Chimney sweeps -- Juvenile fiction; Fairy tales -- England
“You see,” said the stick, “there were as pretty little children once as
you could wish to see, and might have been so still if they had been only
left to grow up like human beings, and then handed over to me; but their
foolish fathers and mothers, instead of letting them pick flowers, and
make dirt-pies, and get birds’ nests, and dance round the gooseberry
bush, as little children should, kept them always at lessons, working,
working, working, learning week-day lessons all week-days, and Sunday
lessons all Sunday, and weekly examinations every Saturday, and monthly
examinations every month, and yearly examinations every year, everything
seven times over, as if once was not enough, and enough as good as a
feast—till their brains grew big, and their bodies grew small, and they
were all changed into turnips, with little but water inside; and still
their foolish parents actually pick the leaves off them as fast as they
grow, lest they should have anything green about them.”
“Ah!” said Tom, “if dear Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby knew of it she would
send them a lot of tops, and balls, and marbles, and ninepins, and make
them all as jolly as sand-boys.”
“It would be no use,” said the stick. “They can’t play now, if they
tried. Don’t you see how their legs have turned to roots and grown into
the ground, by never taking any exercise, but sapping and moping always
in the same place? But here comes the Examiner-of-all-Examiners. So you
had better get away, I warn you, or he will examine you and your dog into
the bargain, and set him to examine all the other dogs, and you to
examine all the other water-babies. There is no escaping out of his
hands, for his nose is nine thousand miles long, and can go down
chimneys, and through keyholes, upstairs, downstairs, in my lady’s
chamber, examining all little boys, and the little boys’ tutors likewise.
But when he is thrashed—so Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid has promised me—I shall
have the thrashing of him: and if I don’t lay it on with a will it’s a
pity.”
Tom went off: but rather slowly and surlily; for he was somewhat minded
to face this same Examiner-of-all-Examiners, who came striding among the
poor turnips, binding heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and laying
them on little children’s shoulders, like the Scribes and Pharisees of
old, and not touching the same with one of his fingers; for he had plenty
of money, and a fine house to live in, and so forth; which was more than
the poor little turnips had.
But when he got near, he looked so big and burly and dictatorial, and
shouted so loud to Tom, to come and be examined, that Tom ran for his
life, and the dog too. And really it was time; for the poor turnips, in
their hurry and fright, crammed themselves so fast to be ready for the
Examiner, that they burst and popped by dozens all round him, till the
place sounded like Aldershot on a field-day, and Tom thought he should be
blown into the air, dog and all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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