“Lord bless you； my dear boy！ He relies upon everybody！” said
Mr Jarndyce； giving his head a great rub； and stopping short。
“Indeed； sir？”
“Everybody！ And he’ll be in the same scrape again； next week！”
said Mr Jarndyce； walking again at a great pace； with a candle in
his hand that had gone out。 “He’s always in the same scrape。 He
was born in the same scrape。 I verily believe that the
announcement in the newspapers when his mother was confined；
was ‘On Tuesday last； at her residence in Botheration Buildings；
Mrs Skimpole of a son in difficulties。’”
Richard laughed heartily； but added； “Still； sir； I don’t want to
shake his confidence； or to break his confidence； and if I submit to
your better knowledge again； that I ought to keep his secret； I
hope you will consider before you press me any more。 Of course； if
you do press me； sir； I shall know I am wrong； and will tell you。”
“Well！” cried Mr Jarndyce； stopping again； and making several
absent endeavours to put his candlestick in his pocket。 “I—here！
Take it away； my dear。 I don’t know what I am about with it； it’s all
the wind—invariably has that effect—I won’t press you； Rick； you
may be right。 But； really—to get hold of you and Esther—and to
squeeze you like a couple of tender young Saint Michael’s
oranges！—It’ll blow a gale in the course of the night！”
He was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets； as if
he were going to keep them there a long time； and taking them out
again； and vehemently rubbing them all over his head。
I ventured to take this opportunity of hinting that Mr Skimpole；
being in all such matters； quite a child—
“Eh； my dear？” said Mr Jarndyce； catching at the word。
“—Being quite a child； sir；” said I； “and so different from other
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people—“
“You are right！” said Mr Jarndyce； brightening。
“Your woman’s wit hits the mark。 He is a child—an absolute
child。 I told you he was a child； you know； when I first mentioned
him。”
Certainly！ certainly！ we said。
“And he is a child。 Now； isn’t he？” asked Mr Jarndyce；
brightening more and more。
He was indeed； we said。
“When you come to think of it； it’s the height of childishness in
you—I mean me—” said Mr Jarndyce； “to regard him for a
moment as a man。 You can’t make him responsible。 The idea of
Harold Skimpole with designs or plans； or knowledge of
consequences！ Ha； ha； ha！”
It was so delicious to see the clouds about his bright face
clearing； and to see him so heartily pleased； and to know； as it was
impossible not to know； that the source of his pleasure was the
goodness which was tortured by condemning； or mistrusting； or
secretly accusing any one； that I saw the tears in Ada’s eyes； while
she echoed his laugh； and felt them in my own。
“Why； what a cod’s head and shoulders I am；” said Mr
Jarndyce； “to require reminding of it！ The whole business shows
the child from beginning to end。 Nobody but a child would have
thought of singling you two out for parties in the affair！ Nobody
but a child would have thought of your having the money！ If it had
been a thousand pounds； it would have been just the same！” said
Mr Jarndyce； with his whole face in a glow。
We all confirmed it from our night’s experience。
“To be sure； to be sure！” said Mr Jarndyce。 “However； Rick；
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Esther； and you too； Ada； for I don’t know that even your little
purse is safe from his inexperience—I must have a promise all
round； that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more。 No
advances！ Not even sixpences。”
We all promised faithfully； Richard； with a merry glance at me；
touching his pocket； as if to remind me that there was no danger of
our transgressing。
“As to Skimpole；” said Mr Jarndyce； “a habitable doll’s house；
with good board； and a few tin people to get into debt with and
borrow money of； would set the boy up in life。 He is in a child’s
sleep by this time； I suppose； it’s time I should take my craftier
head to my more worldly pillow。 Good night； my dears。 God bless
you！”
He peeped in again； with a smiling face； before we had lighted
our candles； and said； “O！ I have been looking at the weather…cock。
I find it was a false alarm about the wind。 It’s in the south！” And
went away singing to himself。
Ada and I agreed； as we talked together for a little while
upstairs； that this caprice about the wind was a fiction； and that he
used the pretence to account for any disappointment he could not
conceal； rather than he would blame the real cause of it； or
disparage or depreciate any one。 We thought this very
characteristic of his eccentric gentleness； and of the difference
between him and those petulant people who make the weather
and the winds （particularly that unlucky wind which he had
chosen for such a different purpose） the stalking…horses of their
splenetic and gloomy humours。
Indeed； so much affection for him had been added in this one
evening to my gratitude； that I hoped I already began to
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understand him through that mingled feeling。 Any seeming
inconsistencies in Mr Skimpole； or in Mrs Jellyby； I could not
expect to be able to reconcile； having so little experience or
practical knowledge。 Neither did I try； for my thoughts were busy
when I was alone； with Ada and Richard； and with the confidence
I had seemed to receive concerning them。 My fancy； made a little
wild by the wind perhaps； would not consent to be all unselfish；
either； though I would have persuaded it to be so if I could。 It
wandered back to my godmother’s house； and came along the
intervening track； raising up shadowy speculations which had
sometimes trembled there in the dark； as to what knowledge Mr
Jarndyce had of my earliest history—even as to the possibility of
his being my father—though that idle dream was quite gone now。
It was all gone now； I remembered； getting up from the fire。 It
was not for me to muse over bygones； but to act with a cheerful
spirit and a grateful heart。 So I said to myself； “Esther； Esther；
Esther！ Duty； my dear！” and gave my little basket of housekeeping
keys such a shake； that they sounded like little bells； and rang me
hopefully to bed。
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Chapter 7
The Ghost’s Walk
hile Esther sleeps； and while Esther wakes； it is still wet
Wweather down at the place in Lincolnshire。 The rain is
ever falling； drip； drip； drip； by day and night； upon the
broad flagged terrace…pavement； The Ghost’s Walk。 The weather
is so very bad； down in Lincolnshire； that the liveliest imagination
can scarcely apprehend its ever being fine again。 Not that there is
any superabundant life of imagination on the spot； for Sir
Leicester is not here （and； truly； even if he were； would not do
much for it in that particular）； but is in Paris； with my Lady； and
solitude； with dusky wings； sits brooding upon Chesney Wold。
There may be some motions of fancy among the lower animals
of Chesney Wold。 The horses in the stables—the long stables in a
barren； red…brick courtyard； where there is a great bell in a turret；
and a clock with a large face； which the pigeons who live near it；
and who love to perch upon its shoulders； seem to be always
consulting—they may contemplate some mental pictures of fine
weather on occasions； and may be better artists at them than the
grooms。 The old roan； so famous for cross…country work； turning
his large eyeball to the grated window near his rack； may
remember the fresh leaves that glisten there at other times； and
the scents that stream in； and may have a fine run with the
hounds； while the human helper； clearing out the next stall； never
stirs beyond his pitchfork and birch…broom。 The grey； whose place
is opposite the door； and who； with an impatient rattle of his
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