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though attracted by his sunny heart。 There he stood working at his
anvil； his face all radiant with exercise and gladness； his sleeves
turned up； his wig pushed off his shining forehead—the easiest；
freest； happiest man in all the world。 Beside him sat a sleek cat；
purring and winking in the light； and falling every now and then
into an idle doze； as from excess of comfort。 Toby looked on from a
tall bench hard by； one beaming smile； from his broad nut…brown
face down to the slack…baked buckles in his shoes。 The very locks
that hung around had something jovial in their rust； and seemed
like gouty gentlemen of hearty natures； disposed to joke on their
infirmities。 There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene。
It seemed impossible that any one of the innumerable keys could
fit a churlish strong…box or a prison…door。 Cellars of beer and wine；
rooms where there were fires； books； gossip； and cheering
laughter—these were their proper sphere of action。 Places of
distrust and cruelty； and restraint； they would have left quadruple…
locked for ever。
Tink； tink； tink。 The locksmith paused at last； and wiped his
brow。 The silence roused the cat； who； jumping softly down； crept
to the door； and watched with tiger eyes a bird…cage in an opposite
window。 Gabriel lifted Toby to his mouth； and took a hearty
draught。
Then； as he stood upright； with his head flung back； and his
portly chest thrown out； you would have seen that Gabriel’s lower
man was clothed in military gear。 Glancing at the wall beyond；
there might have been espied； hanging on their several pegs； a cap
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Barnaby Rudge 440
and feather； broadsword； sash； and coat of scarlet； which any man
learned in such matters would have known from their make and
pattern to be the uniform of a serjeant in the Royal East London
Volunteers。
As the locksmith put his mug down； empty； on the bench
whence it had smiled on him before； he glanced at these articles
with a laughing eye； and looking at them with his head a little on
one side； as though he would get them all into a focus； said；
leaning on his hammer：
‘Time was； now； I remember； when I was like to run mad with
the desire to wear a coat of that colour。 If any one （except my
father） had called me a fool for my pains； how I should have fired
and fumed！ But what a fool I must have been； sure…ly！’
‘Ah！’ sighed Mrs Varden； who had entered unobserved。 ‘A fool
indeed。 A man at your time of life； Varden； should know better
now。’
‘Why； what a ridiculous woman you are； Martha；’ said the
locksmith； turning round with a smile。
‘Certainly；’ replied Mrs V。 with great demureness。 ‘Of course I
am。 I know that； Varden。 Thank you。’
‘I mean—’ began the locksmith。
‘Yes；’ said his wife； ‘I know what you mean。 You speak quite
plain enough to be understood； Varden。 It’s very kind of you to
adapt yourself to my capacity； I am sure。’
‘Tut； tut； Martha；’ rejoined the locksmith； ‘don’t take offence at
nothing。 I mean； how strange it is of you to run down volunteering；
when it’s done to defend you and all the other women； and our
own fireside and everybody else’s； in case of need。’
‘It’s unchristian；’ cried Mrs Varden； shaking her head。
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Barnaby Rudge 441
‘Unchristian！’ said the locksmith。 ‘Why； what the devil—’
Mrs Varden looked at the ceiling； as in expectation that the
consequence of this profanity would be the immediate descent of
the four…post bedstead on the second floor； together with the best
sitting…room on the first； but no visible judgment occurring； she
heaved a deep sigh； and begged her husband； in a tone of
resignation； to go on； and by all means to blaspheme as much as
possible； because he knew she liked it。
The locksmith did for a moment seem disposed to gratify her；
but he gave a great gulp； and mildly rejoined：
‘I was going to say； what on earth do you call it unchristian for？
Which would be most unchristian； Martha—to sit quietly down
and let our houses be sacked by a foreign army； or to turn out like
men and drive ’em off？ Shouldn’t I be a nice sort of a Christian； if I
crept into a corner of my own chimney and looked on while a
parcel of whiskered savages bore off Dolly—or you？’
When he said ‘or you；’ Mrs Varden； despite herself； relaxed into
a smile。 There was something complimentary in the idea。 ‘In such
a state of things as that； indeed—’ she simpered。
‘As that！’ repeated the locksmith。 ‘Well； that would be the state
of things directly。 Even Miggs would go。 Some black tambourine…
player； with a great turban on； would be bearing her off； and；
unless the tambourine…player was proof against kicking and
scratching； it’s my belief he’d have the worst of it。 Ha ha ha！ I’d
forgive the tambourine…player。 I wouldn’t have him interfered with
on any account； poor fellow。’ And here the locksmith laughed
again so heartily； that tears came into his eyes—much to Mrs
Varden’s indignation； who thought the capture of so sound a
Protestant and estimable a private character as Miggs by a pagan
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negro； a circumstance too shocking and awful for contemplation。
The picture Gabriel had drawn； indeed； threatened serious
consequences； and would indubitably have led to them； but luckily
at that moment a light footstep crossed the threshold； and Dolly；
running in； threw her arms round her old father’s neck and
hugged him tight。
‘Here she is at last！’ cried Gabriel。 ‘And how well you look； Doll；
and how late you are； my darling！’
How well she looked？ Well？ Why； if he had exhau