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He's as thin as a lath。 Do you call yourself a mother； and not know that a mother's first duty is to blow her boy out？'
This touched Young Jerry on a tender place； who adjured his mother to perform her first duty； and； whatever else she did or neglected； above all things to lay especial stress on the discharge of that maternal function so affectingly and delicately indicated by his other parent。
Thus the evening wore away with the Cruncher family； until Young Jerry was ordered to bed； and his mother； laid under similar injunctions； obeyed them。 Mr。 Cruncher beguiled the earlier watches of the night with solitary pipes； and did not start upon his excursion until nearly one o'clock。 Towards that small and ghostly hour； he rose up from his chair； took a key out of his pocket； opened a locked cupboard； and brought forth a sack； a crowbar of convenient size； a rope and chain； and other fishing tackle of that nature。 Disposing these articles about him in skilful manner； he bestowed a parting defiance on Mrs。 Cruncher； extinguished the light； and went out。
Young Jerry； who had only made a feint of undressing when he went to bed； was not long after his father。 Under cover of the darkness he followed out of the room； followed down the stairs； followed down the court； followed out into the streets。 He was in no uneasiness concerning his getting into the house again； for it was full of lodgers； and the door stood ajar all night。
Impelled by a laudable ambition to study the art and mystery of his father's honest calling； Young Jerry； keeping as close to house…fronts； walls； and doorways； as his eyes were close to one another； held his honoured parent in view。 The honoured parent steering Northward； had not gone far； when he was joined by another disciple of Izaak Walton； and the two trudged on together。
Within half an hour from the first starting； they were beyond the winking lamps； and the more than winking watchmen； and were out upon a lonely road。 Another fisherman was Picked up here……and that so silently； that if Young Jerry had been superstitious； he might have supposed the second follower of the gentle craft to have； all of a sudden； split himself in two。
The three went on； and Young Jerry went on； until the three stopped under a bank overhanging the road。 Upon the top of the bank was a low brick wall； surmounted by an iron railing。 In the shadow of bank and wall the three turned out of the road； and up a blind lane； of which the wall……there； risen to some eight or ten feet high……formed one side。 Crouching down in a corner； peeping up the lane； the next object that Young Jerry saw； was the form of his honoured parent； pretty well defined against a watery and clouded moon； nimbly scaling an iron gate。 He was soon over； and then the second fisherman got over； and then the third。 They all dropped softly on the ground within the gate； and lay there a little……listening perhaps。 Then； they moved away on their hands and knees。
It was now Young Jerry's turn to approach the gate： which he did； holding his breath。 Crouching down again in a corner there； and looking in； he made out the three fishermen creeping through some rank grass； and all the gravestones in the churchyard……it was a large churchyard that they were in looking……on like ghosts in white； while the church tower itself looked on like the ghost of a monstrous giant。 They did not creep far； before they stopped and stood upright。 And then they began to fish。
They fished with a spade； at first。 Presently the honoured parent appeared to be adjusting some instrument like a great corkscrew。 Whatever tools they worked with； they worked hard； until the awful striking of the church clock so terrified Young； Jerry； that he made off； with his hair as stiff as his father's。
But； his long…cherished desire to know more about these matters； not only stopped him in his running away； but lured him back again。 They were still fishing perseveringly； when he peeped in at the gate for the second time； but； now they seemed to have got a bite。 There was a screwing and plaining sound down below； and their bent figures were strained； as if by a weight。 By slow degrees the weight broke away the earth upon it； and came to the surface。 Young Jerry very well knew what it would be； but； when he saw it； and saw his honoured parent about to wrench it open； he was so frightened； being new to the sight； that he made off again； and never stopped until he had run a mile or more。
He would not have stopped then for anything less necessary than breath； it being a spectral sort of race that he ran； and one highly desirable to get to the end of。 He had a strong idea that the coffin he had seen was running after him； and； pictured as hopping on behind him； bolt upright； upon its narrow end； always on the point of overtaking him and hopping on at his side……perhaps taking his arm……it was a pursuer to shun。 It was an inconsistent and ubiquitous fiend too； for； while it was making the whole night behind him dreadful； he darted out into the roadway to avoid dark alleys； fearful of its ing hopping out of them like a dropsical boy's Kite without tail and wings。 It hid in doorways too； rubbing its horrible shoulders against doors； and drawing them up to its ears； as if it were laughing。 It got into shadows on the road； and lay cunningly on its back to trip him up。 All this time it was incessantly hopping on behind and gaining on him； so that when the boy got to his own door lie had reason for being half dead。 And even then it would not leave him； but followed him upstairs with a bump on every Stair； scrambled into bed with him； and bumped down； dead and heavy； on his breast when he fell asleep。
From his oppressed slumber； Young Jerry in his closet was awakened after daybreak and before sunrise； by the presence of his father in the family room。 Something had gone bong with him； at least； so Young Jerry inferred； from the circumstance of his holding Mrs。 Cruncher by the ears； and knocking the back of her head against the headboard of the bed。
‘I told you I would；' said Mr。 Cruncher； ‘and I did。'
‘Jerry； Jerry； Jerry！' his wife implored。
‘You oppose yourself to the profit of the business；' said Jerry； ‘and me and my partners suffer。 You was to honour and obey； why the devil don't you？'
‘I try to be a good wife； Jerry；' the poor woman protested； with tears。
‘Is it being a good wife to oppose your husband's business？ Is it honouring your husband to dishonour his business？ Is it obeying your husband to disobey him on the wital subject of his business？'
‘You hadn't taken to the dreadful business then； Jerry。'
‘It's enough for you；' retorted Mr。 Cruncher； ‘to be the wife of a honest tradesman； and not to occupy your female mind with calculations when he took to his trade or when he didn't。 A honouring and obeying wife would let his trade alone altogether。 Call yourself a religious woman？ If you're a religious woman； give me a irreligious one！ You have no more nat'ral sense of duty than the bed of this here Thames river has of a pile； and similarly it must be knocked into you。'
The altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice； and terminated in the honest tradesman's kicking off his clay…soiled boots； and lying down at his length on the floor。 After taking a timid peep at him lying on his back； with his rusty hands under his head for a pillow； his son lay down too； and fell asleep again。
There was no fish for breakfast； and not much of anything else。 Mr。 Cruncher was out of spirits； and out of temper； and kept an iron pot…lid by him as a projectile for the correction of Mrs。 Cruncher； in case he should observe any symptoms of her saying Grace。 He was brushed and washed at the usual hour； and set off with his son to pursue his ostensible calling。
Young Jerry； walking with the stool under his arm at his father's side along sunny and crowded Fleet Street； was a very different Young Jerry from him of the previous night； running home through darkness and solitude from his grim pursuer。 His cunning was fresh with the day； and his qualms were gone with the night……in which particulars it is not improbable that he had peers in Fleet Street and the City of London； that fine morning。
‘Father；' said Young Jerry； as they walked along： taking care to keep at arm's length and to have the stool well between them： ‘what's a Resurrection……Man？'
Mr。 Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before lie answered； ‘How should I know？'
‘I thought you knowed everything； father；' said the artless boy。
‘Hem！ Well；' returned Mr。 Cruncher； going on again； and lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play； ‘he's a tradesman。'
‘What‘s his goods； father？' asked the brisk Young Jerry。
‘His goods；' said Mr。 Cruncher； after turning it over in his mind； is a branch of Scientific goods。'
‘Persons' bodies； ain't it； father？' asked the lively boy。
‘I believe it is something of that sort；' said Mr。 Cruncher。
‘Oh； father； I should so like to be a Resurrection……man when I ‘m quite growed up！'
Mr。 Cruncher was soothed； but shook his head in a dubious and moral way。 ‘It depends upon how you dewelop your talents。 Be careful to dewelop your talents； and never to say no more than you can help to nobody； and there's no telling at the present time what you may not e to be fit for。' As Young Jerry； thus encouraged； went on a few yards in advance； to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar； Mr。 Cruncher added to himself： ‘Jerry； you honest tradesman； there's hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you； and a repense to you for his mother！
CHAPTER XV
Knitting
THERE had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine shop of Monsieur Defarge。 As early as six o'clock in the morning； sallow faces peeping through its barred windows had descried other faces within； bending over measures of wine。 Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wine at the best of times； but it would seem to have been an unusually thin wine that he sold at this time。 A sour wine； moreover； or a souring； for its influence on the mood of those who drank it was to make them gloomy。 No vivacious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grape of monsieur Defarge： but； a smouldering fire that burnt in the dark； lay hidden in the dregs of it。
This had been the third morning in succession； on which there had been early drinking at the wine…shop of Monsieur Defarge。 It had begun on Monday； and here was Wednesday e。 There had been more of early brooding than drinking； for； many men had listened and whispered and slunk about there from the time of the opening of the door； who could not ave laid a Piece of money on the counter to save their souls。 These were to the full as interested in the place； however； as if they could have manded whole barrels of wine； and they glided from seat to seat； and from corner to corner； swallowing talk in lieu of drink； with greedy looks。
Notwithstanding an unusual flow of pany； the master of the wine…shop was not visible。 He was not missed； for； nobody who crossed the threshold looked for him； nobody asked for him； nobody wondered to see only Madame Defarge in her seat； presiding over the distribution of wine； with a bowl of battered small coins before her； as much defaced and beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage of humanity from whose ragged pockets they had e。
A suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind； were perhaps observed by the spies who looked in at the wine…shop； as they looked in at every place； high and low； from the king's palace to the criminal's gaol。 Games at cards languished； players at dominoes musingly built towers with them； drinkers drew figures on the tables with spilt drops of wine； Madame Defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleeve with her toothpick； and saw and heard something inaudible and invisible a long way off。
Thus； Saint Antoine in this vinous feature of his； until midday。 It was high noontide； when two dusty men passed through his streets and under his swinging lamps： of whom； one was Monsieur Defarge： the other a mender of roads in a blue cap。 All adust and athirst； the two entered the wine…shop。 Their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breast of Saint Antoine； fast spreading as they came along； which stirred and flickered in flames of faces at most doors and windows。 Yet； no one had followed them； and no man spoke when they entered the wine…shop； though the eyes of every man there were turned upon them。
‘Good…day； gentlemen！' said Monsieur Defarge。
It may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue。 It elicited an answering chorus of ‘Good…day！'
‘It is bad weather； gentlemen；' said Defarge； shaking his head。 Upon which； every man looked at his neighbour； and then all cast down their eyes and sat silent。 Except one man； who got up and went out。
‘My wife；' said Defarge aloud； addressing Madame Defarge： ‘I have travelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads； called Jacques。 I met him……by accident……a day an half's journey Out of Paris。 He is a good child； this mender of roads； called Jacques。 Give him to drink； my wife！'
A second man got up and went out。 Madame Defarge set wine before the mender of roads called Jacques； who doffed his blue cap to the pany； and drank。 In the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse dark bread； he ate of this between whiles； and sat munching and dr