should, for Martin lived with her, and was, as she herself expressed it,
"the bane of her existence,--the very torment of her life." No doubt of
it whatever, according to Aunt Dorothy Grumbit's showing, Martin Rattler
was "a remarkably bad boy."

It is a curious fact, however, that, although most of the people in the
village of Ashford seemed to agree with Mrs. Grumbit in her opinion of
Martin, there were very few of them who did not smile cheerfully on the
child when they met him, and say, "Good day, lad!" as heartily as if they
thought him the best boy in the place. No one seemed to bear Martin
Rattler ill-will, notwithstanding his alleged badness. Men laughed when
they said he was a bad boy, as if they did not quite believe their own
assertion. The vicar, an old whiteheaded man, with a kind, hearty
countenance, said that the child was full of mischief, full of mischief;
but he would improve as he grew older, he was quite certain of that. And
the vicar was a good judge, for he had five boys of his own, besides
three other boys, the sons of a distant relative, who boarded with him;
and he had lived forty years in a parish overflowing with boys, and he
was particularly fond of boys in general. Not so the doctor, a pursy
little man with a terrific frown, who hated boys, especially little ones,
with a very powerful hatred. The doctor said that Martin was a scamp.

And yet Martin had not the appearance of a scamp. He had fat rosy cheeks,
a round rosy mouth, a straight delicately-formed nose, a firm massive
chin, and a broad forehead. But the latter was seldom visible, owing to
the thickly-clustering fair curls that overhung it. When asleep Martin's
face was the perfection of gentle innocence. But the instant he opened
his dark-brown eyes, a thousand dimples and wrinkles played over his
visage, chiefly at the corners of his mouth and round his eyes; as if the
spirit of fun and the spirit of mischief had got entire possession of the