Nell and Her Grandfather, Told from Charles Dickens's "The Old Curiosity Shop"

THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.

One evening an Old Gentleman was taking a walk in the city of London, when some one spoke to him in a soft, sweet voice that fell pleasantly upon his ears. He turned hastily round, and found at his elbow a pretty little girl of some thirteen summers, who begged to be directed to a certain street which was in quite another part of London.

"It is a very long way from here, my child," said the Old Gentleman.

"I know that, sir," she replied timidly. "I am afraid it is a very long way, for I came from there to-night."

"Alone?" said the Old Gentleman.

"Oh yes; I don't mind that. But I am a little afraid now, for I have lost my road."

"And what made you ask it of me? Suppose I should tell you wrong?"

"I am sure you will not do that," said the little maiden. "You are such a very old gentleman, and walk so slow yourself."

As the child spoke these words a tear came into her clear eye, and her slight figure trembled as she looked up into the Old Gentleman's face.

"Come," said he, "I'll take you there."

She put her hand in his as if she had known him from her cradle; and they trudged away together, the little creature rather seeming to lead and take care of the Old Gentleman than he to be protecting her.

"Who has sent you so far by yourself?" said he.

"Somebody who is very kind to me, sir."

"And what have you been doing?"

"That I must not tell," said the child.

The Old Gentleman looked at the little creature with surprise, for he wondered what kind of errand it might be that made her unwilling to answer the question. Her quick eye seemed to read his thoughts. As it met his she added that there was no harm in what she had been doing, but it was a great secret--a secret which she did not even know herself.

This was said with perfect frankness. She now walked on as before, talking cheerfully by the way; but she said no more about her home, beyond remarking that they were going quite a new road, and asking if it were a short one.

At length, clapping her hands with pleasure and running on before her new friend for a short distance, the little girl stopped at a door, and remaining on the step till the Old Gentleman came up, knocked at it when he joined her. When she had knocked twice or thrice there was a noise as if some person were moving inside, and at length a faint light was seen through the glass of the upper part of the door. As this light approached very slowly it showed clearly both what kind of person it was who advanced and what kind of apartment it was through which he came.

He was a little old man, with long gray hair, whose face and figure, as he held the light above his head and looked before him, could be plainly seen. The place through which he made his way was one of those found in odd corners of the town, and known as "curiosity shops." There were suits of mail standing like ghosts in armour here and there; rusty weapons of various kinds; twisted figures in china, and wood, and iron, and ivory; curtains, and strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams.

The thin, worn face of the little old man was suited to the place. He might have groped among old churches, and tombs, and deserted houses, and gathered all the spoils with his own hands. As he turned the key in the lock he looked at the Old Gentleman with some surprise. The door being opened, the child addressed him as her grandfather, and in a few words told him the little story of her meeting with her new friend.

"Why, bless thee, child," said the old man, patting her on the head, "how couldst thou miss thy way? What if I had lost thee, Nell!"

"I would have found my way back to you, grandfather," said the child boldly. "Never fear."

The old man kissed her, then turned to the stranger, and begged him to walk in. He did so. The door was closed and locked. Going first with the light, the old man led the way into a small sitting-room behind the shop. From this apartment another door opened into a kind of closet, in which stood a little bed that a fairy might have slept in, it looked so very small and was so prettily draped. The child took a candle and tripped into this little room, leaving the two old men together.

In a few moments, however, the door of the closet opened and the child came back, her light-brown hair hanging loose about her neck, and her face flushed with the haste she had made to return. She at once set about preparing supper. The Old Gentleman was surprised to see that everything was done by the child, and that there appeared to be no other persons in the house. When she left the room for a moment he expressed his surprise, and the old man replied that there were few grown persons as careful and useful as she.

"It always grieves me," said the visitor, "to see children entering on the duties of life when they are scarcely more than infants."

"It will do her no harm," said the old man, looking steadily at his guest. "The children of the poor know but few pleasures. Even the cheap delights of childhood must be bought and paid for."

"But--forgive me for saying this--you are surely not so very poor," said the Old Gentleman.

"She is not my child, sir," returned the old man. "Her mother was my daughter, and she was poor. I save nothing, not a penny, though I live as you see; but"--he leaned forward to whisper--"she shall be rich one of these days and a fine lady. Don't you think ill of me because I use her help. She gives it cheerfully, as you see, and it would break her heart if she knew that I suffered anybody else to do for me what her own little hands can do so well."

At this moment the child again returned, and the old man, motioning his visitor to come to the table, broke off and said no more.

They had scarcely begun their repast when there was a knock at the door, and Nell, bursting into a hearty laugh, said it was no doubt dear old Kit come back at last.

"Foolish Nell," said her grandfather, fondling with her hair. "She always laughs at poor Kit." Then he took up a candle, and went to open the door. When he came back Kit was at his heels.

Kit was a shock-headed, clumsy lad, with a very wide mouth, very red cheeks, a turned-up nose, and a very comical look on his face. He at once carried a large slice of bread and meat into a corner, and began to eat greedily.

"Ah!" said the old man, turning to his guest with a sigh, as if he had spoken to him at that very moment, "you don't know what you say when you tell me that I don't consider her."

"You must not think too much of what I said, my friend," said the other.

"No," returned the old man thoughtfully, "no.--Come hither, Nell."

The little girl hastened from her seat, and put her arm round his neck.

"Do I love thee, Nell?" said he. "Say, do I love thee, Nell, or no?"

The child only answered by her caresses, and laid her head upon his breast.

"Why dost thou sob?" said the grandfather, pressing her closer to him. "Is it because thou know'st that I love thee, and dost not like that I should seem to doubt it? Well, well; then let us say I love thee dearly."

"Indeed, indeed you do," replied the child. "Kit knows you do."