Ned Quirk3 regarded him indeed with almost paternal4 feelings, never failing to choose a stray moment of leisure to impart to him excellent advice, and from the first day holding himself responsible for the maintenance of his protégé in the item of wearing apparel. As Ned possessed5, to use his own words, “neither chick nor child,” this burden fell light upon him. He took a species of pride in seeing Arthur well dressed on Sunday, and indeed the boy looked remarkably6 well on such occasions, his handsome features and beautiful hair imparting a certain elegance7 to his appearance in spite of the humble8 character of his garments. Ned Quirk never made any remarks about him, at all events not in Arthur’s hearing, but none the less it was plain that he watched his growth with great interest. Who could tell but the boy might one day attain9 to the dignity of a donkey-cart of his own, and cry out greens in a manner which even Ned might approve of?
Sunday indeed was a blissful day to Arthur, bringing him rest from toil10 and freedom to indulge in those curious day-dreams which he preferred much to other society, but which were very little compatible, at least in Mrs. Clinkscales’ eyes, with the formation of sound business habits. On Sunday afternoon, when the children were playing in the street, and Mrs. Rumball had sat down for a nap, and Mike and Ned were dozing11 over their Sunday papers by the fire, Arthur took a delight in sitting alone in the darkened shop, watching by the light which streamed through the round holes in the shutters12 the movements of the birds in their cages, and the rabbits in their hutches.
There was a strange fascination13 for him in the voices and all the habits of these poor prisoners. At times he would whistle airs in a very low tone, enticing14 the birds to break out into song. There were one or two old parrots, which remained in the shop some time, with which he stood on extremely intimate terms; they allowed him to scratch their heads, to put his finger in their beak15 unhurt, to stroke their feathers, and would learn a variety of peculiar16 sounds from his lips. And when one of them particularly pleased him by its cleverness he would laugh underneath17 his breath, for fear of attracting the attention of others, who would have spoilt his pleasure.
But before long he had a human friend in whose company he grew to take even greater delight than in that of the birds. This was Lizzie Clinkscales. Lizzie was strictly18 forbidden by her mother to enter the shop except with very good reason, and consequently it was nearly a month before Arthur had obtained more than a passing glimpse of the little girl, who once or twice walked out through the shop in all the dignity of her blue frock and velvet19 hat with a partridge’s feather in it, to make some purchases for her mother, though it was her regular habit to adopt the more retired20 exit by the house-door in the alley21 just on the right hand of the shop. Lizzie grew by degrees accustomed to the sight of Arthur, and even appeared to take an interest in him. Every day she went to school somewhere in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, and before long Arthur got into the habit of watching for her as she came back at twelve. Lizzie was a very pretty little girl, and the sight of her pleased Arthur; once or twice he said to himself that she looked like Helen Norman, though in reality she was very different. As he stood in the doorway22 of the shop he could see her coming ever so far at the end of the street, for her blue dress made her conspicuous23. Often she would be holding her slate24 up in one hand, making out a sum as she walked; or else she would have her slate and her bag slung25 over one arm and be reading a lesson-book; for Lizzie was preeminently industrious26 and made excellent use of the opportunities her hard-working mother gave her. If Arthur happened to be away on an errand at such times he would fret27 and feel annoyed, often running back at a breakneck speed to be in time for the child’s return.
One evening Mrs. Clinkscales had gone out and had left Arthur in sole charge of the business. The boy was sitting in the back of the shop, as far away from the noise and lights of the street as possible, indulging in one of his favourite reveries, when he was aroused by a light step behind him, and, jumping to his feet for fear of being caught thus by his mistress, found that it was Lizzie who had stolen upon him. She had her slate in her hand and came up holding it out to Arthur, who stood in abashed28 wonder.
“Can you do Rule of Three?” she asked, speaking in a frank, pretty voice, not unmingled, however, with something which expressed her sense of the condescension29 she was showing in addressing the boy in the shop.
Arthur looked at her in astonishment30. He could not understand her, and, even had he done so, his natural shyness would have rendered him incapable31 of replying.
“Rule of Three, you know,” said Lizzie, drawing herself up slightly. “Those sums with the three terms.”
Arthur shook his head, but still did not speak.
“You can’t? What a pity! I wanted to ask you to show me how to work out this horrid32 sum. Do just read it over and see.”
The boy took the book passively as it was offered to him. Something like tears were rising to his eyes.
“You can read, can’t you?” said Lizzie, in a slightly offended tone.
“No, miss, I can’t,” stammered34 poor Arthur, terribly ashamed of himself.
“Can’t read!” echoed Lizzie, in astonishment. “How dreadful! But don’t you mean to learn?”
“I’ve no chance, miss,” replied Arthur, humbly35, with his head cast down.
“Would you like to?” asked the child, in a tone of pitying interest.
“Yes, indeed I should,” he replied.
“Well, I tell you what I’ll do,” said Lizzie. “You’re a nice quiet boy, and not so ugly as those we had before, and I don’t seem to hate you like I did them. So I’ll ask ma if she’ll let me teach you to read. Now, shall I?” cried the child, her face glowing with pleasure.
Arthur had to stammer33 some answer, but could not succeed in uttering any words. Just at that moment a customer came into the shop, and Lizzie darted36 away into the house.
Arthur was left in a state of bewildered delight, not, however, unmixed with fear, at the prospect37 of what Lizzie was about to undertake for him. Nor was his apprehension38 groundless. In about half an hour Mrs. Clinkscales returned and entered the house to change her somewhat noticeable walking apparel for those more serviceable garments in which she was wont39 to wait in the shop. Arthur waited for her reappearance with trembling; he felt sure that Lizzie would lose no time in putting her request. When Mrs. Hannah again appeared in the shop it was with a ruffled40 brow and flushed cheeks. Her temper was evidently upset, and, when such was the case, the good lady had the art of making herself very disagreeable indeed. All the rest of the evening she seemed to be doing her best to render Arthur uncomfortable. She set him work to do which was beyond his strength, and abused him in no measured terms because he did not do it; she raked up by-gone subjects of complaint, and then rated him for them as if they had only just occurred; once indeed she did what she had never done before, gave him a sound box on the ears, wholly without cause. Arthur bore all, in his usual manner, uncomplainingly. Child as he was he had no difficulty in judging it all to be the result of Lizzie’s ill-advised suggestion; and since he knew that Lizzie would be grieved at losing her request, he felt it to be his own duty to bear the mother’s wrath41 submissively. That was his due share.
Arthur had already several times given indications of what in a child of higher birth we might, perhaps, be allowed to call chivalrous42 feeling; as it is, I suppose we must content ourselves with allowing the poor lad a negative commendation, and say that he was in some degree distinguished43 from other boys of his position by a certain want of brutality44, an absence of vulgar selfishness. Already he displayed a consideration towards the female sex which the vast majority of youngsters brought up in his circumstances have no suspicion of. He liked the society of females, and with them was far more open and unreserved than with men or boys. To Mrs. Rumball he had always behaved with unfailing respect, occasionally with even a timid display of affection; which indeed that good woman was scarcely capable of nicely comprehending, but which nevertheless she felt, and rewarded by affection in return. Even to Mrs. Clinkscales, who certainly possessed very few of the distinctive45 qualities of the gentler sex, Arthur displayed his innate46 chivalry47 — for such indeed it was. But to Lizzie, who was not quite two years older than himself, and whom he had such few chances of observing, he had already erected48 in his young heart a temple for far-off worship — worship as pure as that of the vestals who guarded the undying flame. We have read of poets who declared themselves to be in love at precarious49 ages, and it was the kind of love to which they refer, a virgin50 adoration51 uninfused with the least breath of passion, that Arthur cherished towards Lizzie. Possibly, he too, was going to grow up a poet; who could tell?
On the following morning he was on the watch to see her starting for school, and when he saw her blue frock appear from the alley and pass into the streets his heart throbbed52. She did not look round, but went on in her usual way, reading her book. Arthur experienced an overpowering feeling of gratitude53 as he gazed after her, gratitude to her for having wished to benefit him. Then a sudden thought flashed into his head. What was to prevent him beginning to learn to read by himself, relying upon the assistance from time to time of Mrs. Rumball or Ned Quirk? He thought he still remembered his letters, at all events he could get them from the first piece of newspaper that came into his hands. And if indeed he did learn to read, what a triumph it would be to steal a moment some day, in defiance54 of Mrs. Clinkscales’ surveillance, and whisper into Lizzie’s ear the glorious fact of his acquisition! His breast throbbed with something of heroic fire as these thoughts welled in his mind. Taking up an old piece of a paper that lay underneath his feet, he sought eagerly to renew his acquaintance with the letters printed in the largest type. Alas55! it was now nearly half a year since he had abruptly56 quitted the tuition of Mr. Whiffle, he had all but totally forgotten the alphabet. “Never mind,” he said to himself, “I will get Mrs. Rumball to teach me.” And he set to work at his task of chopping up old wood.
The same evening Mrs. Clinkscales was again out, but only for a very short time. It sufficed however for the execution of a purpose which a sharp little brain hidden beneath a mass of rich curls had contrived58 during the day. Scarcely was Arthur left alone when once more the blue frock stole like a gleam 6f light into the shop. The child held out a little old, much-worn book in her hand.
“Ma’s a cross old thing!” she exclaimed, laughing, and speaking with that mixture of pride and sweetness which was characteristic of her in a peculiar degree. “You mustn’t mind her, you know. She said she wouldn’t let me teach you for the world; and perhaps she’s right, for she’s very particular about the acquaintances I make. But I’ve brought you an old spelling book of mine. The letters are all very large there. You must try and get someone to help you, you know; for it’s very disgraceful not to be able to read, I’m sure. Don’t let me see it for the world; put it underneath your coat somewhere. Now do your best, won’t you?”
Though doubtless all unconscious of the importance of her acts, Lizzie was in reality exercising a vast influence on Arthur Golding, determining perhaps the whole current of his future life. Who can tell what importance is to be attributed to each apparently60 insignificant61 event which directs our course in childhood? When Arthur took the little old spelling-book from the child’s hand and hid it hastily under his coat, giving in return a stammered word of thanks and a look which spoke62 an eloquence63 of gratitude, he received an impulse the result of which would not cease till his dying day. The following day happened to be Sunday, and Arthur took the earliest opportunity to draw Mrs. Rumball aside, and tell her of his earnest desire to learn to read. Mrs. Rumball was somewhat surprised. As a matter of course, she and her husband had had their own children taught the recondite64 art, though she certainly could not have satisfactorily informed you why they had gone to the expense; but that any child should of itself conceive a wish to be able to read, nay65, be even willing to undergo considerable labour and trouble to this end, that indeed was something which surpassed her limited capacity to understand. The same afternoon, she having acquainted Mike with the astonishing news, a counsel was held round the fire, at which Arthur was cited to appear and to give a good and sufficient reason for the peculiar request he had ventured to prefer. The boy could only urge, in a timid voice, his great desire to know somewhat more than he did, and his hope that some day he might, with the assistance of this advanced learning, aspire66 to a position in life more exalted67 than his present one.
“The lad shows a good bit o’ ‘cuteness, arter all, Mike,” urged Ned Quirk, who had from the first listened not unfavourably. “I’m not sewer68 as there’s so much harm in learnin’ to read an’ write, an’ maybe there’s some little good in it. What d’ye say, Mike?”
“Well, I dunno, Ned. There’s somethink to be said on both sides. I used to sing a hymn69 as began:
Where Providence70 has fix’d your station,
It is your duty to remain,
Content to bear with each vexation,
And ‘ope as heaven’ll reward your pain;
or at least somethin’ like that. There is such a thing, you know, Ned, as settin’ oneself above one’s nat’ral claims, and bein’ led astray by the pride of hintellect.”
“You’re right, Mike; but for all that I, for my part, can’t see no harm in readin’ an’ writin’. I tell you what it is, Mike. Don’t you bother yer ‘cad about the matter. I ‘appen to know of a night school in Grafton-street here, where I’ve a notion they don’t pay so very much for their larnin.’ Now if I’ll pay for the lad to go there, will you tackle Hannah Clinkscales, and make her let him horff his work two or three nights a week for a hour or so?”
Ultimately this plan was agreed upon. After much sore argument — in which Mrs. Clinkscales began by stoutly71 asserting that she would turn Arthur away and procure72 another lad if he thought of so far forgetting his position as to learn to read and write — she consented very reluctantly, upon the persistence73 in their request of Mr. and Mrs. Rumball and Ned Quirk united, to let Arthur be free from nine to ten on three nights in the week, deducting74, however, sixpence from his wages on this account. Truly the gate of the realms of learning did not open to Arthur Golding at the first blast of the summoning trumpet75 and let him in to walk henceforth on flowery paths.
It was now the middle of summer, and Arthur had to be up very early each morning. In spite of this it was seldom he did not contrive59 to snatch a quarter of an hour at his spelling-book before he left his bedroom. Ned Quirk, as we know, occupied the same room, and, in order not to wake him, Arthur would dress with the greatest quietness, take his book from under the pillow — where he always put it before going to bed, in consequence of Ned having once said in joke that learning would work its way into his head as he slept — then throw up the window gently and sit down in the fresh morning breeze.
Whilst Ned’s prodigious77 snores well-nigh shook the ceiling within, sweeter sounds greeted the boy from without. Just outside his window hung a number of bird-cages, containing several larks78, one or two thrushes, a blackbird, and a linnet. The window faced full to the east, and as soon as the earliest rays of the rising sun smote79 across the wide expanse of tiled roofs and fell upon the encaged birds, they woke one after another from their short slumbers80, and each in his own language poured forth76 his song of greeting to the day. The larks especially sang with an almost frantic81 rapture82, each striving to outdo the other in the elevation83 of his note and the prolonged energy of his strain, till the whole neighbourhood far around rang with the melodious84 contest. And when at length they paused, rather from powerlessness to express their wild joy than from weariness at their exertions85, the thrushes or the blackbird would intervene with notes deep, rich, and full, piping as if buried in their native groves86 amid the rustle87 of young leaves and the flash of dewdrops trembling in the first gleam of morning.
Weary as Arthur often was, and hard as he often found it to tear himself from his bed, he always had his reward in this concert, whilst the air of heaven, gently playing with his fair hair, quickly drove away the pain of weariness and breathed the energy of renovated88 life throughout his young being. It was well for Arthur that Nature had gifted him with a perception of her beauties; man as yet had done little to raise him from that slough89 of lower earth in which all but a minute minority of the poor toil and fret and curse away their little lives.
Mike Rumball was not himself possessed to any great extent with the love of sweetness and light, nor was he a likely man to stretch a hand to a generous boy struggling blindly upwards90. From the first he had given only a very qualified91 approval to the night-school scheme, thinking far more of the weekly sixpence which Arthur would lose from his wages than of the intellectual recompense he would acquire, and very shortly one or two little circumstances occurred which appeared to him to confirm his never quite lulled92 apprehensions93 and to demonstrate most incontestably that Arthur “was not the lad he ‘ad been sin’ the day as he took to cultivatin’ the pride of hintellect.” It chanced that Mike had let a bedroom in his house to an individual named Tuck, who, during the summer months at least, got his living in a peculiar manner. He was, in short, one of those men you may see any fine morning in Piccadilly designing all manner of figures on the pavement in coloured chalks, and intimating, by a scroll94 written above the same, that the work was not performed solely95 out of love for art or a desire of affording pleasure to the public in general, but rather with the ulterior object of acquiring the means of life. Besides his drawings on the flags, he executed at home, or in the streets, similar drawings on pieces of wood and cardboard, some representing fishes, others ships on a stormy sea, others a group of flowers.
By some chance Arthur Golding made the acquaintance of this man, and many an odd moment did he steal to visit him and examine his work. The artist was an idle, drunken, good-for-nothing fellow enough, but now and then he had a few ideas somewhat above the level of his surroundings, and Arthur found unceasing pleasure in his conversation. The result of this connection was that the boy began to possess himself of odd bits of chalk, sometimes begging coloured pieces from his friend, and to make a display of his artistic96 powers on the walls and floor of his bedroom or on the pavement of the alley that ran by the corner of the shop. He had not to go far for subjects; those birds and animals in the shop, in which he took such an interest, naturally occurred to his mind as models to copy. Accordingly he exhausted97 his invention in depicting98 every kind of feathered creature he could conceive, most of them, it must be confessed, bearing but a distant resemblance to those which it falls within the lot of ordinary mortals to behold99. Possibly they might have exhibited some likeness100 to those ideas of the animal world in the existence of which Plato and his disciples101 put their faith.
By dint102 of much practice — for in every leisure moment he ran to some quiet spot where he could exercise his chalk unobserved, even his reading suffering severely103 from this alienation104 of attention — he would no doubt have soon effected great improvements in the character of his designs, but he was not destined105 to follow the bent106 of his genius in unconstrained freedom.
Ned Quirk had first of all observed this strange tendency, but, like a reflective man, he had held his peace and merely observed, probably concluding that there were more things in heaven and earth than his philosophy e’er dreamt of, and that possibly this might be one of those, which therefore it behoved a wise man to consider before delivering a judgment107 upon. But when before long the chalked floors and walls came to the notice of Mike Rumball, that gentleman was by no means backward in expressing an immediate108 opinion.
“I told you ‘ow it ‘ud be, Ned Quirk,” he observed, in confidence. “Afore this ’ere lad o’ yourn took to hankerin’ arter schoolin’ and such-like things, he was a good enough lad in his way; but when that kind o’ humbug109 began I know’d as it was all up with him. It was no good o’ me liftin’ up my voice, like the Prophet Jonah, an’ a declaimin’ agin sich folly110, as you know I did. I was like a voice a cryin’ in the wilderness111, an’ you paid no ‘eed to me. I tell you what it is, that ’ere lad is goin’ to the bad, Ned, and you can see it as well as I can. When a lad takes to chalkin’ nastiness on walls an’ floors, I knows what it means; it shows a depraved mind. An’ what’s more, I won’t ‘ave it in my ’ouse! We shall ‘ave him thievin’ next, mark my word, an’ then who’ll be to blame? Why we, of course, as let him go on in his evil ways without a warnin’ of him. If I see a chalk-mark arter this blessed day, young Arthur Golding takes his ‘ook out of the ’ouse of Mike Rumball!”
There was no good in disputing such an energetic declaration of opinion as this, and Ned Quirk accordingly warned his protégé quietly of the wrath he had aroused. The result was that the drawing on walls ceased, but by no means the drawing altogether. It had already become a passion with Arthur; he could not throw away his chalks entirely112, however severe the penalties with which he was threatened. So he got into the habit of collecting from all possible quarters scraps113 of paper either white or printed upon, and on these he continued to draw when no eyes observed him, afterwards tearing up and throwing away those drawings which did not please him, whilst those which appeared better done he stowed away carefully on the top of a cupboard in the bedroom, well knowing that no one ever went near to disturb them. About this time, too, Ned Quirk bought him a slate, as he needed it for his sums at school, and this Arthur turned to the service of his talent for designing, only it grieved him terribly whenever he had drawn114 a bird or animal rather better than usual that he was obliged to rub it out immediately, thus committing what already appeared to his young mind as the worst sin he knew of — the destruction of something that was beautiful in his eyes.
Mike’s resentment115 did not end with his stern forbiddance of future “chalking,” but, on his divining the source of Arthur’s disease, aimed at a radical116 cure. In short, he gave to Mr. Tuck an abrupt57 notice to quit, which the artist, at the end of a week’s time, perforce obeyed.
This was a cruel blow to Arthur, and he felt it severely. After peeping into Tuck’s room once, in the hope of seeing the drawings which were his wonted delight, and on perceiving it bare, swept and garnished117 for a new tenant118, he could not restrain his feelings, and, turning away, wept bitterly. Unfortunately, Mike Rumball had watched him, and, when he saw his distress119 break out in tears, the man’s short temper was exhausted. In his irritation120 he gave the boy a sound cuff121 on the ears, and with angry words sent him off to his work.
Ned Quirk heard of this the same night from Mrs. Rumball, and he was grieved at it. When he retired to bed he found Arthur already in his, and, as he at first thought, asleep. But he soon heard stifled122 sobs123 proceeding124 from beneath the counterpane, and, rough fellow as he was, his heart conceived true sympathy for the boy, though certainly unable to estimate the cause of his suffering. He called to him, and on Arthur at length replying in a broken voice, he took a seat by his bedside and spoke words of comfort.
“Come, come, Arthur lad,” he said, “there’s no call to take on i’ this way, as I knows on. What is it as troubles you, my boy? Mike don’t mean no ‘arm, though maybe he was rayther rough this mornin’. He’d been bothered in his mind, you see, about some money as he’s lost. Come, cheer up.”
Arthur still held his head down, and his body trembled from time to time, though the sobs had stopped.
“I know it’s ‘ard on yer,” pursued honest Ned, “to stop horff yer little ‘musements like, but, you see, Mike don’t like to ‘ev his rooms sp’iled. An’ then he thinks as ‘ow you ain’t quite goin’ on as you should, wastin’ yer time, an’ sich like. It’s all for yer own good, Arthur, I’m sewer. For myself, I don’t give no ‘pinion about this ’ere chalkin’ an’ scratchin’, ‘cos I don’t understand it, yer see, but pr’aps yer won’t be sorry in a few years as you was early broke of the ‘abit. An’ now tell me, lad, ‘ow ye’re gettin’ on with yer schoolin’?”
“Pretty well, I think, thank you, Mr. Quirk,” replied Arthur, somewhat sorrowfully though.
“Why that’s right! An’ can you read them ’ere words o’ three syllabums yet, as you was talkin’ on?”
“Very nearly. I think I shall in a week or two.”
“Why, better still. ‘Ere’s a sixpence for you, Arthur. I’d a unus’al good night to-night wi’ th’ ‘taters, an’ so I can afford it. An’ don’t mind what Mike says, you ‘ear? He’s a good chap, but he ‘as his fancies, like all on us. An’ get on wi’ yer readin’, writin’, an’ ‘rithumtic, lad; stick to ’em. Depend on it, they’ll do you good, some day or other. But leave the chalkin’ an’ scratchin’ till ye’ve got more time to waste, that’s a good lad.”
Verily Ned Quirk had sound notions in his way, and his advice, when his lights were considered, was far from discreditable. But what advice, however excellent, was ever acted upon in this world? Arthur, indeed, persevered125 with his three R’s, but as to giving up the drawing, as I have already said, it was impossible for him. He had, indeed, an end in view in connection with it, and one far too important to admit of neglect. It was no other than a burning desire, kept close, like so many other hopes and wishes, in the recesses127 of his own breast, to complete a drawing which he could account worthy128 of being presented to Lizzie Clinkscales. This was a terribly daring idea, that he well knew; but the thought was so unutterably attractive to him that it was impossible of renunciation.
This was the inward energy which made him persevere126 in his efforts, spite of all discouragement. He felt that a word of praise from Lizzie would compensate129 him a thousand times for all the misapprehension of others.
And at length he flattered himself that he had accomplished130 his task. With the greatest difficulty he had begged from Mrs. Rumball a fair sheet of white paper, only a little crumpled131, in which she had brought home something from the grocer’s, and, after straightening this out, and cutting it square to the best of his ability, he had drawn upon it, in coloured chalks, purchased with the sixpence Ned Quirk had given him, the likeness of an old parrot, a particular favourite of his, failing not to give his picture the advantage of all that brilliancy of plumage of which relentless132 Time had in a great measure deprived the original. For rather more than a week Arthur had employed every leisure moment in completing this picture, first of all studying his model with a careful eye, then stealing upstairs to his bedroom and enriching his drawing with the results of his observation.
Then, after many desperate attempts, when at length he had almost despaired of finding an opportunity to make the offering of his completed work to her for whom it was intended, one day he found himself in the shop alone when Lizzie happened to come through. With fear and trembling he drew out the paper, which he had kept neatly133 folded in four in the inside pocket of his coat for more than a fortnight, and, totally unable of uttering those appropriate words which he had so long dwelt upon in his mind, he held it out with a timid hand to the girl. Lizzie took it with a look of good-natured surprise, and, on opening it out, burst into an exclamation134 of pleasure.
“Where did you find it?” she asked, examining the gaudy135 plumage, the shrewd-looking eyes, the portentous136 beak of the bird with keen delight.
“I did it myself, miss,” replied Arthur, his eyes moist with pleasure at seeing his work thus appreciated.
“You did it!” exclaimed Lizzie, a trifle contemptuously.
“Yes, indeed I did, Miss Lizzie,” urged the boy, with eagerness. “I drew it myself, and, if you please, I — I did it for you.”
“For me! But did you really do it yourself, and for me?”
“Really, miss. Upon my word I did, and to give to you. I — I should so like you to take it.”
Lizzie laughed that clear, joyous137 laugh of hers, and, after still viewing the picture for some minutes, folded it up again carefully and put it in a little bag she was carrying.
“There,” she said; “I promise you to keep it. I couldn’t believe you did it at first, you know. I like it very much. And — and — I think I ought to shake hands with you; for after all, you know, it was kind of you to do it for me. There!”
She held out one of her delicate, fairy hands, and Arthur, in trembling wonder, pressed it in his rather dirty palm. Then with a nod and another cheerful, ringing laugh, Lizzie tripped away. Many years after she still kept the picture of the parrot, and looked at it when, perhaps, Arthur himself had forgotten the circumstance entirely.
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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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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quirk
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| n.奇事，巧合；古怪的举动 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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16
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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17
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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18
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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19
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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20
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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21
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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22
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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23
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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24
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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25
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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26
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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27
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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28
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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30
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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31
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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32
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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33
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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34
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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35
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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36
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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37
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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38
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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39
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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40
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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41
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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42
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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43
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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44
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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45
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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46
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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47
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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48
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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49
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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50
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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51
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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52
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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53
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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54
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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55
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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56
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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57
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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58
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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59
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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60
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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61
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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62
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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63
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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64
recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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65
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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66
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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67
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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68
sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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69
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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70
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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71
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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72
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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73
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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74
deducting
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| v.扣除，减去( deduct的现在分词 ) | |
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75
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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76
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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77
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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78
larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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79
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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80
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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81
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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82
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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83
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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84
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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85
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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86
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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87
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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88
renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
slough
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| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
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90
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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91
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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92
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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93
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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94
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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95
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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96
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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97
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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98
depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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99
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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100
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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101
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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102
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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103
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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104
alienation
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| n.疏远；离间；异化 | |
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105
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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106
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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107
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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108
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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109
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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110
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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111
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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112
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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113
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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114
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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115
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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116
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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117
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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119
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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120
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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121
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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122
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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123
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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124
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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125
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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127
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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128
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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129
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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130
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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131
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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132
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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133
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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134
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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135
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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136
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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137
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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