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quite feel for them。’
With that he fell into a quiet slumber：—subsided into such a
gentle； pleasant sleep； that it was quite infantine。
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Chapter 25
eaving the favoured； and well…received； and flattered of
the world； him of the world most worldly； who never
L
compromised himself by an ungentlemanly action； and
never was guilty of a manly one； to lie smilingly asleep—for even
sleep； working but little change in his dissembling face； became
with him a piece of cold； conventional hypocrisy—we follow in the
steps of two slow travellers on foot； making towards Chigwell。
Barnaby and his mother。 Grip in their company； of course。
The widow； to whom each painful mile seemed longer than the
last； toiled wearily along； while Barnaby； yielding to every
inconstant impulse； fluttered here and there； now leaving her far
behind； now lingering far behind himself； now darting into some
by…lane or path and leaving her to pursue her way alone； until he
stealthily emerged again and came upon her with a wild shout of
merriment； as his wayward and capricious nature prompted。 Now
he would call to her from the topmost branch of some high tree by
the roadside； now using his tall staff as a leaping…pole； come flying
over ditch or hedge or five…barred gate； now run with surprising
swiftness for a mile or more on the straight road； and halting；
sport upon a patch of grass with Grip till she came up。 These were
his delights； and when his patient mother heard his merry voice；
or looked into his flushed and healthy face； she would not have
abated them by one sad word or murmur； though each had been
to her a source of suffering in the same degree as it was to him of
pleasure。
It is something to look upon enjoyment； so that it be free and
wild and in the face of nature； though it is but the enjoyment of an
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idiot。 It is something to know that Heaven has left the capacity of
gladness in such a creature’s breast； it is something to be assured
that； however lightly men may crush that faculty in their fellows；
the Great Creator of mankind imparts it even to his despised and
slighted work。 Who would not rather see a poor idiot happy in the
sunlight； than a wise man pining in a darkened jail！
Ye men of gloom and austerity； who paint the face of Infinite
Benevolence with an eternal frown； read in the Everlasting Book；
wide open to your view； the lesson it would teach。 Its pictures are
not in black and sombre hues； but bright and glowing tints； its
music—save when ye drown it—is not in sighs and groans； but
songs and cheerful sounds。 Listen to the million voices in the
summer air； and find one dismal as your own。 Remember； if ye
can； the sense of hope and pleasure which every glad return of day
awakens in the breast of all your kind who have not changed their
nature； and learn some wisdom even from the witless； when their
hearts are lifted up they know not why； by all the mirth and
happiness it brings。
The widow’s breast was full of care； was laden heavily with
secret dread and sorrow； but her boy’s gaiety of heart gladdened
her； and beguiled the long journey。 Sometimes he would bid her
lean upon his arm； and would keep beside her steadily for a short
distance； but it was more his nature to be rambling to and fro； and
she better liked to see him free and happy； even than to have him
near her； because she loved him better than herself。
She had quitted the place to which they were travelling；
directly after the event which had changed her whole existence；
and for two…and…twenty years had never had courage to revisit it。
It was her native village。 How many recollections crowded on her
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mind when it appeared in sight！
Two…and…twenty years。 Her boy’s whole life and history。 The
last time she looked back upon those roofs among the trees； she
carried him in her arms； an infant。 How often since that time had
she sat beside him night and day； watching for the dawn of mind
that never came； how had she feared； and doubted； and yet hoped；
long after conviction forced itself upon her！ The little stratagems
she had devised to try him； the little tokens he had given in his
childish way—not of dulness but of something infinitely worse； so
ghastly and unchildlike in its cunning—came back as vividly as if
but yesterday had intervened。 The room in which they used to be；
the spot in which his cradle stood； he； old and elfin…like in face； but
ever dear to her； gazing at her with a wild and vacant eye； and
crooning some uncouth song as she sat by and rocked him； every
circumstance of his infancy came thronging back； and the most
trivial； perhaps； the most distinctly。
His older childhood； too； the strange imaginings he had； his
terror of certain senseless things—familiar objects he endowed
with life； the slow and gradual breaking out of that one horror； in
which； before his birth； his darkened intellect began； how； in the
midst of all； she had found some hope and comfort in his being
unlike another child； and had gone on almost believing in the slow
development of his mind until he grew a man； and then his
childhood was complete and lasting； one after another； all these
old thoughts sprung up within her； strong after their long slumber
and bitterer than ever。
She took his arm and they hurried through the village street。 It
was the same as it was wont to be in old times； yet different too；
and wore another air。 The change was in herself； not it； but she
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Barnaby Rudge