When they had travelled slowly forward for some short distance, Nell ventured to steal a look round the caravan and observe it more closely. One half of it — that moiety in which the comfortable proprietress was then seated — was carpeted, and so partitioned off at the further end as to accommodate a sleeping-place, constructed after the fashion of a berth on board ship, which was shaded, like the little windows, with fair white curtains, and looked comfortable enough, though by what kind of gymnastic exercise the lady of the caravan ever contrived to get into it, was an unfathomable mystery. The other half served for a kitchen, and was fitted up with a stove whose small chimney passed through the roof. It held also a closet or larder, several chests, a great pitcher of water, and a few cooking-utensils and articles of crockery. These latter necessaries hung upon the walls, which, in that portion of the establishment devoted to the lady of the caravan, were ornamented with such gayer and lighter decorations as a triangle and a couple of well-thumbed tambourines.

The lady of the caravan sat at one window in all the pride and poetry of the musical instruments, and little Nell and her grandfather sat at the other in all the humility of the kettle and saucepans, while the machine jogged on and shifted the darkening prospect very slowly. At first the two travellers spoke little, and only in whispers, but as they grew more familiar with the place they ventured to converse with greater freedom, and talked about the country through which they were passing, and the different objects that presented themselves, until the old man fell asleep; which the lady of the caravan observing, invited Nell to come and sit beside her.

‘Well, child,’ she said, ‘how do you like this way of travelling?’

Nell replied that she thought it was very pleasant indeed, to which the lady assented in the case of people who had their spirits. For herself, she said, she was troubled with a lowness in that respect which required a constant stimulant; though whether the aforesaid stimulant was derived from the suspicious bottle of which mention has been already made or from other sources, she did not say.

‘That’s the happiness of you young people,’ she continued. ‘You don’t know what it is to be low in your feelings. You always have your appetites too, and what a comfort that is.’

Nell thought that she could sometimes dispense with her own appetite very conveniently; and thought, moreover, that there was nothing either in the lady’s personal appearance or in her manner of taking tea, to lead to the conclusion that her natural relish for meat and drink had at all failed her. She silently assented, however, as in duty bound, to what the lady had said, and waited until she should speak again.

Instead of speaking, however, she sat looking at the child for a long time in silence, and then getting up, brought out from a corner a large roll of canvas about a yard in width, which she laid upon the floor and spread open with her foot until it nearly reached from one end of the caravan to the other.

‘There, child,’ she said, ‘read that.’

Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the inscription, ‘Jarley’s WAX–WORK.’

‘Read it again,’ said the lady, complacently.

‘Jarley’s Wax–Work,’ repeated Nell.

‘That’s me,’ said the lady. ‘I am Mrs Jarley.’

Giving the child an encouraging look, intended to reassure her and let her know, that, although she stood in the presence of the original Jarley, she must not allow herself to be utterly overwhelmed and borne down, the lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, whereon was the inscription, ‘One hundred figures the full size of life,’ and then another scroll, on which was written, ‘The only stupendous collection of real wax-work in the world,’ and then several smaller scrolls with such inscriptions as ‘Now exhibiting within’—‘The genuine and only Jarley’—‘Jarley’s unrivalled collection’—‘Jarley is the delight of the Nobility and Gentry’—‘The Royal Family are the patrons of Jarley.’ When she had exhibited these leviathans of public announcement to the astonished child, she brought forth specimens of the lesser fry in the shape of hand-bills, some of which were couched in the form of parodies on popular melodies, as ‘Believe me if all Jarley’s wax-work so rare’—‘I saw thy show in youthful prime’—‘Over the water to Jarley;’ while, to consult all tastes, others were composed with a view to the lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on the favourite air of ‘If I had a donkey,’ beginning

If I know’d a donkey wot wouldn’t go To see Mrs JARLEY’S wax-work show, Do you think I’d acknowledge him? Oh no no! Then run to Jarley’s —

— besides several compositions in prose, purporting to be dialogues between the Emperor of China and an oyster, or the Archbishop of Canterbury and a dissenter on the subject of church-rates, but all having the same moral, namely, that the reader must make haste to Jarley’s, and that children and servants were admitted at half-price. When she had brought all these testimonials of her important position in society to bear upon her young companion, Mrs Jarley rolled them up, and having put them carefully away, sat down again, and looked at the child in triumph.

‘Never go into the company of a filthy Punch any more,’ said Mrs Jarley, ‘after this.’

‘I never saw any wax-work, ma’am,’ said Nell. ‘Is it funnier than Punch?’

‘Funnier!’ said Mrs Jarley in a shrill voice. ‘It is not funny at all.’

‘Oh!’ said Nell, with all possible humility.

‘It isn’t funny at all,’ repeated Mrs Jarley. ‘It’s calm and — what’s that word again — critical? — no — classical, that’s it — it’s calm and classical. No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings like your precious Punches, but always the same, with a constantly unchanging air of coldness and gentility; and so like life, that if wax-work only spoke and walked about, you’d hardly know the difference. I won’t go so far as to say, that, as it is, I’ve seen wax-work quite like life, but I’ve certainly seen some life that was exactly like wax-work.’

‘Is it here, ma’am?’ asked Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this description.

‘Is what here, child?’

‘The wax-work, ma’am.’

‘Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could such a collection be here, where you see everything except the inside of one little cupboard and a few boxes? It’s gone on in the other wans to the assembly-rooms, and there it’ll be exhibited the day after to-morrow. You are going to the same town, and you’ll see it I dare say. It’s natural to expect that you’ll see it, and I’ve no doubt you will. I suppose you couldn’t stop away if you was to try ever so much.’

‘I shall not be in the town, I think, ma’am,’ said the child.

‘Not there!’ cried Mrs Jarley. ‘Then where will you be?’

‘I— I— don’t quite know. I am not certain.’

‘You don’t mean to say that you’re travelling about the country without knowing where you’re going to?’ said the lady of the caravan. ‘What curious people you are! What line are you in? You looked to me at the races, child, as if you were quite out of your element, and had got there by accident.’

‘We were there quite by accident,’ returned Nell, confused by this abrupt questioning. ‘We are poor people, ma’am, and are only wandering about. We have nothing to do; — I wish we had.’

‘You amaze me more and more,’ said Mrs Jarley, after remaining for some time as mute as one of her own figures. ‘Why, what do you call yourselves? Not beggars?’

‘Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know what else we are,’ returned the child.

‘Lord bless me,’ said the lady of the caravan. ‘I never heard of such a thing. Who’d have thought it!’

She remained so long silent after this exclamation, that Nell feared she felt her having been induced to bestow her protection and conversation upon one so poor, to be an outrage upon her dignity that nothing could repair. This persuasion was rather confirmed than otherwise by the tone in which she at length broke silence and said,

‘And yet you can read. And write too, I shouldn’t wonder?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the child, fearful of giving new offence by the confession.

‘Well, and what a thing that is,’ returned Mrs Jarley. ‘I can’t!’

Nell said ‘indeed’ in a tone which might imply, either that she was reasonably surprised to find the genuine and only Jarley, who was the delight of the Nobility and Gentry and the peculiar pet of the Royal Family, destitute of these familiar arts; or that she presumed so great a lady could scarcely stand in need of such ordinary accomplishments. In whatever way Mrs Jarley received the response, it did not provoke her to further questioning, or tempt her into any more remarks at the time, for she relapsed into a thoughtful silence, and remained in that state so long that Nell withdrew to the other window and rejoined her grandfather, who was now awake.

At length the lady of the caravan shook off her fit of meditation, and, summoning the driver to come under the window at which she was seated, held a long conversation with him in a low tone of voice, as if she were asking his advice on an important point, and discussing the pros and cons of some very weighty matter. This conference at length concluded, she drew in her head again, and becko............