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was half over, and had to walk home, penniless, “Well, I knows a Jim," replied Ripston, after a in the rain,
moment of apparent reflection; "he ain't altoOne morning—this was about five weeks after gether like the cove wot you're a-arstin arter, but I ran away from home-I met a man in the mar- he might have altered since you see him last. ket who lived somewhere near Fryingpan Alley, How long has he been missin,' mister ?” and who knew my father. I had seen them to “Over a month," replied my father. gether dozens of times. As soon as he saw me, “Then the Jim I'm a-speakin' on is werry likehe made a run at me, and it was only by dodging ly to be the one. Coves do alter werry quick, round a cabbage-waggon that I was able to avoid don't yer know? The one as I mean is a short, him. Knowing that my father sometimes worked thick-necked cove; spitted with small-pox; fightin' in the market, I always kept a good look-out, as- weight, 'bout nine stun four." sisted by my partners, who, from my description, “Get out! it's a boy I mean,” replied my father, were well aware of the sort of man my father impatiently, though evidently completely taken in was.
by Ripston's gravity; "quite a little feller." On the morning folloying that on which I en How old ?” asked Ripston. countered the man, however, we all kept our eyes " 'Tween seven and eight,” spoke my father's open sharper even than in ordinary, and, as it friend. turned out, not unnecessarily. About seven “'Tween seven and eight !" repeated Ripston, o'clock, Mouldy, who though engaged on a job of musingly, and scratching his ear with the remains summer cabbages, was vigilantly on the look-out of the carrot. “Sure his name was Jim ?" for the enemy, suddenly uttered a warning whistle,
“ 'Course I am. Jim Ballisat-that's wot his and directed my attention towards two individuals name is, cuss him!” replied my father. coming from the fruit-market.
“Oh-h, Jim Ballisat!" replied Ripston, as In an instant I recognised them—the man who though a sudden light had dawned on him. “Now the day before had so nearly caught me, and my I knows who yer means. Now I come to hear it father. He was very white, as was invariably the agin, that's wot he said his name was. We calls case when he was in a great passion, and he car- him Rouser. That's where the mistake was, ried under his arm an old donkey-whip, which, as don't yer see, mister ?” he had no donkey of his own, I might fairly as “Yes, yes; but where is he? Butcher him! sume he had borrowed of a friend for the occa- I'd give a penny to have hold on him just now. sion.
You seem to know wot he's called and all about He was looking about him very eagerly, and it him. Where shall I find him ?” unfortunately happened that, owing to the man “Lived up Cowcross way, didn't he ?” ner of his approach, if I ran away, it would be "That's him. Where is he?" right across the open vegetable-market, and he “Father a coster, or summat in that line ?” could not fail to see me. There seemed no escape "Lord's truth! yes. Well! where is he?” for me; and as, hiding behind Ripston, I caught “Cruel cove, ain't he ?--cove as very often another glance at his pale face, my knees trembled | larruped Jim with his waist-strap ?” and my lips tingled.
“Oh! he said so, did he ? D -n seize him ! “He'll have me, Rip; he's sure to ketch me. That's his gratitood, the young willin !" Oh, swelp me, Rip ! on'y look at him and that “Got a thunderin' old cat for a stepmother, as whip."
tells lies about him, and drinks like a fish, and Without replying, Ripston began to step back, who—Well, don't get in a pelt with me, Misgiving me a dig with his elbow to do the same ter! I'm only tellin' you wot he told us.” while I remained in his rear. In this manner we “Where is he?" roared my father, shaking approached a great pile of empty gooseberry- Ripston by the collar so vigorously, and so close sieves; and getting to the back of the pile Rip-to the baskets, that they were in momentary danston pulled away half a dozen, signed for me to ger of being overturned. squeeze myself into the hole thus made, and, “Leave go, and I'll tell yer; not afore." when this was accomplished, he piled back the And, from Ripston's tone, I really thought that baskets a-top of me, and took his seat on the he was about to betray me. edge of a bottom one. And barely was my hid “Now, out with it !” said my father. ing completed when, as I lay crouched in my hole, “Well, if you must know, he's gone a ballastin'." I heard my father's voice
"Where? When ?" asked my father. “He won't run agin for one while if I do ketch “I dunno where he's gone, and I don't care," him. Stay a minnit ; let's ask this feller if he Ripston surlily replied. “All I knows about it is has seen him; he seems like one of his own this—Yesterday arternoon he meets a cove wot kidney."
I knows, and the cove ses to him, 'What cheer, So saying, he came straight up to Ripston, who Rouser ? What's a-takin' you over Wesmister was coolly scraping and munching a carrot. Bridge? Ain't there nothin' doin' in the mar
"I say, Jack,” said my father, “d'ye happen ket ?' So ses Rouser, ‘No more markets for to have seen a kid in a old corderoy jacket and me,' ses he; 'my old man is on my tracks, and trowsis lurkin' about the market this mornin ? I'm off.' Off where ?' asks the cove. 'Well,' kid about so high ?”
ses Rouser, 'I knows a bargeman as lives down To show how high, he placed his hand against Wan’sworth way, and I'm goin' with him a-balthe basket heap, within a foot of my face. I last-gettin'.' There, now you knows as much could see plainly through the chinks.
about it as I knows." “Soft-face-lookin' kid; no cap; hair wants “The thunderin' willin !" ejaculated my father, cuttin'," continued my father.
who was completely imposed on by Ripston's “Wot's the name on him ?” asked Ripston, statement. “Did he say when he was likely to curtly, getting on with his carrot.
be back again ?" “ Jim."
“Dunno no more perticklers,” replied Ripston
" but I shouldn't wonder if he never did come out work. Never a day passed but what one or back.”
other of us was made to feel the weight of the “Why shouldn't you wonder ?"
beadle's cane, or the cruel foot of some sales“'Cos he was alwis talkin' about goin' to sea," man. This latter punishment was not so bad replied Ripston ; "and when he gets on the river, when met with under the arcade, because the and sees the ships and that, he'll be off.” shopkeepers wore light boots, and sometimes
“Oh! that's it, is it ?” remarked my father, with mere slippers ; but out in the open, where the an air of great disappointment, at the same time waggons and carts were, and the owners of the tucking the donkey-whip under his arm. “Come goods with which they were laden wore boots of on, Jack; it's no use of us huntin' any longer. the toe-cap and clinker school, it was agonising. Fact is, Jack, he took fright of seein' you yes. One time we had Mouldy down with a kick so terday.”
bad, that he couldn't do more than just creep one “Werry likely," replied Jack.
leg before the other for three days. " Come on.
Let him go a-ballastin'. Let him Everybody was set dead against us—shopkeepgo to blazes, beggar him! What call have I got ers, beadle, salesmen, every one. They didn't to go funkin' arter a butcherin' little whelp such wait till they caught us doing something wrong ; as he is ?"
soon as ever they saw us, they were down on us And to my great delight, having said this, my with a kick or a cuff-until we were that savage father turned about and walked off with his friend, and hungry, we were ready to risk almost anywhile the mendacious Ripston, tickled off his legs thing. About this time Ripston found a way of nearly by the force of the joke, helped me out of getting into a cellar in which carrots were stored hiding.
for the winter. This was indeed a stroke of good After that, during the remainder of the time fortune—at least, so we thought at the time; but that I haunted Covent Garden Market, I never alas ! in the course of a very few days we discovonce set eyes on my father or his friend.
ered that carrots, although of a very refreshing On the last Sunday in October, following the and relishing nature, are not the sort of things to May when I met Mouldy and Ripston, I fell ill. subsist on entirely. I believe that that week's Although I had kept about, and made no com- feeding on carrots had a great deal to do with my plaint, I had not been really well for several illness. weeks; which, when I come to think on my way I had been very dull all the afternoon, but that of living, seems not at all surprising. It happen- was not much to take notice of. The dark arches ed that that summer was a particularly rainy one, always are very dull on Sundays; for though you and sometimes for several days together my clothes are very welcome to wander about in your rags, would be wet, or at least damp, and I had no op- and grub for a living as best you can on weekportunity to dry them, or even to take them off at days, the police and the street-keepers in the night. Sore throat and pains between my shoul- neighbourhood of the Adelphi don't permit anyders were chief amongst my ailments. Once I suf- thing of the sort on Sundays. "Get out;" “Move fered from toothache through a dreadful fortnight. off, young gallows.” It's all very well to give the It was horrible. I was obliged to soak my bread order, but it isn't everybody that can“ move off” in water before I could eat it; and no matter how --that is, right off-for they don't live anywhere. hard the times, I dare not avail myself of what They have only got lodgings, and when they go may be called the natural advantages that belong out in the morning, the door is shut against them to a young market prowler. When hard pressed till night. by hunger, a raw turnip, or even a juicy cabbage For this, and other reasons into which it is not stump, is not to be despised; but during that fort- worth while here to enter, the arches were never night of torture, my throbbing mouth revolted without plenty of company all day on Sunday. against all such cold and stringy food, and there The company was not of a comfortable sort-or was nothing left but to bear with my misfortune rather there were two sorts,—and unless you beuntil a lucky wind wafted us to the baker's or longed to one or the other, you were, in a manner the pudding shop. I used to sit the whole night of speaking, as much alone as though you had all through rocking myself in a corner of the van, to the arches to yourself. One of these comprised the great annoyance of my partners, who, though, the miserable and moping ones, who came to the as will presently appear, not at all harsh towards arches for no other purpose than to hide and wear folk plainly ill, could never be brought to under the day out, and who lounged about by themselves, stand that there was any necessity for making smoking the bits of cigars they had picked up in such a fuss about such a little thing as a tooth. the morning, if they were men, while the females At last an old man who played the fiddle about of the same tribe huddled together in twos and the streets, and who slept under the dark arches, threes, and dozed or talked in whispers. The mercifully extracted the tormentor by tying a bit men and women of the other sort were livelier, of catgut round it, and giving it a haul. certainly, but scarcely as pleasant, being black
But what ailed me on the Sunday evening in guards and petty ruffians of the worst class, who question was neither sore throat, nor pains be swore, and gambled, and got sport out of ill-using tween the shoulders, nor toothache. The summer the quiet and miserable ones. With this last-menwas fading, and, somehow or other, matters were tioned ruffianly set, I am happy to record that growing less and less satisfactory at Covent Gar- neither myself, nor Mouldy, nor Ripston ever had den. I say “somehow or another;" but I knew any dealings. On Sunday afternoons, if the weathe reason well enough. In ragamuffin slang, the ther was fine and the tide favourable, we three market had grown too “hot” for us. I got to be usually took a walk on the shore, (the policemen known there—we all got to be known there, and didn't interfere with us there,) and early in the in a manner that was not at all to our advantage. evening we retired to our van, (it belonged to a
Our luck seemed dead against us; we could greengrocer who lived in Bedfordbury, and the neither get work, nor the worth of a penny with-I man who drove it gave us permission to sleep in
it,) and there passed the time in telling stories “Take that, for tellin' lies !" said be, savagely, until we fell asleep.
at the same time giving me a cruel back-handed This was the way in which we spent the even- slap; "and now begin to snivel, and I'll give yer ing of the Sunday on which I was taken ill. another.” Mouldy and Ripston had been out as usual in the Although I had struggled hard to conceal it, I afternoon; but I felt not at all inclined for walk- had been very nigh to crying all the evening; ing, and stayed in the van until they came back. and this unkind act of Mouldy's set me off. Í We had been lucky enough to pick up a few half- think I must have wanted very much to cry. No pence the night before, and had a half-quartern doubt that the slap on the cheek that Mouldy had loaf and a pennyworth of treacle for dinner; that given me would have drawn tears from my eyes is to say, Ripston and Mouldy so dined; but for at any time, but for no longer a time than the my part, I had no stomach for bread and treacle; smart lasted; but now, although I scarcely felt indeed, Í had eaten nothing since Saturday at din- the smart at all, I felt choked with sobs, and the ner-time. I was hot and shivery; my tongue was tears fell faster than I could wipe them away. I dry, and my eyes smarted with a burning pain. I couldn't leave off. I seemed bereft of all power had had headache before, but never as now; it to try even. It was as though I was full of sorthrobbed as though it was being tapped with row, and must be emptied of it. It wasn't sorrow hammers; or rather-for I very well remember of the bellowing sort; for as I lay with my face the sensation—with door-knockers about which to the waggon-floor, if it had not been for the a bit of wash-leather had been tied by way of sound of my sobbing, neither of my companions dulling the sound. There was a little straw luck would have been aware that I was crying. ily left in the van the day before, and, with more It was one of the oddest fits of crying that consideration than might have been expected in ever happened to me or any other boy, I believe. them, my companions let me have it all to myself. Ever since that day when I had seen my father But I could get no comfort out of it. It was no and his neighbour looking out for me in Covent use shaking it and punching it up; my head was Garden Market, I had resolved to think no more so heavy, that as soon as I laid it down every bit about home, but go on free and easy as it were, of spring was taken out of the straw instantly. and taking matters just as they came. When on
As it grew later I grew worse. It was my turn the night of the day on which I had seen him to be "pillow;" but Ripston kindly offered to take from between the chinks of the gooseberry sieves my place, and Mouldy, with an equal show of good with the donkey whip in his hand, and heard nature, insisted on my taking Ripston's body part, what he had to say about me, when I lay down although the choice was fairly with him, he hav the van that night, I reckoned up the whole ing been “pillow" the previous night. They even business, and, as I at the time thought, settled went to bed an hour before their usual time, in it for good and all. “Now look here," I had order that I might lie comfortably.
said to myself, “you've seen your father and But Ripston couldn't stand it. My head, he you've heard him, and there's no sort of doubt declared, scorched him through his jacket and as to what you'll get if you goes home. Are you waistcoat, and made his ribs too hot for him to going home? Certainly not. Very well, then; bear; besides, I shook so as to cause his legs to that's a settler. If you are not going home, move, and to disturb Mouldy. Although a very you've got to do as other people do; and it's fair-tempered boy in the day-time-indeed, when- no use funking, and making yourself miserable ever he was awake when he was half-asleep he about them that don't care a pin's head about was about as nasty-tempered a chap as can well you, and are only waiting to lay hold on you, to be imagined. He gave the calf of Ripston's leg whack you within an inch of your life. So let's a severe and sudden punch.
have no more snivelling and whispering, 'Good “Wot's that for ?" inquired the naturally in- night, father, and little Polly,' and saying your dignant Ripston.
prayers to yourself like a sneak, and all the "I'll show yer wot it's for if you don't lay still while pretending to listen to the jolly good story -jiggin' yer leg about as if you was practisin' a Mouldy's telling.” From that night my heart hornpipe !" replied Mouldy, savagely.
seemed set to freezing, as one may say, and it “Well, jest you hit the right 'un next time,” bad been freezing ever since; so that, until and said Ripston. " It ain't me jiggin' at all; it's within the last day or two, any moderate weight Smiffield.”
of rascality might slide over it smooth and slick, “Wot's the matter, Smiffield ?" asked Mouldy. and without the least danger of breaking in at a “Hain't you warm enough ?”
soft part. It was frozen over strongly enough “I should rather think he was,” said Ripston; almost to bear anything. Now, however, there “warm ain't the word for it; he's blazin' hot.” was a thaw. The rain had come, and the frost
“Then wot's he a-shiverin' for ?” Mouldy was broken up completely. The thaw seemed fiercely demanded.
to begin right at the core, softening my hard “How should I know? Jes' you keep your starved-up little heart, setting it free, and swellhands to yourself, and arks him if you wants to ing and heaving in a manner that was altogether know."
too much for me. “Wot are you shakin' about in that way for, Likewise it was too much for Mouldy. True Smiff ?"
to his word, that if I set up a snivelling he would “'Cos I'm so cold," I answered. " I'm as cold give me another, he once more flung up his open as ice, Mouldy."
hand and caught me a harder spank even than “Jolly funny sort of ice as ain't colder than the first one. Ripston immediately fired up with you. Just you feel of him, Mouldy," observed a degree of pluck that did him honour. Ripston.
“The gallus brute !” he exclaimed, meaning Mouldy did as requested, putting his hand up Mouldy, who, as I before have said, was a bigger to my cheek.
and a stronger boy than either of us--"the gal
lus brute ! to punch a poor cove wot's littler than “Mustard plasters is good for wheezin's at the he is, and ill too! Don't lay there, Smiffield, old chest ; ain't they, Mouldy ?” boy! get up and help us ; we'll jolly soon give “ Werry likely.” him wot he wants."
“I recollects havin' one on when I was a kid. And without waiting for my assistance, Rip- I wonder how much mustard he'd take, Mouldy? ston turned back his cuffs and began dancing A pen’orth 'ud do, I should think; he ain't got a round Mouldy with a determination that seemed werry big chest.” fairly to stagger him. But I was in no mind for Mouldy was strangely inattentive to his comfighting, and tried to make matters up between panion's conversation. To Ripston's last obserthem, assuring them that I was not crying be- vation he made no reply at all. After a pause of cause of the slap on the face; that it had not a minute or two's duration, said Ripstonhurt me at all. I was crying because I felt so “He seems to get wheezin's wuss and wuss ; ill. I was glad that I did take this course, for as don't you think he do, Mouldy? Think it 'ud soon as poor Mouldy was sufficiently awake to be any good tryin' it on to beg that mustard tounderstand the true condition of affairs, he ex- night, Mouldy ?” pressed himself as penitently as a boy could. “Not a bit ; the shops is all shut up, 'cept the He owned that he was a precious coward, and doctors?—they keeps open on Sundays, don't you offered me the satisfaction of hitting him on the know ?” nose as hard as I chose, while he held both his “They on'y sells pills. P’r’aps pills 'ud_do hands behind him-an offer which Ripston urged him more good than mustard-eh, Mouldy? The me to accept. Finding that I would not, how. wust of pills, they've got such precious rum names ever, he was determined to make it up somehow, that a cove don't know what to arks for.” so he insisted on my having his cap to lay my “Pen'orth of pills—that's what I should ask head on, and his jacket to cover me. Ripston's for.” heart was good to do as much ; but only the day “And s'pose the cove behind the counter said, before, while running away from the beadle, he What sort of pills, my man ?!” had lost his cap, and the blue guernsey which “ Then I should say, openin' uns,” replied served him for shirt as well as jacket, was, ex- Mouldy, after a little consideration. cept his trousers, the whole of his wardrobe, and “I never thought of that. I s'pose they all I could hardly expect him to oblige me to the are openin' uns ?" extent of stripping himself.
“I never heard of a sort that different was exBut although the boys did their best to make pected on,” replied Mouldy, with the same sort me comfortable, letting me have all the straw to of indifference in his tone as had distinguished myself, and tucking me op as 'nicely as the bed his manner from the first. He seemed all the clothes would permit, I did not feel any better. while to be thinking of something else. That is to say, I was hot and cold as before, and "Then that's agreed on,” continued Ripston; my eyelids pressed heavy 'and burning on my " the fust peony we ketches
bold on in the mornin eyes, and my tongue was parched, and my breath goes for pills for Smiffield. What say, Mouldy ?" came short and laboured. I did feel better though, But Mouldy said nothing, and both boys were somehow, since I had got over my crying fit; I quiet for full a minute. I, too, remained quite felt lighter, and more inclined, if I may so ex- quiet, for the purpose of hearing the whispered press it, to go easy with my illness—to lie still, conversation going on between them. Not that and let it do just as it pleased with me. .I felt anxious about it. I didn't feel anxious
about anything. I didn't care what they talked
about, only I liked to hear them. It appeared as
though Mouldy's reserved manner of speech preCHAPTER XVIII.
sently roused Ripston's suspicions.
Mouldy!" said he, suddenly, "if it ain't IN WHICH I BID FAREWELL TO MY PARTNERS AND cold, what is the matter with Smiffield ?” THE DARK ARCHES, AND AM CONVEYED TO THE
“ Who said it warn't a cold? How should I THE FEVER.” know what's the matter with him mor'n you ?”
snapped Mouldy. It was easy to see that each minute Mouldy and “Well, you know, Mouldy, you've been in the Ripston grew more and more alarmed at my con- 'orspital, and you might have seen what the matdition. After they had spread the jacket over ter was with a good many coves,” explained Ripme and made me comfortable, they did not lie ston. “Don't you recollect anybody's case as was down again, but went and sat in the corner of the like his'n ?" van that was farthest from me, talking in whis “You hold your jaw !" replied he, in an impapers.
tient whisper. “How do yer know as he's “P'raps it's on'y a cold,” whispered Ripston. asleep ?” “ When a cold does reg'lar ketch hold on you, “Sure he is. Don't you hear how reg'lar his it do make you feel precious bad; don't it, wheezin's is ?” Mouldy ?”
“Yes; and I hears summat else, too,” said “Umph !” was all the answer that Mouldy Mouldy, moodily. made.
“ What else ?" “It is a cold ; don't you think it is, Mouldy ?” “I hears the straw as he's a-layin' on raspin'
“It's summat, I s'pose,” replied Mouldy, together. If he is asleep, he's got that precious vaguely, and in so low a whisper that I could shiverin' on him.” And then, in a still lower scarcely hear it.
whisper, he continued, “I wish I hadn't lent him “If he don't get better in the mornin', we'll my jacket, Rip. Jigger the cap wot he's got his have to get him some physic, Mouldy."
head but I do wish I hadn't lent him my “Yes."
WORKHOUSE TO BE CURED OF
“There you are agin !” replied Ripston, re Crouching down together, they went on whisproachfully. “I never see such a feller as you pering; but I didn't try to make out what they are. Greedy beggar!. He'd ha' lent you his were saying; I didn't care. Besides the buzzing jacket, I'd bet a shillin', if you wanted it.” of their voices, I could hear all the other sounds,–
" Lent it be jiggered! It's as good as givin' the laughing, and talking, and swearing of the it; that's wot I'm a-lookin' at."
lads tossing and playing cards; the dull tramping “What d'yer mean? You can have it back in of feet; and the flapping of waggon tail-boards the mornin' can't yer ?" demanded Ripston. and the clinking of the chains as the lodgers
“ 'Course I can," answered Mouldy. “Oh, yes ! climbed up to their roosts. By degrees, however, I can have it back, Rip, and I can have summat these last-mentioned sounds grew less and less, with it, Rip, which I don't pertickler want, and presently ceased altogether. Still I could thanky."
hear the low buzz, buzz, of the two boys, and "Can't you open your mouth, and tell a feller knew that they were not asleep. I was glad of what you mean?”
it, for within the last half-hour or so I had grown “Hush! Here, put your head over the side, terribly thirsty, and sorely wanted a drink of 'cos he mightn't be asleep arter all, you know, and water. I called Mouldy. it might frighten him."
“You awake, Mouldy ?" So they both rose softly, and leaned their heads “All right, old boy ! we won't go to sleep,” he over the side of the van. Somehow, however, my answered. hearing was particularly sharp that night, and I “ Could you get me a drink of water, Mouldy ?" could make out all that they said as plainly al “There !" whimpered Ripston; "what a jolly most as though they had stooped down to whisper fool you are, Mouldy! Now you've started him. it.
Why didn't you do as I nudged yer to, and pre“Was you ever waxinated, Rip ?”
tend to be asleep ?” "I was so, and got the places to prove it. But “Could I get you a drink of water, Smiffy ! wot's that got to do with Smiffield ?”
How could I, old boy?” replied Mouldy, sooth“Well, you see, Rip, I never was waxinated, so ingly. “Where am I to get it from ?” I shall stay up at this end of the wan till the “Couldn't you get us a drop from the pump out mornin'. You're all right, old boy, and may in the strand, Mouldy-jest a little drop ?” sleep along with him if you likes; bein' waxina “Cert'in'y I could go to the pump, Smiffy; but ted, you won't catch it."
what's the use, when I ain't got nothink to carry “Catch what ?"
it in-no mug nor nothink? You keep quiet till "Why, the fever. That's what Smiffield's got, mornin'—about five, don't you know when the and that's what I don't want,” replied Mouldy, waggon chåncome to get their horses out; you impressively.
shall have a precious lot then as much as ever "Send I may live! You don't mean it!" said Mu can drink? Ripston, in a tone wreat alarm. Then he'll !Tatalt till five, Mously. I can't die—won't he, Mouldy?
wait at all. I shall go out of my mind if I have “ Next door to sure.
to wait ever such a little
while. Afeel all scorch“Sudden, Mouldy? Will he die sudden ?” ed wea thrink. 'Don't say wait till five,
“Not werty sudden ; leastways, they donutste Mouldy. general," whispered Mouldy. “They does a good "Well, I don't warnt to say it if you don't like deal to 'em afore they dies of fever-shaves theirpintig hear it, Smifly; it's true that's wot made me head, and that.” “What's
that for, Mouldy ?" asked Ripston, in * What's the time pow, Mouldy ?” an awful voice.
"" It's about one. Don't you think so, Ripston ?” “ 'Cos they goes cranky, and t&ars all their hair “ Jest about. It's high tide at one, and I can off if they don't,” replied Mouldy.
heat it beatin' agin the wall. Don't you hear it, “Lor'! jes fancy poor Smiffield dyin'!” said Smiffield ?" Ripston, after a few moments' silence. “Poor old I was terribly thirsty; and listening, I could Smiff !"
make out the noise of the rising river striking I could scarcely credit my ears, but there could with a full, cold sound against the wall at the be no mistake about it-Ripston was crying. bottom. It was a delicious sound. I did not
I wasn't alarmed—I wasn't even surprised—to think of the river at night, black and muddy, and hear Mouldy say that I had the fever. Nor did bleak, as it really was. I could hear the plashmy indifference arise from ignorance. I felt as ing, and my fevered mind conjured up the pic ill as possible; and “the fever,” being the very ture of the river as I had seen it on the morning worst complaint I had ever heard of, seemed to following my first night under the dark arches, be exactly the proper name for my ailment. the sunshiny, rippling river, with the hay barge “ The fever” was very common in Fryingpan Al- | lazily floating along. To go down to the brink ley. It was never spoken of any other way than of it and drink was the consuming thought that
"the fever," and when it once made a settle- suddenly possessed me. Why not? I knew my ment in the alley, a good time for Mr. Crowl was way, and wanted neither cup nor jug. I could sure to follow. But even when I thought on my lay down on the wall of the wharf, and bending ailment as one which commonly killed those my head over, drink, and drink as much as I whom it seized--and for an instant the awful, pleased. I got up, and began climbing over the gaping bullfinch, with his spears, appeared to my waggon side. It was so dark that my companmind's eyes--I felt in no dread.' I wanted noth-ions could not see me; they could hear me, howing, but to be let alone-not to be moved, or ever, and by the time I had got one leg over the touched, or spoken to. I was glad to hear both side, Ripston had clutched and was clinging to the Ripston and Mouldy moving to the other end of other. tho van.
“Why, Smiffield !” he exclaimed, in a fright