think such. I do not speak of money, or gifts, or praise, or the
more coarse and common briberies--they are more delicate courtiers;
a word, a nod, a smile, or the mere calling of them by their names,
is enough to ensure their hearts and their services. Half a dozen
of them, poor urchins, have run away now to bring us chairs from
their several homes. 'Thank you, Joe Kirby!--you are always first--
yes, that is just the place--I shall see everything there. Have you
been in yet, Joe?'--'No, ma'am! I go in next.'--'Ah, I am glad of
that--and now's the time. Really that was a pretty ball of Jem
Eusden's!--I was sure it would go to the wicket. Run, Joe! They
are waiting for you.' There was small need to bid Joe Kirby make
haste; I think he is, next to a race-horse, or a greyhound, or a
deer, the fastest creature that runs--the most completely alert and
active. Joe is mine especial friend, and leader of the 'tender
juveniles,' as Joel Brent is of the adults. In both instances this
post of honour was gained by merit, even more remarkably so in Joe's
case than in Joel's; for Joe is a less boy than many of his
companions (some of whom are fifteeners and sixteeners, quite as
tall and nearly as old as Tom Coper), and a poorer than all, as may
be conjectured from the lamentable state of that patched round
frock, and the ragged condition of those unpatched shoes, which
would encumber, if anything could, the light feet that wear them.
But why should I lament the poverty that never troubles him? Joe is
the merriest and happiest creature that ever lived twelve years in
this wicked world. Care cannot come near him. He hath a perpetual
smile on his round ruddy face, and a laugh in his hazel eye, that
drives the witch away. He works at yonder farm on the top of the
hill, where he is in such repute for intelligence and good-humour,
that he has the honour of performing all the errands of the house,
of helping the maid, the mistress, and the master, in addition to