The Water-Babies | Page 4

sand dance reels at the bottom, day and night, all the year round;
not such a spring as either of those; but a real North country limestone
fountain, like one of those in Sicily or Greece, where the old heathen
fancied the nymphs sat cooling themselves the hot summer's day, while
the shepherds peeped at them from behind the bushes. Out of a low
cave of rock, at the foot of a limestone crag, the great fountain rose,
quelling, and bubbling, and gurgling, so clear that you could not tell
where the water ended and the air began; and ran away under the road,
a stream large enough to turn a mill; among blue geranium, and golden
globe-flower, and wild raspberry, and the bird-cherry with its tassels of
snow.

And there Grimes stopped, and looked; and Tom looked too. Tom was
wondering whether anything lived in that dark cave, and came out at
night to fly in the meadows. But Grimes was not wondering at all.
Without a word, he got off his donkey, and clambered over the low
road wall, and knelt down, and began dipping his ugly head into the
spring--and very dirty he made it.
Tom was picking the flowers as fast as he could. The Irishwoman
helped him, and showed him how to tie them up; and a very pretty
nosegay they had made between them. But when he saw Grimes
actually wash, he stopped, quite astonished; and when Grimes had
finished, and began shaking his ears to dry them, he said:
"Why, master, I never saw you do that before."
"Nor will again, most likely. 'Twasn't for cleanliness I did it, but for
coolness. I'd be ashamed to want washing every week or so, like any
smutty collier lad."
"I wish I might go and dip my head in," said poor little Tom. "It must
be as good as putting it under the town-pump; and there is no beadle
here to drive a chap away."
"Thou come along," said Grimes; "what dost want with washing thyself?
Thou did not drink half a gallon of beer last night, like me."
"I don't care for you," said naughty Tom, and ran down to the stream,
and began washing his face.
Grimes was very sulky, because the woman preferred Tom's company
to his; so he dashed at him with horrid words, and tore him up from his
knees, and began beating him. But Tom was accustomed to that, and
got his head safe between Mr. Grimes' legs, and kicked his shins with
all his might.
"Are you not ashamed of yourself, Thomas Grimes?" cried the
Irishwoman over the wall.

Grimes looked up, startled at her knowing his name; but all he
answered was, "No, nor never was yet;" and went on beating Tom.
"True for you. If you ever had been ashamed of yourself, you would
have gone over into Vendale long ago."
"What do you know about Vendale?" shouted Grimes; but he left off
beating Tom.
"I know about Vendale, and about you, too. I know, for instance, what
happened in Aldermire Copse, by night, two years ago come
Martinmas."
"You do?" shouted Grimes; and leaving Tom, he climbed up over the
wall, and faced the woman. Tom thought he was going to strike her;
but she looked him too full and fierce in the face for that.
"Yes; I was there," said the Irishwoman quietly.
"You are no Irishwoman, by your speech," said Grimes, after many bad
words.
"Never mind who I am. I saw what I saw; and if you strike that boy
again, I can tell what I know."
Grimes seemed quite cowed, and got on his donkey without another
word.
"Stop!" said the Irishwoman. "I have one more word for you both; for
you will both see me again before all is over. Those that wish to be
clean, clean they will be; and those that wish to be foul, foul they will
be. Remember."
And she turned away, and through a gate into the meadow. Grimes
stood still a moment, like a man who had been stunned. Then he rushed
after her, shouting, "You come back." But when he got into the
meadow, the woman was not there.
Had she hidden away? There was no place to hide in. But Grimes

looked about, and Tom also, for he was as puzzled as Grimes himself at
her disappearing so suddenly; but look where they would, she was not
there.
Grimes came back again, as silent as a post, for he was a little
frightened; and, getting on his donkey, filled a fresh pipe, and smoked
away, leaving Tom in peace.
And now they had gone three miles and more, and came to Sir John's
lodge-gates.
Very grand lodges they were, with very grand iron gates and