My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying

nothing more than the awful words, "You come along and be dosed."

Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine

medicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard;

having a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the

best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a choice

restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like a new

fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded a

pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater

comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would

be held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to

swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and

meditating before the fire), "because he had had a turn." Judging from

myself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had

none before.

Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in

the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret

burden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great

punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe--I

never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the

housekeeping property as his--united to the necessity of always keeping

one hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about

the kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then,

as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the

voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to

secrecy, declaring that he couldn't and wouldn't starve until to-morrow,

but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man

who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his hands in me

should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should mistake the time,

and should think himself accredited to my heart and liver to-night,

instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody's hair stood on end with terror,

mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody's ever did?

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with

a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with

the load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the

load on his leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the bread

and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away,

and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.




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