The Cricket on the Hearth(灶上蟋蟀)

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The Cricket on the Hearth

The Cricket on the

Hearth

The Cricket on the Hearth

CHAPTER I - Chirp the First

THE kettle began it! Don't tell me what Mrs. Peerybingle said. I

know better. Mrs. Peerybingle may leave it on record to the end of time

that she couldn't say which of them began it; but, I say the kettle did. I

ought to know, I hope! The kettle began it, full five minutes by the little

waxy-faced Dutch clock in the corner, before the Cricket uttered a chirp.

As if the clock hadn't finished striking, and the convulsive little

Haymaker at the top of it, jerking away right and left with a scythe in front

of a Moorish Palace, hadn't mowed down half an acre of imaginary grass

before the Cricket joined in at all!

Why, I am not naturally positive. Every one knows that. I wouldn't

set my own opinion against the opinion of Mrs. Peerybingle, unless I were

quite sure, on any account whatever. Nothing should induce me. But,

this is a question of act. And the fact is, that the kettle began it, at least

five minutes before the Cricket gave any sign of being in existence.

Contradict me, and I'll say ten.

Let me narrate exactly how it happened. I should have proceeded to

do so in my very first word, but for this plain consideration - if I am to tell

a story I must begin at the beginning; and how is it possible to begin at the

beginning, without beginning at the kettle?

It appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of skill, you must

understand, between the kettle and the Cricket. And this is what led to it,

and how it came about.

Mrs. Peerybingle, going out into the raw twilight, and clicking over

the wet stones in a pair of pattens that worked innumerable rough

impressions of the first proposition in Euclid all about the yard - Mrs.

Peerybingle filled the kettle at the water-butt. Presently returning, less the

pattens (and a good deal less, for they were tall and Mrs. Peerybingle was

but short), she set the kettle on the fire. In doing which she lost her

temper, or mislaid it for an instant; for, the water being uncomfortably

cold, and in that slippy, slushy, sleety sort of state wherein it seems to

penetrate through every kind of substance, patten rings included - had laid

The Cricket on the Hearth

hold of Mrs. Peerybingle's toes, and even splashed her legs. And when

we rather plume ourselves (with reason too) upon our legs, and keep

ourselves particularly neat in point of stockings, we find this, for the

moment, hard to bear.

Besides, the kettle was aggravating and obstinate. It wouldn't allow

itself to be adjusted on the top bar; it wouldn't hear of accommodating

itself kindly to the knobs of coal; it WOULD lean forward with a drunken

air, and dribble, a very Idiot of a kettle, on the hearth. It was quarrelsome,

and hissed and spluttered morosely at the fire. To sum up all, the lid,

resisting Mrs. Peerybingle's fingers, first of all turned topsy-turvy, and

then, with an ingenious pertinacity deserving of a better cause, dived

sideways in - down to the very bottom of the kettle. And the hull of the

Royal George has never made half the monstrous resistance to coming out

of the water, which the lid of that kettle employed against Mrs.

Peerybingle, before she got it up again.

It looked sullen and pig-headed enough, even then; carrying its handle

with an air of defiance, and cocking its spout pertly and mockingly at Mrs.

Peerybingle, as if it said, 'I won't boil. Nothing shall induce me!'

But Mrs. Peerybingle, with restored good humour, dusted her chubby

little hands against each other, and sat down before the kettle, laughing.

Meantime, the jolly blaze uprose and fell, flashing and gleaming on the

little Haymaker at the top of the Dutch clock, until one might have thought

he stood stock still before the Moorish Palace, and nothing was in motion

but the flame.

He was on the move, however; and had his spasms, two to the second,

all right and regular. But, his sufferings when the clock was going to

strike, were frightful to behold; and, when a Cuckoo looked out of a trap-

door in the Palace, and gave note six times, it shook him, each time, like a

spectral voice - or like a something wiry, plucking at his legs.

It was not until a violent commotion and a whirring noise among the

weights and ropes below him had quite subsided, that this terrified

Haymaker became himself again. Nor was he startled without reason; for

these rattling, bony skeletons of clocks are very disconcerting in their

operation, and I wonder very much how any set of men, but most of all

The Cricket on the Hearth

how Dutchmen, can have had a liking to invent them. There is a popular

belief that Dutchmen love broad cases and much clothing for their own

lower selves; and they might know better than to leave their clocks so very

lank and unprotected, surely.

Now it was, you observe, that the kettle began to spend the evening.

Now it was, that the kettle, growing mellow and musical, began to have

irrepressible gurglings in its throat, and to indulge in short vocal snorts,

which it checked in the bud, as if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet, to

be good company. Now it was, that after two or three such vain attempts

to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve,

and burst into a stream of song so cosy and hilarious, as never maudlin

nightingale yet formed the least idea of.

So plain too! Bless you, you might have understood it like a book -

better than some books you and I could name, perhaps. With its warm

breath gushing forth in a light cloud which merrily and gracefully

ascended a few feet, then hung about the chimney-corner as its own

domestic Heaven, it trolled its song with that strong energy of cheerfulness,

that its iron body hummed and stirred upon the fire; and the lid itself, the

recently rebellious lid - such is the influence of a bright example -

performed a sort of jig, and clattered like a deaf and dumb young cymbal

that had never known the use of its twin brother.

That this song of the kettle's was a song of invitation and welcome to

somebody out of doors: to somebody at that moment coming on,

towards the snug small home and the crisp fire: there is no doubt

whatever. Mrs. Peerybingle knew it, perfectly, as she sat musing before

the hearth. It's a dark night, sang the kettle, and the rotten leaves are

lying by the way; and, above, all is mist and darkness, and, below, all is

mire and clay; and there's only one relief in all the sad and murky air; and

I don't know that it is one, for it's nothing but a glare; of deep and angry

crimson, where the sun and wind together; set a brand upon the clouds for

being guilty of such weather; and the widest open country is a long dull

streak of black; and there's hoar-frost on the finger-post, and thaw upon

the track; and the ice it isn't water, and the water isn't free; and you

couldn't say that anything is what it ought to be; but he's coming, coming,

The Cricket on the Hearth

coming! -

And here, if you like, the Cricket DID chime in! with a Chirrup,

Chirrup, Chirrup of such magnitude, by way of chorus; with a voice so

astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the kettle; (size!

you couldn't see it!) that if it had then and there burst itself like an

overcharged gun, if it had fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its

little body into fifty pieces, it would have seemed a natural and inevitable

consequence, for which it had expressly laboured.

The kettle had had the last of its solo performance. It persevered

with undiminished ardour; but the Cricket took first fiddle and kept it.

Good Heaven, how it chirped! Its shrill, sharp, piercing voice resounded

through the house, and seemed to twinkle in the outer darkness like a star.

There was an indescribable little trill and tremble in it, at its loudest,

which suggested its being carried off its legs, and made to leap again, by

its own intense enthusiasm. Yet they went very well together, the Cricket

and the kettle. The burden of the song was still the same; and louder,

louder, louder still, they sang it in their emulation.

The fair little listener - for fair she was, and young: though

something of what is called the dumpling shape; but I don't myself object

to that - lighted a candle, glanced at the Haymaker on the top of the clock,

who was getting in a pretty average crop of minutes; and looked out of the

window, where she saw nothing, owing to the darkness, but her own face

imaged in the glass. And my opinion is (and so would yours have been),

that she might have looked a long way, and seen nothing half so agreeable.

When she came back, and sat down in her former seat, the Cricket and the

kettle were still keeping it up, with a perfect fury of competition. The

kettle's weak side clearly being, that he didn't know when he was beat.

There was all the excitement of a race about it. Chirp, chirp, chirp!

Cricket a mile ahead. Hum, hum, hum - m - m! Kettle making play in

the distance, like a great top. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket round the

corner. Hum, hum, hum - m - m! Kettle sticking to him in his own way;

no idea of giving in. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket fresher than ever.

Hum, hum, hum - m - m! Kettle slow and steady. Chirp, chirp, chirp!

Cricket going in to finish him. Hum, hum, hum - m - m! Kettle not to

The Cricket on the Hearth

be finished. Until at last they got so jumbled together, in the hurry-skurry,

helter-skelter, of the match, that whether the kettle chirped and the Cricket

hummed, or the Cricket chirped and the kettle hummed, or they both

chirped and both hummed, it would have taken a clearer head than yours

or mine to have decided with anything like certainty. But, of this, there is

no doubt: that, the kettle and the Cricket, at one and the same moment,

and by some power of amalgamation best known to themselves, sent, each,

his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of the candle that shone

out through the window, and a long way down the lane. And this light,

bursting on a certain person who, on the instant, approached towards it

through the gloom, expressed the whole thing to him, literally in a

twinkling, and cried, 'Welcome home, old fellow! Welcome home, my

boy!'

This end attained, the kettle, being dead beat, boiled over, and was

taken off the fire. Mrs. Peerybingle then went running to the door, where,

what with the wheels of a cart, the tramp of a horse, the voice of a man,

the tearing in and out of an excited dog, and the surprising and mysterious

appearance of a baby, there was soon the very What's-his-name to pay.

Where the baby came from, or how Mrs. Peerybingle got hold of it in

that flash of time, I don't know. But a live baby there was, in Mrs.

Peerybingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable amount of pride she seemed to

have in it, when she was drawn gently to the fire, by a sturdy figure of a

man, much taller and much older than herself, who had to stoop a long

way down, to kiss her. But she was worth the trouble. Six foot six,

with the lumbago, might have done it.

'Oh goodness, John!' said Mrs. P. 'What a state you are in with the

weather!'

He was something the worse for it, undeniably. The thick mist hung

in clots upon his eyelashes like candied thaw; and between the fog and fire

together, there were rainbows in his very whiskers.

'Why, you see, Dot,' John made answer, slowly, as he unrolled a shawl

from about his throat; and warmed his hands; 'it - it an't exactly summer

weather. So, no wonder.'

'I wish you wouldn't call me Dot, John. I don't like it,' said Mrs.

The Cricket on the Hearth

Peerybingle: pouting in a way that clearly showed she DID like it, very

much.

'Why what else are you?' returned John, looking down upon her with a

smile, and giving her waist as light a squeeze as his huge hand and arm

could give. 'A dot and' - here he glanced at the baby - 'a dot and carry - I

won't say it, for fear I should spoil it; but I was very near a joke. I don't

know as ever I was nearer.'

He was often near to something or other very clever, by his own

account: this lumbering, slow, honest John; this John so heavy, but so

light of spirit; so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core; so dull

without, so quick within; so stolid, but so good! Oh Mother Nature, give

thy children the true poetry of heart that hid itself in this poor Carrier's

breast - he was but a Carrier by the way - and we can bear to have them

talking prose, and leading lives of prose; and bear to bless thee for their

company!

It was pleasant to see Dot, with her little figure, and her baby in her

arms: a very doll of a baby: glancing with a coquettish thoughtfulness

at the fire, and inclining her delicate little head just enough on one side to

let it rest in an odd, half-natural, half-affected, wholly nestling and

agreeable manner, on the great rugged figure of the Carrier. It was

pleasant to see him, with his tender awkwardness, endeavouring to adapt

his rude support to her slight need, and make his burly middle-age a

leaning-staff not inappropriate to her blooming youth. It was pleasant to

observe how Tilly Slowboy, waiting in the background for the baby, took

special cognizance (though in her earliest teens) of this grouping; and

stood with her mouth and eyes wide open, and her head thrust forward,

taking it in as if it were air. Nor was it less agreeable to observe how

John the Carrier, reference being made by Dot to the aforesaid baby,

checked his hand when on the point of touching the infant, as if he thought

he might crack it; and bending down, surveyed it from a safe distance,

with a kind of puzzled pride, such as an amiable mastiff might be

supposed to show, if he found himself, one day, the father of a young

canary.

'An't he beautiful, John? Don't he look precious in his sleep?'

The Cricket on the Hearth

'Very precious,' said John. 'Very much so. He generally IS asleep,

an't he?'

'Lor, John! Good gracious no!'

'Oh,' said John, pondering. 'I thought his eyes was generally shut.

Halloa!'

'Goodness, John, how you startle one!'

'It an't right for him to turn 'em up in that way!' said the astonished

Carrier, 'is it? See how he's winking with both of 'em at once! And

look at his mouth! Why he's gasping like a gold and silver fish!'

'You don't deserve to be a father, you don't,' said Dot, with all the

dignity of an experienced matron. 'But how should you know what little

complaints children are troubled with, John! You wouldn't so much as

know their names, you stupid fellow.' And when she had turned the baby

over on her left arm, and had slapped its back as a restorative, she pinched

her husband's ear, laughing.

'No,' said John, pulling off his outer coat. 'It's very true, Dot. I don't

know much about it. I only know that I've been fighting pretty stiffly

with the wind to-night. It's been blowing north- east, straight into the

cart, the whole way home.'

'Poor old man, so it has!' cried Mrs. Peerybingle, instantly becoming

very active. 'Here! Take the precious darling, Tilly, while I make

myself of some use. Bless it, I could smother it with kissing it, I could!

Hie then, good dog! Hie, Boxer, boy! Only let me make the tea first,

John; and then I'll help you with the parcels, like a busy bee. "How doth

the little" - and all the rest of it, you know, John. Did you ever learn

"how doth the little," when you went to school, John?'

'Not to quite know it,' John returned. 'I was very near it once. But I

should only have spoilt it, I dare say.'

'Ha ha,' laughed Dot. She had the blithest little laugh you ever heard.

'What a dear old darling of a dunce you are, John, to be sure!'

Not at all disputing this position, John went out to see that the boy

with the lantern, which had been dancing to and fro before the door and

window, like a Will of the Wisp, took due care of the horse; who was fatter

than you would quite believe, if I gave you his measure, and so old that his

The Cricket on the Hearth

birthday was lost in the mists of antiquity. Boxer, feeling that his

attentions were due to the family in general, and must be impartially

distributed, dashed in and out with bewildering inconstancy; now,

describing a circle of short barks round the horse, where he was being

rubbed down at the stable-door; now feigning to make savage rushes at his

mistress, and facetiously bringing himself to sudden stops; now, eliciting a

shriek from Tilly Slowboy, in the low nursing-chair near the fire, by the

unexpected application of his moist nose to her countenance; now,

exhibiting an obtrusive interest in the baby; now, going round and round

upon the hearth, and lying down as if he had established himself for the

night; now, getting up again, and taking that nothing of a fag-end of a tail

of his, out into the weather, as if he had just remembered an appointment,

and was off, at a round trot, to keep it.

'There! There's the teapot, ready on the hob!' said Dot; as briskly

busy as a child at play at keeping house. 'And there's the old knuckle of

ham; and there's the butter; and there's the crusty loaf, and all! Here's the

clothes-basket for the small parcels, John, if you've got any there - where

are you, John?'

'Don't let the dear child fall under the grate, Tilly, whatever you do!'

It may be noted of Miss Slowboy, in spite of her rejecting the caution

with some vivacity, that she had a rare and surprising talent for getting this

baby into difficulties and had several times imperilled its short life, in a

quiet way peculiarly her own. She was of a spare and straight shape, this

young lady, insomuch that her garments appeared to be in constant danger

of sliding off those sharp pegs, her shoulders, on which they were loosely

hung. Her costume was remarkable for the partial development, on all

possible occasions, of some flannel vestment of a singular structure; also

for affording glimpses, in the region of the back, of a corset, or pair of

stays, in colour a dead-green. Being always in a state of gaping

admiration at everything, and absorbed, besides, in the perpetual

contemplation of her mistress's perfections and the baby's, Miss Slowboy,

in her little errors of judgment, may be said to have done equal honour to

her head and to her heart; and though these did less honour to the baby's

head, which they were the occasional means of bringing into contact with

The Cricket on the Hearth

deal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bed-posts, and other foreign substances,

still they were the honest results of Tilly Slowboy's constant astonishment

at finding herself so kindly treated, and installed in such a comfortable

home. For, the maternal and paternal Slowboy were alike unknown to

Fame, and Tilly had been bred by public charity, a foundling; which word,

though only differing from fondling by one vowel's length, is very

different in meaning, and expresses quite another thing.

To have seen little Mrs. Peerybingle come back with her husband,

tugging at the clothes-basket, and making the most strenuous exertions to

do nothing at all (for he carried it), would have amused you almost as

much as it amused him. It may have entertained the Cricket too, for

anything I know; but, certainly, it now began to chirp again, vehemently.

'Heyday!' said John, in his slow way. 'It's merrier than ever, to- night,

I think.'

'And it's sure to bring us good fortune, John! It always has done so.

To have a Cricket on the Hearth, is the luckiest thing in all the world!'

John looked at her as if he had very nearly got the thought into his

head, that she was his Cricket in chief, and he quite agreed with her. But,

it was probably one of his narrow escapes, for he said nothing.

'The first time I heard its cheerful little note, John, was on that night

when you brought me home - when you brought me to my new home here;

its little mistress. Nearly a year ago. You recollect, John?'

O yes. John remembered. I should think so!

'Its chirp was such a welcome to me! It seemed so full of promise

and encouragement. It seemed to say, you would be kind and gentle with

me, and would not expect (I had a fear of that, John, then) to find an old

head on the shoulders of your foolish little wife.'

John thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders, and then the head, as

though he would have said No, no; he had had no such expectation; he had

been quite content to take them as they were. And really he had reason.

They were very comely.

'It spoke the truth, John, when it seemed to say so; for you have ever

been, I am sure, the best, the most considerate, the most affectionate of

husbands to me. This has been a happy home, John; and I love the

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TheCricketontheHearth1TheCricketontheHearthTheCricketontheHearth2CHAPTERI-ChirptheFirstTHEkettlebeganit!Don'ttellmewhatMrs.Peerybinglesaid.Iknowbetter.Mrs.Peerybinglemayleaveitonrecordtotheendoftimethatshecouldn'tsaywhichofthembeganit;but,Isaythekettledid.Ioughttoknow,Ihope!Thekettlebeganit,fullfive...

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