Martin Rattler | Page 9

piercing scream, Mr. Jollyboy dropped his spectacles and sat down on his hat, and Martin Rattler stood before them with the white kitten in his arms.
For a few seconds there was a dead silence, while an expression of puzzled disappointment passed over Mr. Jollyboy's ruddy countenance. At last he said,--
"Is this, madam, the nephew who, you told me a little ago, is not addicted to fighting?"
"Yes," answered the old lady faintly, and covering her eyes with her hands, "that is Martin."
"If my aunt told you that, sir, she told you the truth," said Martin, setting down the blood-stained white kitten, which forthwith began to stretch its limbs and lick itself dry. "I don't ever fight if I can help it, but I couldn't help it to-day."
With a great deal of energy, and a revival of much of his former indignation, when he spoke of the kitten's sufferings, Martin recounted all the circumstances of the fight; during the recital of which Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit took his hand in hers and patted it, gazing the while into his swelled visage, and weeping plentifully, but very silently. When he had finished, Mr. Jollyboy shook hands with him, and said he was a trump, at the same time recommending him to go and wash his face. Then he whispered a few words in Mrs. Grumbit's ear, which seemed to give that excellent lady much pleasure; after which he endeavoured to straighten his crushed hat; in which attempt he failed, took his leave, promised to call again very soon, and went back to the Old Hulk--chuckling.
CHAPTER V
MARTIN, BEING WILLING TO GO TO SEA, GOES TO SEA AGAINST HIS WILL
Four years rolled away, casting chequered light and shadow over the little village of Ashford in their silent passage,--whitening the forelocks of the aged, and strengthening the muscles of the young. Death, too, touched a hearth here and there, and carried desolation to a home; for four years cannot wing their flight without enforcing on us the lesson--which we are so often taught, and yet take so long to learn--that this is not our rest,--that here we have no abiding city. Did we but ponder this lesson more frequently and earnestly, instead of making us sad, it would nerve our hearts and hands to fight and work more diligently,--to work in the cause of our Redeemer,--the only cause that is worth the life-long energy of immortal beings,--the great cause that includes all others; and it would teach us to remember that our little day of opportunity will soon be spent, and that the night is at hand in which no man can work.
Four years rolled away, and during this time Martin, having failed to obtain his aunt's consent to his going to sea, continued at school, doing his best to curb the roving spirit that strove within him. Martin was not particularly bright at the dead languages; to the rules of grammar he entertained a rooted aversion; and at history he was inclined to yawn, except when it happened to touch upon the names and deeds of such men as Vasco di Gama and Columbus. But in geography he was perfect; and in arithmetic and book-keeping he was quite a proficient, to the delight of Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit, whose household books he summed up; and to the satisfaction of his fast friend, Mr. Arthur Jollyboy, whose ledgers he was--in that old gentleman's secret resolves--destined to keep.
Martin was now fourteen, broad and strong, and tall for his age. He was the idol of the school,--dashing, daring, reckless, and good-natured. There was almost nothing that he would not attempt, and there were very few things that he could not do. He never fought, however--from principle; and his strength and size often saved him from the necessity. But he often prevented other boys from fighting, except when he thought there was good reason for it; then he stood by and saw fair play. There was a strange mixture of philosophical gravity, too, in Martin. As he grew older he became more enthusiastic and less boisterous.
Bob Croaker was still at the school, and was, from prudential motives, a fast friend of Martin. But he bore him a secret grudge, for he could not forget the great fight.
One day Bob took Martin by the arm, and said, "I say, Rattler, come with me to Bilton, and have some fun among the shipping."
"Well, I don't mind if I do," said Martin. "I'm just in the mood for a ramble, and I'm not expected home till bed-time."
In little more than an hour the two boys were wandering about the dock-yards of the sea-port town, and deeply engaged in examining the complicated rigging of the ships. While thus occupied, the clanking of a windlass and the merry "Yo heave O! and away she goes," of