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one so strangely assorted； with no knowledge even of the mon daily
tone and habits of the mon members of the free munity who are not
shut up in prisons； born and bred in a social condition； false even with
a reference to the falsest condition outside the walls； drinking from
infancy of a well whose waters had their own peculiar stain； their own
unwholesome and unnatural taste； the Child of the Marshalsea began her
womanly life。
No matter through what mistakes and discouragements； what ridicule （not
unkindly meant； but deeply felt） of her youth and little figure； what
humble consciousness of her own babyhood and want of strength； even
in the matter of lifting and carrying； through how much weariness
and hopelessness； and how many secret tears； she drudged on； until
recognised as useful； even indispensable。 That time came。 She took the
place of eldest of the three； in all things but precedence； was the
head of the fallen family； and bore； in her own heart； its anxieties and
shames。
At thirteen； she could read and keep accounts； that is； could put down
in words and figures how much the bare necessaries that they wanted
would cost； and how much less they had to buy them with。 She had been；
by snatches of a few weeks at a time； to an evening school outside；
and got her sister and brother sent to day…schools by desultory starts；
during three or four years。 There was no instruction for any of them at
home； but she knew well……no one better……that a man so broken as to be
the Father of the Marshalsea； could be no father to his own children。
To these scanty means of improvement； she added another of her own
contriving。 Once； among the heterogeneous crowd of inmates there
appeared a dancing…master。 Her sister had a great desire to learn the
dancing…master's art； and seemed to have a taste that way。 At thirteen
years old； the Child of the Marshalsea presented herself to the
dancing…master； with a little bag in her hand； and preferred her humble
petition。
'If you please； I was born here； sir。'
'Oh！ You are the young lady； are you？' said the dancing…master；
surveying the small figure and uplifted face。
'Yes； sir。'
'And what can I do for you？' said the dancing…master。
'Nothing for me； sir； thank you；' anxiously undrawing the strings of
the little bag； 'but if； while you stay here； you could be so kind as to
teach my sister cheap……'
'My child； I'll teach her for nothing；' said the dancing…master；
shutting up the bag。 He was as good…natured a dancing…master as ever
danced to the Insolvent Court； and he kept his word。 The sister was so
apt a pupil； and the dancing…master had such abundant leisure to bestow
upon her （for it took him a matter of ten weeks to set to his creditors；
lead off； turn the missioners； and right and left back to his
professional pursuits）； that wonderful progress was made。 Indeed the
dancing…master was so proud of it； and so wishful to display it before
he left to a few select friends among the collegians； that at six
o'clock on a certain fine morning； a minuet de la cour came off in
the yard……the college…rooms being of too confined proportions for the
purpose……in which so much ground was covered； and the steps were so
conscientiously executed； that the dancing…master； having to play the
kit besides； was thoroughly blown。
The success of this beginning； which led to the dancing…master's
continuing his instruction after his release； emboldened the poor child
to try again。 She watched and waited months for a seamstress。 In the
fulness of time a milliner came in； and to her she repaired on her own
behalf。
'I beg your pardon； ma'am；' she said； looking timidly round the door of
the milliner； whom she found in tears and in bed： 'but I was born here。'
Everybody seemed to hear of her as soon as they arrived； for the
milliner sat up in bed； drying her eyes； and said； just as the
dancing…master had said：
'Oh！ You are the child； are you？'
'Yes； ma'am。'
'I am sorry I haven't got anything for you；' said the milliner； shaking
her head。
'It's not that； ma'am。 If you please I want to learn needle…work。'
'Why should you do that；' returned the milliner； 'with me before you？ It
has not done me much good。'
'Nothing……whatever it is……seems to have done anybody much good who es
here；' she returned in all simplicity； 'but I want to learn just the
same。'
'I am afraid you are so weak； you see；' the milliner objected。
'I don't think I am weak； ma'am。'
'And you are so very； very little； you see；' the milliner objected。
'Yes； I am afraid I am very little indeed；' returned the Child of the
Marshalsea； and so began to sob over that unfortunate defect of hers；
which came so often in her way。 The milliner……who was not morose or
hard…hearted； only newly insolvent……was touched； took her in hand with
goodwill； found her the most patient and earnest of pupils； and made her
a cunning work…woman in course of time。
In course of time； and in the very self…same course of time； the Father
of the Marshalsea gradually developed a new flower of character。 The
more Fatherly he grew as to the Marshalsea； and the more dependent he
became on the contributions of his changing family； the greater stand
he made by his forlorn gentility。 With the same hand that he pocketed
a collegian's half…crown half an hour ago； he would wipe away the
tears that streamed over his cheeks if any reference were made to his
daughters' earning their bread。 So； over and above other daily cares；
the Child of the Marshalsea had always upon her the care of preserving
the genteel fiction that they were all idle beggars together。
The sister became a dancer。 There was a ruined uncle in the family
group……ruined by his brother； the Father of the Marshalsea； and knowing
no more how than his ruiner did； but accepting the fact as an inevitable
certainty……on whom her protection devolved。 Naturally a retired and
simple man； he had shown no particular sense of being ruined at the time
when that calamity fell upon him； further than that he left off washing
himself when the shock was announced； and never took to that luxury any
more。 He had been a very indifferent musical amateur in his better days；
and when he fell with his brother； resorted for support to playing a
clario as dirty as himself in a small Theatre Orchestra。 It was the
theatre in which his niece became a dancer； he had been a fixture there
a long time when she took her poor station in it； and he accepted
the task of serving as her escort and guardian； just as he would have
accepted an illness； a legacy； a feast； starvation……anything but soap。
To enable this girl to earn her few weekly shillings； it was necessary
for the Child of the Marshalsea to go through an elaborate form with the
Father。
'Fanny is not going to live with us just now； father。 She will be here a
good deal in the day； but she is going to live outside with uncle。'
'You surprise me。 Why？'
'I think uncle wants a panion； father。 He should be attended to； and
looked after。'
'A panion？ He passes much of his time here。 And you attend to him and
look after him； Amy； a great deal more than ever your sister will。 You
all go out so much； you all go out so much。'
This was to keep up the ceremony and pretence of his having no idea that
Amy herself went out by the day to work。
'But we are always glad to e home； father； now； are we not？ And as to
Fanny； perhaps besides keeping uncle pany and taking care of him； it
may be as well for her not quite to live here； always。 She was not born
here as I was； you know； father。'
'Well； Amy； well。 I don't quite follow you； but it's natural I suppose
that Fanny should prefer to be outside； and even that you often should；
too。 So； you and Fanny and your uncle； my dear； shall have your own way。
Good； good。 I'll not meddle； don't mind me。'
To get her brother out of the prison； out of the succession to Mrs
Bangham in executing missions； and out of the slang interchange with
very doubtful panions consequent upon both； was her hardest task。 At
eighteen he would have dragged on from hand to mouth； from hour to hour；
from penny to penny； until eighty。 Nobody got into the prison from whom
he derived anything useful or good； and she could find no patron for him
but her old friend and godfather。
'Dear Bob；' said she； 'what is to bee of poor Tip？' His name was
Edward； and Ted had been transformed into Tip； within the walls。
The turnkey had strong private opinions as to what would bee of
poor Tip； and had even gone so far with the view of averting their
fulfilment； as to sound Tip in reference to the expediency of running
away and going to serve his country。 But Tip had thanked him； and said
he didn't seem to care for his country。
'Well； my dear；' said the turnkey； 'something ought to be done with him。
Suppose I try and get him into the law？'
'That would be so good of you； Bob！'
The turnkey had now two points to put to the professional gentlemen as
they passed in and out。 He put this second one so perseveringly that
a stool and twelve shillings a week were at last found for Tip in the
office of an attorney in a great National Palladium called the Palace
Court； at