'Sir--'says Charley, advancing towards Mr. Merrywhistle.
'Not another word,' cries Mr. Merrywhistle, with Ruth in his arms; 'not another word about me, or I'll go and spend my Christmas-eve elsewhere. If, as Mrs. Silver says, my consent is necessary, I give you Ruth with all my heart.'--He kisses Ruth, and says: 'A happy future is before you, children. No need for me to tell you where your chief love and duty lie--no need for me to remind you to whose parental care and good example you owe all your happiness. To me, an old man, without kith or kin, their friendship and love have been priceless; they have brightened my life. It comes upon me now to say, my dear girl and boy, that once--ah, how many years ago!--such a prize as the love which animates you seemed to be within my reach; but it slipped from me, and I am an old man now, waiting to hear my name called. Cling to your love, my dears; keep it in your hearts as a sacred thing; let it show itself daily in your actions towards each other: it will sweeten your winter when you are as old as I am, and everything shall be as bright and fresh to you then as in this your spring-time, when all the future before you seems carpeted with flowers. Ruth, my child, God bless you! Charley, I am proud of you! Let your aim be to live a good life.'
Mrs. Silver kisses the good old man, and they sit round the fire undisturbed; for it appears to be understood in the house, that the parlour must not be invaded until permission is given. It is settled that Charley and Ruth shall wait for twelve months; that Charley shall be very saving; that Ruth shall leave her situation, and keep house for the family, so that she shall enter her own home competent to fulfil the duties of a wife. But, indeed, this last clause is scarcely necessary; for all Mrs. Silver's girls have been carefully instructed in those domestic duties, without a knowledge of which no woman can be a proper helpmate to the man to whom she gives her love.
The shadows thicken, and the snow begins to fall There is peace without, and love within. Mrs. Silver, as she watches the soft snowflakes, thinks that it will be just such a night as that on which, eighteen years ago, she and her husband brought Ruth home from Stoney-alley. She recalls every circumstance of her interview with the landlady, and hears again the pitiful story of the motherless babe. Then she looks down upon the pure happy face of Ruth, and her heart is filled with gratitude to God.
And Ruth's twin sister, Blade-o'-Grass?
She was sitting in the same miserable attic from which Tom Beadle was taken to prison. He was not in prison now, having escaped just punishment by (for him) a lucky chance. When Tom was brought before the magistrate, he told his trumped-up story glibly: he had picked up the empty purse in the street, and the money was, the result of his own earnings. When asked how he had earned it, he declined to say; and he advanced an artful argument. The policeman had reckoned up the money which the man who had lost the purse said it contained--twenty-three shillings. Twenty-two shillings were found in Tom's pocket, and the other shilling was spent, according to the policeman's version, in trotters and gin. Not another penny, in addition to the twenty-two shillings, was discovered in the room. Now, said Tom, it wasn't likely that he would be without a penny in his pocket, and the fact that he had just the sum the purse had contained was simply a coincidence. He argued that it would be much clearer against him if a few coppers more than the actual money lost had been found. Of course this defence was received with derision by the police, and with discredit by the magistrate. But it happened that the prosecutor was too unwell to attend on the morning that Tom made his appearance in the police court, and he was remanded for a week. Before the week passed by, the prosecutor died, and Tom was set free. Blade-o'-Grass was overjoyed; it was like a reprieve from death to her. But the police were angry at Tom's escape, and kept so sharp a watch on him, that he found it more than ever difficult to live. I am not pleading Tom's cause, nor bespeaking compassion for him; I am simply relating certain facts in connection with him. When Christmas came, things were at their very worst. They had no Christmas dinner, and Tom was prowling about in search of prey.
On the night before Christmas Blade-o'-Grass listened to the merry bells with somewhat of bitterness in her soul. Everything about her was so dreary, the prospect of obtaining food was so faint, that the sound of the bells came to her ears mockingly. What she would have done but for her one comfort and joy, it is difficult to say.
Her one comfort and joy! Yes, she had a baby now, as pretty a little thing as ever was seen. All her thought, all her anxiety, was for her child. Blade-o'-Grass possessed the same tenderness of nature that had been so developed in Ruth as to make her a pride of womanhood. How proud Blade-o'-Grass was of her baby! How she wondered, and cried, and laughed over it! As she uncovered its pretty dimpled face, and gazed at it in worship, all the bitterness of her soul at the merry sound of the bells faded away, and for a little while she was happy. She talked to the babe, and, bidding it listen to the bells, imitated the glad sound with her voice, until the child's face was rippled with smiles. But the hard realities of her position were too pressing for her to be able to forget them for more than a few minutes. Tom had not been home since the morning, and she had had but little food during the day. Not for herself did she care; but her baby must be fed. If she did not eat and drink, how could she give milk to her child? 'I'll go and arks Jimmy Wirtue for somethin',' she thought; and so that her appeal to the old man might be fortunate, she cunningly took her baby out with her. Jimmy was playing All-Fours with Jack, who, having come into another fortune, was dissipating it recklessly as usual for the benefit of his remorseless foe.
'What do you want? What's that bundle in your arms?' growled Jimmy, as Blade-o'-Grass peeped into his parlour.
'Ifs my baby,' said Blade-o'-Grass; 'I've come to show it to you.'