So I comforted myself until the church bells chimed the quarter past twelve, informing me that as yet not more than half the time I should have to wait had expired—not half the time; for after Mr. Belcher had called my attention to the fact that it was striking twelve o’clock, a good five minutes were spent in examining the plan at the wicket. I began to grow fidgety. Of course there were no such things as ghosts! True, Mrs. Dipple, at the workhouse, said something about the “resurrection,” and, not knowing the meaning of such a hard word, I asked her, and she explained that it meant rising out of the grave; that everybody—good as well as bad people—would have to rise out of their graves; but what did she know about it? No doubt she was an old fool, as good Mrs. Brownhunter had called her; still, it was a great satisfaction to pat the brown horse’s neck, when I called her “good lass,” as Mr. Belcher did, to hear her whinny and scrape the gravel with her hoof in a natural and commonplace manner.
The church bells chimed the half-hour.
“It’s all over, now, then,” thought I; “I don’t think I’ve stood it bad, considerin’; they’ll be back in a minute.”
And for a minute—two, three, four minutes—my eyes were fixed towards the church path, in the momentary hope of seeing brave Ned Perks staggering along under his load of soot But he didn’t come; nobody—nothing—came. My teeth began to chatter, and the old feeling of funk rapidly stole over me. I patted the mare, and called her “good lass,” and several other endearing names, but she made no response, and stood as still as a tombstone. “The bad, as well as the good,” was what Mrs. Dipple had said; then I suppose the bad were the “exy—what’s o-names,” who came with pronged props after people they caught near their abode. Flap! flap! flutter! flutter! hoo—hoo—hoo! An owl, no doubt; but at that moment an “exy—what’s-o-name” of the largest size stalking through the branches overhead—causing me to cry out with fear, and grasp the brown horse round the neck, and the brown horse to snort, and give herself an uneasy shake that made her harness rattle with a very frightful sound.
I could stand it no longer. Were Mr. Belcher and Ned never coming? I would go a little way up the path, and listen if I could hear them. This I did, first taking the precaution to grope amongst the gravel for two big stones to skid the wheels, in case the brown horse should take it into her head to bolt
I could not see three yards before me up the path, and I was obliged to go scraping along with my feet, to make sure that I did not stray off the flagstones that made the pathway. Every few steps I took I paused and listened; but no sound, except the pattering rain, was to be heard. I ventured a little further, bearing in mind Mr. Belcher’s remark, that he wished it was this side the church, and not the other. I was not near the church yet. Creeping along, step by step, my foot presently struck against something that made a swishing sound, and instantly brought me to a standstill. It was nothing alive, for it did not attempt to get out of the way when I kicked it. Finding it so, I mustered pluck to stoop down and feel it, when, to my unutterable surprise, what should it turn out to be but the chimney-sweeping machine! There was a tree close by, and the machine was lying as though it had been placed against the tree, and fallen as I had found it.
My first fear was, that my master and Ned Perks must be in the immediate neighbourhood; that perhaps Ned was only resting a little from his load of soot; and that I should be presently discovered, and very properly get into a row for leaving the horse and cart; and full of this fear, I crouched down and listened with all my might. I could make out no sound, however—not the least; and while I was peering my hardest through the darkness on every side, I suddenly caught sight of a gleam of lantern-light over by the church. It was but a momentary flash, and extinguished at once; but it lasted long enough for me to perceive that it was coming towards me; so without more ado, I scudded back along the path, unskidded the wheels, and took my place at the mare’s head as though nothing had happened.
So long a time elapsed before anything occurred to justify my suspicion that the light betokened Mr. Belcher’s return, that I began to hope or fear (it would be hard to say, in my utter confusion of mind, which it was) that it was a false alarm, when suddenly I made out the two figures coming up the path, and much closer than I would have thought they could have approached without my being aware of it.
“I always know when they’ve had luck, by Ned Perks coming along bending under his sackful, and the gov’nor carryin’ the tools.” So Sam had said; and judging therefrom, they were in luck. Ned was bending under his sackful, and Mr. Belcher was carrying the tools, including the sweeping-machine, which he must have picked up as he came along. They halted at the wicket, and, in a cautious voice, Mr. Belcher inquired—
“Is it all right, Jim?”
“All right, sir.”
“Nobody been past—nobody spoke to yer?”
There was the “exy—what’s-o-name,” but strictly speaking, it had not addressed itself to me; besides, I was in no condition of mind for conversation, so I shortly answered, that since they were away, I had seen or spoken to no one.
“That’s the sort, Jim. Let down the tailboard; and soon as we’ve lifted the soot in we’ll have a wet a-piece, and be off like winkin’.”
I let down the tail-board, and the two men lifted in the soot—a great load of it—such a load, that they were compelled to rest the part where it was tied on the ledge of the cart, and shove it in, both of them pushing at the bottom of the sack. They turned on the light of the lantern a little while they did this, and, to judge from their appearance, you would have thought they had been doing a job at brick-making rather than chimney-sweeping—they were so soiled with clay. Their hands were smeared with it, as were their boots as high as the ankles; even the ends of Ned Perks’s black silk neckerchief were as though they had dabbled in clayey water, and the soot-sack was daubed with clay-stains from top to bottom. When the soot-sack was comfortably stowed, out came the brandy bottle, and they both took a drink out of it, and gave me a drink.
“Drink hearty; it won’t hurt yer, my lad,” said Mr. Belcher, kindly; “and take this, cos you’ve been a good boy—considerin’ it’s the fust time, a werry good boy; the usual is a tanner, but there’s a bob for you.”
And he gave me a shilling, while Mr. Perks showed his appreciation of my good behaviour at a cheaper rate by kindly patting my head.
“How shall we manage ’bout the ridin’?” asked Mr. Perks. “The boy had best sit atween us, hadn’t he?”
“He’ll be drier squattin’ down in the corner, like he did comin’ along, I should think,” replied Mr. Belcher.
“I don’t mind the rain, sir,” said I; “I’m as wet now as I can be; it won’t hurt me, sir.” Somehow, I felt full of a strange dread that was proof even against the preposterous quantity of brandy I had been persuaded to imbibe since we started from home. I didn’t want to sit at the bottom of the cart.
“Ay, ay; but I’ve got one at home now wot it has hurt; I don’t want another laid on my hands with rheumatiz, I can tell yer,” replied Mr. Belcher.
“Think it’s as well for him to sit at the bottom?” asked Mr. Perks.
“Squat down, Jim,” said Mr. Belcher, by way of reply. “There you are. We’ll put the tarpaulin’ over our knees, so that you can kiver over your shoulders with a corner of it” And he pushed me down into the corner of the cart I had previously occupied.