Dickens' Stories About Children Every Child Can Read. Чарльз Диккенс

would have thought that Tackleton could sing. He hadn't what is generally termed a singing face, by any means.

      "I can't afford to sing," said Tackleton. "I'm glad you can. I hope you can afford to work, too. Hardly time for both, I should think?"

      "If you could only see him, Bertha, how he's winking at me!" whispered Caleb. "Such a man to joke! you'd think, if you didn't know him, he was in earnest, wouldn't you, now?"

      The blind girl smiled and nodded.

      "I am thanking you for the little tree, the beautiful little tree," replied Bertha, bringing forward a tiny rose-tree in blossom, which, by an innocent story, Caleb had made her believe was her master's gift, though he himself had gone without a meal or two to buy it.

      "The bird that can sing and won't sing must be made to sing, they say," grumbled Tackleton. "What about the owl that can't sing, and oughtn't to sing, and will sing; is there anything that he should be made to do?"

      "The extent to which he's winking at this moment!" whispered Caleb to his daughter. "Oh, my gracious!"

      "Always merry and light-hearted with us!" cried the smiling Bertha.

      "Oh! you're there, are you?" answered Tackleton. "Poor idiot!"

      He really did believe she was an idiot; and he founded the belief, I can't say whether consciously or not, upon her being fond of him.

      "Well! and being there – how are you?" said Tackleton, in his cross way.

      "Oh! well; quite well. And as happy as even you can wish me to be. As happy as you would make the whole world, if you could!"

      "Poor idiot!" muttered Tackleton. "No gleam of reason! Not a gleam!"

      The blind girl took his hand and kissed it; held it for a moment in her own two hands; and laid her cheek against it tenderly, before releasing it. There was such unspeakable affection and such fervent gratitude in the act, that Tackleton himself was moved to say, in a milder growl than usual:

      "What's the matter now?"

      "Bertha!" said Tackleton, assuming, for once, a little cordiality. "Come here."

      "Oh! I can come straight to you. You needn't guide me," she rejoined.

      "Shall I tell you a secret, Bertha?"

      "If you will!" she answered, eagerly.

      How bright the darkened face! How adorned with light the listening head!

      "This is the day on which little what's-her-name, the spoilt child, Peerybingle's wife, pays her regular visit to you – makes her ridiculous picnic here; ain't it?" said Tackleton, with a strong expression of distaste for the whole concern.

      "Yes," replied Bertha. "This is the day."

      "I thought so!" said Tackleton. "I should like to join the party."

      "Do you hear that, father!" cried the blind girl in delight.

      "Yes, yes, I hear it," murmured Caleb, with the fixed look of a sleep-walker "but I do not believe it. It's one of my lies, I've no doubt."

      "You see I – I want to bring the Peerybingles a little more into company with May Fielding," said Tackleton. "I am going to be married to May."

      "Married!" cried the blind girl, starting from him.

      "She's such a confounded idiot," muttered Tackleton, "that I was afraid she'd never understand me. Yes, Bertha! Married! Church, parson, clerk, glass-coach, bells, breakfast, bride-cake, favors, marrow-bones, cleavers, and all the rest of the tomfoolery. A wedding, you know; a wedding. Don't you know what a wedding is?"

      "I know," replied the blind girl, in a gentle tone. "I understand!"

      "Do you?" muttered Tackleton. "It's more than I expected. Well, on that account I want you to join the party, and to bring May and her mother. I'll send a little something or other, before the afternoon. A cold leg of mutton, or some comfortable trifle of that sort. You'll expect me?"

      "Yes," she answered.

      She had drooped her head, and turned away; and so stood, with her hands crossed, musing.

      "I don't think you will," muttered Tackleton, looking at her; "for you seem to have forgotten all about it already. Caleb!"

      "I may venture to say, I'm here, I suppose," thought Caleb. "Sir!"

      "Take care she don't forget what I've been saying to her."

      "She never forgets," returned Caleb. "It's one of the few things she ain't clever in."

      "Every man thinks his own geese swans," observed the toy merchant, with a shrug. "Poor devil!"

      Having delivered himself of which remark with infinite contempt, old Gruff & Tackleton withdrew.

      Bertha remained where he had left her, lost in meditation. The gaiety had vanished from her downcast face, and it was very sad. Three or four times she shook her head, as if bewailing some remembrance or some loss; but her sorrowful reflections found no vent in words.

      1

      For the benefit of some of our young readers, it may be well to explain that this is about the same as a bill of twenty-five dollars would be in America.

      2

      A biffin is a red apple, growing near Norfolk, and generally eaten after having been baked.