Graham's Magazine, Vol. XLI, No. 4, October 1852Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XLI, No. 4, October 1852
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
“And that’s your thanks, Peter, my darlin’ for not biting him, to have
him scrunch down upon you, as if you war a cat,” she exclaimed; then,
turning suddenly upon poor Richard, she commanded him to eat at once,
and be done with it, and not stand there aggravating her, and murdering
her dog.
At first Richard ate with a feeling of disgust; but the bread was good,
and he was hungry. Peter seated himself before the lad, rising every
second moment on his haunches, and making little twitching movements
with his fore-paws: Richard gave him a piece of the crumb.
“Look at that, now,” said Matty; “ye’ just give the poor innocent baste
the crumb, because ye’ don’t like it ye’rself.”
Richard presented him with a bit of the crisp brown crust.
“See, now, if that brat of a boy ain’t trying already to break every
tooth in the creature’s head with his crusts.”
Richard finished without offering Peter another morsel.
“Well!” ejaculated his tormentor, “if ever I saw such a selfish boy of
yer age, and that’s speaking volumes, as master says; not to give the
brute the last crumb, for good luck; but some has no nature in ’em; and
the poor baste bobbing at you, as if you had never scrooged him into a
pancake. There, go along, do; and, harkee! if you run the window-bars
through the glass, you’ll have to pay for every pane you break: and mind
the trap that’s over the cellar: but sure you war here before, when I
was sick. Ah! I dare say you’ll go off in consumption, just as the last
boy did: it’s all along the smell of the old books, and the _ile_ of the
papers, to say nothing of the gas. I wonder how master and I live
through it; but it wont be for long, I’m certain of that; I’m a poor
fading-away crature.”
As Richard ran up the dark stairs, he could not avoid turning to look at
the “fading-away crature.” The cheerful blaze of the fire threw her
figure into strong light, and her shadow on the wall grew up into the
ceiling. She recalled all Richard had ever heard of “ogres”—so gaunt,
and strong, and terrible—tremendous people who trouble the world
forever, and never die.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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