Martin Rattler | Page 9

them all round, just above the ankle. It
will form an ornamental ring. I'm sorry to put you to the trouble, but of
course I pay extra for fancy-work. Will six shillings a pair do for
these?"
"My dear sir," said Mrs. Grumbit, "it is no additional--"
"Well, well, never mind," said Mr. Jollyboy. "Two thousand pairs,
remember, as soon as possible,--close knitted, plain stitch, rather coarse
worsted; and don't forget the hitch, Mrs. Grumbit, don't forget the
hitch."
Ah! reader, there are many Mrs. Grumbits in this world, requiring
hitches to be made in their stockings!

At this moment the door burst open. Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit uttered a
piercing scream, Mr. Jollyboy dropped his spectacles and sat down on
his hat, and Martin Rattler stood before them with the white kitten in
his arms.
For a few seconds there was a dead silence, while an expression of
puzzled disappointment passed over Mr. Jollyboy's ruddy countenance.
At last he said,--
"Is this, madam, the nephew who, you told me a little ago, is not
addicted to fighting?"
"Yes," answered the old lady faintly, and covering her eyes with her
hands, "that is Martin."
"If my aunt told you that, sir, she told you the truth," said Martin,
setting down the blood-stained white kitten, which forthwith began to
stretch its limbs and lick itself dry. "I don't ever fight if I can help it,
but I couldn't help it to-day."
With a great deal of energy, and a revival of much of his former
indignation, when he spoke of the kitten's sufferings, Martin recounted
all the circumstances of the fight; during the recital of which Mrs.
Dorothy Grumbit took his hand in hers and patted it, gazing the while
into his swelled visage, and weeping plentifully, but very silently.
When he had finished, Mr. Jollyboy shook hands with him, and said he
was a trump, at the same time recommending him to go and wash his
face. Then he whispered a few words in Mrs. Grumbit's ear, which
seemed to give that excellent lady much pleasure; after which he
endeavoured to straighten his crushed hat; in which attempt he failed,
took his leave, promised to call again very soon, and went back to the
Old Hulk--chuckling.
CHAPTER V
MARTIN, BEING WILLING TO GO TO SEA, GOES TO SEA
AGAINST HIS WILL

Four years rolled away, casting chequered light and shadow over the
little village of Ashford in their silent passage,--whitening the forelocks
of the aged, and strengthening the muscles of the young. Death, too,
touched a hearth here and there, and carried desolation to a home; for
four years cannot wing their flight without enforcing on us the
lesson--which we are so often taught, and yet take so long to learn--that
this is not our rest,--that here we have no abiding city. Did we but
ponder this lesson more frequently and earnestly, instead of making us
sad, it would nerve our hearts and hands to fight and work more
diligently,--to work in the cause of our Redeemer,--the only cause that
is worth the life-long energy of immortal beings,--the great cause that
includes all others; and it would teach us to remember that our little day
of opportunity will soon be spent, and that the night is at hand in which
no man can work.
Four years rolled away, and during this time Martin, having failed to
obtain his aunt's consent to his going to sea, continued at school, doing
his best to curb the roving spirit that strove within him. Martin was not
particularly bright at the dead languages; to the rules of grammar he
entertained a rooted aversion; and at history he was inclined to yawn,
except when it happened to touch upon the names and deeds of such
men as Vasco di Gama and Columbus. But in geography he was perfect;
and in arithmetic and book-keeping he was quite a proficient, to the
delight of Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit, whose household books he summed
up; and to the satisfaction of his fast friend, Mr. Arthur Jollyboy, whose
ledgers he was--in that old gentleman's secret resolves--destined to
keep.
Martin was now fourteen, broad and strong, and tall for his age. He was
the idol of the school,--dashing, daring, reckless, and good-natured.
There was almost nothing that he would not attempt, and there were
very few things that he could not do. He never fought, however--from
principle; and his strength and size often saved him from the necessity.
But he often prevented other boys from fighting, except when he
thought there was good reason for it; then he stood by and saw fair play.
There was a strange mixture of philosophical gravity, too, in Martin. As
he grew older he became more enthusiastic and less boisterous.

Bob Croaker was still at the school, and was,