lving probably a row with louts, keepers,
or farm-labourers, the skipping dinner or calling-over, some of Phoebe
Jennings's beer, and a very possible flogging at the end of all as a
relish. He had quite got over the stage in which he would grumble to
himself--"Well, hang it, it's very hard of the Doctor to have saddled me
with Arthur. Why couldn't he have chummed him with Fogey, or Thomkin, or
any of the fellows who never do anything but walk round the close, and
finish their copies the first day they're set?" But although all this
was past, he longed, and felt that he was right in longing, for more
time for the legitimate pastimes of cricket, fives, bathing, and
fishing, within bounds, in which Arthur could not yet be his companion;
and he felt that when the "young un" (as he now generally called him)
had found a pursuit and some other friend for himself, he should be
able to give more time to the education of his own body with a clear
conscience.

And now what he so wished for had come to pass; he almost hailed it as
a special providence (as indeed it was, but not for the reasons he
gave for it--what providences are?) that Arthur should have singled out
Martin of all fellows for a friend. "The old Madman is the very fellow,"
thought he; "he will take him scrambling over half the country after
birds' eggs and flowers, make him run and swim and climb like an Indian,
and not teach him a word of anything bad, or keep him from his lessons.
What luck!" And so, with more than his usual heartiness, he dived into
his cupboard, and hauled out an old knuckle-bone of ham, and two or
three bottles of beer, together with the solemn pewter only used on
state occasions; while Arthur, equally elated at the easy accomplishment
of his first act of volition in the joint establishment, produced from
his side a bottle of pickles and a pot of jam, and cleared the table. In
a minute or two the noise of the boys coming up from supper was heard,
and Martin knocked and was admitted, bearing his bread and cheese; and
the three fell to with hearty good-will upon the viands, talking faster
than they ate, for all shyness disappeared in a moment before Tom's
bottled-beer and hospitable ways. "Here's Arthur, a regular young
town-mouse, with a natural taste for the woods, Martin, longing to break
his neck climbing trees, and with a passion for young snakes."

"Well, I say," sputtered out Martin eagerly, "will you come to-morrow,
both of you, to Calde