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‘
"
Stand
off
!
"
shrieked
the
old
man
.
Furious
with
terror
,
he
raised
his
stick
,
and
struck
Edmunds
a
heavy
blow
across
the
face
.
‘
"
Father
—
devil
!
"
murmured
the
convict
between
his
set
teeth
He
rushed
wildly
forward
,
and
clenched
the
old
man
by
the
throat
—
but
he
was
his
father
;
and
his
arm
fell
powerless
by
his
side
.
‘
The
old
man
uttered
a
loud
yell
which
rang
through
the
lonely
fields
like
the
howl
of
an
evil
spirit
.
His
face
turned
black
,
the
gore
rushed
from
his
mouth
and
nose
,
and
dyed
the
grass
a
deep
,
dark
red
,
as
he
staggered
and
fell
.
He
had
ruptured
a
blood
-
vessel
,
and
he
was
a
dead
man
before
his
son
could
raise
him
.
‘
In
that
corner
of
the
churchyard
,
’
said
the
old
gentleman
,
after
a
silence
of
a
few
moments
,
‘
in
that
corner
of
the
churchyard
of
which
I
have
before
spoken
,
there
lies
buried
a
man
who
was
in
my
employment
for
three
years
after
this
event
,
and
who
was
truly
contrite
,
penitent
,
and
humbled
,
if
ever
man
was
.
No
one
save
myself
knew
in
that
man
’
s
lifetime
who
he
was
,
or
whence
he
came
—
it
was
John
Edmunds
,
the
returned
convict
.
’
The
fatiguing
adventures
of
the
day
or
the
somniferous
influence
of
the
clergyman
’
s
tale
operated
so
strongly
on
the
drowsy
tendencies
of
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
that
in
less
than
five
minutes
after
he
had
been
shown
to
his
comfortable
bedroom
he
fell
into
a
sound
and
dreamless
sleep
,
from
which
he
was
only
awakened
by
the
morning
sun
darting
his
bright
beams
reproachfully
into
the
apartment
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
no
sluggard
,
and
he
sprang
like
an
ardent
warrior
from
his
tent
-
bedstead
.
‘
Pleasant
,
pleasant
country
,
’
sighed
the
enthusiastic
gentleman
,
as
he
opened
his
lattice
window
.
‘
Who
could
live
to
gaze
from
day
to
day
on
bricks
and
slates
who
had
once
felt
the
influence
of
a
scene
like
this
?
Who
could
continue
to
exist
where
there
are
no
cows
but
the
cows
on
the
chimney
-
pots
;
nothing
redolent
of
Pan
but
pan
-
tiles
;
no
crop
but
stone
crop
?
Who
could
bear
to
drag
out
a
life
in
such
a
spot
?
Who
,
I
ask
,
could
endure
it
?
’
and
,
having
cross
-
examined
solitude
after
the
most
approved
precedents
,
at
considerable
length
,
Mr
.
Pickwick
thrust
his
head
out
of
the
lattice
and
looked
around
him
.
The
rich
,
sweet
smell
of
the
hay
-
ricks
rose
to
his
chamber
window
;
the
hundred
perfumes
of
the
little
flower
-
garden
beneath
scented
the
air
around
;
the
deep
-
green
meadows
shone
in
the
morning
dew
that
glistened
on
every
leaf
as
it
trembled
in
the
gentle
air
;
and
the
birds
sang
as
if
every
sparkling
drop
were
to
them
a
fountain
of
inspiration
.
Mr
.
Pickwick
fell
into
an
enchanting
and
delicious
reverie
.
‘
Hollo
!
’
was
the
sound
that
roused
him
.
He
looked
to
the
right
,
but
he
saw
nobody
;
his
eyes
wandered
to
the
left
,
and
pierced
the
prospect
;
he
stared
into
the
sky
,
but
he
wasn
’
t
wanted
there
;
and
then
he
did
what
a
common
mind
would
have
done
at
once
—
looked
into
the
garden
,
and
there
saw
Mr
.
Wardle
.
‘
How
are
you
?
’
said
the
good
-
humoured
individual
,
out
of
breath
with
his
own
anticipations
of
pleasure
.
‘
Beautiful
morning
,
ain
’
t
it
?
Glad
to
see
you
up
so
early
.
Make
haste
down
,
and
come
out
.
I
’
ll
wait
for
you
here
.
’
Mr
.
Pickwick
needed
no
second
invitation
.
Ten
minutes
sufficed
for
the
completion
of
his
toilet
,
and
at
the
expiration
of
that
time
he
was
by
the
old
gentleman
’
s
side
.
‘
Hollo
!
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
in
his
turn
,
seeing
that
his
companion
was
armed
with
a
gun
,
and
that
another
lay
ready
on
the
grass
;
‘
what
’
s
going
forward
?
’
