little dorrit-信丽(英文版)- 第21部分

If　ever　pride　were　innocent；　it　was　innocent　in　Little　Dorrit　when　she
grew　boastful　of　her　father。

'It　is　often　said　that　his　manners　are　a　true　gentleman's；　and　quite
a　study。　I　see　none　like　them　in　that　place；　but　he　is　admitted　to
be　superior　to　all　the　rest。　This　is　quite　as　much　why　they　make　him
presents；　as　because　they　know　him　to　be　needy。　He　is　not　to　be　blamed
for　being　in　need；　poor　love。　Who　could　be　in　prison　a　quarter　of　a
century；　and　be　prosperous！'

What　affection　in　her　words；　what　passion　in　her　repressed　tears；
what　a　great　soul　of　fidelity　within　her；　how　true　the　light　that　shed
false　brightness　round　him！

'If　I　have　found　it　best　to　conceal　where　my　home　is；　it　is　not　because
I　am　ashamed　of　him。　God　forbid！　Nor　am　I　so　much　ashamed　of　the　place
itself　as　might　be　supposed。　People　are　not　bad　because　they　e　there。
I　have　known　numbers　of　good；　persevering；　honest　people　e　there
through　misfortune。　They　are　almost　all　kind…hearted　to　one　another。
And　it　would　be　ungrateful　indeed　in　me；　to　forget　that　I　have　had　many
quiet；　fortable　hours　there；　that　I　had　an　excellent　friend　there
when　I　was　quite　a　baby；　who　was　very　very　fond　of　me；　that　I　have　been
taught　there；　and　have　worked　there；　and　have　slept　soundly　there。　I
think　it　would　be　almost　cowardly　and　cruel　not　to　have　some　little
attachment　for　it；　after　all　this。'

She　had　relieved　the　faithful　fulness　of　her　heart；　and　modestly　said；
raising　her　eyes　appealingly　to　her　new　friend's；　'I　did　not　mean　to　say
so　much；　nor　have　I　ever　but　once　spoken　about　this　before。　But　it　seems
to　set　it　more　right　than　it　was　last　night。　I　said　I　wished　you　had
not　followed　me；　sir。　I　don't　wish　it　so　much　now；　unless　you　should
think……indeed　I　don't　wish　it　at　all；　unless　I　should　have　spoken　so
confusedly；　that……that　you　can　scarcely　understand　me；　which　I　am　afraid
may　be　the　case。'

He　told　her　with　perfect　truth　that　it　was　not　the　case；　and　putting
himself　between　her　and　the　sharp　wind　and　rain；　sheltered　her　as　well
as　he　could。

'I　feel　permitted　now；'　he　said；　'to　ask　you　a　little　more　concerning
your　father。　Has　he　many　creditors？'

'Oh！　a　great　number。'

'I　mean　detaining　creditors；　who　keep　him　where　he　is？'

'Oh　yes！　a　great　number。'

'Can　you　tell　me……I　can　get　the　information；　no　doubt；　elsewhere；　if　you
cannot……who　is　the　most　influential　of　them？'

Little　Dorrit　said；　after　considering　a　little；　that　she　used　to
hear　long　ago　of　Mr　Tite　Barnacle　as　a　man　of　great　power。　He　was　a
missioner；　or　a　board；　or　a　trustee；　'or　something。'　He　lived
in　Grosvenor　Square；　she　thought；　or　very　near　it。　He　was　under
Government……high　in　the　Circumlocution　Office。　She　appeared　to　have
acquired；　in　her　infancy；　some　awful　impression　of　the　might　of　this
formidable　Mr　Tite　Barnacle　of　Grosvenor　Square；　or　very　near　it；　and
the　Circumlocution　Office；　which　quite　crushed　her　when　she　mentioned
him。

'It　can　do　no　harm；'　thought　Arthur；　'if　I　see　this　Mr　Tite　Barnacle。'

The　thought　did　not　present　itself　so　quietly　but　that　her　quickness
intercepted　it。　'Ah！'　said　Little　Dorrit；　shaking　her　head　with　the　mild
despair　of　a　lifetime。　'Many　people　used　to　think　once　of　getting　my
poor　father　out；　but　you　don't　know　how　hopeless　it　is。'

She　forgot　to　be　shy　at　the　moment；　in　honestly　warning　him　away　from
the　sunken　wreck　he　had　a　dream　of　raising；　and　looked　at　him　with
eyes　which　assuredly；　in　association　with　her　patient　face；　her　fragile
figure；　her　spare　dress；　and　the　wind　and　rain；　did　not　turn　him　from
his　purpose　of　helping　her。

'Even　if　it　could　be　done；'　said　she……'and　it　never　can　be　done
now……where　could　father　live；　or　how　could　he　live？　I　have　often　thought
that　if　such　a　change　could　e；　it　might　be　anything　but　a　service　to
him　now。　People　might　not　think　so　well　of　him　outside　as　they　do　there。
He　might　not　be　so　gently　dealt　with　outside　as　he　is　there。　He　might
not　be　so　fit　himself　for　the　life　outside　as　he　is　for　that。'　Here　for
the　first　time　she　could　not　restrain　her　tears　from　falling；　and　the
little　thin　hands　he　had　watched　when　they　were　so　busy；　trembled　as
they　clasped　each　other。

'It　would　be　a　new　distress　to　him　even　to　know　that　I　earn　a　little
money；　and　that　Fanny　earns　a　little　money。　He　is　so　anxious　about　us；
you　see；　feeling　helplessly　shut　up　there。　Such　a　good；　good　father！'

He　let　the　little　burst　of　feeling　go　by　before　he　spoke。　It　was　soon
gone。　She　was　not　accustomed　to　think　of　herself；　or　to　trouble　any　one
with　her　emotions。　He　had　but　glanced　away　at　the　piles　of　city　roofs
and　chimneys　among　which　the　smoke　was　rolling　heavily；　and　at　the
wilderness　of　masts　on　the　river；　and　the　wilderness　of　steeples　on
the　shore；　indistinctly　mixed　together　in　the　stormy　haze；　when　she
was　again　as　quiet　as　if　she　had　been　plying　her　needle　in　his　mother's
room。

'You　would　be　glad　to　have　your　brother　set　at　liberty？'

'Oh　very；　very　glad；　sir！'

'Well；　we　will　hope　for　him　at　least。　You　told　me　last　night　of　a　friend
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