Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction; Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; England -- Juvenile fiction
Though as comfortable as one could be who so sorely lacked food, Clare
slept lightly. His baby was heavy on his mind, and he woke very
early--woke at once to the anxious thought of a boy without food,
money, or friends, and with a hungry baby. He woke, however, with a
new train of reasoning in his mind. Babies could not work; babies
always had their food given them; therefore babies who hadn’t food had
a right to ask for it; babies couldn’t ask for it; therefore those who
had the charge of them, and hadn’t food to give them, had a right to
do the asking for them. He could not beg for himself as long as he was
able to ask for work; but for baby it was his duty to beg, because she
could not wait: she would not live till he found work. If he got work
that very day, he would have to work the whole day before he got the
money for it, and baby would be dead by that time! He crept out, so as
not to awake the sleepers, and put on his clothes. They were not dry,
but they would dry when the sun rose. He did not at all like leaving
his baby with Tommy, but what was he to do? She might as well die of
Tommy as of hunger! Perhaps it might be easier!
He thought over the nature of the boy, and what it would be best to
say to him. He saw what many genial persons are slow to see, that
kindness, in its natural shape, is to certain dispositions a great
barrier in the way of learning either love or duty. With multitudes,
nothing but undiluted fear or pain or shame can open the door for love
to enter.
He searched the house for a medicine-bottle, such as he had seen
plenty of at the parsonage, and found two. He chose the smaller, lest
size should provoke disinclination. Then he woke Tommy, and said to
him,
“Tommy, I’m going out to get baby’s breakfast.”
“Ain’t you going to give _me_ any? Is the kid to have _everything_?”
“Tommy!” said Clare, with a steady look in his eyes that frightened
him, “your turn will come next. You won’t die of want for a day or two
yet. I’ll see to you as soon as I can. Only, remember, baby comes
first! I’m going to leave her with you. You needn’t take her up.
You’re not able to carry her. You would let her fall. But if, when I
come home, I find anything has happened to her, _I’ll put you in the
water-butt_--I WILL. And I’ll do it when the moon is in it.”
Tommy pulled a hideous face, and began to yell. Clare seized him by
the throat.
“Make that noise again, you rascal, and I’ll choke you. If you’re good
to baby while I’m away, I won’t eat a mouthful till you’ve had some;
if you’re not good to her, you know what will happen! You’ve got the
thing in your own hands!”
“She’ll go an’ do something I can’t help, an’ then you’ll go for to
drown me!”
Again he began to howl, but Clare checked him as before. “If you wake
her up, I’ll--” He had no words, and shook him for lack of any. “I
see,” he resumed, “I shall have to lock you up in the coal-cellar till
I come back! Here! come along!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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