A Little World Part 33

He brought forth his string of b.u.t.tons and polished his leaden nicker--a flat disc that had evidently been moulded in the top of a bra.s.s weight.

He counted the b.u.t.tons, rubbing favourite specimens upon the sleeve or his coat, and admiring the crests upon the "liverys," and the shanked and pearl b.u.t.tons. Then he stripped them nearly all off the string to give place to a metal ornament with its great G, which, after a few minutes' hesitation, he cut off his own coat, looking guiltily round after the deed to see that he was not observed. Then commenced the restoration or re-threading of the b.u.t.tons, when the one bearing the great G looked so well in its pewter beauty, that Ichabod could not resist the temptation, but knife-armed, he carefully felt behind him, and cut the two ornaments from their abiding-place at his waist, where they had long reposed upon the back of his coat, just above the little tails; and then his itching fingers began to clutch at those in front, which he would have cut off also but for a wholesome dread of castigation.

But the three already appropriated were a great acquisition to his string, and when, according to size, the b.u.t.tons once more occupied their places, and had been admired, and polished, and breathed upon, Ichabod sighed for something new, as he replaced the collection in his pocket.

Then the boy had another good pump at the bellows-handle, riding down upon it more than once; but there was still no demand for the air, so he had to devise some other occupation to satisfy the cravings of his restless spirit.

Those leather inexpressibles of his were almost inexhaustible in treasures, for now the lad's face lighted up as he found something fresh to suit--a dirty, sticky ball of india-rubber, which, with a little masticating, became available for the purpose of pulling out, and then after the enclosure of a small portion of air, became the base of several little bladders, which would, when compressed between the thumb-nails, explode with a sharp crack.

But even that would not last for ever, and Ichabod next brought forth a squirt, but this unfortunately was useless without water, and had to be put back after a polish upon the coat-sleeve, when he again declared it to be a shame to bring him there when he "worn't wanted;" and feeling more than ever certain that the organist was asleep, he began to creep on tip-toe towards where he could see through the curtains, and inspect the interior of the organ-pew.

"I knowed he was," muttered Ichabod, relieving his feelings by making a grimace at his employer--one evidently copied from a carved corbel outside the church; for, drawing down his lower eyelids with his forefingers, he hooked the fourth digits in the corners of his rather too capacious mouth, and stretched eyes, and lips to their greatest extent.

The face produced was striking, especially as seen in the dim light of the old church; but Jared Pellet saw it not, though the boy altered his opinion as to the organist's somnolency upon hearing something which sounded like a sob. For, with face buried in his hands, Jared was bending down over the keys, motionless, and evidently suffering from some bitter mental pang.

Ichabod, upon hearing the sob, darted back to his place in an instant, to seize the handle and pump more wind into the once again empty wind-chest; but hearing nothing more, he decided in his own mind that the noise he had heard was but a snore, and he stole forward to relieve his feelings with another grimace. But this time he tortured not his physiognomy; for, making some slight noise as he peered through the curtains, he encountered the full gaze of the organist, who was looking up; and by some strange fascination, man and boy remained as it were fixed by each other's eyes, for quite a minute.

"Plee, sir, didn't you call?" said Ichabod, who was the first to break the silence.

"Call--call!" echoed Jared. "No, I did not call."

"Shall I blow, plee, sir?" said the boy.

"A blow!" murmured Jared, dreamily; "yes, a heavy blow--a blast from one of the storms of life!" and he once more buried his face in his hands, while Ichabod relieved his feelings by sticking his tongue into his cheek, and lifting up and putting down one leg; before he again spoke to ask if there was anything the matter.

"Go home, boy--go home," said Jared, slowly, and speaking as if he were half-stunned.

"Shan't you want to practise, sir?" queried Ichabod.

Jared made a negative movement of the head, and, waiting for no further dismissal, the boy caught up his cap, scuttled down the stairs, clattered out of the door, and was gone, whooping and hallooing with delight at his freedom, while the organist, slowly lifting his head, and looking about as if in a weary stupefying dream, took up a letter from the key-board, where it had lain, and where he had found it that day when he came to practise--a letter written in the vicar's bold hand, sealed with the great topaz seal that hung to his broad old-fas.h.i.+oned watch-ribbon, and directed to him, while it enclosed a little bright peculiarly-shaped key, which Jared remembered to have seen lying in his music-locker for weeks past, when he had come up into the loft, though, after the first time, when he had picked it up and turned it over, it had hardly taken his attention. But now, slowly and half-tottering, he rose, and left the organ-pew with the letter in one hand--an old-fas.h.i.+oned letter, written upon blue quarto paper, folded so as to dispense with an envelope--the key in the other, descended the stairs, crossed nave and aisle to one poor-box, where he tried the key, to find that it opened the lock with ease; then sighing as he closed it, without noticing that the vicar had removed the contents that morning when he left the letter for the organist upon the key-board of the instrument, Jared crossed the silent church to the other door, to try the box there, with the same result; when once more ascending to the gallery, he stood again in the organ-pew, looking towards the chancel, and then read his letter for about the sixth time.

Once only, he looked up: it was afternoon, and the sun streamed in at the great west window, illumining the chancel, when there, as if lit up especially for him to read, the golden letters of that particular sentence brighter than the others--bright and flas.h.i.+ng, but stained by the sunbeams that pierced a painted pane of a fiery hue--there were the words--

"Thou shalt not steal."

Jared Pellet groaned as his eyes fell and rested upon the paper he held, and he began once more to read, muttering now and then a word or two or a sentence half aloud.

"No prosecution--came with a friend--wished to try the organ--found a false key amongst the music--knew wards--flashed upon him that it opened the poor-boxes--own conscience be my punishment--engagement terminate at Christmas--best for all parties--and may G.o.d forgive me."

"And may G.o.d forgive me," groaned Jared aloud, after a long pause.

"Forgive me for what?" and then he stood turning over and over the key he held in his hand, scanning it again and again, as if it were indeed the key to the mystery of the robbery. He wiped his forehead, and looked about him trying to think, and wondering from whence came the key. He tried to determine in his own mind the day upon which he had first seen it, but without success; though even had he been sure of the date, the knowledge, he was obliged to own, would have been valueless.

It seemed but too certain that an enemy had placed the key where it had been found, though he struggled long against the thought, saying plaintively to himself, "I have no enemies." And indeed, if his a.s.sertion were not absolutely true, he certainly had none of his own wilful making.

Then he sighed again bitterly, folded the key in the letter as he had first found it, took it out, and read the letter again, though he now knew every word by heart, and could repeat it with his lips, but it was, as it were by rote, and the meaning seemed hard to understand. It had come upon him with such a shock, he was so utterly unprepared, that when at last more than once the truth had forced its way home, he roused himself with an effort from the prostration it caused, and tried to find some grain of comfort in the letter, which, however, afforded it not.

Again he folded the key inside the missive in a dreary absent way, replaced his books in the locker, and was about to drop the cus.h.i.+oned lid, when he recalled where he had last seen that key, and raised a few sheets of music to make sure that it was not still there, in the farther corner where it had slipped. But no; there was only a tuning-fork, and a little fluey dust mingled with sc.r.a.ps of paper. So he dropped the lid, and sat down for a few moments, with his hands to his forehead, but he raised himself again, opened the organ, then lifted the lid of the locker, took out a piece, and placed it upon the stand ready for practice; but remembering directly after that the boy was gone, he once more closed the instrument, and looked helplessly about, till, as if seized by some sudden impulse, he caught up his hat and hurried out of the church, forgetting to lock the door, but hastening back to do so when he had gone about a hundred yards.

Volume 2, Chapter XV.

PROVE IT.

A quarter of an hour after leaving the church, Jared was at the door of the vicar's residence, where his summons was answered by the old Lincolns.h.i.+re woman who had come up to London with "Maister," and filled the posts of cook and housekeeper.

Now, most people would have told their servants to say, "Not at home,"

to such-and-such a person; but the vicar had his own ideas upon such matters, and the old woman was ready for the expected visitor, for she exclaimed--

"Maister said he wouldn't see you, if you called, Mr Pellet; and if you wanted to say anything, you was to write."

"But did he say"--ventured Jared.

"No; he didn't say not another word," said the old housekeeper; and Jared turned disconsolately away, walking down the street in a purposeless manner, until, moved by another idea, he roused himself and hurried in the direction of Mr Timson's stores, where he found the head of the establishment, very stern and important, in his counting-house, but apparently ready to listen to reason.

"It's all a mistake, sir; I'm as innocent as a child," exclaimed Jared.

"Hadn't you better shut the door first, sir?" said Timson, drily; when Jared hurriedly closed the gla.s.s-door of communication with the warehouse. "That's better," said he. "As well not to let all the world know."

"It's all a mistake though, Mr Timson," again exclaimed Jared.

"Just so--just so, Mr Pellet, sir; but prove it;" and Timson thrust his fingers into his waistcoat, and then drew himself back as far as he could.

"That key has been in my locker for weeks and weeks now," said Jared.

"I saw it lying there, and thought it might have been left by somebody.

It never occurred to me that it would open the poor-boxes."

Mr Timson raised his eyebrows, and looked deeply into the account-book before him, and then he placed three fingers upon the three columns-- pounds, s.h.i.+llings, and pence--and slowly and methodically thrust them up the paper, as if calculating the amount of all three at one and the same time. He muttered, too, several indistinct words, which sounded like the names of various sums of money, before he turned again to Jared.

"I always told the vicar it was false keys, Mr Pellet; but if we've put the saddle upon the wrong horse, or the boot upon the wrong foot, why the wearer must kick it off, sir."

"But you don't think that I did it, sir?" exclaimed Jared, pitifully.

"Well, I don't know, Mr Pellet--I don't know," said the churchwarden.

"I don't know, indeed, sir. I don't want to think it's you; but what are we to do? Mr Gray comes to me, lays his hand on my shoulder, and he says--only last night, mind, sir"--(Mr Timson had his ap.r.o.n on, and therefore he said "sir")--"'Timson, I've found out the culprit'."

"'Then I hope you're satisfied, sir,' I said.

"'No,' he said, 'no, not at all; I've found him out, but now I wish to goodness that I had not, for it seems a cruel thing.'

"'Who is it, sir?' I said.

"'Oh!' he said, 'it's poor Pellet I found a false key at the bottom of his book-locker when I took the organist of St Chrysostom's to try our instrument.'

"'Pooh!' I said, 'nonsense, sir! stuff!'

"'What!' he says; 'why, you suspected him yourself, and said you were sure he was the culprit only the other day.'"

"Oh Mr Timson!" groaned Jared. "Now don't you be in a hurry," grumbled the churchwarden, pettishly. "Hear me out, can't you. You young fellows always will be so rash."

Jared raised his hands deprecatingly, and the churchwarden continued--

"'Very true, sir,' I said, 'so I did everybody in turn; but, depend upon it, 'tain't Pellet.' Those were the very words that pa.s.sed, Mr Pellet; and now you've got to prove yourself innocent, that is, if you can, sir; for, though I stuck up for you to the vicar, I must say that it looks very black against you. We wanted to find the key to the mystery, and we found it, sir, in your box, so you've got to prove yourself an honest man, and show how the key got there."