Tom Tiddlers Ground | Page 8

summer sky as he did so, "that a man--even behind bars, in a blanket
and skewer--should tell me that he can see, from day to day, any orders
or conditions of men, women, or children, who can by any possibility
teach him that it is anything but the miserablest drivelling for a human
creature to quarrel with his social nature--not to go so far as to say, to
renounce his common human decency, for that is an extreme case; or
who can teach him that he can in any wise separate himself from his
kind and the habits of his kind, without becoming a deteriorated
spectacle calculated to give the Devil (and perhaps the monkeys)
pleasure,--is something wonderful! I repeat," said Mr. Traveller,
beginning to smoke, "the unreasoning hardihood of it is something
wonderful--even in a man with the dirt upon him an inch or two
thick--behind bars-- in a blanket and skewer!"
The Hermit looked at him irresolutely, and retired to his soot and
cinders and lay down, and got up again and came to the bars, and again
looked at him irresolutely, and finally said with sharpness: "I don't like
tobacco."
"I don't like dirt," rejoined Mr. Traveller; "tobacco is an excellent
disinfectant. We shall both be the better for my pipe. It is my intention
to sit here through this summer day, until that blessed summer sun

sinks low in the west, and to show you what a poor creature you are,
through the lips of every chance wayfarer who may come in at your
gate."
"What do you mean?" inquired the Hermit, with a furious air.
"I mean that yonder is your gate, and there are you, and here am I; I
mean that I know it to be a moral impossibility that any person can
stray in at that gate from any point of the compass, with any sort of
experience, gained at first hand, or derived from another, that can
confute me and justify you."
"You are an arrogant and boastful hero," said the Hermit. "You think
yourself profoundly wise."
"Bah!" returned Mr. Traveller, quietly smoking. "There is little wisdom
in knowing that every man must be up and doing, and that all mankind
are made dependent on one another."
"You have companions outside," said the Hermit. "I am not to be
imposed upon by your assumed confidence in the people who may
enter."
"A depraved distrust," returned the visitor, compassionately raising his
eyebrows, "of course belongs to your state, I can't help that."
"Do you mean to tell me you have no confederates?"
"I mean to tell you nothing but what I have told you. What I have told
you is, that it is a moral impossibility that any son or daughter of Adam
can stand on this ground that I put my foot on, or on any ground that
mortal treads, and gainsay the healthy tenure on which we hold our
existence."
"Which is," sneered the Hermit, "according to you--"
"Which is," returned the other, "according to Eternal Providence, that
we must arise and wash our faces and do our gregarious work and act
and re-act on one another, leaving only the idiot and the palsied to sit
blinking in the corner. Come!" apostrophising the gate. "Open Sesame!
Show his eyes and grieve his heart! I don't care who comes, for I know
what must come of it!"
With that, he faced round a little on his billet of wood towards the gate;
and Mr. Mopes, the Hermit, after two or three ridiculous bounces of
indecision at his bed and back again, submitted to what he could not
help himself against, and coiled himself on his window- ledge, holding
to his bars and looking out rather anxiously.

CHAPTER VI
--PICKING UP MISS KIMMEENS {1}

The day was by this time waning, when the gate again opened, and,
with the brilliant golden light that streamed from the declining sun and
touched the very bars of the sooty creature's den, there passed in a little
child; a little girl with beautiful bright hair. She wore a plain straw hat,
had a door-key in her hand, and tripped towards Mr. Traveller as if she
were pleased to see him and were going to repose some childish
confidence in him, when she caught sight of the figure behind the bars,
and started back in terror.
"Don't be alarmed, darling!" said Mr. Traveller, taking her by the hand.
"Oh, but I don't like it!" urged the shrinking child; "it's dreadful."
"Well! I don't like it either," said Mr. Traveller.
"Who has put it there?" asked the little girl. "Does it bite?"
"No,--only barks. But can't you make up your mind to see it, my dear?"
For she was covering her eyes.
"O no no no!" returned the child.