Part 9 (1/2)

”Yet I have heard say he came of a moneyed stock,” said Pliable. ”The Sects of Privy Opinion were rare wealthy people, and they, so 'tis said, were his kinsmen. Truth is, for aught I know, Christian must have been in some degree a very liberal rascal, with all his faults.”

He t.i.ttered.

”Oh! he was liberal enough,” said Mr. Malice suavely: ”why, even on setting out, he emptied his wife's purse into a blind beggar's hat!--his that used to bleat, 'Cast thy bread--cast thy bread upon the waters!' whensoever he spied Christian stepping along the street. They say,” he added, burying his clever face in his mug, ”the Heavenly Jerusalem lieth down by the weir.”

”But we must not contemn a man for his poverty, neighbours,” said Liar, gravely composing his hairless face. ”Christian's was a character of beautiful simplicity--beautiful! _How_ many rickety children did he leave behind him?”

A shrill voice called somewhat I could not quite distinguish, for at that moment a youth rose abruptly near by, and went hastily out.

Obstinate stared roundly. ”Thou hast a piercing voice, friend Liar!”

”I did but seek the truth,” said Liar.

”But whether or no, Christian believed in it--verily he seemed to believe in it. Was it not so, neighbour Obstinate?” enquired Pliable, stroking his leg.

”Believed in what, my friend?” said Obstinate, in a dull voice.

”About Mount Zion, and the Crowns of Glory, and the Harps of Gold, and such like,” said Pliable uneasily--”at least, it is said so; so 'tis said.”

”Believed!” retorted a smooth young man who seemed to feel the heat, and sat by the staircase door. ”That's an easy task--to believe, sir.

Ask any pretty minikin!”

”And I'd make bold to enquire of yonder Liveloose,” said a thick, monotonous voice (a Mr. Dull's, so Reverie informed me), ”if mebbe he be referring to one of his own, or that fellow Sloth's devilish fairy tales? I know one yet he'll eat again some day.”

At which remark all laughed consumedly, save Dull.

”Well, one thing Christian had, and none can deny it,” said Pliable, a little hotly, ”and that was Imagination? _I_ shan't forget the tales he was wont to tell: what say you, Superst.i.tion?”

Mr. Superst.i.tion lifted dark, rather vacant eyes on Pliable. ”Yes, yes,” he said: ”Flame, and sigh, and lamentation. My G.o.d, my G.o.d, gentlemen!”

”Oo-ay, Oo-ay,” yelped the voice of Mistrust, startled out of silence.

”Oo-ay,” whistled Malice, under his breath.

”Tush, tus.h.!.+” broke in Obstinate again, and snapped his fingers in the air. ”And what is this precious Imagination? Whither doth it conduct a man, but to beggary, infamy, and the mad-house? Look ye to it, friend Pliable! 'Tis a devouring flame; give it but wind and leisure, the fairest house is ashes.”

”Ashes; ashes!” mocked one called Cruelty, who had more than once taken my attention with his peculiar contortions--”talking of ashes, what of Love-the-log Faithful, Master Tongue-stump? What of Love-the-log Faithful?”

At which Liveloose was so extremely amused, the tears stood in his eyes for laughing.

I looked round for Mistrust, and easily recognised my friend by his hare-like face, and the rage in his little active eyes. But unfortunately, as I turned to enquire somewhat of Reverie, Liveloose suddenly paused in his merriment with open mouth; and the whole company heard my question, ”But who was Love-the-log Faithful?”

I was at once again the centre of attention, and Mr. Obstinate rose very laboriously from his settle and held out a great hand to me.

”I'm pleased to meet thee,” he said, with a heavy bow. ”There's a dear heart with my good neighbour Superst.i.tion yonder who will present a very fair account of that misguided young man. Madam Wanton, here's a young gentleman that never heard tell of our old friend Love-the-log.”

A shrill peal of laughter greeted this sally.

”Why, Faithful was a young gentleman, sir,” explained the woman civilly enough, ”who preferred his supper hot.”

”Oh, Madam Wanton, my dear, my dear!” cried a long-nosed woman nearly helpless with amus.e.m.e.nt.