FOURTH CHAPTER

by Charles Dickens

　　WHEN I was lifted out of the cellar by two men, of whom one camepeeping down alone first, and ran away and brought the other, Icould hardly bear the light of the street. I was sitting in theroad-way, blinking at it, and at a ring of people collected aroundme, but not close to me, when, true to my character of worldlylittle devil, I broke silence by saying, 'I am hungry and thirsty!' 'Does he know they are dead?' asked one of another. 'Do you know your father and mother are both dead of fever?' askeda third of me severely. 'I don't know what it is to be dead. I supposed it meant that,when the cup rattled against their teeth, and the water spilt overthem. I am hungry and thirsty.' That was all I had to say aboutit. The ring of people widened outward from the inner side as I lookedaround me; and I smelt vinegar, and what I know to be camphor,thrown in towards where I sat. Presently some one put a greatvessel of smoking vinegar on the ground near me; and then they alllooked at me in silent horror as I ate and drank of what wasbrought for me. I knew at the time they had a horror of me, but Icouldn't help it. I was still eating and drinking, and a murmur of discussion hadbegun to arise respecting what was to be done with me next, when Iheard a cracked voice somewhere in the ring say, 'My name isHawkyard, Mr. Verity Hawkyard, of West Bromwich.' Then the ringsplit in one place; and a yellow-faced, peak-nosed gentleman, cladall in iron-gray to his gaiters, pressed forward with a policemanand another official of some sort. He came forward close to thevessel of smoking vinegar; from which he sprinkled himselfcarefully, and me copiously. 'He had a grandfather at Birmingham, this young boy, who is justdead too,' said Mr. Hawkyard. I turned my eyes upon the speaker, and said in a ravening manner,'Where's his houses?' 'Hah! Horrible worldliness on the edge of the grave,' said Mr.Hawkyard, casting more of the vinegar over me, as if to get mydevil out of me. 'I have undertaken a slight - a very slight -trust in behalf of this boy; quite a voluntary trust: a matter ofmere honour, if not of mere sentiment: still I have taken it uponmyself, and it shall be (O, yes, it shall be!) discharged.' The bystanders seemed to form an opinion of this gentleman muchmore favourable than their opinion of me. 'He shall be taught,' said Mr. Hawkyard, '(O, yes, he shall betaught!) but what is to be done with him for the present? He maybe infected. He may disseminate infection.' The ring widenedconsiderably. 'What is to be done with him?' He held some talk with the two officials. I could distinguish noword save 'Farm-house.' There was another sound several timesrepeated, which was wholly meaningless in my ears then, but which Iknew afterwards to be 'Hoghton Towers.' 'Yes,' said Mr. Hawkyard. 'I think that sounds promising; I thinkthat sounds hopeful. And he can be put by himself in a ward, for anight or two, you say?' It seemed to be the police-officer who had said so; for it was hewho replied, Yes! It was he, too, who finally took me by the arm,and walked me before him through the streets, into a whitewashedroom in a bare building, where I had a chair to sit in, a table tosit at, an iron bedstead and good mattress to lie upon, and a rugand blanket to cover me. Where I had enough to eat too, and wasshown how to clean the tin porringer in which it was conveyed tome, until it was as good as a looking-glass. Here, likewise, I wasput in a bath, and had new clothes brought to me; and my old ragswere burnt, and I was camphored and vinegared and disinfected in avariety of ways. When all this was done, - I don't know in how many days or how few,but it matters not, - Mr. Hawkyard stepped in at the door,remaining close to it, and said, 'Go and stand against the oppositewall, George Silverman. As far off as you can. That'll do. Howdo you feel?' I told him that I didn't feel cold, and didn't feel hungry, anddidn't feel thirsty. That was the whole round of human feelings,as far as I knew, except the pain of being beaten. 'Well,' said he, 'you are going, George, to a healthy farm-house tobe purified. Keep in the air there as much as you can. Live anout-of-door life there, until you are fetched away. You had betternot say much - in fact, you had better be very careful not to sayanything - about what your parents died of, or they might not liketo take you in. Behave well, and I'll put you to school; O, yes!I'll put you to school, though I'm not obligated to do it. I am aservant of the Lord, George; and I have been a good servant to him,I have, these five-and-thirty years. The Lord has had a goodservant in me, and he knows it.' What I then supposed him to mean by this, I cannot imagine. Aslittle do I know when I began to comprehend that he was a prominentmember of some obscure denomination or congregation, every memberof which held forth to the rest when so inclined, and among whom hewas called Brother Hawkyard. It was enough for me to know, on thatday in the ward, that the farmer's cart was waiting for me at thestreet corner. I was not slow to get into it; for it was the firstride I ever had in my life. It made me sleepy, and I slept. First, I stared at Preston streetsas long as they lasted; and, meanwhile, I may have had some smalldumb wondering within me whereabouts our cellar was; but I doubtit. Such a worldly little devil was I, that I took no thought whowould bury father and mother, or where they would be buried, orwhen. The question whether the eating and drinking by day, and thecovering by night, would be as good at the farm-house as at theward superseded those questions. The jolting of the cart on a loose stony road awoke me; and I foundthat we were mounting a steep hill, where the road was a rutty by-road through a field. And so, by fragments of an ancient terrace,and by some rugged outbuildings that had once been fortified, andpassing under a ruined gateway we came to the old farm-house in thethick stone wall outside the old quadrangle of Hoghton Towers:which I looked at like a stupid savage, seeing no specially in,seeing no antiquity in; assuming all farm-houses to resemble it;assigning the decay I noticed to the one potent cause of all ruinthat I knew, - poverty; eyeing the pigeons in their flights, thecattle in their stalls, the ducks in the pond, and the fowlspecking about the yard, with a hungry hope that plenty of themmight be killed for dinner while I stayed there; wondering whetherthe scrubbed dairy vessels, drying in the sunlight, could be goodlyporringers out of which the master ate his belly-filling food, andwhich he polished when he had done, according to my wardexperience; shrinkingly doubtful whether the shadows, passing overthat airy height on the bright spring day, were not something inthe nature of frowns, - sordid, afraid, unadmiring, - a small bruteto shudder at. To that time I had never had the faintest impression of duty. Ihad had no knowledge whatever that there was anything lovely inthis life. When I had occasionally slunk up the cellar-steps intothe street, and glared in at shop-windows, I had done so with nohigher feelings than we may suppose to animate a mangy young dog orwolf-cub. It is equally the fact that I had never been alone, inthe sense of holding unselfish converse with myself. I had beensolitary often enough, but nothing better. Such was my condition when I sat down to my dinner that day, in thekitchen of the old farm-house. Such was my condition when I lay onmy bed in the old farm-house that night, stretched out opposite thenarrow mullioned window, in the cold light of the moon, like ayoung vampire.