Stephen Archer and Other Tales by George MacDonald (best novels for students txt) 📖

some water.

Pol . Drunk-is she?

Sus . Hold your tongue, you brute! If she'd a satin frock on, i'stead o' this here poor cotton gownd, you'd ha' showed her t'other side o' your manners! Get away with you. You're too ugly to look at.-Mattie! Mattie! Look up, child.

Pol . She mustn't lie there.

Mat . Susan!

Pol . Come, my girl.

Sus . You keep off, I tell you! Don't touch her. She's none o' your sort. Come, Mattie, dear.-Why don't you make 'em move on?

Pol . You'd better keep a civil tongue in your head, young woman.

Sus . You live lobster!

Pol . I'll have to lock you up, I see. One violent. T'other incapable.

Sus . You're another. Mattie, my dear, come along home.

Pol . That's right; be off with you.

MATTIE rises .

Mat . Let's go. Sue! Let's get farther off.

Sus . You can't walk, child. If I hadn't been so short o' wittles for a week, I could ha' carried you. But it's only a step to the cook-shop.

Mat . No money, Sue. ( Tries to walk .)

Sus . O Lord! What shall I do! And that blue-bottle there a buzzin' an' a starin' at us like a dead codfish!-Boh!

Enter BILL.

Bill . Our Mattie! Gracious! what's the row, Susan?

Sus . She ain't well. Take her other arm, Bill, and help her out o' this. We ain't in no Christian country. Pluck up, Mattie, dear.

Bill . Come into the tart-shop. I'm a customer.

They go towards the shop. Exit POLICEMAN.

Mat . No, no, Sukey! I can't abide the smell of it. Let me sit on the kerb for a minute. ( Sits down .) Oh, father! father!

Bill . Never you mind, Mattie! If he wor twenty fathers, he shan't come near ye.

Mat . Oh, Bill! if you could find him for me! He would take me home.

Bill . Now who'd ha' thought o' that? Axially wantin' her own father! I'd run far enough out o' the way o' mine-an' farther if he wur a-axin' arter me.

Mat . Oh me! my side!

Sus . It's hunger, poor dear! ( Sits down beside her .)

Bill ( aside ). This won't do, Bill! I'm a shamed o' you , Bill!
Exit .

Mat . No, Susan, it's not hunger. It's the old story, Sue.

Sus . Mattie! I never! You don't mean to go for to tell me you're a breakin' of your precious heart about him ? It's not your gentleman sure ly ! It's not him ye're turnin' sick about, this time o' day?

MATTIE nods her head listlessly .

Sus . What's up fresh, then? You was pretty bobbish when you left me. It's little he thinks of you , I'll be bound.

Mat . That's true enough. It's little he ever thought of me. He did say he loved me, though. It's fifty times he did!

Sus . Lies, lies, Mattie-all lies!

Mat . No, Susan; it wasn't lies. He meant it-at the time. That's what made it look all right. Oh dear! Oh dear!

Sus . But what's come to you now, Mattie? What's fresh in it? You're not turned like this all at once for nothink!

Mat . I've seen him!

Sus . Seen him! Oh, my! I wish it had been me. I 'd ha' seen him! I'd ha' torn his ugly eyes out.

Mat . They ain't ugly eyes. They're big and blue, and they sparkle so when he talks to her!

Sus . And who's her ? Ye didn't mention a her . Some brazen-faced imperence!

Mat . No. The young lady at Mrs. Clifford's.

Sus . Oho! See if I do a stitch for her!-Shan't I leave a needle in
her shimmy, just!

Mat . What shall I do! All the good's gone out of me! And such a pain here!

Sus . Keep in yer breath a minute, an' push yer ribs out. It's one on 'em's got a top o' the other.

Mat . Such a grand creature! And her colour coming and going like the shadows on the corn! It's no wonder he forgot poor me. But it'll burn itself out afore long.

Sus . Don't ye talk like that, Mattie; I can't abear it.

Mat . If I was dressed like her, though, and could get my colour back! But laws! I'm such a washed out piece o' goods beside her!

Sus . That's as I say, Matilda! It's the dress makes the differ.

Mat . No, Susan, it ain't. It's the free look of them-and the head up-and the white hands-and the taper fingers. They're stronger than us, and they're that trained like, that all their body goes in one, like the music at a concert. I couldn't pick up a needle without going down on my knees after it. It's the pain in my side, Sue.-Yes, it's a fine thing to be born a lady. It's not the clothes, Sue. If we was dressed ever so, we couldn't come near them. It's that look,-I don't know what.

Sus . Speak for yerself, Mattie; I 'm not a goin' to think such small beer of my self, I can tell you! I believe if I'd been took in time-

Mat . It's a big if that though, Sue.-And then she looked so good! You'd hardly think it of me,-perhaps it's because I'm dying- but for one minute I could ha' kissed her very shoes. Oh, my side!

Sus . ( putting her arm tight round her waist ). Does that help it Mattie, dear?-a little teeny bit?

Mat . Yes, Sukey. It holds it together a bit. Will he break her heart too, I wonder?

Sus . No fear o' that! Ladies takes care o' theirselves. They're brought up to it.

Mat . It's only poor girls gentlemen don't mind hurting, I suppose.

Sus . It's the ladies' fathers and brothers, Mattie! We've got nobody to look after us.

Mat . They may break their hearts, though, for all that.

Sus . They won't forgive them like you, then, Mattie!

Mat . I dare say they're much the same as we are when it comes to that, Sue.

Sus . Don't say me , Mattie. I wouldn't forgive him-no, not if I was to die for it. But what came of it, child?

Mat . I made some noise, I suppose, and the lady started.

Sus . And then you up and spoke?

Mat . I turned sick, and fell down.

Sus . Poor dear!

Mat . She got me a glass of wine, but I couldn't swallow it, and got up and crawled out.

Sus . Did he see you?

Mat . I think he did.

Sus . You'll tell her, in course?

Mat . No, Sue; he'd hate me, and I couldn't bear that. Oh me! my side! It's so bad!

Sus . Let's try for home, Mattie. It's a long way, and there's nothing to eat when you're there; but you can lie down, and that's everything to them as can't sit up.

Mat . ( rising ). I keep fancying I'm going to meet my father.

Sus . Let's fancy it then every turn all the way home, an' that'll get us along. There, take my arm. There!-Come along. Exeunt .

Slow music. Twilight .

Enter BILL with a three-legged stool, brushes, etc.

Bill . Come! it's blackin' all over! When gents can't no longer see their boots, 'tain't much use offerin' to shine 'em. But if I can get a penny, I will. I must take a tart to Mattie, or this here damaged one ( laying his hand on his stomach ) won't go to sleep this night.

Enter WATERFIELD.

Bill . Black your boots for a party, sir?

Wat . ( aside ) The very rascal I saw her speaking to! But wasn't she a brick not to split! That's what I call devotion now! There are some of them capable of it. I'll set her up for life. I'd give a cool thousand it hadn't happened, though. I saw her father too hanging about Gervaise's yesterday.

Bill . Clean your boots, sir? Shine 'em till they grin like a Cheshire cat eatin' cheese!

Wat . Shine away, you beggar.

Bill ( turning up his trousers ). I ain't no beggar, sir. Shine for a shiner's fair play.

Wat . Do you live in this neighbourhood?

Bill . No, sir.

Wat . Where, then?

Bill ( feeling where a pocket should be ). I don't appear to 'ave a card about me, sir, but my address is Lamb's Court, Camomile Street-leastways I do my sleepin' not far off of it. I've lived there, what livin' I have done, sin' ever I wor anywheres as I knows on.

Wat . Do you happen to know a girl of the name of Pearson?

Bill . No, sir. I can't say as how I rec'lect the name. Is she a old girl or a young un?

Wat . You young liar! I saw you talking to her not two hours ago!

Bill . Did ye now, sir? That's odd, ain't it? Bless you! I talks to everybody. I ain't proud, sir.

Wat . Well, do you see this? ( holding up a sovereign ).

Bill . That's one o' them tilings what don't require much seein', sir. There! Bright as a butterfly! T'other twin, sir!

Wat . I'll give you this, if you'll do something for me-and another to that when the thing's done.

Bill . 'Tain't stealin', sir?

Wat . No.

Bill . Cos, you see, Mattie-

Wat . Who did you say?

Bill . Old Madge as lets the beds at tuppence a short night. 'Tain't stealin', you say, sir?

Wat . What do you take me for? I want you to find out for me where the girl Pearson lives-that's all.

Bill ( snatching the sovereign and putting it in his mouth ). Now then, sir!-What's the young woman like?

Wat . Rather tall-thin-dark hair-large dark eyes-and long white hands. Her name's Matilda-Mattie Pearson-the girl you were talking to, I tell you, on this very spot an hour or two ago.

Bill (