“It’s no use,” said the truncheon, leaning itself up against the chimney and looking on.  “I tell you, it is no use.  His heart is so cold that it freezes everything that comes near him, You will see that presently, plain enough.”

“Oh, of course, it’s my fault.  Everything’s always my fault,” said Grimes.  “Now don’t go to hit me again” (for the truncheon started upright, and looked very wicked); “you know, if my arms were only free, you daren’t hit me then.”

The truncheon leant back against the chimney, and took no notice of the personal insult, like a well-trained policeman as it was, though it was ready enough to avenge any transgression against morality or order.

“But can’t I help you in any other way?  Can’t I help you to get out of this chimney?” said Tom.

“No,” interposed the truncheon; “he has come to the place where everybody must help himself; and he will find it out, I hope, before he has done with me.”

“Oh, yes,” said Grimes, “of course it’s me.  Did I ask to be brought here into the prison?  Did I ask to be set to sweep your foul chimneys?  Did I ask to have lighted straw put under me to make me go up?  Did I ask to stick fast in the very first chimney of all, because it was so shamefully clogged up with soot?  Did I ask to stay here—­I don’t know how long—­a hundred years, I do believe, and never get my pipe, nor my beer, nor nothing fit for a beast, let alone a man?”

“No,” answered a solemn voice behind.  “No more did Tom, when you behaved to him in the very same way.”

It was Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid.  And when the truncheon saw her, it started bolt upright—­Attention!—­and made such a low bow, that if it had not been full of the spirit of justice, it must have tumbled on its end, and probably hurt its one eye.  And Tom made his bow too.

“Oh, ma’am,” he said, “don’t think about me; that’s all past and gone, and good times and bad times and all times pass over.  But may not I help poor Mr. Grimes?  Mayn’t I try and get some of these bricks away, that he may move his arms?”

“You may try, of course,” she said.

So Tom pulled and tugged at the bricks, but he could not move one.  And then he tried to wipe Mr. Grimes’ face, but the soot would not come off.

“Oh, dear!” he said.  “I have come all this way, through all these terrible places, to help you, and now I am of no use at all.”

“You had best leave me alone,” said Grimes; “you are a good-natured, forgiving little chap, and that’s truth; but you’d best be off.  The hail’s coming on soon, and it will beat the eyes out of your little head.”

“What hail?”

“Why, hail that falls every evening here; and till it comes close to me, it’s like so much warm rain; but then it comes to hail over my head, and knocks me about like small shot.”

“That hail will never come any more,” said the strange lady.  “I have told you before what it was.  It was your mother’s tears, those which she shed when she prayed for you by her bedside; but your cold heart froze it into hail.  But she is gone to heaven now, and will weep no more for her graceless son.”