, sir, I’m tired. On’y restin’ a bit while I wait for my ’usband,” pleaded Mrs Frog.
“Come, move on,” repeated the unyielding constable27 in a tone that there was no disputing. Indeed it was so strong that it reached the ears of Ned Frog himself, who chanced to come round the corner at the moment and saw the policeman, as he imagined, maltreating his wife.
Ned was a man who, while he claimed and exercised the right to treat his own wife as he pleased, was exceedingly jealous of the interference of others with his privileges. He advanced, therefore, at once, and planted his practised knuckles28 on the policeman’s forehead with such power that the unfortunate limb of the law rolled over in one direction and his helmet in another.
As every one knows, the police sometimes suffer severely29 at the hands of roughs, and on this occasion that truth was verified, but the policeman who had been knocked down by this prize-fighter was by no means a feeble member of the force. Recovering from his astonishment30 in a moment, he sprang up and grappled with Ned Frog in such a manner as to convince that worthy he had “his work cut out for him.” The tussle31 that ensued was tremendous, and Mrs Frog retired into a doorway to enjoy it in safety. But it was brief. Before either wrestler32 could claim the victory, a brother constable came up, and Ned was secured and borne away to a not unfamiliar33 cell before he could enjoy even one pipe of the “baccy” which he had purchased.
Thus it came to pass, that when a certain comrade expected to find Ned Frog at a certain mansion34 in the West-end, prepared with a set of peculiar2 tools for a certain purpose, Ned was in the enjoyment35 of board and lodging36 at Her Majesty’s expense.
The comrade, however, not being aware of Ned’s incarceration37, and believing, no doubt, that there was honour among thieves, was true to his day and hour. He had been engaged down somewhere in the country on business, and came up by express train for this particular job; hence his ignorance as to his partner’s fate.
But this burglar was not a man to be easily balked38 in his purpose.
“Ned must be ill, or got a haccident o’ some sort,” he said to a very little but sharp boy who was to assist in the job. “Howsever, you an’ me’ll go at it alone, Sniveller.”
“Wery good, Bunky,” replied Sniveller, “’ow is it to be? By the winder, through the door, down the chimbly, up the spout—or wot?”
“The larder39 windy, my boy.”
“Sorry for that,” said Sniveller.
“Why?”
“’Cause it is so ’ard to go past the nice things an’ smell ’em all without darin’ to touch ’em till I lets you in. Couldn’t you let me ’ave a feed first?”
“Unpossible,” said the burglar.
“Wery good,” returned the boy, with a sigh of resignation.
Now, while these two were whispering to each other in a box of an adjoining tavern40, three police-constables41 were making themselves at home in the premises42 of Sir Richard Brandon. One of these was Number 666.
It is not quite certain, even to this day, how and where these men were stationed, for their proceedings—though not deeds of evil—were done in the dark, at least in darkness which was rendered visible only now and then by bull’s-eye lanterns. The only thing that was absolutely clear to the butler, Mr Thomas Balls, was, that the mansion was given over entirely43 to the triumvirate to be dealt with as they thought fit.
Of course they did not know when the burglars would come, nor the particular point of the mansion where the assault would be delivered; therefore Number 666 laid his plans like a wise general, posted his troops where there was most likelihood of their being required, and kept himself in reserve for contingencies44.
About that “wee short hour” of which the poet Burns writes, a small boy was lifted by a large man to the sill of the small window which lighted Sir Richard Brandon’s pantry. To the surprise of the small boy, he found the window unfastened.
“They’ve bin an’ forgot it!” he whispered.
“Git in,” was the curt45 reply.
Sniveller got in, dropped to his extreme length from the sill, let go his hold, and came down lightly on the floor—not so lightly, however, but that a wooden stool placed there was overturned, and, falling against a blue plate, broke it with a crash.
Sniveller became as one petrified46, and remained so for a considerable time, till he imagined all danger from sleepers47 having been awakened48 was over. He also thought of thieving cats, and thanked them mentally. He likewise became aware of the near presence of pastry49. The smell was delicious, but a sense of duty restrained him.
Number 666 smiled to himself to think how well his trap had acted, but the smile was lost in darkness.
Meanwhile, the chief operator, Bunky, went round to the back door. Sniveller, who had been taught the geography of the mansion from a well-executed plan, proceeded to the same door inside. Giles could have patted his little head as he carefully drew back the bolts and turned the key. Another moment, and Bunky, on his stocking soles, stood within the mansion.
Yet another moment, and Bunky was enjoying an embrace that squeezed most of the wind out of his body, strong though he was, for Number 666 was apt to forget his excessive power when duty constrained50 him to act with promptitude.
“Now, then, show a light,” said Giles, quietly.
Two bull’s-eyes flashed out their rich beams at the word, and lit up a tableau51 of three, in attitudes faintly resembling those of the Laocoon, without the serpents.
“Fetch the bracelets,” said Giles.
At these words the bull’s-eyes converged52, and Sniveller, bolting through the open door, vanished—he was never heard of more!
Then followed two sharp clicks, succeeded by a sigh of relief as Number 666 relaxed his arms.
“You needn’t rouse the household unless you feel inclined, my man,” said Giles to Bunky in a low voice.
Bunky did not feel inclined. He thought it better, on the whole, to let the sleeping dogs lie, and wisely submitted to inevitable53 fate. He was marched off to jail, while one of the constables remained behind to see the house made safe, and acquaint Sir Richard of his deliverance from the threatened danger.
Referring to this matter on the following day in the servants’ hall, Thomas Balls filled a foaming54 tankard of ginger-beer—for, strange to say, he was an abstainer55, though a butler—and proposed, in a highly eulogistic56 speech, the health and prosperity of that admirable body of men, the Metropolitan57 Police, with which toast he begged to couple the name of Number 666!
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1
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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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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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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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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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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wrestler
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| n.摔角选手，扭 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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incarceration
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| n.监禁，禁闭；钳闭 | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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47
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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48
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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52
converged
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| v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的过去式 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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53
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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54
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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55
abstainer
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| 节制者，戒酒者，弃权者 | |
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56
eulogistic
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| adj.颂扬的，颂词的 | |
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metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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