But of all this Little Nell knew nothing, or she would have implored him to give up the dangerous practice.  She only knew that, after her monotonous days, uncheckered by variety and uncheered by pleasant companionship, the old man, who seemed always agitated by some hidden care, and weak and wandering in his mind, taking his cloak and hat and stick, would pass from the house, leaving her alone through the dreary evenings and long solitary nights.

It was not the absence of such pleasures as make young hearts beat high, that brought tears to Nell’s eyes.  It was the sight of the old man’s feeble state of mind and body, and the fear that some night he should fail to come home, having been overtaken by illness or sudden death.  Such fears as these drove the roses from her smooth young cheeks, and stilled the songs which before had rung through the dim old shop, while the gay, lightsome step passed among the dusty treasures.  Now she seldom smiled or sang, and among the few bits of comedy in her sad days, were the visits of Kit Nubbles, her grandfather’s errand boy, a shock-headed, shambling, comical lad, whose devotion to the beautiful child verged on worship.  Appreciating Nell’s loneliness, Kit visited the shop as often as possible, and the exquisite oddity and awkwardness of his manner so amused her that at sight of him she would give way to genuine merriment.  Kit himself, being always flattered by the sensation he produced, would often burst into a loud roar, and stand with his mouth wide open, and his eyes nearly shut, laughing violently.

Twice every week Nell gave the lad a writing lesson, to the great mirth and enjoyment of them both, and each time Kit tucked up his sleeves, squared his elbows, and put his face very close to the copy-book, squinting horribly at the lines, fairly wallowing in blots, and daubing himself with ink up to the roots of his hair,—­and if he did by accident form a letter properly, he immediately smeared it out again with his arm—­and at every fresh mistake there was a fresh burst of merriment from the child and from poor Kit himself.

But of such happy times sweet Nell had few, and she became more anxious about her grandfather’s health, as he became daily more worried over the secret which he would not share with her, and which preyed upon his mind and body with increasing ravages.

Fortune did not favor his ventures, and Quilp, having discovered for what purpose he borrowed such large sums, refused him further loans.  In an agony of apprehension for the future, the old man told Nell that he had had heavy losses, that they would soon be beggars.

“What if we are?” said the child boldly.  “Let us be beggars, and be happy.”

“Beggars—­and happy!” said the old man.  “Poor child!”

“Dear grandfather,” cried the girl, with an energy which shone in her flushed face, trembling voice, and impassioned, gestures, “O, hear me pray that we may beg, or work in open roads or fields, to earn a scanty living, rather than live as we do now.”