The Rambles of a Rat

CHAPTER IX

HOW WE FOUND A FEAST

I remained in the Zoological Gardens for a few weeks, improving my acquaintance with the mild Zibethicus and the gentle Lemmings. As for the German Hamster, he became so drowsy as the weather grew colder, that it became evident that he could sleep day and night upon boards, though he never fell into the perfectly torpid, almost dead state that he would have done, could he have been humoured by being buried alive.

I should willingly have remained longer in the gardens, but the keepers were taking such stringent measures to get rid of rats, that we thought it better to remove on our own four feet while we could, instead of being carried in a bag, a kind of conveyance for which we had no fancy. We therefore set out on our journey homewards.

We again chose the underland route, lest we should meet with dogs and cats in the streets, or be crushed beneath rolling wheels. We had not gone far, however, when Whiskerandos suddenly stopped.

“I feel hungry,” said he.

“So do I,” rejoined I.

“We must find our way into one of the houses,” observed the bold rat; “let’s turn down this passage, it doubtless leads to some kitchen.”

Down the passage we accordingly turned, Whiskerandos, as usual, going first; but we were met, almost at the entrance, by two savage brown rats, who did not seem disposed to allow us to pass.

“Pray, does this passage lead to a kitchen?” said Whiskerandos, not appearing to notice their sharp teeth and gleaming eyes.

“Yes,” replied one; “but the passage, and the house, and the kitchen, belong to us, and we let no one share in our rights.”

“Any one who attempts to pass,” cried the other, very fiercely, “has to pay us toll with his ears!”

“Well, my good friends,” replied Whiskerandos, “notwithstanding the darkness I have no doubt but that your bright eyes have observed that I have paid that toll already, and that is a kind of toll which no one is expected to pay twice.” The brown rats looked at the warrior with keen, wondering gaze, while Whiskerandos calmly continued, “I lost my ears in single combat with a ferret; he who exacted the toll lost his life in exchange, and I feel somehow persuaded that you will rather politely guide me into your house and share with me whatever I get there, than try the experiment whether a rat can fight as well without ears as he once did with them.”

This little speech had a most wonderful effect in subduing all unfriendly and inhospitable feelings on the part of the brown rats towards the valiant Whiskerandos. They, however, looked very suspiciously at me, and I fancied that I heard one whisper to the other, “There’s a black rat – an intruder – an enemy – we must tear him in pieces!”

I felt uncommonly uncomfortable, and much inclined to turn round and scamper for my life; but Whiskerandos soon ended the difficulty. “Let me introduce to you my friend Ratto,” said he, “my very particular friend, who goes where I go, shares what I find, and whose safety I value as my own.”

Nothing more was said about tearing me in pieces, so we all proceeded amicably on our way, till the brown rats led us through a small hole, and we found ourselves in a large, airy kitchen.

The place was perfectly quiet; the loud ticking of the clock was the only sound heard, the swing of its pendulum the only motion seen, except that a few black beetles were creeping on the sanded floor. The fire, which must have been a very large one, had almost burnt out; but a few red embers still were glowing, and served to light us on our way, though, as I have mentioned before, light seems unnecessary to rats.

We peeped about, under the dresser, on the shelves, and snuffed at the locked door of the larder, but nothing could we discover fit for food. A jar on a shelf looked tempting enough, but being made, cover and all, of crockery ware, it defied even our sharp little teeth.

“I’ve made a discovery!” exclaimed I at last, and at my shout the three other rats came eagerly running towards the place where I stood rejoicing by a flask of oil.

“I’ve seen that flask a dozen times,” exclaimed one of the Brownies, in a tone of angry disappointment; “I have longed to taste its contents, but how is a rat to get at them?”

Here was a puzzler indeed. But Whiskerandos was ever ready at expedients. With neat dexterity he extracted the stopper; but here the difficulty did not end, for the neck of the bottle was too narrow by far to admit the head of a rat; and the position of the flask, in a wooden box, rendered it impossible to alter its position so as to pour out its contents.

“Mighty little use that flask is to us!” exclaimed one of the Brownies, impatiently.

But my clever rat was not easily discouraged In a moment he had dipped in his long tail, and then whisking it out again, scattered around a fragrant shower of oil!

There was no end to the praises and commendations which Whiskerandos received for this simple device. He took little notice of them, however, and only playfully observed, “It is Ratto who should have thought of this, since nature has furnished black rats with two hundred and fifty distinct rings in their tails, while brown ones have only two hundred.”

“Ah, Whiskerandos!” exclaimed I, “this oil is a nice relish to be sure, but my appetite craves something solid;” and I looked piteously up at the jar. The other rats looked up piteously also.

“Let us see what we can do!” cried my spirited companion; and he clambered for the second time up on the shelf on which stood the tantalizing jar. This time he did not even attempt to nibble at the hard polished crockery, he wasted not his energies in any such fruitless endeavour; but, putting his mighty strength to the task, he pushed the whole jar nearer and nearer to the edge of the shelf, then over it, till at length it fell with a tremendous crash which made every one of us leap up high into the air with amazement!

We might have leapt for joy also, for from the broken crockery what a feast of delicious dried fruits rolled forth! With what glee we set to our supper, while Whiskerandos sprang from his shelf, too eager to partake of the tempting repast to take the slower method of climbing. I must confess that of all pleasures upon earth there is none to a rat like eating; if such be the case with any of the lords of creation, why I can only say that they must be content to be reckoned like rats.

We were in the midst of our feast, our mouths full, and our whiskers merrily wagging, when we were startled by a faint noise at the kitchen door. A stealthy sound, as of human feet moving slowly and cautiously along; a timid hand laid softly on the handle of the door; and then a whispering murmur of voices. We pricked up our ears and stopped eating.

“I am sure that the noise came from the kitchen; – listen!” said a timorous voice. So those without listened, and so did we within, when the clock suddenly striking One, made us all start, and so frightened the Brownies, that off they scampered into their hole. Whiskerandos and I retreated some steps, and then remained in an attitude of attention, while again the whispering began.

“Would it not be safer to call in a policeman?”

“No, no, – my blunderbuss is loaded, and the villains cannot escape. You are nervous – go back, Eliza.”

“Dearest – I’ll never leave you to meet the danger alone!”

The handle creaked as it was slowly turned round, and Whiskerandos exclaiming, “We’d better be off!” followed the example of the Brownies. Strong curiosity made me linger for a moment, as the door was opened inch by inch, and I had a glimpse of what to this day I cannot remember without laughing. One of the lords of the creation slowly advanced through it, robed in a long red dressing-gown, a candle in one hand, a loaded blunderbuss in the other, and with a most ludicrous expression on his pallid face, as though he were making up his mind to kill somebody, but was a little afraid that somebody might kill him instead! His wife, looking ghastly in her curl-papers with her eyes and mouth wide open in fright, was trying to pull him back, and was evidently terrified to glance round the kitchen, lest some midnight robber should meet her gaze. Away I scudded, my sides shaking with mirth, leaving the broken jar and the scattered fruits to tell their own tale, and wondering with what stories of midnight alarms the valiant husband and his devoted spouse would amuse their family in the morning.

CHAPTER X

THE WANT OF A DENTIST

I was glad to see Oddity’s kind ugly face again in our native shed. How much I had to tell him! how much older I now felt than one who had never wandered a hundred yards from his home! Who knows not the pleasure of returning even after a brief absence, full of information, eager to impart it, and sure of a ready and attentive listener? I talked over my adventures to my brother, till any patience but his would have been exhausted; but he was the most patient of rats, quite willing to have all his adventures second-hand, without the slightest wish to become a hero, but ready, without a particle of envy, to admire the exploits of others.

“And how is old Furry?” I asked, when at length I came to the end of my narration. Furry had now taken up his quarters in the warehouse, but sometimes visited our shed.

Oddity looked very grave. “You know,” replied he, “that poor Furry had the misfortune some time ago to lose one of his upper front teeth.”

“I know it; he struck it out when gnawing at the hoop of a barrel. But I do not see that the misfortune is great; old Furry has other teeth left.”

“That is his misfortune,” added Oddity.

“How? – what do you mean? – what does he complain of, – losing his teeth or keeping them?”

“Both,” said Oddity. I should have thought him joking, but Oddity was never guilty of a joke in his life. “You see,” he continued, observing my look of surprise, “that gnawing is necessary to us rats, to keep down the quick growth of our teeth. If they are not constantly rubbing one against another, they soon get a great deal too long for our mouths. As poor old Furry’s upper tooth is gone, of course the one just under it is now out of work, and having nothing else to do, is growing at such a pace, that it is actually forming a circle in his mouth!”

“You don’t say so!” I exclaimed “I have often noticed the strange length of that tooth, but I had no notion of the extent of the evil.”

“It has much increased since you left us,” sighed Oddity, “and where it will end I really don’t know. The poor fellow is blind, he had no pleasure but in nibbling and chatting, and now his dreadful long tooth is actually locking his jaw.”

“Shall I go to see him?” said I.

“Do as you please,” replied Oddity. “There is little pleasure in seeing him now, poor fellow.”

And so I found when I went. Poor old Furry’s misfortune had by no means sweetened his temper. He was ready to bite any one who approached him, only biting was now out of the question. He could hardly manage to swallow a little meal which Oddity had procured, and certainly took it without a sign of gratitude. One would have thought, by his manner towards the piebald rat, that it was he who had knocked out the unlucky front tooth, instead of having kindly attended to Furry’s wants for so long, and borne with his temper, which was harder. But Oddity was, without a doubt, the most patient and steady of rats. While Bright-eyes, full of fun, made many a joke at the expense of the blind, crabbed old rat, who had been so fond of talking, and now could scarcely utter a squeak – of eating, and now could not nibble a nut, – Oddity never thought the sufferings of another the subject for a smile, or the peevishness and infirmities of age any theme for the ridicule of the young. He had been often laughed at himself; that was perhaps the reason why he never gave the same pain to others.

I was really glad to escape back to my shed from the atmosphere of a peevish temper. I was accompanied to it by Oddity.

“And now, dear old rat,” said I, when we were alone, “how go on our little ragged friends? What has become of Bob and Billy?”

“They still live, or rather starve, in the old shed,” said he; “but now they go out each day together. I expect them here every minute.”

“So then they are as poor as ever?” inquired I.

“I have heard something of occasional treats of warm soup at the school, but I don’t think that they get anything certain. I suppose that now and then, when some good folk sit down to a comfortable meal, beside a roaring fire, they just happen to remember that seventy or eighty half-famished children are gathered together in a street near, and send them a welcome supply. But both Bob and Billy have hope now, if they have nothing else; they expect soon to be able to do something for themselves, and to be helped on by the kind friends whom they have found at the school.”

“Has Bob brought home any more red handkerchiefs with white spots?” inquired I.

“Not a rag of one,” answered my companion; “but he brings back something which puzzles my brain – something white, with black marks upon it. He and little Billy sit poring over it by the hour. They don’t eat it, they don’t smell it, they don’t wear it: I can’t make out that it is of any use to them at all; and yet they seem as much pleased, as they study it together, as if it were a piece of Dutch cheese!”

“What are these odd things scattered about the shed?” said I; “I don’t remember seeing them before.”

“Ah! I forgot to say the little one is beginning to make baskets, and neat fingers he has about it: it seems quite a pleasure to the child. The very talk of the boys is growing different now; the elder – ”

He stopped at the sound of a distant cough, which became more distressing every minute, till our two poor boys entered the shed, and Bob sank wearily down on the floor.

“Oh! that cough, how it shakes you!” cried Billy.

“Never mind, ’twill be over soon,” gasped his brother.

I was so much surprised at the change in the boys’ appearance, that at first I could hardly believe my eyes. They both looked much whiter than I had seen them before; their hair was cut closer, and brushed to one side, instead of hanging right over their eyes. Neither of the brothers was in rags; the old worn clothes indeed were still there, but neatly patched and mended; some one had given Bob a pair of old shoes, but it was Billy who wore the warm cloak.

“His brother always makes him wear it,” whispered Oddity, “except at night, and then it covers them both.”

“Now you must have it, Bob; isn’t it comfy?” said the lame child, pressing the cloak round his brother, whose violent cough for the moment prevented his reply, and brought a bright colour to his cheek, which I never had seen there before. “I’ll creep very close to you, Bobby, and then we’ll both have it, you know. There! are you better now?” he said, softly, laying his thin cheek against that of his brother.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get better here.” The boy shivered and closed his eyes as he spoke.

“Oh, Bob! Bob!” cried the child, in accents of fear, “you’re not a-going to be ill like mother; you’re not a-going to – die, and leave me!”

There was something very gentle in the tone, and sweet in the uplift eye, of the poor destitute boy, as he replied, “I can’t say if I’m a-going to die, Billy; but don’t you mind what Miss Mary told us about dying? I used to be afeared when I thought on it, but now – I think I could die and be happy!”

“But you must not – you shall not go and leave me! Oh! what should I do without you?” cried Billy, bursting into tears.

CHAPTER XI

A REMOVAL

A manly voice was heard on the outside, speaking to a porter who was passing at the moment.

“Can you tell me, pray, whether two boys of the name of Parton live near this place? From the direction which was given me, I think that we must be near their dwelling.”

“Parton? – well,” began the porter, in a doubtful voice; but little Billy was up in a moment: “Yes, here they are! here’s where we live!” shouted he, and the next minute the shed was entered by the gentleman and his son whom I had seen at the Zoological Gardens.

The father almost started as he glanced round the miserable place, and the look of pity on his face deepened into one of pain, while Neddy appeared even more shocked. He had, I suspect, known little of poverty, but by hearsay; and the bare, terrible reality took him by surprise.

Bob had risen from the heap of dirty rubbish which served him for a bed. His thin cheek glowed with a bright flush of pleasure as he recognised his benefactor.

“Is it possible that you live here? – sleep here?” exclaimed the gentleman; “exposed in this wretched shed, without a fire, to all the severity of winter?”

Bob attempted to speak, but was stopped by his cough. Billy, who was at all times more talkative and ready to reply, answered, “Yes, we lives here, and sleeps here too, when the cold don’t keep us awake!”

“And does no one ever come to visit you?”

“No one but the rats!” replied the child.

“The rats!” exclaimed Neddy, with a gesture of horror and disgust, which irritated my vanity not a little. Oddity had none, so he looked tranquil as usual.

“Oh, papa!” cried Neddy, “they must not stay here; this horrible hole is only fit for rats!”

His father was bending over Bob, feeling his wrist, asking him questions regarding his health, with a gentle kindness which goes farther to win confidence and affection than the cold bestowal of the greatest benefits.

“You are not well; you must be cared for, my boy. I think that I could manage to get you into an hospital; you would have every comfort there.”

“Please, sir,” began Bob, and stopped; he looked at his brother, and then raised his earnest eyes to the face of his new friend, and gathering courage from the kind glance which he met, faltered forth, “Please, sir, would they take Billy too?”

The gentleman shook his head.

“Then – please, sir, I’d a much rather stay here: we han’t never been parted, Billy and me.”

I saw Neddy eagerly draw his father aside, very near to my hiding-place behind the canvass, so that I could hear some of his words, though they were only spoken in a whisper.

“Could we not get a lodging? – see here!” He pulled something out of his pocket, and spoke still lower; but I caught a sentence here and there: “My Christmas-box, and what aunt gave me, would it be enough?” his voice was very earnest indeed.

I saw something which reminded me of sunshine steal over the father’s face as he looked down on his blue-eyed boy. Then he replied in a quiet tone, “Yes, enough to provide one till warmer weather comes. I would myself see that food and needful comforts were not wanting.”

“And, papa, I have an old suit of clothes; that poor boy is dying with cold; – just see, his jacket will hardly hold together. Might I give him my old suit, papa?”

I read assent in the gentleman’s smile; then, turning to the poor motherless children, he told them that he could not leave them one night longer in that miserable place; that he would take them at once to the dwelling of an honest widow whom he knew, who would watch over the sick, and take care of the young, for she herself had once been a mother.

Poor Bob, weakened and exhausted by poor living, looked bewildered at the words, as though he scarcely understood them, but was ready, without question or hesitation, to go wherever his benefactor should guide him. One only doubt seemed to linger on his mind. “Shall I,” said he, in a hesitating tone, “shall I still be able to go to my school? – ’cause I shouldn’t like to be a-leaving it now!”

“Assuredly you shall attend it, my boy, as soon as your health will permit. I have no means of permanently assisting you; my stay in England is but short; I can only give you help for a time. But at the school you will learn to help yourself, and soon, I hope, be independent of any human aid. I should do you an injury, and not a kindness, were I to teach you to rest on others for those means of living which a brave and honest boy desires to earn for himself. Now let us go on to the comfortable lodging which I mentioned.”

Billy uttered an exclamation of childish delight, as though the word had called up before his mind’s eye a warm hearth, a blazing fire, and smoking viands on a table beside him.

They all now quitted the place, Neddy appearing if possible more happy than the delighted little child. But Billy was the last to leave the shed, in which he had passed so many days of suffering and want. He lingered for a moment at the door, and looked back with a pensive expression.

“You never wish to see that place again, I am sure?” cried Neddy.

“No, not the place; but – but I should ha’ just liked a last peep of the pretty spotted rat who used to lead the old blind un by the stick!”

CHAPTER XII

A NEW ROAD TO FAME

It may have been but my fancy, – it probably was so, – but it seemed to me that Oddity felt a good deal the departure of his little human friend. I thought that he missed the lame child who had taken such pleasure in watching him, and who had found beauties even in his ungainly figure and piebald skin. It certainly was not that he needed the crumbs which the half-starved little Billy had stinted himself to throw to him; but I suppose that it is possible even for rats to grow attached to such as show them confidence and kindness. I often rallied poor Oddity upon his melancholy after the boys had been taken away. Bright-eyes told him that he ought to have been a cat, to sit purring on a mat before the fire, and lick the hand of some old maiden lady, who would feed him with porridge and milk. I said that he should be kept in a gentleman’s house, with a bell round his neck, as rats sometimes are in Germany, to frighten their brethren away.