young rascal.”
He placed one foot on the lowest step. There was a great growl under the van. He drew back. The gaping jaws appeared.
“Peace!” cried the voice of the man.
The jaws retreated, the growling ceased.
“Come up!” continued the man.
The child with difficulty climbed up the three steps. He passed over the three steps; and having reached the threshold, stopped.
No candle was burning in the caravan. The hut was lighted only by a red tinge, arising from the stove, in which sparkled a peat fire. On the stove were smoking a porringer and a saucepan, containing something to eat. The savoury odour was perceptible. The hut was furnished with a chest, a stool, and an unlighted lantern which hung from the ceiling. On the boards and nails were rows of glasses, coppers, an alembic, a vessel, and a confusion of strange objects of which the child understood nothing, and which were utensils for cooking and chemistry. The caravan was oblong in shape. It was not even a little room; it was scarcely a big box. Everything in the caravan was indistinct and misty. Nevertheless, a reflection of the fire on the ceiling enabled the spectator to read in large letters, – Ursus, Philosopher.
The child, in fact, was entering the house of Homo and Ursus. The one was growling, the other speaking.
“Come in!” said the man, who was Ursus.
The child entered.
“Put down your bundle.”
The child placed his burden carefully on the top of the chest. The man continued, -
“How gently you put it down! Worthless vagabond! In the streets at this hour! Who are you? Answer! But no. I forbid you to answer. There! You are cold. Warm yourself as quick as you can,” and he shoved him by the shoulders in front of the fire.
“How wet you are! You’re frozen through! A nice state to come into a house! Come, take off those rags, you villain! Here are clothes.”
He chose out of a heap a woollen rag, and chafed before the fire the limbs of the exhausted and bewildered child. The man wiped the boy’s feet.
“Come, you rascal. Dress yourself!”
The child put on the shirt, and the man slipped the knitted jacket over it.
“Now…”
The man kicked the stool forward. Then he pointed with his finger to the porringer which was smoking upon the stove. The child saw a potato and a bit of bacon.
“You are hungry; eat!”
The man took from the shelf a crust of hard bread and an iron fork, and handed them to the child.
The boy hesitated.
“Perhaps you expect me to lay the cloth,” said the man, and he placed the porringer on the child’s lap.
Hunger overcame astonishment. The child began to eat. The poor boy devoured rather than ate. The man grumbled, -
“Not so quick, you horrid glutton! Isn’t he a greedy scoundrel? In my time I have seen dukes eat. They don’t eat; that’s noble. They drink, however. Come, you pig!”
The boy did not hear. He was absorbed by food and warmth. Ursus continued his imprecations, muttering to himself, -
“I have seen King James in the Banqueting House. His Majesty touched nothing. This beggar here eats like a horse. Why did I come to this Weymouth? I have sold nothing since morning. I have played the flute to the hurricane. I have not pocketed a farthing; and now, tonight, beggars drop in. Horrid place! Well, today I’ve made nothing. Not an idiot on the highway, not a penny in the till. Eat away, hell-born boy! Fatten at my expense, parasite! This wretched boy is more than hungry; he is mad. It is not appetite, it is ferocity. He is carried away by a rabid virus. Perhaps he has the plague. Have you the plague, you thief? Let the populace die, but not my wolf. But I am hungry myself. I had but one potato, one crust of bread, a mouthful of bacon, and a drop of milk. I said to myself, ‘Good.’ I think I am going to eat, and bang! This crocodile falls upon me at the very moment. He installs himself between my food and myself. Behold, how my larder is devastated! Eat, pike, eat! You shark! How many teeth have you in your jaws? Guzzle, wolf-cub. I respect wolves. Swallow up my food, boa. I have worked all day, and far into the night, on an empty stomach; my throat is sore, my pancreas in distress, my entrails torn; and my reward is to see another eat. We will divide. He shall have the bread, the potato, and the bacon; but I will have the milk.”
Just then a wail, touching and prolonged, arose in the hut. The man listened.
“You cry, sycophant! Why do you cry?”
The boy turned towards him. It was evident that it was not he who cried. He had his mouth full.
The cry continued. The man went to the chest.
“So it is your bundle that wails! What the devil…”
He unrolled the jacket. An infant’s head appeared.
“Well, who is there?” said the man. “Here is another of them. Who is there? To arms![24] Corporal, call out the guard! What have you brought me, thief! Don’t you see it is thirsty? Come! The little one must have a drink. So now I shall not have even the milk!”
He took a sponge and a phial, muttering savagely,
“What an infernal place!”
Then he looked at the little infant.
“This is a girl! One can tell that by her scream.”
He swathed her in a rag, which was clean and dry. This rough and sudden dressing made the infant angry.
“She mews relentlessly,” said he.
He bit off a long piece of sponge, tore from the roll a square piece of linen, drew from it a bit of thread, took the saucepan containing the milk from the stove, filled the phial with milk, drove down the sponge halfway into its neck, covered the sponge with linen, tied this cork in with the thread, and seized under his left arm the bewildered bundle which was still crying.
“Come! take your supper, creature!” and he put the neck of the bottle to its mouth.
The little infant drank greedily.
He held the phial, grumbling,
“They are all the same, the cowards! When they have all they want they are silent.”
The little boy lifted towards Ursus his eyes moist with the unspeakable emotion. Ursus addressed him furiously.
“Well, will you eat?”
“And you?” said the child, trembling, and with tears in his eyes. “You will have nothing!”
“Will you be kind enough to eat it all up, you cub? There is not too much for you, since there was not enough for me.”
The child took up his fork, but did not eat.
“Eat!” shouted Ursus. “Who speaks of me? Wretched little barefooted clerk of Penniless Parish, I tell you, eat
To arms! – К оружию!
