Part 3

"And very sorry I was," said the lady of the caravan, "to see you in company with a Punch--a low wretch, that people should scorn to look at."

"I was not there by choice," returned the child; "we didn't know our way, and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do you--do you know them, ma'am?"

"Know them, child!" cried the lady of the caravan in a sort of shriek. "Know them! But you're young and know very little, and that's your excuse for asking such a question. Do I look as if I knowed 'em?"

"No, ma'am, no," said the child. "I beg your pardon."

It was granted at once, though the lady still appeared much ruffled by the question. The child then said that they had left the races on the first day, and were travelling to the next town on that road, where they meant to spend the night. As the face of the stout lady began to brighten, she asked how far it was. The reply was that the town was eight miles off.

The child could scarcely keep back a tear as she glanced along the darkening road. Her grandfather made no complaint, but he sighed heavily, and peered forward into the dusky distance.

The lady of the caravan was about to gather her tea-things together, but noting the child's look, she stopped. Nell curtsied, thanked her, and giving her hand to the old man, had already got some fifty yards or so away, when the lady of the caravan called to her to return.

"Come nearer, nearer still," said she. "Are you hungry, child?"

"Not very; but we are tired, and it's--it _is_ a long way--"

"Well, hungry or not, you had better have some tea," said the lady.--"I suppose you are agreeable to that, old gentleman?"

The grandfather humbly pulled off his hat, and thanked her. The lady of the caravan then bade him come up the steps also; but the drum proving an unsuitable table for two, they came down again, and sat upon the grass. The lady then handed down to them the tea-tray, the bread-and-butter, and the ham.

"Set 'em out near the hind wheels, child--that's the best place," said their friend from above. "Now, hand up the teapot for a little more hot water and a pinch of fresh tea, and then both of you eat and drink as much as you can, and don't spare anything; that's all I ask of you."

While they were eating, the lady of the caravan came down the steps, and with her hands clasped behind her, walked up and down in a very stately manner. She looked at the caravan from time to time with an air of calm delight, and seemed to be much pleased with the red panels and the brass knocker.

When she had taken this exercise for some time, she sat down upon the steps and called "George," whereupon a man in a carter's frock, who had been hidden in a hedge up to this time, parted the twigs and looked out. He was seated on the ground, and had on his legs a baking-dish and a stone bottle, in his right hand a knife, and in his left a fork.

"Yes, missus," said George.

"How did you find the cold pie, George?"

"It warn't amiss, mum."

"We are not a heavy load, George?

"That's always what the ladies say," replied the man. "If you see a woman a-driving, you'll always see she never will keep her whip still; the horse can't go fast enough for her. If horses have got their proper load, a woman always thinks that they can bear something more. What is the cause of this here?"

"Would these two travellers make much difference to the horses if we took them with us?" asked his mistress, pointing to Nell and the old man, who were now ready to go on their way on foot.

"They'd make a difference, in course," said George slowly.

"Would they make _much_ difference?" repeated his mistress. "They can't be very heavy."

"The weight o' the pair, mum," said George, eyeing them carefully, "would be a trifle under that of Oliver Cromwell."

Nell was very much surprised that the man should know the weight of one whom she had read of in books as having lived long before their time; but she soon forgot the subject in the joy of hearing that they were to go forward in the caravan, for which she thanked its lady earnestly.

She now helped to put away the tea-things, and the horses being by that time harnessed, mounted into the van, followed by her delighted grandfather.

Their kind friend then shut the door, and sat herself down by her drum at an open window; and the steps being put up by George, and stowed under the carriage, away they went, with a great noise of flapping, and creaking, and straining, the bright brass knocker, which nobody ever knocked at, knocking every moment a double knock of its own accord, as they jolted heavily along.

*Chapter VI.*

*THE WAX-WORK SHOW.*

When they had travelled slowly forward for some short distance, Nell looked timidly round the caravan. One half of it was carpeted, and so cut off at the farther end as to form a sleeping-place, which was shaded, like the little windows, with fair white curtains, though it was very small.

The other half served for a kitchen, and was fitted up with a stove, whose small chimney passed through the roof. It also held a larder, several chests, a great pitcher of water, a few cooking utensils and pieces of crockery.

The lady of the caravan sat at one window and little Nell and her grandfather sat at the other, while the machine jogged slowly onward. At first the two travellers spoke little, and only in whispers; but as they grew more used to the place they began to talk about the country through which they were passing, until the old man fell asleep. The lady of the caravan then asked Nell to come and sit beside her.

"Well, child," she said, "how do you like this way of travelling?"

Nell replied that she thought it was very pleasant indeed. The lady of the caravan sat looking at the child for a long time in silence. Then, getting up, she brought out from a corner a large roll of canvas, about a yard in width, which she laid upon the floor, and spread open with her foot until it nearly reached from one end of the caravan to the other.

"There, child," she said, "read that."

Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in huge black letters, the words "JARLEY'S WAX-WORK."

"Read it again," said the lady.

"Jarley's Wax-work," repeated Nell.

"That's me," said the lady. "I am Mrs. Jarley."

Giving the child a pleasant look, the lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, on which were the words "One hundred figures the full size of life;" and then another, on which was written, "The only real wax-work in the world."

When she had shown these to the astonished child, she brought forth several handbills used to announce the show, one of which ran:--

"If I knowed a donkey wot wouldn't go To see Mrs. Jarley's wax-work show, Do you think I'd acknowledge him? Oh; no, no! Then run to Jarley's."

When she had shown all these treasures to her young companion, Mrs. Jarley rolled them up, and having put them carefully away, sat down again, and looked at the child in triumph.

"Never go into the company of a Punch any more," said Mrs. Jarley, "after this."

"I never saw any wax-work, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than Punch?"

"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at all."

"Oh!" said Nell very humbly.

"It isn't funny at all," repeated Mrs. Jarley. "It's calm and--classical. No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings, like your precious Punches, but always the same, and so like life that if wax-work only spoke and walked about, you'd hardly know the difference. I won't go so far as to say that, as it is, I've seen wax-work quite like life, but I've certainly seen some life that was exactly like wax-work."

"Is it here, ma'am?" asked Nell.

"Is what here, child?"

"The wax-work, ma'am."

"Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could it be here, where you see everything except the inside of one little cupboard and a few boxes? It's gone on in the other vans to the next town, and there it'll be shown the day after to-morrow. You are going to the same town, and you'll see it, I dare say. I suppose you couldn't stop away if you was to try ever so much."

"I shall not be in the town, I think, ma'am," said the child.

"Not there!" cried Mrs. Jarley. "Then where will you be?"

"I--I--don't quite know. I am not certain."

"You don't mean to say that you don't know where you're going to!" said the lady of the caravan. "What line are you in? You looked to me at the races, child, as if you were quite out of your place."

"We were there quite by accident," returned Nell; "we are poor people, ma'am, and are only wandering about. We have nothing to do; I wish we had."

"You amaze me more and more," said Mrs. Jarley after a while. "Why, what do you call yourselves? Not beggars?"

"Indeed, ma'am, I don't know what else we are," returned the child.

"Lord bless me!" said the lady of the caravan. "I never heard of such a thing. Who'd have thought it?"

She remained so long silent after this that Nell feared she was vexed. At length she said,--

"And yet you can read. And write too, I shouldn't wonder?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the child timidly.

"Well, and what a thing _that_ is!" returned Mrs. Jarley. "_I_ can't."

Nell said, "Indeed!" in a tone of surprise and doubt. Mrs. Jarley said no more, and after a while Nell withdrew to the other window and sat down near her grandfather, who was now awake.

After a while the lady of the caravan roused herself, and calling the driver to come under the window at which she was seated, spoke to him in a low tone of voice, as if she were asking his advice. This talk at length ended, she drew in her head again, and bade Nell come near.

"And the old gentleman too," said Mrs. Jarley; "for I want to have a word with him.--Do you want a good place for your grandchild, master? If you do, I can put her in a way of getting one. What do you say?"

"I can't leave her," answered the old man. "What would become of me without her?"

"I should have thought you were old enough to take care of yourself, if ever you will be," said Mrs. Jarley sharply.

"But he never will be," said the child, in an earnest whisper. "I fear he never will be again. Pray do not speak harshly to him. We are very thankful to you," she added aloud; "but neither of us could part from the other if all the wealth of the world were halved between us."

Mrs. Jarley was a little taken aback at this, and looked somewhat crossly at the old man, who took Nell's hand and kept it in his own. After a pause, she thrust her head out of the window again, and spoke once more to the driver.

Then she said to the old man, "If you work for yourself, there would be plenty for you to do in the way of helping to dust the figures, taking the checks, and so forth. What I want your grandchild for, is to point 'em out to the company.

"That would soon be learnt," the lady went on, "and she has a way with her that people would like, though she does come after me; for I've always been used to go round with visitors myself, which I should keep on doing now, only that I do need a little ease."

Then Mrs. Jarley said that as for salary she could not pledge herself until she had tested Nell's fitness for the work. But board and lodging, both for her and her grandfather, she _would_ give; and she also passed her word that the food should be always good and plentiful.

Nell and her grandfather talked it over; and while they were doing so Mrs. Jarley, with her hands behind her, walked up and down the caravan, as she had walked after tea on the green, with great dignity.

"Now, child?" cried Mrs. Jarley, coming to a halt, as Nell turned towards her.

"We are very much obliged to you, ma'am," said Nell, "and will do as you wish."

"And you'll never be sorry for it," returned Mrs. Jarley. "I am pretty sure of that. So as that's all settled, let us have a bit of supper."

In the meantime the caravan rolled on, and came at last upon the paved streets of a town, which were very quiet; for it was by this time near midnight, and the people were all abed. As it was too late to go to the exhibition room, they turned aside into a piece of waste ground that lay just within the old town gate, and drew up there for the night, near to another caravan in which part of the famous wax-work show had travelled.

This caravan, being now empty, was given to the old man as his sleeping-place; and within its wooden walls Nell made him up the best bed she could. For herself, she was to sleep in Mrs. Jarley's own van as a special mark of that lady's favour.

*Chapter VIII.*

*NELL THE BREAD-WINNER.*

Nell slept so long that when she awoke, Mrs. Jarley, wearing her large bonnet, was already preparing breakfast. She heard Nell's excuses for being late with great good-humour, and said that she should not have roused her if she had slept on until noon.

"Because it does you good," said the lady of the caravan, "when you're tired, to sleep as long as ever you can; and that's another blessing of your time of life--you can sleep so very sound; _I_ can't, I'm sorry to say."

Shortly afterwards the child sat down with her grandfather and Mrs. Jarley to breakfast. The meal finished, Nell helped to wash the cups and saucers, and put them in their proper places; and these duties done, Mrs. Jarley dressed herself in a very bright shawl for the purpose of passing through the streets of the town.

"The van will come on to bring the boxes," said Mrs. Jarley, "and you had better come in it, child. I must walk, very much against my will; but the people expect it of me. How do I look, child?"

Nell at once said that she looked very nice, and Mrs. Jarley went forth with her head in the air.

The caravan followed at no great distance. As it went jolting through the streets, Nell peeped through the window to see in what kind of place they were. It was a pretty large town with an open square, in the middle of which was the town hall, with a clock-tower and a weather-cock.

The streets were very clean, very sunny, very empty, and very dull. Nothing seemed to be going on but the clocks, and they had such drowsy faces, such heavy, lazy hands, that they surely must have been too slow. The very dogs were all asleep; and the flies, drunk with the moist sugar in the grocer's shop, forgot their wings, and baked to death in dusty corners of the window.

Rumbling along with a great noise, the caravan stopped at last at the place of exhibition. Nell got down amidst a group of children, who clearly thought that her grandfather was one of the wax figures. The chests were quickly taken out and unlocked by Mrs. Jarley, who, with George and another man, was waiting to decorate the room with the hangings from them.

When the festoons were all put up as tastily as might be, the wax-work figures were uncovered and set out on a platform running round the room some two feet from the floor. There they stood more or less unsteadily upon their legs, with their eyes and nostrils very wide open, and their faces bearing a look of great surprise.

When Nell had looked at them all with great delight, Mrs. Jarley ordered the room to be cleared of all but herself and the child. Then sitting herself down in an armchair in the centre, she handed Nell a willow wand, long used by herself for pointing out the characters, and was at great pains to teach her what to do and say.

"That," said Mrs. Jarley in her grandest tone, as Nell touched a figure at the beginning of the platform, "is a maid-of-honour in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger while sewing upon a Sunday. See how the blood is trickling from her finger; also the gold-eyed needle of the time with which she is at work."

All this Nell said over twice or thrice, pointing to the finger and the needle at the right times, and then passed on to the next.

When Nell knew all about that and could say it without a mistake, Mrs. Jarley passed on to the fat man, and then to the thin man, the tall man, the short man, the old lady who died of dancing at a hundred and thirty-two, the wild boy of the woods, and many another. And so well did Nell do her duty that by the time they had been shut up together for a couple of hours she knew quite well the history of the whole show.

Mrs. Jarley was much pleased with her, and now carried her off to see what was going on within doors.

The preparations outside had not been forgotten either. A nun was telling her beads on the little portico over the door; and a brigand, with the blackest possible head of hair, was at that moment being made ready to be taken round the town in a cart.

In the midst of the plans for drawing visitors, little Nell was not forgotten. The light cart in which the brigand was carried being gaily dressed with flags and streamers, the child was placed in a seat beside him, and rode slowly through the town, giving away handbills from a basket to the sound of drum and trumpet. This was done each morning for a few days.

The beauty of the child caused a great stir in the little country place. Grown-up folks began to be interested in the bright-eyed girl, and some score of little boys fell in love with her, and left nuts and apples for her at the wax-work door.

This was not lost on Mrs. Jarley, who, lest Nell should become too cheap, soon sent the brigand out alone again and kept the child in the room, where she showed the figures every half-hour.

Although her work was hard, Nell found the lady of the caravan very kind and thoughtful for her little helper's comfort. The child soon began to receive little fees from the visitors for herself, and as her grandfather, too, was well treated and useful, she was very happy and contented.

But she often thought of the old house and the window at which she used to sit alone in far-off London; and then she would think of poor Kit and all his kindness, until the tears came into her eyes, and she would weep and smile together.

Often, too, her thoughts turned to her grandfather, and she would wonder how much he remembered of their former life. When they were wandering about she seldom thought of this, but now she could not help wondering what would become of them if he fell sick or her own strength were to fail her. The old man was very patient and willing, and glad to be of use; but he was a mere child--a poor, thoughtless, vacant creature. It made her very sad to see him thus, and she would often burst into tears, and going to some secret place, fall down upon her knees, and pray that he might be restored.

*Chapter VIII.*

*TROUBLE FOR NELL.*

One evening when the show was not open, Nell and her grandfather went out for a walk. As soon as they were clear of the town they took a foot-path which ran through some pleasant fields, and wandered on till sunset, when they stopped to rest.

The sky was dark and lowering. Large drops of rain soon began to fall, and before long the storm clouds came sailing onward, and spread over all the sky. Soon was heard the low rumbling of distant thunder, and the lightning quivered through the darkness.

Fearful of taking shelter beneath a tree or hedge, the old man and the child hurried along the highroad. They hoped to find some house in which to seek a refuge from the storm. Drenched by the pelting rain, and blinded by the lightning, they would have passed a house without noticing it had not a man, who was standing at the door, called out to them to enter.

"What were you going past for, eh?" he added, as he closed the door and led the way along a passage to a room behind.

"We didn't see the house, sir, till we heard you calling," Nell replied.

"No wonder," said the man, "with this lightning in one's eyes. By-the-bye you had better stand by the fire here, and dry yourselves a bit. You can call for what you like if you want anything. If you don't want anything, no matter. Don't be afraid of that. This is a public-house, that's all. The 'Valiant Soldier,' by James Groves, is pretty well known hereabouts."

The night being warm, there was a large screen drawn across the room to keep in the heat of the fire. From the other side of this screen came the sound of voices. Nell and her grandfather listened to them for a few moments. Then the old man said hastily in a whisper,--

"Nell, they're--they're playing cards. Don't you hear them?"

"Look sharp with that candle," said a voice; "it's as much as I can do to see the cards as it is. Game! Seven-and-sixpence to me, old Isaac. Hand over."

"Do you hear, Nell--do you hear them?" whispered the old man again, as the money chinked upon the table.

The child looked at the old man with alarm. His face was red and eager, his eyes were strained, his teeth set, his breath came short and thick, and the hand he laid upon her arm shook like a leaf.

"What money have we, Nell? Come, I saw you with money yesterday. What money have we? Give it to me."

"No, no; let me keep it, grandfather," said the poor child. "Let us go away from here. Do not mind the rain. Pray let us go."

"Give it to me, I say," cried the old man fiercely. "Hush, hush! don't cry, Nell. If I spoke sharply, dear, I didn't mean it. It's for thy good. I have wronged thee, Nell, but I will right thee yet; I will, indeed. Where is the money?"

"Do not take it," said the child. "Pray do not take it, dear. For both our sakes let me keep it, or let me throw it away; better let me throw it away than you take it now. Let us go; do let us go."

"Give me the money," returned the old man; "I must have it. There--there--there's my dear Nell. I'll right thee one day, child. I'll right thee, never fear!"

She took from her pocket a little purse. The old man caught it from her hand and hastily made his way to the other side of the screen, Nell keeping close behind him.

The landlord had placed a light upon the table and was drawing the curtain of the window. The speakers whom they had heard were two men, who had a pack of cards and some silver money between them.

The man with the rough voice was a big fellow of middle age, with large black whiskers, broad cheeks, a coarse, wide mouth, and bull neck. The other man, whom his companion had called Isaac, was of a more slender figure--stooping, and high in the shoulders--with a very evil face.

"Now, old gentleman," said Isaac, looking round, "do you know either of us? This side of the screen is private, sir."

The old man replied by shaking the little purse in his eager hand, and then throwing it down upon the table, and gathering up the cards as a miser would clutch at gold.

"Oh! That, indeed," said Isaac; "if that's what the gentleman meant, I beg the gentleman's pardon. Is this the gentleman's purse? A very pretty little purse. Rather a light purse," added Isaac, throwing it into the air and catching it again, "but enough to amuse a gentleman for half an hour or so."

The child, in a perfect agony, drew her grandfather aside, and begged him, even then, to come away.

"Come, and we may be so happy," said the child.

"We will be happy," replied the old man. "Let me go, Nell. I shall but win back my own; and it's all for thee, my darling."

"God help us!" cried the child. "Oh, what hard fortune brought us here?"

"Hush!" said the old man, laying his hand upon her mouth. "We must not blame fortune, or she shuns us; I have found that out."

As he spoke he drew a chair to the table; and the other three closing round it at the same time, the game began.

The child sat by and watched it with a troubled mind. Losses and gains were to her alike. She only knew that the cards were evil things, and that now her quiet, happy life was at an end.

The storm had raged for full three hours, and now began to lull; but still the game went on, and still the poor child was forgotten.

The players sat for a long time at their game, and when it was over Isaac was the only winner, and Nell's little purse was quite empty.