Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure by - (best self help books to read txt) đ
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It was dark by that time, and the ruddy light that shone in the windows and that streamed through the door as it opened to receive them seemed to our waifs like a gleam of celestial light.
The family of Mr Merryboy was a small one. Besides those who assisted him on the farmâand who were in some cases temporary servantsâhis household consisted of his wife, his aged mother, a female servant, and a small girl. The latter was a diamond from the London diggings, who had been imported the year before. She was undergoing the process of being polished, and gave promise of soon becoming a very valuable gem. It was this that induced her employer to secure our two masculine gems from the same diggings.
Mrs Merryboy was a vigorous, hearty, able-bodied lady, who loved work very much for the mere exercise it afforded her; who, like her husband, was constitutionally kind, and whose mind was of that serious type which takes concern with the souls of the people with whom it has to do as well as with their bodies. Hence she gave her waif a daily lesson in religious and secular knowledge; she reduced work on the Sabbath-days to the lowest possible point in the establishment, and induced her husband, who was a little shy as well as bluff and off-hand, to institute family worship, besides hanging on her walls here and there sweet and striking texts from the Word of God.
Old Mrs Merryboy, the mother, must have been a merry girl in her youth; for, even though at the age of eighty and partially deaf, she was extremely fond of a joke, practical or otherwise, and had her face so seamed with the lines of appreciative humour, and her nutcracker mouth so set in a smile of amiable fun, and her coal-black eyes so lit up with the fires of unutterable wit, that a mere glance at her stirred up your sources of comicality to their depths, while a steady gaze usually resulted in a laugh, in which she was sure to join with an apparent belief that, whatever the joke might be, it was uncommonly good. She did not speak much. Her looks and smiles rendered speech almost unnecessary. Her figure was unusually diminutive.
Little Martha, the waif, was one of those mild, reticent, tiny things that one feels a desire to fondle without knowing why. Her very small face was always, and, as Bobby remarked, awfully grave, yet a ready smile must have lurked close at hand somewhere, for it could be evoked by the smallest provocation at any time, but fled the instant the provoking cause ceased. She seldom laughed, but when she did the burst was a hearty one, and over immediately. Her brown hair was smooth, her brown eyes were gentle, her red mouth was small and round. Obedience was ingrained in her nature. Original action seemed never to have entered her imagination. She appeared to have been born with the idea that her sphere in life was to do as she was directed. To resist and fight were to her impossibilities. To be defended and kissed seemed to be her natural perquisites. Yet her early life had been calculated to foster other and far different qualities, as we shall learn ere long.
Tim Lumpy took to this little creature amazingly. She was so little that by contrast he became quite big, and felt so! When in Marthaâs presence he absolutely felt big and like a lion, a roaring lion capable of defending her against all comers! Bobby was also attracted by her, but in a comparatively mild degree.
On the morning after their arrival the two boys awoke to find that the windows of their separate little rooms opened upon a magnificent prospect of wood and water, and that, the partition of their apartment consisting of a single plank-wall, with sundry knots knocked out, they were not only able to converse freely, but to peep at each other awkwardlyâfacts which they had not observed the night before, owing to sleepiness.
âI say, Tim,â said Bob, âyou seem to have a jolly place in there.â
âFirst-rate,â replied Tim, âanâ much the same as your own. I had a good squint at you before you awoke. Isnât the place splendacious?â
âYes, Tim, it is. Iâve been lookinâ about all the morninâ for Adam anâ Eve, but canât see âem nowhere.â
âWhat dâee mean?â
âWhy, that weâve got into the garden of Eden, to be sure.â
âOh! stoopid,â returned Tim, âdonât you know that they was both banished from Eden?â
âSo they was. I forgot that. Well, it donât much matter, for thereâs a prettier girl than Eve here. Donât you see her? Martha, I think they called herâdown there by the summer-âouse, feedinâ the hanimals, or givinâ âem their names.â
âThere you go again, you ignorant booby,â said Tim; âit wasnât Eve as gave the beasts their names. It was Adam.â
âAnâ wotâs the difference, I should like to know? wasnât they both made one flesh? However, I think little Martha would have named âem better if sheâd bin there. What a funny little thing she is!â
âFunny!â returned Tim, contemptuously; âsheâs a trump!â
During the conversation both boys had washed and rubbed their faces till they absolutely shone like rosy apples. They also combed and brushed their hair to such an extent that each mass lay quite flat on its little head, and bade fair to become solid, for the Guardianâs loving counsels had not been forgotten, and they had a sensation of wishing to please him even although absent.
Presently the house, which had hitherto been very quiet, began suddenly to resound with the barking of a little dog and the noisy voice of a huge man. The former rushed about, saying âGood-morningâ as well as it could with tail and tongue to every one, including the household cat, which resented the familiarity with arched back and demoniacal glare. The latter stamped about on the wooden floors, and addressed similar salutations right and left in tones that would have suited the commander of an army. There was a sudden stoppage of the hurricane, and a pleasant female voice was heard.
âI say, Bob, thatâs the missus,â whispered Tim through a knot-hole.
Then there came another squall, which seemed to drive madly about all the echoes in the corridors above and in the cellars below. Again the noise ceased, and there came up a sound like a wheezy squeak.
âI say, Tim, thatâs the old âun,â whispered Bob through the knot-hole.
Bob was right, for immediately on the wheezy squeak ceasing, the hurricane burst forth in reply:
âYes, mother, thatâs just what I shall do. Youâre always right. I never knew such an old thing for wise suggestions! Iâll set both boys to milk the cows after breakfast. The sooner they learn the better, for our new girl has too much to do in the house to attend to that; besides, sheâs either clumsy or nervous, for she has twice overturned the milk-pail. But after all, I donât wonder, for that red cow has several times showed a desire to fling a hind-leg into the girlâs face, and stick a horn in her gizzard. The boys wonât mind that, you know. Pity that Marthaâs too small for the work; but sheâll growâsheâll grow.â
âYes, sheâll grow, Franky,â replied the old lady, with as knowing a look as if the richest of jokes had been cracked. The look was, of course, lost on the boys above, and so was the reply, because it reached them in the form of a wheezy squeak.
âOh! I say! Did you ever! Milk the keows! Onây think!â whispered Bob.
âAy, anâ wonât I do it with my mouth open too, anâ learn âow to send the stream upâards!â said Tim.
Their comments were cut short by the breakfast-bell; at the same time the hurricane again burst forth:
âHallo! ladsâboys! Youngsters! Are you up?âah! here you are. Good-morning, and as tidy as two pins. Thatâs the way to get along in life. Come now, sit down. Whereâs Martha? Oh! here we are. Sit beside me, little one.â
The hurricane suddenly fell to a gentle breeze, while part of a chapter of the Bible and a short prayer were read. Then it burst forth again with redoubled fury, checked only now and then by the unavoidable stuffing of the vent-hole.
âYouâve slept well, dears, I hope?â said Mrs Merryboy, helping each of our waifs to a splendid fried fish.
Sitting there, partially awe-stricken by the novelty of their surroundings, they admitted that they had slept well.
âGet ready for work then,â said Mr Merryboy, through a rather large mouthful. âNo time to lose. Eatâeat wellâfor thereâs lots to do. No idlers on Brankly Farm, I can tell you. And we donât let young folk lie abed till breakfast-time every day. We let you rest this morning, Bob and Tim, just by way of an extra refresher before beginning. Here, tuck into the bread and butter, little man, itâll make you grow. More tea, Susy,â (to his wife). âWhy, mother, youâre eating nothingânothing at all. I declare youâll come to live on air at last.â
The old lady smiled benignly, as though rather tickled with that joke, and was understood by the boys to protest that she had eaten more than enough, though her squeak had not yet become intelligible to them.
âIf you do take to living on air, mother,â said her daughter-in-law, âwe shall have to boil it up with a bit of beef and butter to make it strong.â
Mrs Merryboy, senior, smiled again at this, though she had not heard a word of it. Obviously she made no pretence of hearing, but took it as good on credit, for she immediately turned to her son, put her hand to her right ear, and asked what Susy said.
In thunderous tones the joke was repeated, and the old lady almost went into fits over it, insomuch that Bob and Tim regarded her with a spice of anxiety mingled with their amusement, while little Martha looked at her in solemn wonder.
Twelve monthsâ experience had done much to increase Marthaâs love for the old lady, but it had done nothing to reduce her surprise; for Martha, as yet, did not understand a joke. This, of itself, formed a subject of intense amusement to old Mrs Merryboy, who certainly made the most of circumstances, if ever woman did.
âHave some more fish, Bob,â said Mrs Merryboy, junior.
Bob accepted more, gratefully. So did Tim, with alacrity.
âWhat sort of a home had you in London, Tim?â asked Mrs Merryboy.
âWell, maâam, I hadnât no home at all.â
âNo home at all, boy; what do you mean? You must have lived somewhere.â
âOh yes, maâam, I always lived somewheres, but it wasnât nowheres in partikler. You see Iâd neither father nor mother, anâ though a good old âooman did take me in, she couldnât purvide a bed or blankets, anâ her âome was stuffy, so I preferred to live in the streets, anâ sleep of a night wâen I couldnât pay for a lodginâ, in empty casks and under wegitable carts in Covent Garden Market, or in empty sugar âogsheads. I liked the âogsheads best wâen I was âungry, anâ that was most always, âcause I could sometimes pick a little sugar that was left in the cracks anâ âoles, wâen they âadnât bin cleaned out aâready. Also I slepâ under railway-arches, and on door-steps. But sometimes I âad raither disturbed nights, âcause the coppers wouldnât let a feller sleep in sitch places if they could âelp it.â
âWho are the âcoppers?ââ asked the good lady of the house, who listened in wonder to Timâs narration.
âThe coppers, maâam, theâtheâplâeece.â
âOh! the police?â
âYes, maâam.â
âWhere in the world did they expect you to sleep?â asked Mrs Merryboy with some indignation.
âThatâs best known to themselves, maâam,â returned Tim; âpâraps we
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