The Chimes: A Goblin Story of Some Bells That Rang an Old Year out and a New Year InDickens, Charles
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The Chimes: A Goblin Story of Some Bells That Rang an Old Year out and a New Year In
Dickens, Charles
Christmas stories; Holidays -- Fiction
‘I am glad this man has entered,’ observed Sir Joseph, looking round
serenely. ‘Don’t disturb him. It appears to be Ordained. He is an
example: a living example. I hope and trust, and confidently expect,
that it will not be lost upon my Friends here.’
‘I dragged on,’ said Fern, after a moment’s silence, ‘somehow. Neither
me nor any other man knows how; but so heavy, that I couldn’t put a
cheerful face upon it, or make believe that I was anything but what I
was. Now, gentlemen—you gentlemen that sits at Sessions—when you see a
man with discontent writ on his face, you says to one another, “He’s
suspicious. I has my doubts,” says you, “about Will Fern. Watch that
fellow!” I don’t say, gentlemen, it ain’t quite nat’ral, but I say ’tis
so; and from that hour, whatever Will Fern does, or lets alone—all one—it
goes against him.’
Alderman Cute stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat-pockets, and leaning back
in his chair, and smiling, winked at a neighbouring chandelier. As much
as to say, ‘Of course! I told you so. The common cry! Lord bless you,
we are up to all this sort of thing—myself and human nature.’
‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Will Fern, holding out his hands, and flushing for
an instant in his haggard face, ‘see how your laws are made to trap and
hunt us when we’re brought to this. I tries to live elsewhere. And I’m
a vagabond. To jail with him! I comes back here. I goes a-nutting in
your woods, and breaks—who don’t?—a limber branch or two. To jail with
him! One of your keepers sees me in the broad day, near my own patch of
garden, with a gun. To jail with him! I has a nat’ral angry word with
that man, when I’m free again. To jail with him! I cuts a stick. To
jail with him! I eats a rotten apple or a turnip. To jail with him!
It’s twenty mile away; and coming back I begs a trifle on the road. To
jail with him! At last, the constable, the keeper—anybody—finds me
anywhere, a-doing anything. To jail with him, for he’s a vagrant, and a
jail-bird known; and jail’s the only home he’s got.’
The Alderman nodded sagaciously, as who should say, ‘A very good home
too!’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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