Bedtime Tale: The Water Babies Ch 8/Part 3

Enjoy this bedtime tale to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read Chapter 8/Part 3 of the classic, The Water Babies, by Charles Kingsley. This final reading describes Tom's finding of Mr. Grimes and the moral of the story.

This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax, discover magic, or find adventure before a great night's sleep.

Transcript

The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley Chapter 8 Part 3 And at last they came to chimney number 345.

Out of the top of it,

His head and shoulders just showing,

Stuck poor Mr.

Grimes,

So sooty and bleared and ugly,

That Tom could barely bear to look at him.

And in his mouth was a pipe,

But it was not a light,

Though he was pulling at it with all his might.

Attention,

Mr.

Grimes,

Said the truncheon,

Here is a gentleman come to see you.

But Mr.

Grimes only said bad words and kept grumbling,

My pipe won't draw,

My pipe won't draw.

Keep a civil tongue and a ten,

Said the truncheon,

And popped up just like punch,

Hitting Grimes such a crack over the head with itself,

That his brains rattled inside like a dried walnut in its shell.

He tried to get his hands out and rubbed the place,

But he could not,

For they were stuck fast in the chimney.

Now he was forced to attend.

Hey,

He said,

Why,

It's Tom.

I suppose you've come here to laugh at me,

You spiteful little atomy.

Tom assured him he had not,

But only wanted to help him.

I don't want anything except beer,

And that I can't get,

And a light to this bothering pipe,

And that I can't get either.

I'll get you one,

Said Tom,

And he took up a live coal,

There were plenty lying about,

And put it to Grimes' pipe,

But it went out instantly.

It's no use,

Said the truncheon,

Leaning itself up against the chimney and looking on.

I tell you it's 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 leaned back against the chimney,

And took no notice of the personal insult.

Like a well-trained policeman,

As it was.

Though he was ready enough to avenge any transgression against morality or order.

But can't I help you any other way?

Can't I help you get out of this chimney,

Said Tom?

No,

Interposed the truncheon.

He has come to the place where everybody must help themselves.

And he will find it out,

I hope,

Before he is 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 up 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 first chimney,

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 misbe done by as you did.

And when the truncheon saw her,

He started bolt upright,

Attention,

And made such a low bow,

That if it had not been the fool of the spirit of justice,

It might have stumbled 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 Passover.

But may not I help poor Mr.

Grimes?

Mayn't I try and get some of those 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,

Until it comes close to me.

It's like so much warm rain,

But then it turns 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.

Then Grimes was silent a while,

And then he looked very sad.

So my old mother's gone,

And I was never there to speak to her.

Ah,

A good woman she was,

And might have been a happy one,

In her little school there in Vendale,

If it hadn't been for me and my bad ways.

Did she keep the school in Vendale?

Asked Tom.

And then he told Grimes all the story of his going to her house,

And how she could not abide the sight of a chimney sweep,

And then how kind she was,

And how he turned into a water-baby.

Ah,

Said Grimes,

Good reason she had to hate the sight of a chimney sweep.

I ran away from her and took up with the sweeps,

And never let her know where I was,

Nor sent her a penny to help her.

And now it's too late,

Too late,

Said Mr.

Grimes.

And he began crying and blubbering like a great baby,

Till his pipe dropped out of his mouth and broke all to bits.

Oh dear,

If I was but a little chap in Vendale again,

To see the Clear Creek,

The Apple Orchard,

To see you,

Hedge,

How different I would go on.

But it's too late now.

So you go along,

You kind little chap,

And don't stand and look at a man crying that's old enough to be your father,

And never feared the face of man,

Nor a worse neither.

But I'm beat now,

And beat I must be.

I've made my bed,

And I must lie on it.

Foul I would be,

And foul I am,

As an Irish woman said to me once,

And little I heeded it.

It's all my own fault,

But it's too late.

And he cried so bitterly that Tom began crying too.

Never too late,

Said the fairy,

In such a strange new soft voice that Tom looked up at her,

And she was so beautiful for the moment that Tom half fancied she was her sister.

No more was it too late,

For,

As poor Grimes cried and blubbered on,

His own tears did what his mother's tears could not do,

And Tom's could not do,

And nobody's on earth could do for him.

For they washed the soot off his face,

And off his clothes,

And then they washed the mortar away from between the bricks,

And the chimney crumbled down,

And Grimes began to get out of it.

Up jumped the truncheon,

But was going to hit him on the crown of tremendous thump,

And drive him back again like a cork into the bottle,

But the strange lady put it aside.

Will you obey me if I give you a chance?

As you please,

Ma'am.

You're stronger than me,

That I know too well,

And wiser than me,

I know too well also.

And as for being my own master,

I've fared ill enough with that as yet,

So whatever your ladyship pleases to order me,

For I'm beat,

And that's the truth.

Be it so,

Then,

You may come out,

But remember,

Disobey me again,

And into a worse place still you go.

I beg pardon,

Ma'am,

But I never disobeyed you,

That I know of.

I never had the honor of setting eyes upon you till I came to these ugly quarters.

Never saw me?

Who said to you,

Those that will be foul,

Foul they will be?

Grimes looked up,

And Tom looked up too,

For the voice was that of the Irish woman who met them the day that they went out together to Harthover.

I gave you your warning then,

But you gave it yourself a thousand times before and since.

Every bad word that you said,

Every cruel and mean thing that you did,

Every time that you got tipsy,

Every day that you went dirty,

You were disobeying me,

Whether you knew it or not.

If I'd only known,

Ma'am.

You knew well enough that you were disobeying something,

Though you did not know it was me.

But come out and take your chance,

Perhaps it may be your last.

So Mr.

Grimes stepped out of the chimney,

And really,

If it had not been for the scars on his face,

He looked as clean and respectable as a master sweep need look.

Take him away,

She said to the Truncheon,

And give him his ticket of leave.

And what is he to do,

Ma'am?

Get him to sweep out the crater of Etna.

He will find some very steady men working out there their own time as well.

Who will teach him his business?

But mind,

If that crater gets choked again,

And there is an earthquake in consequence,

Bring them all to me,

And I shall investigate the case very severely.

So the Truncheon marched off Mr.

Grimes,

Looking as meek as a drowned worm.

And for aught I know,

Or do not know,

He is sweeping the crater of Etna to this very day.

And now,

Said the Fairy to Tom,

Your work here is done.

You may as well go back again.

I should be glad enough to go,

Said Tom,

But how am I to get up the Great Hole again,

Now that the steam has stopped flowing?

I will take you up the back stairs,

But I must bandage your eyes first,

For I never allow anybody to see those back stairs of mine.

And I am sure I shall not tell anybody about them,

Ma'am,

If you bid me not.

Ah,

So you think,

My little man,

But you would soon forget your promise if you got back into the land world.

For if people only once found out that you had been up my back stairs,

You would have all the fine ladies kneeling to you,

And the rich men emptying their purses before you,

And statesmen offering you place and power,

And young and old,

Rich and poor,

Crying to you.

Only tell us the great back stairs secret,

And we will be your slaves.

We will make you Lord,

King,

Emperor,

Bishop,

Archbishop,

Pope,

If you like.

Only tell us the secret of the back stairs.

For thousands of years we've been paying,

And petting,

And obeying,

And worshiping quacks who told us that they had the keys of the back stairs,

And could smuggle us up them.

And in spite of all our disappointments,

We will honor,

And glorify,

And adore,

And beautify,

And translate on the chance of your knowing something about the back stairs,

That we may all go on a pilgrimage to it,

And even if we cannot get up to it,

Lie at the foot of it and cry.

Oh back stairs,

Precious back stairs,

Invaluable,

Requisite,

Necessary,

Good-natured,

Cosmopolitan,

Apprehensive,

Accommodating,

Well-bred,

Commercial,

Economical,

Practical,

Logical,

Deductive,

Comfortable,

Humane,

Reasonable,

Long-sought,

Coveted,

Aristocratic,

Respectable,

Gentleman-like,

Lady-like,

Orthodox,

Probable,

Credible,

Demonstrable,

Potent,

All but omnipotent back stairs.

Save us from the consequences of our own actions,

And from the cruel fairy,

Misbe done by as you did.

Do you not think that you would be a little tempted then to tell what you know,

Laddie?

Tom thought so certainly.

But why do they want to know about the back stairs,

Asked he,

Being a little frightened at the long words,

And not understanding them at the least,

As indeed he was not meant to do,

Or you either?

That I shall not tell you.

I never put things in the little folks' heads which are too likely to come from themselves.

So come,

Now I must bandage your eyes.

So she tied the bandage on his eyes with one hand,

And with the other she took it off.

Now,

She said,

You are safe up the stairs.

Tom opened his eyes very wide,

And his mouth too,

For he had not,

As he thought,

Moved a single step.

But when he looked round him,

There could be no doubt that he was safe up the back stairs,

Whatsoever they may be,

Which no man is going to tell you for the plain reason that no man knows.

The first thing which Tom saw was the black cedars,

High and sharp against the rosy dawn,

And St.

Brandon's Isle reflected double in the still broad silver sea.

The wind sang softly in the cedars,

And the water sang among the caves.

The seabirds sang as they streamed out into the ocean,

And the land birds as they built among the boughs,

And the air was so full of song that it stirred St.

Brandon and his hermits as they slumbered in the shade.

And they moved their good old lips and sang their morning hymn amid their dreams.

But among all the songs,

One came across the water more sweet and clear than all,

For it was the song of a young girl's voice.

And what was the song that she sang?

Ah,

My little man,

I am too old to sing that song,

And you too young to understand it.

But have patience,

And keep your eyes single,

And your hands clean,

And you will learn someday to sing it yourself,

Without needing any man to teach you.

And as Tom neared the island,

There sat upon a rock the most graceful creature that ever was seen,

Looking down,

With her chin upon her hand,

And paddling with her feet in the water.

And when they came up to her,

She looked up,

And behold,

It was Ellie.

Oh,

Miss Ellie,

Said he,

How you are grown.

Oh,

Tom,

She said,

How you are grown too.

And no wonder,

They were both quite grown up,

He into a tall man,

And she into a beautiful woman.

Perhaps I may be grown,

She said,

I have had enough time,

For I've been sitting here waiting for you for many hundred years,

Till I thought you were never coming.

Many a hundred years,

That Tom?

But he had seen so much in his travels,

That he had quite given up being astonished,

And indeed,

He could think of nothing but Ellie.

So he stood and looked at Ellie,

And Ellie looked at him,

And they liked the employment so much that they stood and looked for seven years more,

And neither spoke,

Nor stirred.

At last,

They heard the fairy say,

Attention children,

Are you never going to look at me again?

We have been looking at you all this while,

They said,

And so they thought they had been.

Then look at me once more,

Said she.

They looked,

And both of them cried out at once.

Oh,

Who are you after all?

You are our dear Miss Dewes would be done by.

No,

You are good,

Misses be done by as you did,

But you are quite grown beautiful now.

To you,

Said the fairy,

But look again.

You are Mother Carrie,

Said Tom,

In a very low solemn voice,

For he had found out something which made him very happy,

And yet frightened him more than all he'd ever seen.

But you are grown quite young again.

To you,

Said the fairy,

Look again.

You are the Irish woman who met me the day I went to Harthover,

And when they looked she was neither of them,

And yet all of them at once.

My name is written in my eyes,

If you have eyes to see it there.

And they looked into her great,

Deep,

Soft eyes,

And they changed again and again into every hue as the light changes in a diamond.

Now read my name,

She said at last.

And her eyes flashed,

And for one moment clear white blazing light,

But the children could not read her name,

For they were dazzled and hid their faces in their hands.

Not yet,

Young things,

Not yet,

She said smiling,

And then she turned to Ellie.

You may take him home with you now on Sundays,

Ellie.

He has won his spurs in the great battle,

And become fit to go with you and be a man,

Because he has done the thing he did not like.

So Tom went home with Ellie on Sundays,

And sometimes on weekdays too,

And he is now a great man of science,

And can plan railroads,

And steam engines,

And electric telegraphs,

And rifled guns,

And so forth,

And knows everything about everything,

And all this from what he learned when he was a water baby underneath the sea.

And of course Tom married Ellie.

My dear child,

What a silly notion.

Don't you know that no one ever marries in a fairy tale under the rank of prince or princess?

And Tom's dog?

Oh,

You may see him any clear night in July,

For the old dog star was so worn out by the last three hot summers that there have been no dog days since.

So that they had to take him down and put Tom's dog up in his place.

Therefore,

As new brooms sweep clean,

We may hope for some warm weather this year.

And that is the end of my story.

But here is the moral of the story.

And now,

My dear little man,

What should we learn from this parable?

We should learn 37 or 39 things.

I'm not exactly sure which,

But one thing at least we may learn,

And that is this.

When we see Fs in the pond,

Never to throw stones at them,

Or catch them with crooked pins,

Or put them into vivariums with sticklebacks.

That the sticklebacks may prick them in their poor little stomachs and make them jump out of the glass into somebody's workbox,

And so come to a bad end.

For these Fs are nothing else but the water babies who are stupid and dirty,

And will not learn their lessons and keep themselves clean.

And therefore,

As comparative anatomists will tell you 50 years hence,

Though they are not learned enough to tell you now,

Their skulls grow flat,

Their jaws grow out,

And their brains grow small,

And their tails grow long,

And they lose all their ribs,

Which I am sure you would not like to do,

And their skins grow dirty and spotted,

And they never get into the clear rivers,

Much less into the great wide sea,

But hang about in dirty ponds,

And live in the mud,

And eat worms,

As they deserve to do.

That is no reason why you should ill use them,

But only why you should pity them,

And be kind to them,

And hope that someday they'll wake up,

And be ashamed of their nasty,

Dirty,

Lazy,

Stupid life,

And try to amend,

And become something better once more.

For perhaps,

If they do so,

Then after 379,

423 years,

9 months,

13 days,

2 hours,

And 21 minutes,

For aught that appears to the contrary,

If they work very hard,

And wash very hard all the time,

Their brains may grow bigger,

And their jaws grow smaller,

And their ribs come back,

And their tails wither off,

And they will turn into water babies again,

And perhaps after that,

Into land babies.

And after that,

Perhaps into grown men.

You know they won't?

Very well,

I dare say,

You know best,

But you see,

Some folks have a great liking for those poor little Fs.

They never did anybody any harm,

Or could if they tried,

And their only fault is that they do not know,

And they do no good,

Any more than some thousands of their betters.

But what with ducks,

And what with pike,

And what with sticklebacks,

And what with water beetles,

And what with the naughty boys they are,

Say sire Haddon Doon,

As the Scotsman say,

That it is a wonder how they live,

And some folks can't help hoping,

With good Bishop Butler,

That they may have another chance,

To make things fair and even,

Somewhere,

Someone,

Somehow.

Meanwhile,

Do you learn your lessons,

And thank God that you have plenty of cold water to wash in,

And wash in it too,

Like a true Englishman.

And then,

If my story is not true,

Something better is,

And if I am not quite right,

Still you will be,

As long as you stick to hard work and cold water.

But remember always,

As I told you first,

That this is all a fairy tale,

And only fun and pretense,

And therefore,

You are not to believe a word of it,

Even if it's true.

The End And that is the end of our story this evening.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.

Reviews

Thank you Hilary! It’s weird this just showed up for me (notifications) a couple of days ago.
Hope you are doing well! 💕

Congratulations to your son, that’s awesome ! 😊

Thanks Hilary. That was an odd and complicated and very abstract book. Intitally I thought it was written by someone who indulged in opium maybe but I read up about Kingsley and there was quite a good description about the book and the reasons and it’s quite complex with references to some very important characters such as Darwin. So the book actually has quite a lot to say and somehow it bypassed me but did help add a few extra hours of sleep to many nights. So there you go… don’t judge a book by its cover. I might have to listen all over again when I’m not hoping to fall back to sleep. 😬
Many thanks Hilary hope you are well. 🙏🏼❤️