Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
He wandered over miles and miles of ground and still came back to the
old place; morning and noon had passed, and the day was on the wane,
and still he rambled to and fro, and up and down, and round and round,
and still lingered about the same spot. At last he got away, and shaped
his course for Hatfield.
It was nine o’clock at night when the man quite tired out, and the
dog limping and lame from the unaccustomed exercise, turned down
the hill by the church of the quiet village, and plodding along the
little street crept into a small public-house, whose scanty light had
guided them to the spot. There was a fire in the tap-room, and some
country-labourers were drinking before it. They made room for the
stranger, but he sat down in the furthest corner, and ate and drank
alone, or rather with his dog, to whom he cast a morsel of food from
time to time.
The conversation of the men assembled here turned upon the neighbouring
land and farmers, and when those topics were exhausted, upon the age of
some old man who had been buried on the previous Sunday; the young men
present considering him very old, and the old men present declaring him
to have been quite young—not older, one white-haired grandfather said,
than he was—with ten or fifteen year of life in him at least—if he
had taken care; if he had taken care.
There was nothing to attract attention or excite alarm in this. The
robber, after paying his reckoning, sat silent and unnoticed in his
corner, and had almost dropped asleep, when he was half wakened by the
noisy entrance of a new-comer.
This was an antic fellow, half pedlar and half mountebank, who
travelled about the country on foot to vend hones, strops, razors,
washballs, harness-paste, medicines for dogs and horses, cheap
perfumery, cosmetics, and such-like wares, which he carried in a case
slung to his back. His entrance was the signal for various homely jokes
with the countrymen, which slackened not until he had made his supper,
and opened his box of treasures, when he ingeniously contrived to unite
business with amusement.
“And what be that stoof—good to eat, Harry?” asked a grinning
countryman, pointing to some composition-cakes in one corner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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