London in a fog is too well known to require description. In an uncommonly1 thick fog, on a day in December of the following year, Mrs Matterby hurried along Fleet Street in the direction of the city, leading Jack2 by the hand. Both were very wet, very cold, ravenously3 hungry, and rather poorly clad. It was evident that things had not prospered4 with the widow.
“Dear Jack,” she said in a choking voice, as they hurried along the streets towards the wretched abode5 in the Tower Hamlets to which they had been at length reduced, “dear Jack, my last human hope has failed. Mr Block has told me that I need not go there again; he has no more work for me.”
Jack’s experience of life was too limited to enable him to understand fully6 the depth of distress7 to which his mother had fallen—with health broken, money expended8, and work not to be had except on terms which rendered life a misery9, and prolonged existence almost an impossibility. But Jack’s power of sympathy was strong and his passions were vehement10.
“Mother,” he said, with tearful eyes, as he clung closer to her side, “I would kill Mr Block if I could!”
“Hush, dear boy! You know that would be wrong and could do no good. It is sinful even to feel such a desire.”
“How can I help it, mother!” returned Jack indignantly. Then he asked, “What are we going to do now, mother?”
For some time the poor widow did not reply; then she spoke11 in a low tone, as if murmuring to herself, “The last sixpence gone; the cupboard empty; nothing—nothing left to pawn—”
She stopped short, and glanced hastily at her marriage ring.
“Mother,” said Jack, “have you not often told me that God will not forsake12 us? Does it not seem as if He had forsaken13 us now?”
“It only seems like it, darling,” returned the widow hurriedly. “We don’t understand His ways. ‘Though He slay14 me, yet will I trust Him!’”
It seemed as if God were about to test the faith of His servant, for at that moment a cab drove furiously round the corner of a street and knocked her down. Jack was overturned at the same time. Recovering himself, instantly, he found his mother in a state of unconsciousness, with blood flowing from a deep cut in her forehead. In a state of semi-bewilderment the poor boy followed the stretcher on which Mrs Matterby was carried to the nearest hospital, where he waited while his mother’s injuries were examined.
“My boy,” said a young surgeon, returning to the waiting room, and patting Jack’s head, “your mother has been rather badly hurt. We must keep her here to look after her. I daresay we shall soon make her well. Meanwhile you had better run home, and tell your father—if, that is—your father is at home, I suppose?”
“No, sir; father’s dead.”
“Well then your sister or aunt—I suppose there’s some relative at home older than yourself?”
“No, sir; none but mother an’ me,” whispered Jack.
“No relations of any kind at all in London?”
“None, sir. We know nobody—at least not many, and they’re all strangers.”
“A sad case,” murmured the surgeon. “Your mother is poor, I suppose?”
“Very poor, sir.”
“But of course you have a home of some sort, somewhere?”
“Yes, it’s not far from here.”
“Well, them, you’d better go home just now, for you can’t see your mother to-night. We dare not let her speak, but come back early to-morrow, and you shall hear about her—perhaps see her. Here, put that in your pocket.”
Poor Jack took the shilling which the sympathetic surgeon thrust into his hand, and ran home in a state bordering on distraction15; but it was not till he entered the shabby little room which he had begun to consider “home” that he realised the full weight of the calamity16 that had befallen him. No mother’s voice to welcome him; no bit of fire in the grate to warm; no singing kettle to cheer, or light of candle to dispel17 the gloom of rapidly approaching night.
It was Christmas Day too. In the morning he had gone forth18 with his mother—she in the sanguine19 hope of renewing an engagement in a clothier’s shop, which terminated that day; he in the expectation of getting a few jobs of some sort—messages to run or horses to hold. Such were the circumstances to which they had been reduced in twelve months, Jack had arranged to call for his mother and walk home with her. On the way they were to invest a very small part of the widow’s earnings20 in “something nice” for their Christmas supper, and spend the evening together, chatting about the old home in Blackby, and father, and Natty21 Grove22, and Nellie, and old Nell, in the happy days gone by.
“And now!” thought Jack, seating himself on his little bed and glancing at that of his mother, which stood empty in the opposite corner—“now!—”
But Jack could think no more. A tremendous agony rent his breast, and a sharp cry escaped from him as he flung himself on his bed and burst into a passion of tears.
Child-like, he sobbed23 himself to sleep, and did not awake till the sun was high next morning. It was some time before he could recall what had occurred. When he did so he began to weep afresh. Leaping up, he was about to rush out of the house and make for the hospital, when he was checked at the door by the landlord—a hard, grinding, heartless man, who grew rich in oppressing the poor.
“You seem to be in a hurry, youngster,” he said, dragging the boy back by the collar, and looking hurriedly round the room. “I’ve come for the rent. Where’s your mother?”
“Well, I don’t really believe you,” said the man, with an angry frown; “but I’ll soon find out if you’re telling lies. I’ll go to the hospital and inquire for myself. D’ee know anything about your mother’s affairs?”
“No; I thought not. Well, I’ll enlighten you. Your mother owes me three weeks’ rent of this here room, and has got nothing to pay it with, as far as I knows, except these sticks o’ furniture. Now, if your mother is really in hospital, I’ll come back here and bundle you out, an’ sell the furniture to pay my rent. I ain’t a-goin’ to be done out o’ my money because your mother chooses to git run’d over.”
The landlord did not wait for a reply, but went out and slammed the door.
Jack followed him in silent horror. He watched him while he inquired at the gate of the hospital, and, after he had gone, went up timidly, rang the bell, and asked for his mother.
The report which he brought back fell like the blow of a sledge-hammer on the poor boy’s heart. His mother, they told him, was dead. She had died suddenly in the night.
There are times of affliction, when the human soul fails to find relief in tears or cries. Poor Jack Matterby stood for some time motionless, as if paralysed, with glaring eyes and a face not unlike to that of death. They sought to rouse him, but he could not speak. Suddenly, observing the front door open, he darted27 out into the street and ran straight home, where he flung himself on his mother’s bed, and burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears. By degrees the passion subsided28, leaving only a stunned29 feeling behind, under the influence of which he lay perfectly30 still.
The first thing that roused him was the sound of a heavy foot on the stair. The memory of the landlord flashed into his mind and filled him with indescribable dread—dread caused partly by the man’s savage31 aspect and nature, but much more by the brutal32 way in which he had spoken about his mother. The only way in which to avoid a meeting was to rush past the man on the stair. Fear and loathing33 made the poor boy forget, for the moment, his crushing sorrow. He leaped up, opened the door, and, dashing downstairs, almost overturned the man who was coming up. Once in the street, he ran straight on without thought, until he felt that he was safe from pursuit. Then he stopped, and sat down on a door-step—to think what he should do; for, having been told that the furniture of his old home was to be sold, and himself turned out, he felt that returning there would be useless, and would only expose him to the risk of meeting the awful landlord. While he was yet buried in thought, one of those sprightly34 creatures of the great city known as street arabs accosted35 him in a grave and friendly tone.
“My sweet little toolip,” he said, “can I do anythink for you?”
“No, thank you,” he replied.
“Well now, look ’ere, my toolip,” returned the arab in a confidential37 tone, “I’ve took quite a fancy to you; you’ve got such a look, some’ow, of my poor old grandmother. Now, if you’ve no objection, I’d like to give you your breakfast. You’re ’ungry, I suppose?”
Jack admitted that he was, and, after a moment’s hesitation38, accepted this surprisingly kind and liberal offer. Taking him promptly39 by the arm his new friend hurried him to a pastry-cook’s shop, and bade him “smell that,” referring to the odours that ascended40 through a grating.
“Ain’t it ’eavenly?” he asked, with sparkling eyes.
Jack admitted that it was very nice.
“So green, an’ yet so fair!” murmured the arab, casting a look of admiration41 on his companion. “Now I means to go into that there shop,” he added, returning to the confidential tone, “an’ buy breakfast for you—for both on us. But I couldn’t go in, you know, with this ’ere shabby coat on, ’cause they wouldn’t give me such good wittles if I did. Just change coats with me for a few minutes. What! You doubt me? No one ever doubted Bob Snobbins without—without a-’urtin’ of his feelin’s.”
Whatever might have caused Jack to hesitate, the injured look on young Snobbins’ countenance42 and the hurt tone were too much for him. He exchanged coats with the young rascal43, who, suddenly directing Jack’s attention to some imaginary object of interest at one end of the street, made off at full speed towards the other end. Our hero was, however, a famous runner. He gave chase, caught the arab in a retired44 alley45, and gave him an indignant punch in the head.
But although Jack had plenty of courage and a good deal of strength, he was no match for a street warrior46 like Bob Snobbins, who turned about promptly, blackened both his opponent’s eyes, bled his nose, swelled47 his lips, and finally knocked him into a pool of dirty water, after which he fled, just as a policeman came on the scene.
The constable48 was a kindly49 man. He asked Jack a few questions, which, however, the latter was too miserable50 to answer.
“Well, well, my boy,” said the constable gently, “you’d as well give up fightin’. It don’t pay, you see, in the long run. Besides, you don’t seem fit for it. Cut away home now, and get your mother to clean you.”
This last remark caused Jack to run away fast enough with a bursting heart. All day he wandered about the crowded streets, and no one took any notice of him, save a very few among the thousands, who cast on him a passing glance of pity. But what could these do to help him? Were not the streets swarming51 with such boys?
And in truth Jack Matterby was a very pitiable object, at least according to the report of shop-mirrors, which told him that his face was discoloured and bloody52, his coat indescribably dirty and ragged53, besides being out of harmony with his trousers, and that his person generally was bedaubed with mud. Hunger at last induced him to overcome his feelings of shame so far that he entered a baker’s shop, but he was promptly ordered to be off. Later in the day he entered another shop, the owner of which seemed to be of a better disposition54. Changing his shilling, he purchased a penny roll, with which he retired to a dark passage and dined.
When night came on he expended another penny and supped, after which he sought for some place of shelter in which to sleep. But wherever he went he found the guardians55 of the public requiring him to “move on.” Several street arabs sought to make his acquaintance, but, with the memory of Bob Snobbins strong upon him, he declined their friendship. At last, wearied out and broken-hearted, he found a quiet corner under an archway, where he sat down and leaned his head against the wall, exclaiming, “I’m lost—lost!” Then he wept quietly, and sought to find temporary relief in slumber56.
He was indeed lost, and more completely so, in the feeling of lonely isolation57, perhaps, than he would have been if lost in the backwoods of America. Yet he was not utterly58 lost, for the tender Shepherd was on his track. Some such thought seemed to cross his mind; for he suddenly began to pray, and thoughts about the old home in Blackby and of the Grove family comforted him a little until he fell asleep on his hard bed.
But, for the time being, the poor boy was lost—lost in London! His disreputable face and discreditable coat argued a dissipated character—hence no one would employ him. Ere long necessity compelled him to accept the society of street arabs, and soon he became quite as sharp, though not quite as wicked, as they. But day by day he sank lower and lower, and evil at which he would have shuddered59 at first became at last familiar.
He did not sink without a struggle, however, and he would have returned to the place where his mother had died, to ask help of the young surgeon who had expressed sympathy with him, but, with the carelessness of boyhood, he had forgotten the name of the hospital, and did not know where, in the great wilderness60 of bricks and mortar61, to search for it. As for the home from which he had fled, the memory of the landlord still kept him carefully clear of that.
But Jack’s mother was not dead! In hospitals—as in the best of well-regulated families—mistakes will sometimes happen. The report which had proved so disastrous62 to our poor hero referred to another woman who had died. A messenger had been at once sent, by the young surgeon before mentioned, to tell Jack of the error; but when the messenger arrived the boy had flown—as already described. Indeed, it was he whom Jack had passed on the stair.
It was long before Mrs Matterby recovered, for the disappearance63 of her boy caused a relapse; and when at last she left the hospital, feeble and homeless, she went about for many months, searching at once for work and for her lost treasure.
Christmas came again, and found Jack Matterby at nearly the lowest point in his downward career. It is due to him to say, however, that he had not up to that time, been guilty of any criminal act that could bring him with the grasp of human law; but in word and deed he had begun, more and more, to break the law of God: so that if poor Mrs Matterby had at that time succeeded in finding her son, it is probable that her joy would have been overwhelmed with terrible grief.
It was not exactly Christmas morning, but it was the Christmas season of the year, when our little hero, wearied in spirit and body with the hard struggle for life, sauntered down the now familiar Strand64 in the hope of finding some odd job to do. He paused before a confectioner’s shop, and, being very hungry, was debating with himself the propriety65 of giving up the struggle and coolly helping66 himself to a pie! You may be sure that bad invisible spirits were at his elbow just then to encourage him. But God sent a good angel also, and she was visible—being in the form of a thin little old lady.
“You’d like a bun, I know,” she said, putting a penny into Jack’s hand.
“God bless you, ma’am—yes,” burst from the astonished boy.
“Go in and buy one. Then, come and tell me all about you.”
The thin little old lady was one of those followers67 of the Lamb who do not wait for Christmas to unlock their sympathies. The river of her love and pity was always overflowing68, so that there was no room for increase to a deluge69 at Christmas time—though she rejoiced to note the increase in the case of others, and wished that the flood might become perennial70. To this lady Jack laid bare his inmost heart, and she led him back to the Saviour71.
“Now, Jack, let me ask you one question,” she said; “would you like to go to Canada?”
With tremendous energy Jack answered, “Wouldn’t I!”
“Then,” said the old lady, “to Canada you shall go.”
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1
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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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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12
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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14
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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15
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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natty
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| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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33
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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38
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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40
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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42
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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43
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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45
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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46
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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47
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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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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49
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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50
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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51
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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52
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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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
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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56
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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57
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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58
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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60
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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61
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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62
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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63
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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64
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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66
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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67
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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68
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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69
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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70
perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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71
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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