The Cricket on the Hearth | Page 5

the night; now, getting up again, and taking that
nothing of a fag-end of a tail of his, out into the weather, as if he had
just remembered an appointment, and was off, at a round trot, to keep
it.
'There! There's the teapot, ready on the hob!' said Dot; as briskly busy
as a child at play at keeping house. 'And there's the old knuckle of ham;
and there's the butter; and there's the crusty loaf, and all! Here's the
clothes-basket for the small parcels, John, if you've got any
there--where are you, John?'
'Don't let the dear child fall under the grate, Tilly, whatever you do!'
It may be noted of Miss Slowboy, in spite of her rejecting the caution
with some vivacity, that she had a rare and surprising talent for getting
this baby into difficulties and had several times imperilled its short life,
in a quiet way peculiarly her own. She was of a spare and straight shape,
this young lady, insomuch that her garments appeared to be in constant
danger of sliding off those sharp pegs, her shoulders, on which they
were loosely hung. Her costume was remarkable for the partial
development, on all possible occasions, of some flannel vestment of a
singular structure; also for affording glimpses, in the region of the back,
of a corset, or pair of stays, in colour a dead-green. Being always in a
state of gaping admiration at everything, and absorbed, besides, in the
perpetual contemplation of her mistress's perfections and the baby's,

Miss Slowboy, in her little errors of judgment, may be said to have
done equal honour to her head and to her heart; and though these did
less honour to the baby's head, which they were the occasional means
of bringing into contact with deal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bed-posts,
and other foreign substances, still they were the honest results of Tilly
Slowboy's constant astonishment at finding herself so kindly treated,
and installed in such a comfortable home. For, the maternal and
paternal Slowboy were alike unknown to Fame, and Tilly had been
bred by public charity, a foundling; which word, though only differing
from fondling by one vowel's length, is very different in meaning, and
expresses quite another thing.
To have seen little Mrs. Peerybingle come back with her husband,
tugging at the clothes-basket, and making the most strenuous exertions
to do nothing at all (for he carried it), would have amused you almost
as much as it amused him. It may have entertained the Cricket too, for
anything I know; but, certainly, it now began to chirp again,
vehemently.
'Heyday!' said John, in his slow way. 'It's merrier than ever, to- night, I
think.'
'And it's sure to bring us good fortune, John! It always has done so. To
have a Cricket on the Hearth, is the luckiest thing in all the world!'
John looked at her as if he had very nearly got the thought into his head,
that she was his Cricket in chief, and he quite agreed with her. But, it
was probably one of his narrow escapes, for he said nothing.
'The first time I heard its cheerful little note, John, was on that night
when you brought me home--when you brought me to my new home
here; its little mistress. Nearly a year ago. You recollect, John?'
O yes. John remembered. I should think so!
'Its chirp was such a welcome to me! It seemed so full of promise and
encouragement. It seemed to say, you would be kind and gentle with
me, and would not expect (I had a fear of that, John, then) to find an old
head on the shoulders of your foolish little wife.'
John thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders, and then the head, as
though he would have said No, no; he had had no such expectation; he
had been quite content to take them as they were. And really he had
reason. They were very comely.
'It spoke the truth, John, when it seemed to say so; for you have ever

been, I am sure, the best, the most considerate, the most affectionate of
husbands to me. This has been a happy home, John; and I love the
Cricket for its sake!'
'Why so do I then,' said the Carrier. 'So do I, Dot.'
'I love it for the many times I have heard it, and the many thoughts its
harmless music has given me. Sometimes, in the twilight, when I have
felt a little solitary and down-hearted, John--before baby was here to
keep me company and make the house gay--when I have thought how
lonely you would be if I should die; how lonely I should be if I could
know that you had lost me, dear; its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp upon the
hearth,