The Rambles of a Rat Part 6

"Oh, Bob! Bob!" cried the child, in accents of fear, "you're not a-going to be ill like mother; you're not a-going to-- die, and leave me!"

There was something very gentle in the tone, and sweet in the uplift eye, of the poor dest.i.tute boy, as he replied, "I can't say if I'm a-going to die, Billy; but don't you mind what Miss Mary told us about dying? I used to be afeared when I thought on it, but now-- I think I could die and be happy!"

"But you must not-- you shall not go and leave me! Oh! what should I do without you?" cried Billy, bursting into tears.

CHAPTER XI.

A REMOVAL.

A manly voice was heard on the outside, speaking to a porter who was pa.s.sing at the moment.

"Can you tell me, pray, whether two boys of the name of Parton live near this place? From the direction which was given me, I think that we must be near their dwelling."

"Parton?-- well," began the porter, in a doubtful voice; but little Billy was up in a moment: "Yes, here they are! here's where we live!"

shouted he, and the next minute the shed was entered by the gentleman and his son whom I had seen at the Zoological Gardens.

The father almost started as he glanced round the miserable place, and the look of pity on his face deepened into one of pain, while Neddy appeared even more shocked. He had, I suspect, known little of poverty, but by hearsay; and the bare, terrible reality took him by surprise.

Bob had risen from the heap of dirty rubbish which served him for a bed.

His thin cheek glowed with a bright flush of pleasure as he recognised his benefactor.

"Is it possible that you live here?-- sleep here?" exclaimed the gentleman; "exposed in this wretched shed, without a fire, to all the severity of winter?"

Bob attempted to speak, but was stopped by his cough. Billy, who was at all times more talkative and ready to reply, answered, "Yes, we lives here, and sleeps here too, when the cold don't keep us awake!"

"And does no one ever come to visit you?"

"No one but the rats!" replied the child.

"The rats!" exclaimed Neddy, with a gesture of horror and disgust, which irritated my vanity not a little. Oddity had none, so he looked tranquil as usual.

"Oh, papa!" cried Neddy, "they must not stay here; this horrible hole is only fit for rats!"

His father was bending over Bob, feeling his wrist, asking him questions regarding his health, with a gentle kindness which goes farther to win confidence and affection than the cold bestowal of the greatest benefits.

"You are not well; you must be cared for, my boy. I think that I could manage to get you into an hospital; you would have every comfort there."

"Please, sir," began Bob, and stopped; he looked at his brother, and then raised his earnest eyes to the face of his new friend, and gathering courage from the kind glance which he met, faltered forth, "Please, sir, would they take Billy too?"

The gentleman shook his head.

"Then-- please, sir, I'd a much rather stay here: we han't never been parted, Billy and me."

I saw Neddy eagerly draw his father aside, very near to my hiding-place behind the canva.s.s, so that I could hear some of his words, though they were only spoken in a whisper.

"Could we not get a lodging?-- see here!" He pulled something out of his pocket, and spoke still lower; but I caught a sentence here and there: "My Christmas-box, and what aunt gave me, would it be enough?" his voice was very earnest indeed.

I saw something which reminded me of suns.h.i.+ne steal over the father's face as he looked down on his blue-eyed boy. Then he replied in a quiet tone, "Yes, enough to provide one till warmer weather comes. I would myself see that food and needful comforts were not wanting."

"And, papa, I have an old suit of clothes; that poor boy is dying with cold;-- just see, his jacket will hardly hold together. Might I give him my old suit, papa?"

I read a.s.sent in the gentleman's smile; then, turning to the poor motherless children, he told them that he could not leave them one night longer in that miserable place; that he would take them at once to the dwelling of an honest widow whom he knew, who would watch over the sick, and take care of the young, for she herself had once been a mother.

Poor Bob, weakened and exhausted by poor living, looked bewildered at the words, as though he scarcely understood them, but was ready, without question or hesitation, to go wherever his benefactor should guide him.

One only doubt seemed to linger on his mind. "Shall I," said he, in a hesitating tone, "shall I still be able to go to my school?-- 'cause I shouldn't like to be a-leaving it now!"

"a.s.suredly you shall attend it, my boy, as soon as your health will permit. I have no means of permanently a.s.sisting you; my stay in England is but short; I can only give you help for a time. But at the school you will learn to help yourself, and soon, I hope, be independent of any human aid. I should do you an injury, and not a kindness, were I to teach you to rest on others for those means of living which a brave and honest boy desires to earn for himself. Now let us go on to the comfortable lodging which I mentioned."

Billy uttered an exclamation of childish delight, as though the word had called up before his mind's eye a warm hearth, a blazing fire, and smoking viands on a table beside him.

They all now quitted the place, Neddy appearing if possible more happy than the delighted little child. But Billy was the last to leave the shed, in which he had pa.s.sed so many days of suffering and want. He lingered for a moment at the door, and looked back with a pensive expression.

"You never wish to see that place again, I am sure?" cried Neddy.

"No, not the place; but-- but I should ha' just liked a last peep of the pretty spotted rat who used to lead the old blind un by the stick!"

CHAPTER XII.

A NEW ROAD TO FAME.

It may have been but my fancy,-- it probably was so,-- but it seemed to me that Oddity felt a good deal the departure of his little human friend. I thought that he missed the lame child who had taken such pleasure in watching him, and who had found beauties even in his ungainly figure and piebald skin. It certainly was not that he needed the crumbs which the half-starved little Billy had stinted himself to throw to him; but I suppose that it is possible even for rats to grow attached to such as show them confidence and kindness. I often rallied poor Oddity upon his melancholy after the boys had been taken away.

Bright-eyes told him that he ought to have been a cat, to sit purring on a mat before the fire, and lick the hand of some old maiden lady, who would feed him with porridge and milk. I said that he should be kept in a gentleman's house, with a bell round his neck, as rats sometimes are in Germany, to frighten their brethren away.

Oddity took all our taunts very quietly, nibbled his dinner in the warehouse, but spent most of his time in the shed; where, as he snuffed along the ground, and fumbled amongst the chipping and the straw, we used to say that he was searching for little lame Billy, whom he never would see any more.

Winter at length pa.s.sed away. Down the roof of the shed, and through the hole in it, ran little streams of water from the melted snow. The west wind blew softly, bending the columns of smoke from the tall chimneys on sh.o.r.e, and the black funnels of the steamers that went snorting and puffing down the river.

On one of the first mild days we found poor old Furry dead in the warehouse. Life had long been a burden to him, which his unhappy temper rendered yet more galling.

I have heard that the rats of Newfoundland bury their comrades when they die, laying the bodies neatly one beside another, head and heels placed alternately together. I do not know whether this be true: it is not the custom of rats in England. We therefore left old Furry where he lay, close behind a barrel of salt meat, where he was discovered the next day by one of the men of the warehouse.

Now, if there be one thing which men usually think more worthless lumber than another, it is the body of a dead rat. Our skins are not in England collected and valued as they are in France; the only thought is usually how to get rid of the unpleasant presence of the dead creature. And yet, strange to say, the porter did not throw away the body of poor old Furry: he carried it off to his master. I was very curious indeed to know its fate; and, after many fruitless inquiries, at length I discovered it.

The tooth which had been Furry's torment in life, was destined to make him famous after death. Learned men-- I know not how many-- examined the head of the rat, looked, wondered, consulted together; and the end of the matter was, that it was placed as a great curiosity in some building which is called a museum. There, amidst fine vases and ancient weapons, old ma.n.u.scripts and precious stones, and n.o.ble busts of the wise and great, is the head of poor old Furry preserved, with the mouth wide open, to display the extraordinary tooth! Fame is a strange thing, after all. I believe that our friend the rat was not the first, nor will be the last, to pay a heavy price for the bubble!

Early in spring, one sunny morn, I received a visit from my old comrade Whiskerandos. He was full of life and spirits.

"Ratto," cried he, "I have often heard you say that you and I should visit foreign countries together; we've a capital opportunity now.

A vessel is to weigh anchor to-morrow. I have been talking to a s.h.i.+p-rat of my acquaintance, who intends to sail in her, as he has done so before. He says that she is a capital old vessel, full of first-rate accommodation for rats; that Captain Blake keeps a very good table; that there is never any scarcity of pickings; and, in short, I am off for St.

Petersburg, and mean to embark to-night: just say that you will go with me."