little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第26章

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you　had？'

His　name　was　Plornish；　Little　Dorrit　said。

And　where　did　Plornish　live？　Plornish　lived　in　Bleeding　Heart　Yard。　He
was　'only　a　plasterer；'　Little　Dorrit　said；　as　a　caution　to　him　not　to
form　high　social　expectations　of　Plornish。　He　lived　at　the　last　house　in
Bleeding　Heart　Yard；　and　his　name　was　over　a　little　gateway。　Arthur　took
down　the　address　and　gave　her　his。　He　had　now　done　all　he　sought　to　do
for　the　present；　except　that　he　wished　to　leave　her　with　a　reliance
upon　him；　and　to　have　something　like　a　promise　from　her　that　she　would
cherish　it。

'There　is　one　friend！'　he　said；　putting　up　his　pocketbook。　'As　I　take
you　back……you　are　going　back？'

'Oh　yes！　going　straight　home。'

'As　I　take　you　back；'　the　word　home　jarred　upon　him；　'let　me　ask　you　to
persuade　yourself　that　you　have　another　friend。　I　make　no　professions；
and　say　no　more。'

'You　are　truly　kind　to　me；　sir。　I　am　sure　I　need　no　more。'

They　walked　back　through　the　miserable　muddy　streets；　and　among　the
poor；　mean　shops；　and　were　jostled　by　the　crowds　of　dirty　hucksters
usual　to　a　poor　neighbourhood。　There　was　nothing；　by　the　short　way；　that
was　pleasant　to　any　of　the　five　senses。　Yet　it　was　not　a　mon　passage
through　mon　rain；　and　mire；　and　noise；　to　Clennam；　having　this
little；　slender；　careful　creature　on　his　arm。　How　young　she　seemed　to
him；　or　how　old　he　to　her；　or　what　a　secret　either　to　the　other；　in　that
beginning　of　the　destined　interweaving　of　their　stories；　matters　not
here。　He　thought　of　her　having　been　born　and　bred　among　these　scenes；
and　shrinking　through　them　now；　familiar　yet　misplaced；　he　thought
of　her　long　acquaintance　with　the　squalid　needs　of　life；　and　of　her
innocence；　of　her　solicitude　for　others；　and　her　few　years；　and　her
childish　aspect。

They　were　e　into　the　High　Street；　where　the　prison　stood；　when　a
voice　cried；　'Little　mother；　little　mother！'　Little　Dorrit　stopping　and
looking　back；　an　excited　figure　of　a　strange　kind　bounced　against　them
（still　crying　'little　mother'）；　fell　down；　and　scattered　the　contents　of
a　large　basket；　filled　with　potatoes；　in　the　mud。

'Oh；　Maggy；'　said　Little　Dorrit；　'what　a　clumsy　child　you　are！'

Maggy　was　not　hurt；　but　picked　herself　up　immediately；　and　then　began
to　pick　up　the　potatoes；　in　which　both　Little　Dorrit　and　Arthur　Clennam
helped。　Maggy　picked　up　very　few　potatoes　and　a　great　quantity　of　mud；
but　they　were　all　recovered；　and　deposited　in　the　basket。　Maggy　then
smeared　her　muddy　face　with　her　shawl；　and　presenting　it　to　Mr　Clennam
as　a　type　of　purity；　enabled　him　to　see　what　she　was　like。

She　was　about　eight…and…twenty；　with　large　bones；　large　features；　large
feet　and　hands；　large　eyes　and　no　hair。　Her　large　eyes　were　limpid　and
almost　colourless；　they　seemed　to　be　very　little　affected　by　light；
and　to　stand　unnaturally　still。　There　was　also　that　attentive　listening
expression　in　her　face；　which　is　seen　in　the　faces　of　the　blind；　but　she
was　not　blind；　having　one　tolerably　serviceable　eye。　Her　face　was　not
exceedingly　ugly；　though　it　was　only　redeemed　from　being　so　by　a　smile；
a　good…humoured　smile；　and　pleasant　in　itself；　but　rendered　pitiable
by　being　constantly　there。　A　great　white　cap；　with　a　quantity　of
opaque　frilling　that　was　always　flapping　about；　apologised　for　Maggy's
baldness；　and　made　it　so　very　difficult　for　her　old　black　bon　to
retain　its　place　upon　her　head；　that　it　held　on　round　her　neck　like　a
gipsy's　baby。　A　mission　of　haberdashers　could　alone　have　reported
what　the　rest　of　her　poor　dress　was　made　of；　but　it　had　a　strong　general
resemblance　to　seaweed；　with　here　and　there　a　gigantic　tea…leaf。　Her
shawl　looked　particularly　like　a　tea…leaf　after　long　infusion。

Arthur　Clennam　looked　at　Little　Dorrit　with　the　expression　of　one
saying；　'May　I　ask　who　this　is？'　Little　Dorrit；　whose　hand　this　Maggy；
still　calling　her　little　mother；　had　begun　to　fondle；　answered　in　words
（they　were　under　a　gateway　into　which　the　majority　of　the　potatoes　had
rolled）。

'This　is　Maggy；　sir。'

'Maggy；　sir；'　echoed　the　personage　presented。　'Little　mother！'

'She　is　the　grand…daughter……'　said　Little　Dorrit。

'Grand…daughter；'　echoed　Maggy。

'Of　my　old　nurse；　who　has　been　dead　a　long　time。　Maggy；　how　old　are
you？'

'Ten；　mother；'　said　Maggy。

'You　can't　think　how　good　she　is；　sir；'　said　Little　Dorrit；　with
infinite　tenderness。

'Good　SHE　is；'　echoed　Maggy；　transferring　the　pronoun　in　a　most
expressive　way　from　herself　to　her　little　mother。

'Or　how　clever；'　said　Little　Dorrit。　'She　goes　on　errands　as　well　as
any　one。'　Maggy　laughed。　'And　is　as　trustworthy　as　the　Bank　of　England。'
Maggy　laughed。　'She　earns　her　own　living　entirely。　Entirely；　sir！'　said
Little　Dorrit；　in　a　lower　and　triumphant　tone。

'Really　does！'

'What　is　her　history？'　asked　Clennam。

'Think　of　that；　Maggy？'　said　Little　Dorrit；　taking　her　two　large　hands
and　clapping　them　together。　'A　gentleman　from　thousands　of　miles　away；
wanting　to　know　your　history！'

'My　history？'　cried　Maggy。　'Little　mother。'

'She　means　me；'　said　Little　Dorrit；　rather　confused；　'she　is　very　much
attached　to　me。　Her　old　grandmother　was　not　so　kind　to　her　as　she　should
have　been；　was　she；　Maggy？'　Maggy　shook　her　head；　made　a　drinking　vessel
of　her　clenched　left　hand；　drank　out　of　it；　and　said；　'Gin。'　Then　beat
an　imaginary　child；　and　said；　'Broom…handles　and　pokers。'

'When　Maggy　was　ten　years　old；'　said　Little　Dorrit；　watching　her　face
while　she　spoke；　'she　had　a　bad　fever；　sir；　and　she　has　never　grown　any
older　ever　since。'

'Ten　years　old；'　said　Maggy；　nodding　her　head。　'But　what　a　nice
hospital！　So　fortable；　wasn't　it？　Oh　so　nice　it　was。　Such　a　Ev'nly
place！'

'She　had　never　been　at　peace　before；　sir；'　said　Little　Dorrit；　turning
towards　Arthur　for　an　instant　and　speaking　low；　'and　she　always　runs　off
upon　that。'

'Such　beds　there　is　there！'　cried　Maggy。　'Such　lemonades！　Such　oranges！
Such　d'licious　broth　and　wine！　Such　Chicking！　Oh；　AIN'T　it　a　delightful
place　to　go　and　stop　at！'

'So　Maggy　stopped　there　as　long　as　she　could；'　said　Little　Dorrit；
in　her　former　tone　of　telling　a　child's　story；　the　tone　designed　for
Maggy's　ear；　'and　at　last；　when　she　could　stop　there　no　longer；　she　came
out。　Then；　because　she　was　never　to　be　more　than　ten　years　old；　however
long　she　lived……'

'However　long　she　lived；'　echoed　Maggy。

'And　because　she　was　very　weak；　indeed　was　so　weak　that　when　she　began
to　laugh　she　couldn't　stop　herself……which　was　a　great　pity……'


（Maggy　mighty　grave　of　a　sudden。）

'Her　grandmother　did　not　know　what　to　do　with　her；　and　for　some　years
was　very　unkind　to　her　indeed。　At　length；　in　course　of　time；　Maggy　began
to　take　pains　to　improve　herself；　and　to　be　very　attentive　and　very
industrious；　and　by　degrees　was　allowed　to　e　in　and　out　as　often　as
she　liked；　and　got　enough　to　do　to　support　herself；　and　does　support
herself。　And　that；'　said　Little　Dorrit；　clapping　the　two　great　hands
together　again；　'is　Maggy's　history；　as　Maggy　knows！'

Ah！　But　Arthur　would　have　known　what　was　wanting　to　its　pleteness；
though　he　had　never　heard　of　the　words　Little　mother；　though　he　had
never　seen　the　fondling　of　the　small　spare　hand；　though　he　had　had　no
sight　for　the　tears　now　standing　in　the　colourless　eyes；　though　he　had
had　no　hearing　for　the　sob　that　checked　the　clumsy　laugh。　The　dirty
gateway　with　the　wind　and　rain　whistling　through　it；　and　the　basket　of
muddy　potatoes　waiting　to　be　spilt　again　or　taken　up；　never　seemed　the
mon　hole　it　really　was；　when　he　looked　back　to　it　by　these　lights。
Never；　never！

They　were　very　near　the　end　of　their　walk；　and　they　now　came　out　of　the
gateway　to　finish　it。　Nothing　would　serve　Maggy　but　that　they　must　stop
at　a　grocer's　window；　short　of　their　destination；　for　her　to　show　her
learning。　She　could　read　after　a　sort；　and　picked　out　the　fat　figures　in
the　tickets　of　prices；　for　the　most　part　correctly。　She　also　stumbled；
with　a　large　balance　of　success　against　her　failures；　through　various
philanthropic　remendations　to　Try　our　Mixture；　Try　our　Family　Black；
Try　our　Orange…flavoured　Pekoe；　challenging　petition　at　the　head
of　Flowery　Teas；　and　various　cautions　to　the　public　against　spurious
establishments　and　adulterated　articles。　When　he　saw　how　pleasure
brought　a　rosy　tint　into　Little　Dorrit's　face　when　Maggy　made　a　hit；
he　felt　that　he　could　have　stood　there　making　a　library　of　the　grocer's
window　until　the　rain　and　wind　were　tired。

The　court…yard　received　them　at　last；　and　there　he　said　goodbye　to
Little　Dorrit。　Little　as　she　had　always　looked；　she　looked　less　than
ever　when　he　saw　her　going　into　the　Marshalsea　lodge　passage；　the　little
mother　attended　by　her　big　child。　The　cage　door　opened；　and　when　the
small　bird；　reared　in　captivity；　had　tamely　fluttered　in；　he　saw　it　shut
again；　and　then　he　came　away。




CHAPTER　10。　Containing　the　whole　Science　of　Government


The　Circumlocution　Office　was　（as　everybody　knows　without　being　told）
the　most　important　Department　under　Government。　No　public　business　of
any　kind　could　possibly　be　done　at　any　time　without　the　acquiescence　of
the　Circumlocution　Office。　Its　finger　was　in　the　largest　public　pie；