Anthony John Strong’nth’arm—to distinguish him from his father, whose Christian1 names were John Anthony—was born in a mean street of Millsborough some forty-five years before the date when this story should of rights begin. For the first half-minute of his existence he lay upon the outstretched hand of Mrs. Plumberry and neither moved nor breathed. The very young doctor, nervous by reason of this being his first maternity2 case since his setting up in practice for himself, and divided between his duty to the child or to the mother, had unconsciously decided3 on the latter. Instinctively4 he knew that children in the poorer quarters of Millsborough were plentiful5 and generally not wanted. The mother, a high-cheeked, thin-lipped woman, lay with closed eyes, her long hands clawing convulsively at the bed-clothes. The doctor was bending over her, fumbling7 with his hypodermic syringe.
Suddenly from behind him he heard the sound of two resounding8 slaps, the second being followed by a howl that, feeble though it was, contained a decided note of indignation. The doctor turned his head. The child was kicking vigorously.
“Do you always do that?” asked the young doctor. He had been glad when he had been told that Mrs. Plumberry was to be the midwife, having heard good repute of her as a woman of experience.
“It starts them,” explained Mrs. Plumberry. “I suppose they don’t like it and want to say so; and before they can yell out they find they’ve got to draw some air into their lungs.”
She was a stout9 motherly soul, the wife of a small farmer on the outskirts10 of the town, and only took cases during the winter. At other times, as she would explain, there were the pigs and the poultry11 to occupy her mind. She was fond of animals of all kinds.
“It’s the fighting instinct,” suggested the young doctor. “Curious how quickly it shows itself.”
“When it’s there,” commented Mrs. Plumberry, proceeding12 with her work.
“Isn’t it always there?” demanded the young doctor.
[Pg 3]
“Not always,” answered Mrs. Plumberry. “Some of them will just lie down and let the others trample13 them to death. Four out of one litter of eleven I lost last March. There they were when I came in the morning. Seemed to have taken no interest in themselves. Had just let the others push them away.”
The child, now comfortable on Mrs. Plumberry’s ample arm, was playing with clenched14 fists, breathing peacefully. The doctor looked at him, relieved.
“Seems to have made a fair start, anyhow,” thought the doctor.
Mrs. Plumberry with thumb and forefinger15 raised an eyelid16 and let it fall again. The baby answered with a vicious kick.
“He’s come to stop all right,” was Mrs. Plumberry’s prophecy. “Hope he’ll like it. Will it be safe for me to put him to the mother, say in about half an hour?”
The woman with closed eyes upon the bed must have heard, for she tried to raise her arms. The doctor bent17 over her once more.
“I think so,” he answered. “Use your own discretion18. I’ll look back in an hour or so.”
The doctor was struggling into his great coat. He glanced from the worn creature on the bed to[Pg 4] the poverty-stricken room, and then through the window to the filthy19 street beyond.
“I wonder sometimes,” he growled20, “why the women don’t strike—chuck the whole thing. What can be the good of it from their point of view?”
The idea had more than once occurred to Mrs. Plumberry herself, so that she was not as shocked as perhaps she should have been.
“Oh, some of them get on,” she answered philosophically21. “Each woman thinks it will be her brat22 who will climb upon the backs of the others and that that’s all the others are wanted for.”
“Maybe,” agreed the young doctor. He closed the door softly behind him.
Mrs. Plumberry waited till the woman on the bed opened her large eyes, then she put the child into her arms.
“Get all you can in case it don’t last long,” was Mrs. Plumberry’s advice to him as she arranged the bed-clothes. The child gave a grunt23 of acquiescence24 and settled himself to his work.
“I prayed it might be a boy,” whispered the woman. “He’ll be able to help in the workshop.”
“It never does any harm,” agreed Mrs. Plumberry. “Sometimes you get answered. And if you don’t, there’s always the feeling that you’ve[Pg 5] done your best. Don’t let him exhaust you. It don’t do to leave it to their conscience.”
“I want him to be strong,” she whispered. “It’s a hard world for the weak.”
Never a child in all Mrs. Plumberry’s experience had been more difficult to wean. Had he merely had his mother to contend with it is difficult to say how the matter might have ended. But Mrs. Plumberry took an interest in her cases that was more than mercenary, keeping an eye on them till she was satisfied that her help was no longer needed. He put up a good fight, as Mrs. Plumberry herself admitted; but having at last grasped the fact that he was up against something stronger than himself, it was characteristic of him, as the future was to show, that he gave way quite suddenly, and transferred without any further fuss his energy to the bottle. Also it was characteristic of him that, knowing himself defeated, he bore no ill-will to his conqueror27.
“You’re a good loser,” commented Mrs. Plumberry, as the child, accepting without protest the India rubber teat she had just put into his mouth, looked up into her face and smiled. “Perhaps[Pg 6] you’ll be a good winner. They generally go together.” She bent down and gave him a kiss, which for Mrs. Plumberry was an unusual display of emotion. He had a knack28 of making his way with people, especially people who could be useful to him.
It seemed a freak of Nature that, born of a narrow-chested father and a flat-breasted, small-hipped mother, he should be so strong and healthy. He never cried when he couldn’t get his own way—and he wanted his own way in all things and wanted it quickly—but would howl at the top of his voice. In the day-time it was possible to appease29 him swiftly; and then he would gurgle and laugh and put out his little hands to pat any cheek that might be near. But at night-time it was not so easy to keep pace with him. His father would mutter sleepy curses. How could he do his day’s work if he was to be kept awake night after night? The others had merely whimpered. A man could sleep through it.
“The others” had been two girls. The first one had died when three years old, and the second had lived only a few months.
“It’s because he’s strong,” explained the mother. “It does his lungs good.”
“And what about my weak heart?” the man[Pg 7] grumbled30. “You don’t think about me. It’s all him now.”
The woman did not answer. She knew it to be the truth.
He was a good man, hard-working, sober and kind in his fretful, complaining way. Her people and she herself, had thought she had done well when she had married him. She had been in service, looked down upon by her girl acquaintances who were earning their living in factories and shops; and he had been almost a gentleman, though it was difficult to remember that now. The Strong’nth’arms had once been prosperous yeomen and had hunted with the gentry31. Rumour32 had it that scattered33 members of the family were even now doing well in the colonies, and both husband and wife still cherished the hope that some far-flung relation would providentially die and leave them a fortune. Otherwise the future promised little more than an everlasting34 struggle against starvation. He had started as a mechanical engineer in his own workshop. There were plenty of jobs for such in Millsborough, but John Strong’nth’arm seemed to be one of those born unfortunates doomed35 always to choose instinctively the wrong turning. An inventor of a kind. Some of his ideas had prospered—other people.
[Pg 8]
“If only I had my rights. If only I’d had justice done me. If only I hadn’t been cheated and robbed!”
Little Anthony John, as he grew to understanding, became familiar with such phrases, repeated in a shrill36, weak voice that generally ended in a cough, with clenched hands raised in futile37 appeal to Somebody his father seemed to be seeing through the roof of the dark, untidy workshop, where the place for everything seemed to be on the floor, and where his father seemed always to be looking for things he couldn’t find.
A childish, kindly38 man! Assured of a satisfactory income, a woman might have found him lovable, have been indulgent to his helplessness. But the poor have no use for weakness. They cannot afford it. The child instinctively knew that his mother despised this dreamy-eyed, loose-lipped man always full of fear; but though it was to his mother that he looked to answer his questions and supply his wants, it was his father he first learnt to love. The littered workshop with its glowing furnace became his nursery. Judging from his eyes, it amused him when his father, having laid aside a tool, was quite unable the next minute to remember where he had put it. The child would watch him for a time while he cursed and [Pg 9]spluttered, and then, jumping down from his perch39, would quietly hand it to him. The man came to rely upon him for help.
“You didn’t notice, by any chance, where I put a little brass40 wheel yesterday—about so big?” would be the question. John, the man, would go on with his job; and a minute later Anthony, the child, would return with the lost wheel. Once the man had been out all the afternoon. On entering the workshop in the evening he stood and stared. The bench had been cleared and swept; and neatly41 arranged upon it were laid out all his tools. He was still staring at them when he heard the door softly opened and a little, grinning face was peering round the jar. The man burst into tears, and then, ashamed of himself, searched in vain for a handkerchief. The child slipped a piece of clean waste into his hand and laughed.
For years the child did not know that the world was not all sordid42 streets and reeking43 slums. There was a place called the Market Square where men shouted and swore and women scolded and haggled44, and calves45 bellowed46 and pigs squealed47. And farther still away a space of trampled48 grass and sooty shrubs49 surrounded by chimneys belching50 smoke. But sometimes, on days when in the morning his father had cursed fate more than usual, had[Pg 10] raised clenched hands towards the roof of the workshop more often than wont51, his mother would disappear for many hours, returning with good things tied up in a brown-paper parcel. And in the evening Somebody who dwelt far away would be praised and blessed.
The child was puzzled who this Somebody could be. He wondered if it might be the Party the other side of the workshop roof to whom his father made appeal for right and justice. But that could hardly be, for the Dweller52 beyond the workshop roof was apparently53 stone-deaf; while his mother never came back empty handed.
One evening there drew nearer the sound of singing and a tambourine54. Little Anthony opened the workshop door and peered out. Some half a dozen men and women were gathered round the curb55, and one was talking.
She spoke56 of a gentleman named God. He lived far off and very high up. And all good things came from Him. There was more of it: about the power and the glory of Him, and how everybody ought to be afraid of Him and love Him. But little Anthony remembered he had left the door of the workshop open and so hurried back. They moved on a little later. The child heard them singing as they passed.
[Pg 11]
Praise Him all creatures here below.”
The rest of the verse was drowned by the tambourine.
So it was to God that his mother made these frequent excursions, returning always laden58 with good things. Had she not explained to him, as an excuse for not taking him with her, that it was a long way off and up ever so high? Next year, perhaps, when his legs were sturdier. He did not tell her of his discovery. Mrs. Plumberry divided children into two classes: the children who talked and never listened and the children who listened and kept their thoughts to themselves. But one day, when his mother took her only bonnet59 from its wrappings and was putting it on in front of the fly-blown glass, he plucked at her sleeve. She turned. He had rolled down his stockings, displaying a pair of sturdy legs. It was one of his characteristics, even as a child, that he never wasted words. “Feel ’em,” was all he said.
His mother remembered. It happened to be a fine day, so far as one could judge beneath the smoke of Millsborough. She sent him to change into his best clothes, while she finished her own preparations, and together they set forth60. She[Pg 12] wondered at his evident excitement. It was beyond what she had expected.
It was certainly a long way; but the child seemed not to notice it. They left the din6 and smoke of Millsborough behind them. They climbed by slow degrees to a wonderful country. The child longed to take it in his arms, it was so beautiful. The woman talked at intervals61, but the child did not hear her. At the journey’s end the gate stood open and they passed in.
And suddenly they came across him, walking in the garden. His mother was greatly flustered62. She was full of apologies, stammering63 and repeating herself. She snatched little Anthony’s cap off his head, and all the while she kept on curtseying, sinking almost to her knees. He was a very old gentleman dressed in gaiters and a Norfolk jacket. He wore side whiskers and a big moustache and walked with the aid of a stick. He patted Anthony on the head and gave him a shilling. He called Mrs. Strong’nth’arm “Nelly”; and hoped her husband would soon get work. And then remarking that she knew her way, he lifted his tweed cap and disappeared.
The child waited in a large clean room. Ladies in white caps fluttered in and out, and one brought him milk and wonderful things to eat; and later his[Pg 13] mother returned with a larger parcel than usual and they left the place behind them. It was not until they were beyond the gates that the child broke his silence, and then he looked round carefully before speaking.
“He didn’t look so very glorious,” he said.
“Who didn’t?” demanded his mother.
“God.”
His mother dropped her bundle. Fortunately it was on a soft place.
“What maggot has the child got into his head?” she ejaculated. “What do you mean by ‘God’?”
“Him,” persisted Anthony. “Isn’t it from him that we get all these good things?” He pointed64 to the parcel.
His mother picked it up. “Who’s been talking to you?” she asked.
“I overheard her,” explained the child. “She said it was from God that we got all our good things. Ain’t it?”
“That wasn’t God,” she told him at last. “That was Sir William Coomber. I used to be in service there.”
[Pg 14]
“Of course it is God that gives it us in a manner of speaking,” she explained. “He puts it into Sir William’s heart to be kind and generous.”
The child thought a while.
“But they’re his things, ain’t they?” he asked. “The other one’s. Sir William’s?”
“Yes; but God gave them to him.”
It seemed a roundabout business.
“Why doesn’t God give us things?” he demanded. “Don’t He like us?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered the woman. “Don’t ask so many questions.”
It was longer, the way home. He offered no protest at being sent to bed early. He dreamed he was wandering to and fro in a vast place, looking for God. Over and over again he thought he saw Him in the distance, but every time he got near to Him it turned out to be Sir William Coomber, who patted him on the head and gave him a shilling.
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1
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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2
maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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3
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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4
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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5
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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6
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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7
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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8
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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10
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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11
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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12
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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13
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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14
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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16
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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17
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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18
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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19
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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20
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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21
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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22
brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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23
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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24
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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25
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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26
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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27
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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28
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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29
appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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30
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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31
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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32
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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33
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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34
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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35
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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36
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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37
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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38
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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39
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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40
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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41
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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42
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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43
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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44
haggled
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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46
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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47
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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49
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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50
belching
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| n. 喷出，打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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51
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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52
dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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53
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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54
tambourine
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓 | |
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55
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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56
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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57
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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58
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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59
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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60
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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61
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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62
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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63
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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64
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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65
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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66
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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