CHAPTER II
A knock at the door, from Mrs. Theresa Tattle's servant, recalled Marianne to the business of the day.
'There,' said Frederick, 'we have sent no answer all this time. It's necessary to think of that in a minute.'
The servant came with his mistress's compliments, to let the young ladies and Mr. Frederick know that she was waiting tea for them.
'Waiting! then we must go,' said Frederick.
The servant opened the door wider, to let him pass, and Marianne thought she must follow her brother; so they went downstairs together, while Sophy gave her own message to the servant, and quietly stayed at her usual occupations.
Mrs. Tattle was seated at her tea-table, with a large plate of macaroons beside her, when Frederick and Marianne entered. She was 'delighted' they were come, and 'grieved' not to see Miss Sophy along with them. Marianne coloured a little; for though she had precipitately followed her brother, and though he had quieted her conscience for a moment by saying, 'You know, papa and mamma told us to do what we thought best,' yet she did not feel quite pleased with herself; and it was not till after Mrs. Theresa had exhausted all her compliments and half her macaroons, that she could restore her spirits to their usual height.
'Come, Mr. Frederick,' said she after tea, 'you promised to make me laugh; and nobody can make me laugh so well as yourself.'
'Oh, brother,' said Marianne, 'show Mrs. Theresa Dr. Carbuncle eating his dinner; and I'll be Mrs. Carbuncle.'
Marianne. Now, my dear, what shall I help you to?
Frederick. 'My dear!' she never calls him my dear, you know, but always Doctor.
Mar. Well then, doctor, what will you eat to-day?
Fred. Eat, madam! eat! nothing! nothing! I don't see anything here I can eat, ma'am.
Mar. Here's eels, sir; let me help you to some eel – stewed eel; – you used to be fond of stewed eel.
Fred. Used, ma'am, used! But I'm sick of stewed eels. You would tire one of anything. Am I to see nothing but eels? And what's this at the bottom?
Mar. Mutton, doctor, roast mutton; if you'll be so good as to cut it.
Fred. Cut it, ma'am! I can't cut it, I say; it's as hard as a deal board. You might as well tell me to cut the table, ma'am. Mutton, indeed! not a bit of fat. Roast mutton, indeed! not a drop of gravy. Mutton, truly! quite a cinder. I'll have none of it. Here, take it away; take it downstairs to the cook. It's a very hard case, Mrs. Carbuncle, that I can never have a bit of anything that I can eat at my own table, Mrs. Carbuncle, since I was married, ma'am, I that am the easiest man in the whole world to please about my dinner. It's really very extraordinary, Mrs. Carbuncle! What have you at that corner there, under the cover?
Mar. Patties, sir; oyster patties.
Fred. Patties, ma'am! kickshaws! I hate kickshaws. Not worth putting under a cover, ma'am. And why not have glass covers, that one may see one's dinner before one, before it grows cold with asking questions, Mrs. Carbuncle, and lifting up covers? But nobody has any sense; and I see no water plates anywhere, lately.
Mar. Do, pray, doctor, let me help you to a bit of chicken before it gets cold, my dear.
Fred. (aside). 'My dear,' again, Marianne!
Mar. Yes, brother, because she is frightened, you know, and Mrs. Carbuncle always says 'my dear' to him when she's frightened, and looks so pale from side to side; and sometimes she cries before dinner's done, and then all the company are quite silent, and don't know what to do.
'Oh, such a little creature; to have so much sense, too!' exclaimed Mrs. Theresa, with rapture. 'Mr. Frederick, you'll make me die with laughing! Pray go on, Dr. Carbuncle.'
Fred. Well, ma'am, then if I must eat something, send me a bit of fowl; a leg and wing, the liver wing, and a bit of the breast, oyster sauce, and a slice of that ham, if you please, ma'am.
(Dr. Carbuncle eats voraciously, with his head down to his plate, and, dropping the sauce, he buttons up his coat tight across the breast.)
Fred. Here; a plate, knife and fork, bit o' bread, a glass of Dorchester ale!
'Oh, admirable!' exclaimed Mrs. Tattle, clapping her hands.
'Now, brother, suppose that it is after dinner,' said Marianne; 'and show us how the doctor goes to sleep.'
Frederick threw himself back in an arm-chair, leaning his head back, with his mouth open, snoring; nodded from time to time, crossed and uncrossed his legs, tried to awake himself by twitching his wig, settling his collar, blowing his nose, and rapping on the lid of his snuff-box.
All which infinitely diverted Mrs. Tattle, who, when she could stop herself from laughing, declared 'it made her sigh, too, to think of the life poor Mrs. Carbuncle led with that man, and all for nothing, too; for her jointure was nothing, next to nothing, though a great thing, to be sure, her friends thought, for her, when she was only Sally Ridgeway before she was married. Such a wife as she makes,' continued Mrs. Theresa, lifting up her hands and eyes to heaven, 'and so much as she has gone through, the brute ought to be ashamed of himself if he does not leave her something extraordinary in his will; for turn it which way she will, she can never keep a carriage, or live like anybody else, on her jointure, after all, she tells me, poor soul! A sad prospect, after her husband's death, to look forward to, instead of being comfortable, as her friends expected; and she, poor young thing! knowing no better when they married her! People should look into these things beforehand, or never marry at all, I say, Miss Marianne.'
Miss Marianne, who did not clearly comprehend this affair of the jointure, or the reason why Mrs. Carbuncle would be so unhappy after her husband's death, turned to Frederick, who was at that instant studying Mrs. Theresa as a future character to mimic. 'Brother,' said Marianne, 'now sing an Italian song for us like Miss Croker. Pray, Miss Croker, favour us with a song. Mrs. Theresa Tattle has never had the pleasure of hearing you sing; she's quite impatient to hear you sing.'
'Yes, indeed, I am,' said Mrs. Theresa.
Frederick put his hands before him affectedly. 'Oh, indeed, ma'am! indeed, ladies! I really am so hoarse, it distresses me so to be pressed to sing; besides, upon my word, I have quite left off singing. I've never sung once, except for very particular people, this winter.'
Mar. But Mrs. Theresa Tattle is a very particular person. I'm sure you'll sing for her.
Fred. Certainly, ma'am, I allow that you use a powerful argument; but I assure you now, I would do my best to oblige you, but I absolutely have forgotten all my English songs. Nobody hears anything but Italian now, and I have been so giddy as to leave my Italian music behind me. Besides, I make it a rule never to hazard myself without an accompaniment.
Mar. Oh, try, Miss Croker, for once.
(Frederick sings, after much preluding.)
Violante in the pantry,
Gnawing of a mutton-bone;
How she gnawed it,
How she claw'd it,
When she found herself alone!
'Charming!' exclaimed Mrs. Tattle; 'so like Miss Croker, I'm sure I shall think of you, Mr. Frederick, when I hear her asked to sing again. Her voice, however, introduces her to very pleasant parties, and she's a girl that's very much taken notice of, and I don't doubt will go off vastly well. She's a particular favourite of mine, you must know; and I mean to do her a piece of service the first opportunity, by saying something or other, that shall go round to her relations in Northumberland, and make them do something for her; as well they may, for they are all rolling in gold, and won't give her a penny.
Mar. Now, brother, read the newspaper like Counsellor Puff.
'Oh, pray do, Mr. Frederick, for I declare I admire you of all things! You are quite yourself to-night. Here's a newspaper, sir, pray let us have Counsellor Puff. It's not late.'
(Frederick reads in a pompous voice.)
'As a delicate white hand has ever been deemed a distinguishing ornament in either sex, Messrs. Valiant and Wise conceive it to be their duty to take the earliest opportunity to advertise the nobility and gentry of Great Britain in general, and their friends in particular, that they have now ready for sale, as usual, at the Hippocrates' Head, a fresh assortment of new-invented, much-admired primrose soap. To prevent impositions and counterfeits, the public are requested to take notice, that the only genuine primrose soap is stamped on the outside, "Valiant and Wise."'
'Oh, you most incomparable mimic! 'tis absolutely the counsellor himself. I absolutely must show you, some day, to my friend Lady Battersby; you'd absolutely make her die with laughing; and she'd quite adore you,' said Mrs. Theresa, who was well aware that every pause must be filled with flattery. 'Pray go on, pray go on. I shall never be tired, if I sit looking at you these hundred years.'
Stimulated by these plaudits, Frederick proceeded to show how Colonel Epaulette blew his nose, flourished his cambric handkerchief, bowed to Lady Diana Periwinkle, and admired her work, saying, 'Done by no hands, as you may guess, but those of Fairly Fair.' Whilst Lady Diana, he observed, simpered so prettily, and took herself so quietly for Fairly Fair, not perceiving that the colonel was admiring his own nails all the while.
Next to Colonel Epaulette, Frederick, at Marianne's particular desire, came into the room like Sir Charles Slang.
'Very well, brother,' cried she, 'your hand down to the very bottom of your pocket, and your other shoulder up to your ear; but you are not quite wooden enough, and you should walk as if your hip were out of joint. There now, Mrs. Tattle, are not those good eyes? They stare so like his, without seeming to see anything all the while.'
'Excellent! admirable! Mr. Frederick. I must say that you are the best mimic of your age I ever saw, and I'm sure Lady Battersby will think so too. That is Sir Charles to the very life. But with all that, you must know he's a mighty pleasant, fashionable young man when you come to know him, and has a great deal of sense under all that, and is of a very good family – the Slangs, you know. Sir Charles will come into a fine fortune himself next year, if he can keep clear of gambling, which I hear is his foible, poor young man! Pray go on. I interrupt you, Mr. Frederick.'
'Now, brother,' said Marianne.
'No, Marianne, I can do no more. I'm quite tired, and I will do no more,' said Frederick, stretching himself at full length upon a sofa.
Even in the midst of laughter, and whilst the voice of flattery yet sounded in his ear, Frederick felt sad, displeased with himself, and disgusted with Mrs. Theresa.
'What a deep sigh was there!' said Mrs. Theresa; 'what can make you sigh so bitterly? You, who make everybody else laugh. Oh, such another sigh again!'
'Marianne,' cried Frederick, 'do you remember the man in the mask?'
'What man in the mask, brother?'
'The man – the actor – the buffoon, that my father told us of, who used to cry behind the mask that made everybody else laugh.'
'Cry! bless me,' said Mrs. Theresa, 'mighty odd! very extraordinary! but one can't be surprised at meeting with extraordinary characters amongst that race of people, actors by profession, you know; for they are brought up from the egg to make their fortune, or at least their bread, by their oddities. But, my dear Mr. Frederick, you are quite pale, quite exhausted; no wonder – what will you have? a glass of cowslip-wine?'
'Oh no, thank you, ma'am,' said Frederick.
'Oh yes; indeed you must not leave me without taking something; and Miss Marianne must have another macaroon. I insist upon it,' said Mrs. Theresa, ringing the bell. 'It is not late, and my man Christopher will bring up the cowslip-wine in a minute.'
'But, Sophy! and papa and mamma, you know, will come home presently,' said Marianne.
'Oh! Miss Sophy has her books and drawings. You know she's never afraid of being alone. Besides, to-night it was her own choice. And as to your papa and mamma, they won't be home to-night, I'm pretty sure; for a gentleman, who had it from their own authority, told me where they were going, which is further off than they think; but they did not consult me; and I fancy they'll be obliged to sleep out; so you need not be in a hurry about them. We'll have candles.'
The door opened just as Mrs. Tattle was going to ring the bell again for candles and the cowslip-wine. 'Christopher! Christopher!' said Mrs. Theresa, who was standing at the fire, with her back to the door, when it opened, 'Christopher! pray bring – Do you hear?' but no Christopher answered; and, upon turning round, Mrs. Tattle, instead of Christopher, beheld two little black figures, which stood perfectly still and silent. It was so dark, that their forms could scarcely be discerned.
'In the name of heaven, who and what may you be? Speak, I conjure you! what are ye?'
'The chimney-sweepers, ma'am, an' please your ladyship.'
'Chimney-sweepers!' repeated Frederick and Marianne, bursting out a-laughing.
'Chimney-sweepers!' repeated Mrs. Theresa, provoked at the recollection of her late solemn address to them. 'Chimney-sweepers! and could not you say so a little sooner? Pray, what brings you here, gentlemen, at this time of night?'
'The bell rang, ma'am,' answered a squeaking voice.
'The bell rang! yes, for Christopher. The boy's mad, or drunk.'
'Ma'am,' said the taller of the chimney-sweepers, who had not yet spoken, and who now began in a very blunt manner; 'ma'am, your brother desired us to come up when the bell rang; so we did.'
'My brother? I have no brother, dunce,' said Mrs. Theresa.
'Mr. Eden, madam.'
'Ho, ho!' said Mrs. Tattle, in a more complacent tone, 'the boy takes me for Miss Bertha Eden, I perceive'; and, flattered to be taken in the dark by a chimney-sweeper for a young and handsome lady, Mrs. Theresa laughed, and informed him 'that they had mistaken the room; and they must go up another pair of stairs, and turn to the left.'
The chimney-sweeper with the squeaking voice bowed, thanked her ladyship for this information, said, 'Good-night to ye, quality'; and they both moved towards the door.
'Stay,' said Mrs. Tattle, whose curiosity was excited; 'what can the Edens want with chimney-sweepers at this time o' night, I wonder? Christopher, did you hear anything about it?' said the lady to her footman, who was now lighting the candles.
'Upon my word, ma'am,' said the servant, 'I can't say; but I'll step down below and inquire. I heard them talking about it in the kitchen; but I only got a word here and there, for I was hunting for the snuff-dish, as I knew it must be for candles when I heard the bell ring, ma'am; so I thought to find the snuff-dish before I answered the bell, for I knew it must be for candles you rang. But, if you please, I'll step down now, ma'am, and see about the chimney-sweepers.'
'Yes, step down, do; and, Christopher, bring up the cowslip-wine, and some more macaroons for my little Marianne.'
Marianne withdrew rather coldly from a kiss which Mrs. Tattle was going to give her; for she was somewhat surprised at the familiarity with which this lady talked to her footman. She had not been accustomed to these familiarities in her father and mother, and she did not like them.
'Well,' said Mrs. Tattle to Christopher, who was now returned, 'what is the news?'
'Ma'am, the little fellow with the squeaking voice has been telling me the whole story. The other morning, ma'am, early, he and the other were down the hill sweeping in Paradise Row. Those chimneys, they say, are difficult; and the square fellow, ma'am, the biggest of the two boys, got wedged in the chimney. The other little fellow was up at the top at the time, and he heard the cry; but in his fright, and all, he did not know what to do, ma'am; for he looked about from the top of the chimney, and not a soul could he see stirring, but a few that he could not make attend to his screech; the boy within almost stifling too. So he screeched, and screeched, all he could; and by the greatest chance in life, ma'am, old Mr. Eden was just going down the hill to fetch his morning walk.'
'Ay,' interrupted Mrs. Theresa, 'friend Ephraim is one of your early risers.'
'Well?' said Marianne, impatiently.
'So, ma'am, hearing the screech, he turns and sees the sweep; and at once he understands the matter – '
'I'm sure he must have taken some time to understand it,' interposed Mrs. Tattle, 'for he's the slowest creature breathing, and the deafest in company. Go on, Christopher. So the sweep did make him hear.'
'So he says, ma'am; and so the old gentleman went in and pulled the boy out of the chimney, with much ado, ma'am.'
'Bless me!' exclaimed Mrs. Theresa; 'but did old Eden go up the chimney himself after the boy, wig and all?'
'Why, ma'am,' said Christopher, with a look of great delight, 'that was all as one, as the very 'dentical words I put to the boy myself, when he telled me his story. But, ma'am, that was what I couldn't get out of him, neither, rightly, for he is a churl – the big boy that was stuck in the chimney, I mean; for when I put the question to him about the wig, laughing like, he wouldn't take it laughing like at all; but would only make answer to us like a bear, 'He saved my life, that's all I know'; and this over again, ma'am, to all the kitchen round, that cross-questioned him. But I finds him stupid and ill-mannered like, for I offered him a shilling, ma'am, myself, to tell about the wig; but he put it back in a way that did not become such as he, to no lady's butler, ma'am; whereupon I turns to the slim fellow (and he's smarterer, and more mannerly, ma'am, with a tongue in his head for his betters), but he could not resolve me my question either; for he was up at the top of the chimney the best part o' the time; and when he came down Mr. Eden had his wig on, but had his arm all bare and bloody, ma'am.'
'Poor Mr. Eden!' exclaimed Marianne.
'Oh, miss,' continued the servant, 'and the chimney-sweep himself was so bruised, and must have been killed.'
'Well, well! but he's alive now; go on with your story, Christopher,' said Mrs. T. 'Chimney-sweepers get wedged in chimneys every day; it's part of their trade, and it's a happy thing when they come off with a few bruises.15 To be sure,' added she, observing that both Frederick and Marianne looked displeased at this speech, 'to be sure, if one may believe this story, there was some real danger.'
'Real danger! yes, indeed,' said Marianne; 'and I'm sure I think Mr. Eden was very good.'
'Certainly it was a most commendable action, and quite providential. So I shall take an opportunity of saying, when I tell the story in all companies; and the boy may thank his kind stars, I'm sure, to the end of his days, for such an escape – But pray, Christopher,' said she, persisting in her conversation with Christopher, who was now laying the cloth for supper, 'pray, which house was it in Paradise Row? where the Eagles or the Miss Ropers lodge? or which?'
'It was at my Lady Battersby's, ma'am.'
'Ha! ha!' cried Mrs. Theresa, 'I thought we should get to the bottom of the affair at last. This is excellent! This will make an admirable story for my Lady Battersby the next time I see her. These Quakers are so sly! Old Eden, I know, has long wanted to obtain an introduction into that house; and a charming charitable expedient hit upon! My Lady Battersby will enjoy this, of all things.'
CHAPTER III
'Now,' continued Mrs. Theresa, turning to Frederick, as soon as the servant had left the room, 'now, Mr. Frederick Montague, I have a favour – such a favour – to ask of you; it's a favour which only you can grant; you have such talents, and would do the thing so admirably; and my Lady Battersby would quite adore you for it. She will do me the honour to be here to spend an evening to-morrow. I'm convinced Mr. and Mrs. Montague will find themselves obliged to stay out another day, and I so long to show you off to her ladyship; and your Doctor Carbuncle, and your Counsellor Puff, and your Miss Croker, and all your charming characters. You must let me introduce you to her ladyship to-morrow evening. Promise me.'
'Oh, ma'am,' said Frederick, 'I cannot promise you any such thing, indeed. I am much obliged to you; but indeed I cannot come.'
'Why not, my dear sir? why not? You don't think I mean you should promise, if you are certain your papa and mamma will be home.'
'If they do come home, I will ask them about it,' said Frederick, hesitating; for though he by no means wished to accept the invitation, he had not yet acquired the necessary power of decidedly saying No.
'Ask them!' repeated Mrs. Theresa. 'My dear sir, at your age, must you ask your papa and mamma about such things?'
'Must! no, ma'am,' said Frederick; 'but I said I would. I know I need not, because my father and mother always let me judge for myself almost about everything.'
'And about this, I am sure,' cried Marianne. 'Papa and mamma, you know, just as they were going away, said, "If Mrs. Theresa asks you to come, do as you think best."'
'Well, then,' said Mrs. Theresa, 'you know it rests with yourselves, if you may do as you please.'
'To be sure I may, madam,' said Frederick, colouring from that species of emotion which is justly called false shame, and which often conquers real shame; 'to be sure, ma'am, I may do as I please.'
'Then I may make sure of you,' said Mrs. Theresa; 'for now it would be downright rudeness to tell a lady you won't do as she pleases. Mr. Frederick Montague, I'm sure, is too well-bred a young gentleman to do so unpolite, so ungallant a thing!'
The jargon of politeness and gallantry is frequently brought by the silly acquaintance of young people to confuse their simple morality and clear good sense. A new and unintelligible system is presented to them in a language foreign to their understanding, and contradictory to their feelings. They hesitate between new motives and old principles. From the fear of being thought ignorant, they become affected; and from the dread of being thought to be children act like fools. But all this they feel only when they are in the company of such people as Mrs. Theresa Tattle.
'Ma'am,' Frederick began, 'I don't mean to be rude; but I hope you'll excuse me from coming to drink tea with you to-morrow, because my father and mother are not acquainted with Lady Battersby, and maybe they might not like – '
'Take care, take care,' said Mrs. Theresa, laughing at his perplexity; 'you want to get off from obliging me, and you don't know how. You had very nearly made a most shocking blunder in putting it all upon poor Lady Battersby. Now you know it's impossible that Mr. and Mrs. Montague could have in nature the slightest objection to introducing you to my Lady Battersby at my own house; for, don't you know, that, besides her ladyship's many unquestionable qualities, which one need not talk of, she is cousin, but once removed, to the Trotters of Lancashire – your mother's great favourites? And there is not a person at the Wells, I'll venture to say, could be of more advantage to your sister Sophy, in the way of partners, when she comes to go to balls, which it's to be supposed she will, some time or other; and as you are so good a brother, that's a thing to be looked to, you know. Besides, as to yourself, there's nothing her ladyship delights in so much as in a good mimic; and she'll quite adore you!'
'But I don't want her to adore me, ma'am,' said Frederick, bluntly; then, correcting himself, added, 'I mean for being a mimic.'
'Why not, my love? Between friends, can there be any harm in showing one's talents? You that have such talents to show. She'll keep your secret, I'll answer for her; and,' added she, 'you needn't be afraid of her criticism; for, between you and me, she's no great critic: so you'll come. Well, thank you, that's settled. How you have made me beg and pray! but you know your own value, I see; as you entertaining people always do. One must ask a wit, like a fine singer, so often. Well, but now for the favour I was going to ask you.'
Frederick looked surprised; for he thought that the favour of his company was what she meant; but she explained herself farther.
'As to the old Quaker who lodges above, old Ephraim Eden – my Lady Battersby and I have so much diversion about him. He is the best character, the oddest creature! If you were but to see him come into the rooms with those stiff skirts, or walking with his eternal sister Bertha, and his everlasting broad-brimmed hat! One knows him a mile off! But then his voice and way, and altogether, if one could get them to the life, they'd be better than anything on the stage; better even than anything I've seen to-night; and I think you'd make a capital Quaker for my Lady Battersby; but then the thing is, one can never get to hear the old quiz talk. Now you, who have so much invention and cleverness – I have no invention myself – but could you not hit upon some way of seeing him, so that you might get him by heart? I'm sure you, who are so quick, would only want to see him, and hear him, for half a minute, to be able to take him off, so as to kill one with laughing. But I have no invention.'
'Oh, as to the invention,' said Frederick, 'I know an admirable way of doing the thing, if that is all; but then remember, I don't say I will do the thing, for I will not. But I know a way of getting up into his room, and seeing him, without his knowing me to be there.'
'Oh, tell it me, you charming, clever creature!'
'But, remember, I do not say I will do it.'
'Well, well, let us hear it; and you shall do as you please afterwards. Merciful goodness!' exclaimed Mrs. Tattle, 'do my ears deceive me? I declare I looked round, and thought I heard the squeaking chimney-sweeper was in the room!'
'So did I, Frederick, I declare,' cried Marianne, laughing, 'I never heard anything so like his voice in my life.'
Frederick imitated the squeaking voice of this chimney-sweeper to great perfection.
'Now,' continued he, 'this fellow is just my height. The old Quaker, if my face were blackened, and if I were to change clothes with the chimney-sweeper, I'll answer for it, would never know me.'
'Oh, it's an admirable invention! I give you infinite credit for it!' exclaimed Mrs. Theresa. 'It shall, it must be done. I'll ring, and have the fellow up this minute.'
'Oh, no; do not ring,' said Frederick, stopping her hand, 'I don't mean to do it. You know you promised that I should do as I pleased. I only told you my invention.'
'Well, well; but only let me ring, and ask whether the chimney-sweepers are below. You shall do as you please afterwards.'
'Christopher, shut the door. Christopher,' said she to the servant who came up when she rang, 'pray are the sweeps gone yet?' 'No, ma'am.' 'But have they been up to old Eden yet?' 'Oh no, ma'am; nor be not to go till the bell rings; for Miss Bertha, ma'am, was asleep a-lying down, and her brother wouldn't have her wakened on no account whatsomever. He came down hisself to the kitchen to the sweeps, though; but wouldn't have, as I heard him say, his sister waked for no account. But Miss Bertha's bell will ring when she wakens for the sweeps, ma'am. 'Twas she wanted to see the boy as her brother saved, and I suppose sent for 'em to give him something charitable, ma'am.' 'Well, never mind your suppositions,' said Mrs. Theresa; 'run down this very minute to the little squeaking chimney-sweep, and send him up to me. Quick, but don't let the other bear come up with him.'
Christopher, who had curiosity as well as his mistress, when he returned with the chimney-sweeper, prolonged his own stay in the room by sweeping the hearth, throwing down the tongs and shovel, and picking them up again.
'That will do, Christopher! Christopher, that will do, I say,' Mrs. Theresa repeated in vain. She was obliged to say, 'Christopher, you may go,' before he would depart.
'Now,' said she to Frederick, 'step in here to the next room with this candle, and you'll be equipped in an instant. Only just change clothes with the boy; only just let me see what a charming chimney-sweeper you'd make. You shall do as you please afterwards.' 'Well, I'll only change clothes with him, just to show you for one minute.'
'But,' said Marianne to Mrs. Theresa whilst Frederick was changing his clothes, 'I think Frederick is right about – ' 'About what, love?' 'I think he is in the right not to go up, though he can do it so easily, to see that gentleman; I mean on purpose to mimic and laugh at him afterwards. I don't think that would be quite right.' 'Why, pray, Miss Marianne?' 'Why, because he is so good-natured to his sister. He would not let her be wakened.' 'Dear, it's easy to be good in such little things; and he won't have long to be good to her neither; for I don't think she will trouble him long in this world, anyhow.' 'What do you mean?' said Marianne. 'That she'll die, child.' 'Die! die with that beautiful colour in her cheeks! How sorry her poor, poor brother will be! But she will not die, I'm sure, for she walks about, and runs upstairs so lightly! Oh, you must be quite mistaken, I hope.' 'If I'm mistaken, Dr. Panado Cardamum's mistaken too, then, that's my comfort. He says, unless the waters work a miracle, she stands a bad chance; and she won't follow my advice, and consult the doctor for her health.' 'He would frighten her to death, perhaps,' said Marianne. 'I hope Frederick won't go up to disturb her.' 'Lud, child, you are turned simpleton all of a sudden; how can your brother disturb her more than the real chimney-sweeper?' 'But I don't think it's right,' persisted Marianne, 'and I shall tell him so.' 'Nay, Miss Marianne, I don't commend you now. Young ladies should not be so forward to give opinions and advice to their elder brothers unasked; and I presume that Mr. Frederick and I must know what's right as well as Miss Marianne. Hush! here he is. Oh, the capital figure!' cried Mrs. Theresa. 'Bravo, bravo!' cried she, as Frederick entered in the chimney-sweeper's dress; and as he spoke, saying, 'I'm afraid, please your ladyship, to dirt your ladyship's carpet,' she broke out into immoderate raptures, calling him 'her charming chimney-sweeper!' and repeating that she knew beforehand the character would do for him.