Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices | Page 9

to conquer the pain in his ankle, and to hobble on, found the
power rapidly failing him, and felt that another ten minutes at most
would find him at the end of his last physical resources. He had just
made up his mind on this point, and was about to communicate the
dismal result of his reflections to his companions, when the mist
suddenly brightened, and begun to lift straight ahead. In another minute,
the landlord, who was in advance, proclaimed that he saw a tree. Before
long, other trees appeared--then a cottage--then a house beyond the
cottage, and a familiar line of road rising behind it. Last of all, Carrock
itself loomed darkly into view, far away to the right hand. The party
had not only got down the mountain without knowing how, but had
wandered away from it in the mist, without knowing why--away, far
down on the very moor by which they had approached the base of
Carrock that morning.
The happy lifting of the mist, and the still happier discovery that the
travellers had groped their way, though by a very roundabout direction,
to within a mile or so of the part of the valley in which the farm-house
was situated, restored Mr. Idle's sinking spirits and reanimated his
failing strength. While the landlord ran off to get the dog-cart, Thomas
was assisted by Goodchild to the cottage which had been the first
building seen when the darkness brightened, and was propped up
against the garden wall, like an artist's lay figure waiting to be
forwarded, until the dog- cart should arrive from the farm-house below.
In due time--and a very long time it seemed to Mr. Idle--the rattle of
wheels was heard, and the crippled Apprentice was lifted into the seat.
As the dog-cart was driven back to the inn, the landlord related an
anecdote which he had just heard at the farm-house, of an unhappy man
who had been lost, like his two guests and himself, on Carrock; who
had passed the night there alone; who had been found the next morning,
'scared and starved;' and who never went out afterwards, except on his
way to the grave. Mr. Idle heard this sad story, and derived at least one
useful impression from it. Bad as the pain in his ankle was, he
contrived to bear it patiently, for he felt grateful that a worse accident
had not befallen him in the wilds of Carrock.

CHAPTER II

The dog-cart, with Mr. Thomas Idle and his ankle on the hanging seat
behind, Mr. Francis Goodchild and the Innkeeper in front, and the rain
in spouts and splashes everywhere, made the best of its way back to the
little inn; the broken moor country looking like miles upon miles of
Pre-Adamite sop, or the ruins of some enormous jorum of antediluvian
toast-and-water. The trees dripped; the eaves of the scattered cottages
dripped; the barren stone walls dividing the land, dripped; the yelping
dogs dripped; carts and waggons under ill-roofed penthouses, dripped;
melancholy cocks and hens perching on their shafts, or seeking shelter
underneath them, dripped; Mr. Goodchild dripped; Thomas Idle
dripped; the Inn-keeper dripped; the mare dripped; the vast curtains of
mist and cloud passed before the shadowy forms of the hills, streamed
water as they were drawn across the landscape. Down such steep
pitches that the mare seemed to be trotting on her head, and up such
steep pitches that she seemed to have a supplementary leg in her tail,
the dog-cart jolted and tilted back to the village. It was too wet for the
women to look out, it was too wet even for the children to look out; all
the doors and windows were closed, and the only sign of life or motion
was in the rain-punctured puddles.
Whiskey and oil to Thomas Idle's ankle, and whiskey without oil to
Francis Goodchild's stomach, produced an agreeable change in the
systems of both; soothing Mr. Idle's pain, which was sharp before, and
sweetening Mr. Goodchild's temper, which was sweet before.
Portmanteaus being then opened and clothes changed, Mr. Goodchild,
through having no change of outer garments but broadcloth and velvet,
suddenly became a magnificent portent in the Innkeeper's house, a
shining frontispiece to the fashions for the month, and a frightful
anomaly in the Cumberland village.
Greatly ashamed of his splendid appearance, the conscious Goodchild
quenched it as much as possible, in the shadow of Thomas Idle's ankle,

and in a corner of the little covered carriage that started with them for
Wigton--a most desirable carriage for any country, except for its having
a flat roof and no sides; which caused the plumps of rain accumulating
on the roof to play vigorous games of bagatelle into the interior all the
way, and to score immensely. It