George Silvermans Explanation | Page 9

Parksop. His worldly name was Parksop, and he was a brother of this
brotherhood. Then wasn't he Brother Parksop?'
('Must be. Couldn't help hisself!' from Brother Gimblet.)
'Well, he left that one now here present among us to the care of a brother-sinner of his
(and that brother-sinner, mind you, was a sinner of a bigger size in his time than any of
you; praise the Lord!), Brother Hawkyard. Me. I got him without fee or reward, - without
a morsel of myrrh, or frankincense, nor yet amber, letting alone the honeycomb, - all the
learning that could be crammed into him. Has it brought him into our temple, in the spirit?
No. Have we had any ignorant brothers and sisters that didn't know round O from
crooked S, come in among us meanwhile? Many. Then the angels are NOT learned; then
they don't so much as know their alphabet. And now, my friends and fellow-sinners,
having brought it to that, perhaps some brother present - perhaps you, Brother Gimblet -
will pray a bit for us?'
Brother Gimblet undertook the sacred function, after having drawn his sleeve across his
mouth, and muttered, 'Well! I don't know as I see my way to hitting any of you quite in
the right place neither.' He said this with a dark smile, and then began to bellow. What we
were specially to be preserved from, according to his solicitations, was, despoilment of
the orphan, suppression of testamentary intentions on the part of a father or (say)
grandfather, appropriation of the orphan's house-property, feigning to give in charity to
the wronged one from whom we withheld his due; and that class of sins. He ended with

the petition, 'Give us peace!' which, speaking for myself, was very much needed after
twenty minutes of his bellowing.
Even though I had not seen him when he rose from his knees, steaming with perspiration,
glance at Brother Hawkyard, and even though I had not heard Brother Hawkyard's tone
of congratulating him on the vigour with which he had roared, I should have detected a
malicious application in this prayer. Unformed suspicions to a similar effect had
sometimes passed through my mind in my earlier school-days, and had always caused me
great distress; for they were worldly in their nature, and wide, very wide, of the spirit that
had drawn me from Sylvia. They were sordid suspicions, without a shadow of proof.
They were worthy to have originated in the unwholesome cellar. They were not only
without proof, but against proof; for was I not myself a living proof of what Brother
Hawkyard had done? and without him, how should I ever have seen the sky look
sorrowfully down upon that wretched boy at Hoghton Towers?
Although the dread of a relapse into a stage of savage selfishness was less strong upon
me as I approached manhood, and could act in an increased degree for myself, yet I was
always on my guard against any tendency to such relapse. After getting these suspicions
under my feet, I had been troubled by not being able to like Brother Hawkyard's manner,
or his professed religion. So it came about, that, as I walked back that Sunday evening, I
thought it would be an act of reparation for any such injury my struggling thoughts had
unwillingly done him, if I wrote, and placed in his hands, before going to college, a full
acknowledgment of his goodness to me, and an ample tribute of thanks. It might serve as
an implied vindication of him against any dark scandal from a rival brother and
expounder, or from any other quarter.
Accordingly, I wrote the document with much care. I may add with much feeling too; for
it affected me as I went on. Having no set studies to pursue, in the brief interval between
leaving the Foundation and going to Cambridge, I determined to walk out to his place of
business, and give it into his own hands.
It was a winter afternoon, when I tapped at the door of his little counting-house, which
was at the farther end of his long, low shop. As I did so (having entered by the back yard,
where casks and boxes were taken in, and where there was the inscription, 'Private way to
the counting-house'), a shopman called to me from the counter that he was engaged.
'Brother Gimblet' (said the shopman, who was one of the brotherhood) 'is with him.'
I thought this all the better for my purpose, and made bold to tap again. They were
talking in a low tone, and money was passing; for I heard it being counted out.
'Who is it?' asked Brother Hawkyard, sharply.
'George Silverman,' I answered, holding the door open. 'May I come in?'
Both brothers seemed