Chapter X.
Tom's Presents.
I was sitting behind the Counter, when a smart-looking, sunburnt young Man of about two-and-twenty, attired as a Sailor, came into the Shop. He said, "Hallo, Patty! how are you?" I said, "Why, Tom! can it be you? I thought you had been in China!"
"I have been there," says he, "true enough; more-by-Token, here's a China Orange for you;" and clapped one into my Hand with such Force that it went near to go through it.
"How are you all?" said he; "I'm glad to see you, and I hope you're glad to see me."
"Oh yes, very glad, Tom; pray walk into the Parlour—we are all at Home."
"How are you, Uncle?" says he, so loud and sudden that he made my Father jump. "And you, Aunt!"—kissing her. "And you!" kissing Prue too.
"'Manners, Jack!'" says my Father, quoting Gatty's Letter.
"My Name's Tom, Uncle, not Jack, though I suppose you meant Jack Tar. Well! so here you all are! I've only just landed—Didn't forget one of you in foreign Lands; I've brought my Aunt a Monkey."
"A nasty Beast!" cries my Father; "we won't have him here, Tom! He'll break all my China."
"Well, Uncle, I thought she might do a little Damage that Way, ('tis the prettiest little Creature you ever saw; her Ears are bored, and her Name's Jessy!) So I brought you, Sir, a Tea-Service, to cover Breakages; the Cups and Saucers fitting into each other; and the Teapot, no bigger than this Orange, fitting in o' Top; the whole Concern packs in a Cylinder no bigger than a Spice-Box."
"Dear Tom," says my Mother, nervously, "we've more Tea-Services already than we should know what to do with, if we did not keep a genteel Kind of Tea-Garden for the Quality."
"But as you do, Ma'am, won't it be acceptable? Or otherwise, won't you want Jessy to break it? She's the prettiest little Dear you can imagine, the Darling of the whole Ship. Well! it seems you're each discontented with the other's Presents;—my Uncle don't like your having the Monkey, and you don't like his having the Crockery. Then I'll tell you what I'll do—chop and change. I'll take your Presents down to my Father and Mother, and you shall have theirs. I've bought you a Pair of Slippers, Prue, but of course they're too big."
And out he pulled a Pair of little Chinese Slippers that might have pinched Cinderella.
"I'm sure you can't wear them, Prue," said I.
"I'm sure I shan't try," said she, jerking her Chin.
"Well, Patty, since I could find you Nothing better, I've brought you a Feather Fan with an Ivory Handle."
"Thank you, Tom!" said I; "it will do nicely to flap the Flies off the Pastry."
"And since you, Aunt, will not have the Monkey, you must be content with some Gunpowder Tea."
"I shall like that a great deal better, Tom, I assure you. The only Sort of Gunpowder I approve."
Here Tom pulled out of his Pocket what looked like a Mahogany Rule, about nine Inches long. "Now, Sir," says he to my Father, "what's that?"
"I can't for the Life of me tell," says my Father, after eyeing it askance and then handling it.
"I knew you couldn't! See," (unfolding it,) "it's a Boot-jack!"
"A queer one, Tom!"
"And what is it now? Why, a Reading-Desk! What is it now? A Cribbage Board!"
"Ha! Tom, that's ingenious."
"Ingenious, Uncle? I believe it is! What is it now? A Ruler. What is it now? A pair of Snuffers."
"Ha, ha, ha!"
"Ah, I knew you'd laugh—what is it now? An eighteen Inch Rule. What is it now? A Pair of Nut-crackers. What is it now? Two Candlesticks. What is it now? A Picquet-Board. What is it now! A Lemon-squeezer. That's for you, Uncle. That's all the Changes. It will go into your Coat Pocket."
"It shall go there, Tom! 'Tis a real Curiosity."
"I knew you'd say so, Sir. I wasn't sure about the Monkey, but I knew you'd like this. Jessy shall go with me Home, but I shan't go there till next Week, because they don't know we've come up the River, so I shall stay a little here first."
"But, Tom, I don't know how we can take you in, for we have a Lodger."
"Oh my Goodness! Nay, don't put the poor Fellow to Inconvenience on my Account, pray."
"Certainly not!" cried Prue, indignantly. "Why, Mr. Fenwick is quite a Gentleman!"
"Oh, is he so?" said Tom, bursting out laughing, "and pray, what am I? 'Sir, you're no Gentleman!'—is that it, Prue?"
"Why, you're Tom, and that's all."
"And that's enough too, isn't it? Oh, I can swing my Hammock anywhere. I wouldn't put Anyone to the smallest Inconvenience. Would sooner catch my Death of Cold, or lose every Shot in my Locker."
"Tom, you're such a thoughtless, good-tempered Fellow, we must pack you in somewhere."
"Oh, no, Uncle! don't think of it. I'll be off to the Three Bells. Only, there are two Belles here I like better."
"But, Tom, I shouldn't like you to get your Pocket picked."
"And I," said my Mother, "should not like you to take your Death of Cold."
"Never caught Cold in my Life, Ma'am, that was only Flummery; a Sailor has Something else to do than keep sneezing and blowing his Nose. And I can leave my Money and Watch here."
"Prudence," said I, "you and I could sleep in the little blue Closet."
"Why shouldn't Tom," said Prudence, "now the other Door is un-nailed? We should have to move all our Things."
"Thank you, Patty," said Tom, "you were always as sweet as Syrup to me. I shall like the blue Closet a precious deal the best, I can assure you, instead of being mast-headed."
So thus it was arranged; and the light-hearted Fellow was soon established among us, spinning long Yarns, as he called them, about John Chinaman.
The next Day, he was absent for some Hours, and when he came back, he said he wanted Prue and me to go with him in the Evening to see a Conjuror. Prudence, for some Whim, would not go; but I accompanied him with Pleasure. The Way Tom went on, however, spoiled my Evening's Entertainment.
The Conjurer was dressed somewhat in the Oriental Style, and I should have taken him for a real Foreigner, only that Tom whispered to me that was all Sham. In Fact, he began by addressing us in very good English, and saying that the Marvels he was about to display were unaccompanied by any Fraud or Deception, and that any Lady or Gentleman who doubted his Word might come and sit at his Elbow. "I accept your Invitation!" cries Tom; and immediately "slued himself round," as he expressed it, round a Pillar between us and the Stage, slipped down it as if he had been a Monkey, and was at the Man's Side in a Moment. The Conjurer looked sufficiently annoyed, but not more so than I felt, for it seemed to me that the Eyes of all the Audience were alternately on Tom and me, as indeed they well might be. Luckily for my Comfort and Respectability, he left me sitting next to a very steady-looking elderly Couple, the nearest of which said, "Never mind, young Lady, we'll take Care of you." I said, "It was so very thoughtless of him to leave me!" and felt quite uncomfortable. "It was very thoughtless," said the good Woman's Husband, smiling, "I should think, Miss, he's in the sea-faring Line." I said, "Yes, Sir," and we then began to attend to what was going on, on the Stage; but I sat on Thorns all the While.
Tom, quite unembarrassed by the Publicity of his Position, kept his Eyes fixed on the Conjurer's Proceedings with an Air of lively Interest. The two or three first Tricks drew from him such Exclamations as "Capital! Excellent!" which appeared somewhat to mollify the Cunning Man; but at length, when Something was done which seemed very surprising, Tom coolly remarked, "Ah! I see how that is managed," in a Voice as clear as a Bell, that was heard all over the House. The Conjurer shook his Head at him and frowned; but went on to Something else. Again Tom was pleased; again he clapped as heartily as any. The next Trick he marked his Approval of by saying, "Very neat, very neat." At Length came the grand Feat of the Evening, which was swallowing a Carving-Knife. Everybody's Attention was riveted, when Tom said in an Expostulatory Voice, "But, my dear good Fellow, how can you say there is no Fraud or Deception?" "Sir, I defy you to prove any," says the Conjurer. "I will prove it directly," says Tom, "for I have often seen the Thing better done in India." "Sir, you are an impertinent Fellow," says the Conjurer; "I must insist upon it that you withdraw. If you will not retire of your own Accord, you shall do so on Compulsion, for it is highly indecorous to interrupt a public Performance in this Manner."
"Well, but why did you ask me?" said Tom. "I didn't!" says the Conjurer. "You did," says Tom. "Didn't he?" to the whole House. "Knock him down! Throw him over!" cried several Voices. "Give him into Custody!" "Nay," says Tom, "I don't want to make any Disturbance:—if you wish me to go, I'll go, for I never like to put People to the least Inconvenience, and I'm sure if I'd known you didn't mean to be taken at your Word, I would have stayed where I was!" Saying which, he swung himself up the Pillar again, and was by my Side the next Moment, looking as merry and good-tempered as ever. But I was so penetrated with Shame, that I could not bear to look up, but begged him to let us go Home, to which he acceded, though with much Surprise. The next Morning, I was giving my Father and Mother an Account of my uncomfortable Evening, when Tom, coming in to Breakfast, says, "Who is that pale, lanky Chap I met just now upon the Stairs?"
"Tom!—" said Prudence, very indignantly, "it was Mr. Fenwick!"
"How should I know who he was?" rejoined Tom unconcernedly, "I thought he might be a Thief."
"A Thief, indeed!" muttered Prue, as she buttered her Roll.
"Well, Prue," said he briskly, "I gave Patty a Treat last Night, so now it's your Turn."
"You did give Patty a Treat, indeed, my Lad," says my Father ironically.
"I'm glad she found it so, Uncle," says he, quite cheerfully, "so, To-Night, Prudence, I'll take you to the Play."
"I don't know that I want to go," says Prudence.
"Oh! very well, then I'll take Patty."
"Thank you, Tom," said I, "but I don't quite approve of Theatrical Amusements."
"You don't? Oh my Goodness!—And do you disapprove of them, Prue?"
"No, not I," said Prue, "I think Patty more nice than wise."
"Oh, then, come along like a good Girl, and let's go together."
"But, Tom," says my Father, "I shall put a Spoke in that Wheel, unless you promise you won't forsake her as you did Patty last Night."
"I'll promise you a Dozen Times, Uncle, if you think that will make it more secure."
"No, if you promise once in earnest, that will do."
"I do promise."
"But, Tom," put in my dear Mother, "I share Patty's Objections to the Play-House, and I think two such young Heads as you and Prue are hardly to be trusted there. In short, I would rather she did not go."
Prue pouted a little on this—My Father began to chafe.
"Fiddlesticks, my Dear," says he, "you and I often went to a Play together when we were young, and why shouldn't they?"
"Why, my Dear, as I am no longer young, I see Things in a different Light."
"It may not be a truer Light, though, Mrs. Honeywood, and you can't expect young Folks to see Things differently from what you yourself did when you were young. Tut, tut! let the Girl go, and say no more about it."
"But, Mr. Honeywood...."
"But, Madam!" (very loud and angry,) "haven't I said it should be so, and have I a Right to be minded?"
Here my Mother turned pale and trembled, which I never could bear to see; and I was going to urge Prue and Tom, in a low Voice, to give up their Treat rather than foment a Family Quarrel, when I was called into the Shop, which prevented my knowing how the Matter ended. Presently Tom went through the Shop, out of the House; and the next Time I could look into the Parlour, it was empty.
Prue, however, was singing about the House, so I argued that Peace had been restored somehow; most likely by her giving up the Play. By-and-by she comes in all Smiles, and says, "I'll take up Mr. Fenwick's Chocolate," and, before I could say a Word, took the little Tray out of my Hand and was off with it.
I had forgotten all about this, when, some Time after, happening to go up Stairs for my Knotting-Bag, in passing the open Door of Mr. Fenwick's Sitting-Room, I saw him and Prue standing at the Window, their Backs towards me, in earnest Conversation; he holding her by the Hand, and she apparently in Tears. This gave me the oddest Feeling I ever had in my Life—I went up into my Room, sat down on the first Chair I came to, and could hardly turn my Breath. I could not think what had come over me! Presently I got up and tried to drink some cold Water, but could hardly get it down. It seemed to me as if I could not think; and yet there was a great, dull, dark, unwelcome Thought in my Head all the while!
I leant my Head against the Wall; and having quieted myself a little, rose to go down Stairs. Just then, Prue came in, and looked as if she had hoped to find the Room unoccupied. I said, "You've been crying, Prue!" She said, sharply, "No, I haven't!—and what if I had?"—I said, "Only that I should have been sorry to know that you were in Sorrow." She said, "Tears are shed for Joy, sometimes, as well as Sorrow, are not they?" "Certainly," said I; and turned away. "What could make you think I had been crying, Patty?" says she hurriedly. "Well," I said, "I thought you might be vexed about the Play."—"The Play? oh, that was given up before Tom went out," said she—"Of course it did vex me, and I think it was unkind of my Mother not to let me go." "You know her Motives are always kind," said I. "Well, of course I do," says she, still crossly, "but don't harp any more on such a disagreeable Subject. If you do, I shall run away from you." And away she ran.
Then it was not the Play; then it was not about Anything connected with Tom, that had made her cry! I'd thought as much! "Tears are shed for Joy as well as for Sorrow," sometimes, though not very often. I sat down again, and turned my Face to the Wall, with my Head resting against it, and cried bitterly. Mine were Tears of Sorrow, not of Joy!
