Shanty the Blacksmith | Page 6

one single cart
in the shed, and the cry seemed to come from the direction of this cart.
Dymock and Shanty were both startled at the cry, and stood in silence
for a minute or more, to ascertain if it were repeated. Another low
moan presently ensued, and then a full outcry, as of a terrified child.
Dymock and Shanty looked at each other, and Shanty said, "It is the
beggar woman. She is still skulking about, I will be bound; hark!" he
added, "listen! she will be stilling the child, she's got under the cart."
But the child continued to screech, and there was neither threat nor
blandishment used to still the cries.
Dymock seemed to be so thoroughly astounded, that he could not stir,
but Shanty going in, presently returned with a lighted lanthorn, and an
iron crow-bar in his hand; "and now," he said, "Mr. Dymock, we shall
see to this noise," and they both turned into the out-building, expecting
to have to encounter the tall beggar, and with her perhaps, a gang of
vagrants. They, however, saw only the infant of two years' old, who
had lain like a thing dead on the woman's lap, though not dead, as
Shanty had feared, but stupified with hollands, the very breath of the
baby smelling of the spirit when Dymock lifted it out of the cart and
brought it into the interior shed. Shanty did not return, till he had
investigated every hole and corner of his domain, with the crow-bar in
one hand, and the lanthorn in the other.
The baby had ceased to cry, when brought into the shed, and feeling
itself in the arms of a fellow-creature, had yielded to the influence of
the liquor, and had fallen again into a dead sleep, dropping back on the
bosom of Mr. Dymock.
"They are all off," said Shanty, as he entered the house, "and have left

us this present. We have had need, as that young rogue said, of the
horse-shoe over our door. We have been over-reached for once; that
little one is stolen goods, be sure, Mr. Dymock,--some great man's
child for aught we know,--the wicked woman will not call again very
soon, as she promised, and what are we to do with the child? Had my
poor wife been living, it might have done, but she is better off! What
can I do with it?"
"I must take it up to the Tower," said Mr. Dymock, "and see if my aunt
Margaret will take to it, and if she will not, why, then there are charity
schools, and poor-houses to be had recourse to; yet I don't fear her kind
heart."
"Nor I neither, Mr. Dymock," said Shanty, and the old man drew near
to the child, and holding up his lanthorn to the sleeping baby, he said,
"What like is it? Gipsy, or Jew? one or the other; those features, if they
were washed, might not disgrace Sarah or Rachel."
"The mouth and the form of the face are Grecian," said Dymock, "but
the bust is oriental."
Shanty looked hard at his patron, as trying to understand what he meant
by oriental and Grecian; and then repeated his question, "Gipsy or Jew,
Mr. Dymock? for I am sure the little creature is not of our northern
breed."
"We shall see by and bye," said Dymock, "the question is, what is to be
done now? I am afraid that aunt Margaret will look prim and stately if I
carry the little one up to the Tower; however, I see not what else to do.
Who is afraid? But put your fire out, Shanty, and come with us. You
shall carry the bantling, and I will take the lanthorn. Mayhap, aunt
Margaret may think this arrangement the more genteel of the two. So
let it be."
And it was so; old Shanty turned into child-keeper, and the Laird into
lanthorn-carrier, and the party directed their steps towards the Tower,
and much talk had they by the way.

Now, as we have said before, there was a fund of kindness in the heart
of Mrs. Margaret Dymock, which kindness is often more consistent
than some people suppose, with attention to economy, especially when
that economy is needful; and moreover, she had lately lost a favourite
cat, which had been, as she said, quite a daughter to her. Therefore the
place of pet happened to be vacant just at that time, which was much in
favour of the forlorn child's interests. Dymock had taken Shanty with
him into the parlour, in which Mrs. Margaret sat at her darning; and he
had suggested to the old man, that he might just as well tell the story
himself for his aunt's information, and account for the presence of the
infant;