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diff --git a/4296-h/4296-h.htm b/4296-h/4296-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ad445a --- /dev/null +++ b/4296-h/4296-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7332 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Friarswood Post-Office</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.headingsummary { margin-left: 5%;} + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Friarswood Post-Office, by Charlotte M. Yonge</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Friarswood Post-Office, by Charlotte M. Yonge + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Friarswood Post-Office + + +Author: Charlotte M. Yonge + + + +Release Date: December 29, 2007 [eBook #4296] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIARSWOOD POST-OFFICE*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1909 Wells Gardner, Darton, & Co. +edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>FRIARSWOOD<br /> +POST-OFFICE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +C. M. YONGE,<br /> +<span class="smcap">author of “the heir of redclyffe”</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">with coloured +illustrations</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">a. g. walker</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">sculptor</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">london</span>:<br /> +WELLS GARDNER, DARTON, & CO., LTD.<br /> +3 & 4 <span class="smcap">Paternoster Buildings</span>, <span +class="smcap">E.C.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">and</span> 44 <span class="smcap">Victoria +Street</span>, <span class="smcap">Westminster</span>, <span +class="smcap">S.W.</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER I—THE STRANGE LAD</h2> +<p>‘Goodness! If ever I did see such a pig!’ +said Ellen King, as she mounted the stairs. ‘I +wouldn’t touch him with a pair of tongs!’</p> +<p>‘Who?’ said a voice from the bedroom.</p> +<p>‘Why, that tramper who has just been in to buy a +loaf! He is a perfect pig, I declare! I only wonder +you did not find of him up here! The police ought to hinder +such folk from coming into decent people’s shops! +There, you may see him now!’</p> +<p>‘Is that he upon the bridge—that chap about the +size of our Harold?’</p> +<p>‘Yes. Did you ever see such a figure? His +clothes aren’t good enough for a scare-crow—and the +dirt, you can’t see that from here, but you might sow +radishes in it!’</p> +<p>‘Oh, he’s swinging on the rail, just as I used to +do. Put me down, Nelly; I don’t want to see any +more.’ And the eyes filled with tears; there was a +working about the thin cheeks and the white lips, and a long sigh +came out at last, ‘Oh, if I was but like him!’</p> +<p>‘Like him! I’d wish something else before I +wished that,’ said Ellen. ‘Don’t think +about it, Alfred dear; here are Miss Jane’s +pictures.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want the pictures,’ said Alfred +wearily, as he laid his head down on his white pillow, and shut +his eyes because they were hot with tears.</p> +<p>Ellen looked at him very sadly, and the feeling in her own +mind was, that he was right, and nothing could make up for the +health and strength that she knew her mother feared would never +return to him.</p> +<p>There he lay, the fair hair hanging round the white brow with +the furrows of pain in it, the purple-veined lids closed over the +great bright blue eyes, the long fingers hanging limp and +delicate as a lady’s, the limbs stretched helplessly on the +couch, whither it cost him so much pain to be daily moved. +Who would have thought, that not six months ago that poor cripple +was the merriest and most active boy in the parish?</p> +<p>The room was not a sad-looking one. There were spotless +white dimity curtains round the lattice window; and the little +bed, and the walnut of the great chest, and of the doors of the +press-bed on which Alfred lay, shone with dark and pale +grainings. There was a carpet on the floor, and the chairs +had chintz cushions; the walls were as white as snow, and there +were pretty china ornaments on the mantel-piece, many little +pictures hanging upon the walls, and quite a shelf of books upon +the white cloth, laid so carefully on the top of the +drawers. A little table beside Alfred held a glass with a +few flowers, a cup with some toast and water, a volume of the +‘Swiss Family Robinson;’ and a large book of prints +of animals was on a chair where he could reach it.</p> +<p>A larger table was covered with needle-work, shreds of lining, +scissors, tapes, and Ellen’s red work-box; and she herself +sat beside it, a very nice-looking girl of about seventeen, tall +and slim, her lilac dress and white collar fitting beautifully, +her black apron sitting nicely to her trim waist, and her light +hair shining, like the newly-wound silk of the silk-worm, round +her pleasant face; where the large, clear, well-opened blue eyes, +and the contrast of white and red on the cheek, were a good deal +like poor Alfred’s, and gave an air of delicacy.</p> +<p>Their father had been, as their mother said, ‘the +handsomest coachman who ever drove to St. James’s;’ +but he had driven thither once too often; he had caught his death +of cold one bitter day when Lady Jane Selby was obliged to go to +a drawing-room, and had gone off in a deep decline fourteen years +ago, when the youngest of his five children was not six weeks +old.</p> +<p>The Selby family were very kind to Mrs. King, who, besides her +husband’s claims on them, had been once in service there; +and moreover, had nursed Miss Jane, the little heiress, +Ellen’s foster-sister. By their help she had been +able to use her husband’s savings in setting up a small +shop, where she sold tea, tobacco and snuff, tape, cottons, and +such little matters, besides capital bread of her own baking, and +various sweet-meats, the best to the taste of her own cooking, +the prettiest to the eye brought from Elbury. Oranges too, +and apples, shewed their yellow or rosy cheeks at her window in +their season; and there was sometimes a side of bacon, displaying +under the brown coat the delicate pink stripes bordering the +white fat. Of late years one pane of her window had been +fitted up with a wooden box, with a slit in it on the outside, +and a whole region round it taken up with printed sheets of paper +about ‘Mails to Gothenburg,—Weekly Post to +Vancouver’s Island’—and all sorts of places to +which the Friarswood people never thought of writing.</p> +<p>Altogether, she throve very well; and she was a good woman, +whom every one respected for the pains she took to bring up her +children well. The eldest, Charles, had died of consumption +soon after his father, and there had been much fear for his +sister Matilda; but Lady Jane had contrived to have her taken as +maid to a lady who usually spent the winter abroad, and the warm +climate had strengthened her health. She was not often at +Friarswood; but when she came she looked and spoke like a +lady—all the more so as she gave herself no airs, but was +quite simple and humble, for she was a very good right-minded +young woman, and exceedingly fond of her home and her good +mother.</p> +<p>Ellen would have liked to copy Matilda in everything; and as a +first step, she went for a year to a dress-maker; but just as +this was over, Alfred’s illness had begun; and as he wanted +constant care and attendance, it was thought better that she +should take in work at home. Indeed Alfred was such a +darling of hers, that she could not have endured to go away and +leave him so ill.</p> +<p>Alfred had been a most lively, joyous boy, with higher spirits +than he quite knew what to do with, all fun and good-humour, and +yet very troublesome and provoking. He and his brother +Harold were the monkeys of the school, and really seemed +sometimes as if they <i>could not</i> sit still, nor hinder +themselves from making faces, and playing tricks; but that was +the worst of them—they never told untruths, never did +anything mean or unfair, and could always be made sorry when they +had been in fault. Their old school-mistress liked them in +spite of all the plague they gave her; and they liked her too, +though she had tried upon them every punishment she could +devise.</p> +<p>Little Miss Jane, the orphan whom the Colonel and Mrs. Selby +had left to be brought up by her grandmother, had a great fancy +that Alfred should be a page; and as she generally had her own +way, he went up to the Grange when he was about thirteen years +old, and put on a suit thickly sown with buttons. But ere +the gloss of his new jacket had begun to wear off, he had broken +four wine-glasses, three cups, and a decanter, all from not +knowing where he was going; he had put sugar instead of salt into +the salt-cellars at the housekeeper’s dining-table, that he +might see what she would say; and he had been caught dressing up +Miss Jane’s Skye terrier in one of the butler’s clean +cravats; so, though Puck, the aforesaid terrier, liked him better +than any other person, Miss Jane not excepted, a regular +complaint went up of him to my Lady, and he was sent home. +He was abashed, and sorry to have vexed mother and disappointed +Miss Jane; but somehow he could not be unhappy when he had Harold +to play with him again, and he could halloo as loud as they +pleased, and stamp about in the garden, instead of being always +in mind to walk softly.</p> +<p>There was the pony too! A new arrangement had just been +made, that the Friarswood letters should be fetched from Elbury +every morning, and then left at the various houses of the large +straggling district that depended on that post-office. All +letters from thence must be in the post before five +o’clock, at which time they were to be sent in to +Elbury. The post-master at Elbury asked if Mrs. +King’s sons could undertake this; and accordingly she made +a great effort, and bought a small shaggy forest pony, whom the +boys called ‘Peggy,’ and loved not much less than +their sisters.</p> +<p>It was all very well in the summer to take those two rides in +the cool of the morning and evening; but when winter came on, and +Alfred had to start for Elbury in the tardy dawn of a frosty +morning, or still worse, in the gloom of a wet one, he did not +like it at all. He used to ride in looking blue and purple +with the chill; and though he went as close to the fire as +possible, and steamed like the tea-kettle while he ate his +breakfast and his mother sorted the letters, he had not time to +warm himself thoroughly before he had to ride off to leave +them—two miles further altogether; for besides the bag for +the Grange, and all the letters for the Rectory, and for the +farmers, there was a young gentlemen’s school at a great +old lonely house, called Ragglesford, at the end of a very long +dreary lane; and many a day Alfred would have given something if +those boys’ relations would only have been so good as, with +one consent, to leave them without letters.</p> +<p>It would not have mattered if Alfred had been a stouter boy; +but his mother had always thought he had his poor father’s +constitution, and therefore wished him to be more in the house; +but his idleness had prevented his keeping any such place. +It might have been the cold and wet, or, as Alfred thought, it +might have been the strain he gave himself one day when he was +sliding on the ice and had a fall; but one morning he came in +from Elbury very pale, and hobbling, as he said his hip hurt him +so much, that Harold must take the letters round for him.</p> +<p>Harold took them that morning, and for many another morning +and evening besides; while poor Alfred came from sitting by the +fire to being a prisoner up-stairs, only moved now and then from +his own bed to lie outside that of his mother, when he could bear +it. The doctor came, and did his best; but the disease had +thrown itself into the hip joint, and it was but too plain that +Alfred must be a great sufferer for a long time, and perhaps a +cripple for life. But how long might this life be? +His mother dared not think. Alfred himself, poor boy, was +always trying with his whole might to believe himself getting +better; and Ellen and Harold always fancied him so, when he was +not very bad indeed; but for the last fortnight he had been +decidedly worse, and his heart and hopes were sinking, though he +would not own it to himself, and that and the pain made his +spirits fail so, that he had been more inclined to be fretful +than any time since his illness had begun.</p> +<p>His view from the window was a pleasant one; and when he was +pretty well, afforded him much amusement. The house stood +in a neat garden, with green railings between it and the road, +over which Alfred could see every one who came and went towards +Elbury, and all who had business at the post-office, or at Farmer +Shepherd’s. Opposite was the farm-yard; and if +nothing else was going on, there were always cocks and hens, +ducks and turkeys, pigs, cows, or horses, to be seen there; and +the cow-milking, or the taking the horses down to the water, the +pig-feeding, and the like, were a daily amusement. Sloping +down from the farm-yard, the ground led to the river, a smooth +clear stream, where the white ducks looked very pretty, swimming, +diving, and ‘standing tail upwards;’ and there was a +high-arched bridge over it, where Alfred could get a good view of +the carriages that chanced to come by, and had lately seen all +the young gentlemen of Ragglesford going home for the summer +holidays, making such a whooping and hurrahing, that the place +rang again; and beyond, there were beautiful green meadows, with +a straight path through them, leading to a stile; and beyond +that, woods rose up, and there was a little glimpse of a stately +white house peeping through them. Hay-making was going on +merrily in the field, under the bright summer sun, and the air +was full of the sweet smell of the grass, but there was something +sultry and oppressive to the poor boy’s feelings; and when +he remembered how Farmer Shepherd had called him to lend a hand +last year, and how happy he had been tossing the hay, and loading +the waggon, a sad sick feeling crept over him; and so it was that +the tears rose in his eyes, and he made his sister lay him back +on the pillow, for he did not wish to see any more.</p> +<p>Ellen worked and thought, and wanted to entertain him, but +could not think how. Presently she burst out, however, +‘Oh, Alfred! there’s Harold coming running +back! There he is, jumping over that hay-cock—not +touched the ground once—another—oh! there’s +Farmer Shepherd coming after him!’</p> +<p>‘Hold your tongue,’ muttered Alfred moodily, as if +each of her words gave him unbearable pain; and he hid his face +in the pillow.</p> +<p>Ellen kept silence for ten minutes, and then broke forth +again, ‘Now then, Alfred, you <i>will</i> be glad! +There’s Miss Jane getting over the stile.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want Miss Jane,’ grumbled Alfred; +and as Ellen sprang up and began smoothing his coverings, +collecting her scraps, and tidying the room, already so neat, he +growled again, ‘What a racket you keep!’</p> +<p>‘There, won’t you be raised up to see her? +She does look so pretty in her new pink muslin, with a double +skirt, and her little hat and feather, that came from London; and +there’s Puck poking in the hay—he’s looking for +a mouse! And she’s showering the hay over him with +her parasol! Oh, look, Alfred!’ and she was going to +lift him up, but he only murmured a cross ‘Can’t you +be quiet?’ and she let him alone, but went on talking: +‘Ah, there’s Puck’s little tail wriggling +out—hinder-end foremost—here he comes—they are +touching their hats to her now, the farmer and all, and she nods +just like a little queen! She’s got her basket, +Alfred. I wonder what she has for you in it! Oh dear, +there’s that strange boy on the bridge! She +won’t like that.’</p> +<p>‘Why, what would he do to her? He won’t bite +her,’ said Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Oh, if he spoke to her, or begged of her, she’d +be so frightened! There, he looked at her, and she gave +such a start. You little vagabond! I’d like +to—’</p> +<p>‘Stuff! what could he do to her, with all the hay-field +and Farmer Shepherd there to take care of her? What a fuss +you do make!’ said poor Alfred, who was far too miserable +just then to agree with any one, though at almost any other time +he would have longed to knock down any strange boy who did but +dare to pass Miss Selby without touching his cap; and her visits +were in general the very light of his life.</p> +<p>They were considered a great favour; for though old Lady Jane +Selby was a good, kind-hearted person, still she had her fancies, +and she kept her young grand-daughter like some small jewel, as a +thing to be folded up in a case, and never trusted in +common. She was afraid to allow her to go about the +village, or into the school and cottages, always fancying she +might be made ill, or meet with some harm; but Mrs. King being an +old servant, whom she knew so well, and the way lying across only +two meadows beyond Friarswood Park, the little pet was allowed to +go so far to visit her foster-mother, and bring whatever she +could devise to cheer the poor sick boy.</p> +<p>Miss Jane, though of the same age as Ellen, and of course with +a great deal more learning and accomplishment, had been so little +used to help herself, or to manage anything, that she was like +one much younger. The sight of the rough stranger on the +bridge was really startling to her, and she came across the road +and garden as fast as she could without a run; and the first +thing the brother and sister heard, was her voice saying rather +out of breath and fluttered, ‘Oh, what a horrid-looking +boy!’</p> +<p>Seeing that Mrs. King was serving some one in the shop, she +only nodded to her, and came straight up-stairs. Alfred +raised up his head, and beheld the little fairy through the open +door, first the head, and the smiling little face and slight +figure in the fresh summer dress.</p> +<p>Miss Jane was not thought very pretty by strangers; but that +dainty little person, and sweet sunny eyes and merry smile, and +shy, kind, gracious ways, were perfect in the eyes of her +grandmamma and of Mrs. King and her children, if of nobody +else. Alfred, in his present dismal state, only felt vexed +at a fresh person coming up to worry him, and make a talking; +especially one whose presence was a restraint, so that he could +not turn about and make cross answers at his will.</p> +<p>‘Well, Alfred, how are you to-day?’ said the sweet +gay voice, a little subdued.</p> +<p>‘Better, Ma’am, thank you,’ said Alfred, who +always called himself better, whatever he felt; but his voice +told the truth better than his words.</p> +<p>‘He’s had a very bad night, Miss Jane,’ said +his sister; ‘no sleep at all since two o’clock, and +he is so low to-day, that I don’t know what to do with +him.’</p> +<p>Alfred hated nothing so much as to hear that he was low, for +it meant that he was cross.</p> +<p>‘Poor Alfred!’ said the young lady kindly. +‘Was it pain that kept you awake?’</p> +<p>‘No, Ma’am—not so much—’ said +the boy.</p> +<p>Miss Jane saw he looked very sad, and hoped to cheer him by +opening her basket. ‘I’ve brought you a new +book, Alfred. It is “The Cherry-stones.” +Have you finished the last?’</p> +<p>‘No, Ma’am.’</p> +<p>‘Did you like it?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Ma’am.’</p> +<p>But it was a very matter-of-course sort of Yes, and +disappointed Miss Jane, who thought he would have been charmed +with the ‘Swiss Family Robinson.’</p> +<p>Ellen spoke: ‘Oh yes, Alfred, you know you did like +it. I heard you laughing to yourself at Ernest and the +shell of soup. And Harold reads that; and ’tis so +seldom he will look at a book.’</p> +<p>Jane did not like this quite as well as if Alfred had spoken +up more; but she dived into her basket again, and brought out a +neat little packet of green leaves, with some strawberries done +up in it, and giving a little smile, she made sure that it would +be acceptable.</p> +<p>Ellen thanked vehemently, and Alfred gave feeble thanks; but, +unluckily, he had so set his mind upon raspberries, that he could +not enjoy the thought of anything else. It was a sickly +distaste for everything, and Miss Selby saw that he was not as +much pleased as she meant him to be; she looked at him wistfully, +and, half grieved, half impatient, she longed to know what he +would really like, or if he were positively ungrateful. She +was very young, and did not know whether it was by his fault or +her mistake that she had failed to satisfy him.</p> +<p>Puck had raced up after her, and had come poking and snuffling +round Alfred. She would have called him away lest he should +be too much for one so weak, but she saw Alfred really did enjoy +this: his hand was in the long rough coat, and he was whispering, +‘Poor Puck,’ and ‘Good little doggie;’ +and the little hairy rummaging creature, with the bright black +beads of eyes gleaming out from under his shaggy hair, was doing +him more good than her sense and kindness, or Ellen’s +either.</p> +<p>She turned to the window, and said to Ellen, ‘What a +wild-looking lad that is on the bridge!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Miss Jane,’ said Ellen; ‘I was quite +afraid he would frighten you.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I was surprised,’ said Jane; ‘I was +afraid he might speak to me; but then I knew I was too near +friends for harm to come to me;’ and she laughed at her own +fears. ‘How ragged and wretched he looks! Has +he been begging?’</p> +<p>‘No, Miss Jane; he came into the shop, and bought some +bread. He paid for it honestly; but I never did see any one +so dirty. And there’s Alfred wishing to be like +him. I knew you would tell him it is quite wicked, Miss +Jane.’</p> +<p>It is not right, I suppose, to wish to be anything but what we +are,’ said Jane, rather puzzled by the appeal; ‘and +perhaps that poor beggar-boy would only like to have a nice room, +and kind mother and sister, like you, Alfred.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t say anything against them!’ cried +the boy vehemently; ‘but—but—I’d give +anything—anything in the world—to be able to run +about again in the hay-field! No, don’t talk to me, +Ellen, I say—I hate them all when I see them there, and I +forced to lie here! I wish the sun would never +shine!’</p> +<p>He hid his eyes and ears in the pillow, as if he never wished +to see the light again, and would hear nothing. The two +girls both stood trembling. Ellen looked at Miss Selby, and +she felt that she must say something. But what could she +say?</p> +<p>With tears in her eyes she laid hold of Alfred’s thin +hand and tried to speak, choked by tears. ‘Dear +Alfred, don’t say such dreadful things. You know we +are all so sorry for you; but God sent it.’</p> +<p>Alfred gave a groan of utter distress, as if it were no +consolation.</p> +<p>‘And—and things come to do us good,’ +continued Miss Jane, the tears starting to her cheeks.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know what good it can do me to lie +here!’ cried Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Oh, but, Alfred, it must.’</p> +<p>‘I tell you,’ exclaimed the poor boy, forgetting +his manners, so that Ellen stood dismayed, ‘it does not do +me good! I didn’t use to hate Harold, nor to hate +everybody.’</p> +<p>‘To hate Harold!’ said Jane faintly.</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said Alfred, ‘when I hear him whooping +about like mad, and jumping and leaping, and going on like I used +to do, and never shall again.’</p> +<p>The tears came thick and fast, and perhaps they did him +good.</p> +<p>‘But, Alfred,’ said Jane, trying to puzzle into +the right thing, ‘sometimes things are sent to punish us, +and then we ought to submit quietly.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know what I’ve done, then,’ +he cried angrily. ‘There have been many worse than I +any day, that are well enough now.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, Alfred, it is not who is worse, but what one is +oneself,’ said Jane.</p> +<p>Alfred grunted.</p> +<p>‘I wish I knew how to help you,’ she said +earnestly; ‘it is so very sad and hard; and I dare say I +should be just as bad myself if I were as ill; but do, pray, +Alfred, try to think that nobody sent it but God, and that He +must know best.’</p> +<p>Alfred did not seem to take in much comfort, and Jane did not +believe she was putting it rightly; but it was time for her to go +home, so she said anxiously, ‘Good-bye, Alfred; I hope +you’ll be better next +time—and—and—’ She bent down and +spoke in a very frightened whisper, ‘You know when we go to +church, we pray you may have patience under your +sufferings.’</p> +<p>Then she sprang away, as if ashamed of the sound of her own +words; but as she was taking up her basket and wishing Ellen +good-bye, she saw that the strange lad had moved nearer the +house, and timid little thing as she was, she took out a +sixpence, and said, ‘Do give him that, and ask him to go +away.’</p> +<p>Ellen had no very great fancy for facing the enemy herself, +but she made no objection; and looking down-stairs, she saw her +brother Harold waiting while his mother stamped the letters, and +she called to him, and sent him out to the boy.</p> +<p>He came back in a few moments so much amazed, that she could +see the whites all round his eyes.</p> +<p>‘He won’t have it! He’s a rum one +that! He says he’s no beggar, and that if the young +lady would give him work, he’d thank her; but he wants none +of her money, and he’ll stand where he chooses!’</p> +<p>‘Why didn’t you lick him?’ hallooed out +Alfred’s voice from his bed. ‘Oh! if +I—’</p> +<p>‘Nonsense, Alfred!’ cried Miss Jane, frightened +into spirit; ‘stand still, Harold! I don’t mind +him.’</p> +<p>And she put up her parasol, and walked straight out at the +house door as bold as a little lioness, going on without looking +to the right or left.</p> +<p>‘<i>If</i>—’ began Harold, clenching his +fists—and Alfred raised himself upon his bed with flashing +eyes to watch, as the boy had moved nearer, and looked for a +moment as if he were going to grin, or say something impudent; +but the quiet childish form stepping on so simply and steadily +seemed to disarm him, and he shrunk back, left her to trip across +the road unmolested, and stood leaning over the rail of the +bridge, gazing after her as she crossed the hay-field.</p> +<p>Harold rode off with the letters; and Alfred lay gazing, and +wondering what that stranger could be, counting the holes in his +garments, and trying to guess at his history.</p> +<p>One good thing was, that Alfred was so much carried out of +himself, that he was cheerful all the evening.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II—HAY-MAKING</h2> +<p>There was again a sultry night, which brought on so much +discomfort and restlessness, that poor Alfred could not +sleep. He tried to bear in mind how much he had disturbed +his mother the night before, and he checked himself several times +when he felt as if he could not bear it any longer without waking +her, and to remember his old experience, that do what she would +for him, it would be no real relief, and he should only be sorry +the next day when he saw her going about her work with a worn +face and a head-ache.</p> +<p>Then every now and then Miss Selby’s words about being +patient came back to him. Sometimes he thought them hard, +coming from a being who had never known sickness or sorrow, and +wondered how she would feel if laid low as he was; but they would +not be put away in that manner, for he knew they were true, and +were said by others than Miss Jane, though he had begun to think +no phrase so tiresome, hopeless, or provoking. People +always told him to be patient when they had no comfort to give +him, and did not know what he was suffering. He would not +have minded it so much if only he could have got it out of his +head. Somehow it would not let him call to his mother, if +it was only because very likely all he should get by so doing +would be to be again told to be patient. And then came Miss +Jane’s telling him his illness might be good for him, as if +she thought he deserved to be punished. Really that was +hard! Who could think he deserved this wearing pain and +helplessness, only because he had played tricks on the butler and +housekeeper, and now and then laughed at church?</p> +<p>‘It is just like Job and his friends,’ thought +Alfred. ‘I don’t want her to come and see me +any more!’</p> +<p>Poor Alfred! There was a little twinge here. His +conscience could not give quite such an account as did that of +Job! But he did not like recollecting his own errors better +than any of us do, and liked much more to feel himself very +hardly used, and greatly to be pitied. Thereupon he opened +his lips to call to his mother, but that old thought about +patience returned on him; he had mercy on her regular breathing, +though it made him quite envious to hear it, and he said to +himself that he would let her alone, at least till the next time +the clock struck. It would be three o’clock next +time. Oh dear, would the night never be over? How +often such a round of weary thoughts came again and again can +hardly be counted; but, at any rate, poor Alfred was exercising +one act of forbearance, and that was so much gain. At last +he found, by the increasing light shewing him the shapes of all +the pictures, that he must have had a short sleep which had made +him miss the clock, and he felt a good deal injured thereby.</p> +<p>However, Mrs. King was too good a nurse not to be awakened by +his first movement, and she came to him, gave him some cold tea, +and settled his pillow so as to make him more comfortable; and +when he begged her to let in a little more air, she went to open +the window wider, and relieve the closeness of the little +room. She had learnt while living with Lady Jane that night +air is not so dangerous as some people fancy; and it was an +infinite relief to Alfred when the lattice was thrown back, and +the cool breeze came softly in, with the freshness of the dew, +and the delicious scent of the hay-field.</p> +<p>Mrs. King stood a moment to look out at the beautiful +stillness of early dawn, the trees and meads so gravely calmly +quiet, and the silver dew lying white over everything; the tanned +hay-cocks rising up all over the field, the morning star and +waning moon glowing pale as light of morning spread over the +sky. Then a cock crew somewhere at a distance, and Mrs. +Shepherd’s cock answered him more shrilly close by, and the +swallows began to twitter under the eaves.</p> +<p>‘It <i>will</i> be a fine day, to be sure!’ she +said. ‘The farmer will get in his hay!’ and +then she stood looking as if something had caught her +attention.</p> +<p>‘What do you see, Mother?’ asked Alfred.</p> +<p>‘I was looking what that was under yon hay-cock,’ +said Mrs. King; ‘and I do believe it is some one sleeping +there.’</p> +<p>‘Ha!’ cried Alfred. ‘I dare say it is +the boy that would not have Miss Jane’s +sixpence.’</p> +<p>‘I’m sure I hope he’s after no harm,’ +said Mrs. King; ‘I don’t like to have tramps about so +near. I hope he means no mischief by the farmer’s +poultry.’</p> +<p>‘He can’t be one of that sort, or he +wouldn’t have refused the money,’ said Alfred. +‘How nice and cool it must be sleeping in the hay! +I’ll warrant he doesn’t lie awake. I wish I was +there!’</p> +<p>‘You’ll know what to be thankful for one of these +days, my poor lad,’ said his mother, sighing; then yawning, +she said, ‘I must go back to bed. Mind you call out, +Alfred, if you hear anything like a noise in the +farm-yard.’</p> +<p>This notion rather interested Alfred; he began to build up a +fine scheme of shouting out and sending Harold to the rescue of +the cocks and hens, and how well he would have done it himself a +year ago, and pinned the thief, and fastened the door on +him. Not that he thought this individual lad at all likely +to be a thief, nor did he care much for Farmer Shepherd, who was +a hard man and no favourite; but to catch a thief would be a +grand feat. And while settling his clever plan, and making +some compliments for the magistrate to pay him, Alfred, fanned by +the cool breeze, fell into a sound sleep, and did not wake till +the sun was high, and all the rest of the house were up and +dressed.</p> +<p>That good sleep made him much more able to bear the burden of +the day. First, his mother came with the towel and basin, +and washed his face and hands; and then he had his little book, +and said his prayers; and somehow to-day he felt so much less +fractious than usual, that he asked to be taught patience, and +not <i>only</i> to be made well, as he had hitherto done.</p> +<p>That over, he lay smiling as he waited for his breakfast, and +when Ellen brought it to him, he had not one complaint to make, +but ate it almost with a relish. ‘Is that boy +gone?’ he asked Ellen, as she tidied the room while he was +eating.</p> +<p>‘What, the dirty boy? No, there he is, speaking to +the farmer. Will he beg of him?’</p> +<p>‘Asking for work, more likely.’</p> +<p>‘I’d sooner give work to a pig at once,’ +said Ellen; ‘but I do believe he’s getting it. +I fancy they are short of hands for the hay. Yes, +he’s pointing into the field. Ay, and he’s +sending him into the yard.’</p> +<p>‘I hope he’ll give him some breakfast,’ said +Alfred. ‘Do you know he slept all night on a +hay-cock?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, so Mother said, just like a dog; and he got up +like a dog this morning,—never so much as washed himself at +the river. Why, he’s coming here! Whatever does +he want?’</p> +<p>‘The lad?’</p> +<p>‘No, the farmer.’</p> +<p>Mr. Shepherd’s heavy tread was heard below, and, as +Alfred said, Ellen had only to hold her tongue for them be able +to hear his loud tones telling Mrs. King that the glass was +falling, and his hay in capital order, and his hands short, and +asking whether her boy Harold would come and help in the +hay-field between the post times. Mrs. King gave a ready +answer that the boy would be well pleased, and the farmer +promised him his victuals and sixpence for the day. +‘Your lass wouldn’t like to come too, I suppose, +eh?’</p> +<p>Ellen flushed with indignation. She go a +hay-making! Her mother was civilly making answer that her +daughter was engaged with her sick brother, and besides—had +her work for Mrs. Price, which must be finished off. The +farmer, saying he had not much expected her, but thought she +might like a change from moping over her needle, went off.</p> +<p>Ellen did not feel ready to forgive him for wanting to set her +to field-work. There is some difference between being fine +and being refined, and in Ellen’s station of life it is +very difficult to hit the right point. To be refined is to +be free from all that is rough, coarse, or ungentle; to be fine, +is to affect to be above such things. Now Ellen was really +refined in her quietness and maidenly modesty, and there was no +need for her to undertake any of those kinds of tasks which, by +removing young girls from home shelter, do sometimes help to make +them rude and indecorous; but she was <i>fine</i>, when she gave +herself a little mincing air of contempt, as if she despised the +work and those who did it. Lydia Grant, who worked so +steadily and kept to herself so modestly, that no one ventured a +bold word to her as she tossed her hay, was just as refined as +Ellen King behind her white blinds, ay, or as Jane Selby herself +in her terraced garden. Refinement is in the mind that +loves whatsoever is pure, lovely, and of good report; finery is +in disdaining what is homely or humble.</p> +<p>Boys of all degrees are usually, when they are good for +anything, the greatest enemies of the finery tending to +affectation; and Alfred at once began to make a little fun of his +sister, and tell her it would be a famous thing for her, he +believed she had quite forgotten how to run, and did not know a +rake from a fork when she saw it. He knew she was longing +for a ride in the waggon, if she would but own it.</p> +<p>Ellen used to be teased by this kind of joking; but she was +too glad to see Alfred well enough so to entertain himself, to +think of anything but pleasing him, so she answered +good-humouredly that Harold must make hay for them all three +to-day, no doubt but he would be pleased enough.</p> +<p>He was heard trotting home at this moment, and whistling as he +hitched up the pony at the gate, and ran in with the letter-bag, +to snap up his breakfast while the letters were sorted.</p> +<p>‘Here, let me have them,’ called Alfred, and they +were glad he should do it, for he was the quickest of the family +at reading handwriting; but he was often too ill to attend to it, +and more often the weary fretfulness and languor of his state +made him dislike to exert himself, so it was apt to depend on his +will or caprice.</p> +<p>‘Look sharp, Alf!’ hallooed out Harold, rushing +up-stairs with the bags in one hand, and his bread-and-butter in +the other. ‘If you find a letter for that there +Ragglesford, I don’t know what I shall do to you! I +must be back in no time for the hay!’</p> +<p>And he had bounced down-stairs again before Ellen had time to +scold him for making riot enough to shake Alfred to pieces. +He was a fine tall stout boy, with the same large fully open blue +eyes, high colour, white teeth, and light curly hair, as his +brother and sister, but he was much more sunburnt. If you +saw him with his coat off, he looked as if he had red gloves and +a red mask on, so much whiter was his skin where it was covered; +and he was very strong for his age, and never had known what +illness was. The brothers were very fond of each other, but +since Alfred had been laid up, they had often been a great trial +to each other—the one seemed as little able to live without +making a noise, as the other to endure the noise he made; and the +sight of Harold’s activity and the sound of his feet and +voice, vexed the poor helpless sufferer more than they ought to +have done, or than they would had the healthy brother been less +thoughtless in the joy of his strength.</p> +<p>To-day, however, all was smooth. Alfred did not feel +every tread of those bounding limbs like a shock to his poor +diseased frame; and he only laughed as he unlocked the leathern +bag, and dealt out the letters, putting all those for the Lady +Jane Selby, Miss Selby, and the servants, into their own neat +little leathern case with the padlock, and sorting out the rest, +with some hope there might be one from Matilda, who was a very +good one to write home. There was none from her, but then +there was none for Ragglesford, and that was unexpected good +luck. If the old housekeeper left in charge had been wicked +enough to get her newspaper that day, Alfred felt that in +Harold’s place he should be sorely tempted to chuck it over +the hedge. Ellen looked as if he had talked of murdering +her, and truly such a breach of trust would have been a very +grievous fault.</p> +<p>‘The Reverend—what’s his name? the Reverend +Marcus Cope, Friarswood, near Elbury,’ read Alfred; +‘one, two, three letters, and a newspaper. Yes, and +this long printed-looking thing. Who is he, +Ellen?’</p> +<p>‘What did you say?’ said Ellen, who was busy +shaking her mother’s bed, and had not heard at the first +moment, but now turned eagerly; ‘what did you say his name +was?’</p> +<p>‘The Reverend Marcus Cope,’ repeated Alfred. +‘Is that another new parson?’</p> +<p>‘Why, did not we tell you what a real beautiful sermon +the new clergyman preached on Sunday? Mr. Cope, so +that’s his name. I wonder if he is come to +stay.—Mother,’ she ran to the head of the stairs, +‘the new clergyman’s name is the Reverend Mr. Marcus +Cope.’</p> +<p>‘He don’t live at Ragglesford, I hope!’ +cried Harold, who regarded any one at the end of that long lane +as his natural enemy.</p> +<p>‘No, it only says Friarswood,’ said Ellen. +‘You’ll have to find out where he lives, +Harold.’</p> +<p>‘Pish! it will take me an hour going asking +about!’ said Harold impatiently. ‘He must have +his letters left here till he chooses to come for them, if he +doesn’t know where he lives.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, Harold, that won’t do,’ said Mrs. +King. ‘You must take the gentleman his letters, and +they’ll be sure to know at the Park, or at the Rectory, or +at the Tankard, where he lodges. Well, it will be a real +comfort if he is come to stop.’</p> +<p>So Harold went off with the letters and the pony, and Ellen +and her mother exchanged a few words about the gentleman and his +last Sunday’s sermon, and then Ellen went to dust the shop, +and put out the bread, while her mother attended to +Alfred’s wound, the most painful part of the day to both of +them.</p> +<p>It was over, however, and Alfred was resting afterwards when +Harold cantered home as hard as the pony could or would go, and +came racing up to say, ‘I’ve seen him! +He’s famous! He stood out in the road and met me, and +asked for his letters, and he’s to be at the Parsonage, and +he asked my name, and then he laughed and said, “Oh! +I perceive it is the royal mail!” I didn’t know +what he was at, but he looked as good-humoured as anything. +Halloo! give me my old hat, Nell—that’s it! +Hurrah! for the hay-waggon! I saw the horses coming +out!’</p> +<p>And off he went again full drive; and Alfred did nothing worse +than give a little groan.</p> +<p>Ellen had enough to do in wondering about Mr. Cope. News +seemed to belong of right to the post-office, and it was odd that +he should have preached on Sunday, and now it should be Tuesday, +without anything having been heard of him, not even from Miss +Jane; but then the young lady had been fluttered by the strange +boy, and Alfred had been so fretful, that it might have put +everything out of her head.</p> +<p>Friarswood was used to uncertainty about the clergyman. +The Rector had fallen into such bad health, that he had long been +unable to do anything, and always hoping to get better, he had +sent different gentlemen to take the services, first one and then +another, or had asked the masters at Ragglesford to help him; but +it was all very irregular, and no one had settled down long +enough to know the people or do much good in visiting them. +My Lady, as they all called Lady Jane, was as sorry as any one +could be, and she tried what she could do by paying a very good +school-master and mistress, and giving plenty of rewards; but +nothing could be like the constant care of a real good clergyman, +and the people were all the worse for the want. They had +the church to go to, but it was not brought home to them. +The Rector had been obliged at last to go abroad, one of the +Ragglesford gentlemen had performed the service for the ensuing +Sundays, until now there seemed to be a chance that this new +clergyman was coming to stay.</p> +<p>This interested Alfred less than his sister. His +curiosity was chiefly about the strange lad; and when he was +moved to his place by the window he turned his eyes anxiously to +make him out in the line of hay-makers, two fields off, as they +shook out the grass to give it the day’s sunshine. He +knew them all, the ten women, with their old straw bonnets poked +down over their faces, and deep curtains sewn on behind to guard +their necks; the farm men come in from their other work to lend a +hand, three or four boys, among whom he could see Harold’s +white shirt sleeves, and sometimes hear his merry laugh, and he +was working next to the figure in brown faded-looking tattered +array, which Alfred suspected to belong to the strange boy. +So did Ellen. ‘Ah!’ she said, ‘Harold ye +scraped acquaintance with that vagabond-looking boy; I wish I had +warned him against it, but I suppose he would only have done it +all the more.’</p> +<p>‘You want to make friends with him yourself, +Ellen! We shall have you nodding to him next! You are +as curious about him as can be!’ said Alfred slyly.</p> +<p>‘Me! I never was curious about nothing so +insignificant,’ said Ellen. ‘All I wish is, +that that boy may not be running into bad company.’</p> +<p>The hay-fields were like an entertainment on purpose for +Alfred all day; he watched the shaking of the brown grass all +over the meadows in the morning, and the farmer walking over it, +and smelling it, and spying up to guess what would come of the +great rolling towers of grey clouds edged with pearly white, soft +but dazzling, which varied the intense blue of the sky.</p> +<p>Then he watched all the company sit or lie down on the shady +side of the hedge, under the pollard-willows, and Tom Boldre the +shuffler and one or two more go into the farm-house, and come out +with great yellow-ware with pies in them, and the little +sturdy-looking kegs of beer, and two mugs to go round among them +all. There was Harold lying down, quite at his ease, close +to the strange boy; Alfred knew how much better that dinner would +taste to him than the best with the table-cloth neatly spread in +his mother’s kitchen; and well did Alfred remember how much +more enjoyment there was in such a meal as that, than in any one +of the dainties that my Lady sent down to tempt his sickly +appetite. And what must pies and beer be to the wanderer +who had eaten the crust so greedily the day before! Then, +after the hour’s rest, the hay-makers rose up to rake the +hay into beds ready for the waggons. Harold and the +stranger were raking opposite to each other, and Alfred could see +them talking; and when they came into the nearer hay-field, he +saw Harold put up his hand, and point to the open window, as if +he were telling the other lad about the sick boy who was lying +there.</p> +<p>He was so much absorbed in thus watching, that he did not pay +much heed to what interested his mother and sister—the +reports which came by every customer about the new clergyman, +who, it appeared, had been staying in the next parish till +yesterday, when he had moved into the Rectory; and Mrs. Bonham, +the butcher’s wife, reported that the Rectory servants said +he was come to stay till their master came back. All this +and much more Mrs. King heard and rehearsed to Ellen, while +Alfred lay, sometimes reading the ‘Swiss Robinson,’ +sometimes watching the loading of the wains, as they creaked +slowly through the fields, the horses seeming to enjoy the work, +among their fragrant provender, as much as the human kind. +When five o’clock struck, Harold gave no signs of quitting +the scene of action; and Mrs. King, in much anxiety lest the +letters should be late, sent Helen to get the pony ready, while +she herself went into the field to call the boy.</p> +<p>Very unwilling he was to come—he shook his shoulders, +and growled and grumbled, and said he should be in plenty of +time, and he wished the post was at the bottom of the sea. +Nothing but his mother’s orders and the necessity of the +case could have made him go at all. At last he walked off, +as if he had lead in his feet, muttering that he wished he had +not some one to be always after him. Mrs. King looked at +the grimy face of his disreputable-looking companion, and +wondered whether he had put such things into his head.</p> +<p>Very cross was Harold as he twitched the bridle out of +Ellen’s hand, threw the strap of the letter-bag round his +neck, and gave such a re-echoing switch to the poor pony, that +Alfred heard it up-stairs, and started up to call out, ‘For +shame, Harold!’</p> +<p>Harold was ashamed: he settled himself in the saddle and rode +off, but Alfred had not the comfort of knowing that his +ill-humour was not being vented upon the poor beast all the way +to Elbury. Alfred had given a great deal of his heart to +that pony, and it made him feel helpless and indignant to think +that it was ill-used. Those tears of which he was ashamed +came welling up into his eyes as he lay back on his pillow; but +they were better tears than yesterday’s—they were not +selfish.</p> +<p>‘Never mind, Alfy,’ said Ellen, +‘Harold’s not a cruel lad; he’ll not go on, if +he was cross for a bit. It is all that he’s mad after +that boy there! I wish mother had never let him go into the +hay-field to meet bad company! Depend upon it, that boy has +run away out of a Reformatory! Sleeping out at night! +I can’t think how Farmer Shepherd could encourage him among +honest folk!’</p> +<p>‘Well, now I think of it, I should not wonder if he +had,’ said Mrs. King. ‘He is the dirtiest boy +that ever I did see! Most likely; I wish he may do no +mischief to-night!’</p> +<p>Harold came home in better humour, but a fresh vexation +awaited him. Mrs. King would not let him go to the hay-home +supper in the barn. The men were apt to drink too much and +grow riotous; and with her suspicions about his new friend, she +thought it better to keep him apart. She was a spirited +woman, who would be minded, and Harold knew he must submit, and +that he had behaved very ill. Ellen told him too how much +Alfred had been distressed about the pony, and though he would +not shew her that he cared, it made him go straight up-stairs, +and with a somewhat sheepish face, say, ‘I say, Alf, the +pony’s all right. I only gave him one cut to get him +off. He’d never go at all if he didn’t know his +master.’</p> +<p>‘He’d go fast enough for my voice,’ said +Alfred.</p> +<p>‘You know I’d never go for to beat him,’ +continued Harold; ‘but it was enough to vex a +chap—wasn’t it?—to have Mother coming and +lugging one off from the carrying, and away from the supper and +all. Women always grudge one a bit of fun!’</p> +<p>‘Mother never grudged us cricket, nor nothing in +reason,’ said Alfred. ‘Lucky you that could +make hay at all! And what made you so taken up with that +new boy that Ellen runs on against, and will have it he’s a +convict?’</p> +<p>‘A convict! if Ellen says that again!’ cried +Harold; ‘no more a convict than she is.’</p> +<p>‘What is he, then? Where does he come +from?’</p> +<p>‘His name is Paul Blackthorn,’ said Harold; +‘and he’s the queerest chap I ever came across. +Why, he knew no more what to do with a prong than the +farmer’s old sow till I shewed him.’</p> +<p>‘But where did he come from?’ repeated Alfred.</p> +<p>‘He walked all the way from Piggot’s turnpike +yesterday,’ said Harold. ‘He’s looking +for work.’</p> +<p>‘And before that?’</p> +<p>‘He’d been in the Union out—oh! somewhere, I +forgot where, but it’s a name in the Postal +Guide.’</p> +<p>‘Well, but you’ve not said who he is,’ said +Ellen.</p> +<p>‘Who? why, I tell you, he’s Paul +Blackthorn.’</p> +<p>‘But I suppose he had a father and mother,’ said +Ellen.</p> +<p>‘No,’ said Harold.</p> +<p>‘No!’ Ellen and Alfred cried out together.</p> +<p>‘Not as ever he heard tell of,’ said Harold +composedly, as if this were quite natural and common.</p> +<p>‘And you could go and be raking with him like born +brothers there!’ said Ellen, in horror.</p> +<p>‘D’ye think I’d care for stuff like +that?’ said Harold. ‘Why, he sings—he +sings better than Jack Lyte! He’s learnt to sing, you +know. And he’s such a comical fellow! he said Mr. +Shepherd was like a big pig on his hind legs; and when Mrs. +Shepherd came out to count the scraps after we had done, what +does he do but whisper to me to know how long our withered cyder +apples had come to life!’</p> +<p>Such talents for amusing others evidently far out-weighed in +Harold’s consideration such trifling points as fathers, +mothers, and respectability. Alfred laughed; but Ellen +thought it no laughing matter, and reproved Harold for being +wicked enough to hear his betters made game of.</p> +<p>‘My betters!’ said Harold—‘an old +skinflint like Farmer Shepherd’s old woman?’</p> +<p>‘Hush, Harold! I’ll tell Mother of you, that +I will!’ cried Ellen.</p> +<p>‘Do then,’ said Harold, who knew his sister would +do no such thing. She had made the threat too often, and +then not kept her word.</p> +<p>She contented herself with saying, ‘Well, all I know is, +that I’m sure now he has run away out of prison, and is no +better than a thief; and if our place isn’t broken into +before to-morrow morning, and Mother’s silver sugar-tongs +gone, it will be a mercy. I’m sure I shan’t +sleep a wink all night.’</p> +<p>Both boys laughed, and Alfred asked why he had not done it +last night.</p> +<p>‘How should I know?’ said Ellen. ‘Most +likely he wanted to see the way about the place, before he calls +the rest of the gang.’</p> +<p>‘Take care, Harold! it’s a gang coming now,’ +said Alfred, laughing again. ‘All coming on purpose +to steal the sugar-tongs!’</p> +<p>‘No, I’ll tell you what they are come to +steal,’ said Harold mischievously; ‘it’s all +for Ellen’s fine green ivy-leaf brooch that Matilda sent +her!’</p> +<p>‘I dare say Harold has been and told him everything +valuable in the house!’ said Ellen.</p> +<p>‘I think,’ said Alfred gravely, ‘it would be +a very odd sort of thief to come here, when the farmer’s +ploughing cup is just by.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Harold, ‘I’d better have +told him of that when I was about it; don’t you think so, +Nelly?’</p> +<p>‘If you go on at this rate,’ said Ellen, teased +into anger, ‘you’ll be robbing the post-office +yourself some day.’</p> +<p>‘Ay! and I’ll get Paul Blackthorn to help +me,’ said the boy. ‘Come, Ellen, don’t be +so foolish; I tell you he’s every bit as honest as I am, +I’d go bail for him.’</p> +<p>‘And I <i>know</i> he’ll lead you to ruin!’ +cried Ellen, half crying: ‘a boy that comes from nowhere +and nobody knows, and sleeps on a hay-cock all night, no better +than a mere tramp!’</p> +<p>‘What, quarrelling here? ‘said Mrs. King, coming +up-stairs. ‘The lad, I wish him no ill, I’m +sure, but he’ll be gone by to-morrow, so you may hold your +tongues about him, and we’ll read our chapter and go to +bed.’</p> +<p>Harold’s confidence and Ellen’s distrust were not +much wiser the one than the other. Which was nearest being +right?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III—A NEW FRIEND</h2> +<p>The post-office was not robbed that night, neither did the +silver sugar-tongs disappear, though Paul Blackthorn was no +farther off than the hay-loft at Farmer Shepherd’s, where +he had obtained leave to sleep.</p> +<p>But he did not go away with morning, though the hay-making was +over. Ellen saw him sitting perched on the empty waggon, +munching his breakfast, and to her great vexation, exchanging +nods and grins when Harold rode by for the morning’s +letters; and afterwards, there was a talk between him and the +farmer, which ended in his having a hoe put into his hand, and +being next seen in the turnip-field behind the farm.</p> +<p>To make up for the good day, this one was a very bad one with +poor Alfred. There was thunder in the air, and if the +sultry heat weighed heavily even on the healthy, no wonder it +made him faint and exhausted, disposed to self-pity, and terribly +impatient and fretful. He was provoked by Ellen’s +moving about the room, and more provoked by Harold’s +whistling as he cleaned out the stable; and on the other hand, +Harold was petulant at being checked, and vowed there was no +living in the house with Alfred making such a work. +Moreover, Alfred was restless, and wanted something done for him +every moment, interrupting Ellen’s work, and calling his +mother up from her baking so often for trifles, that she hardly +knew how to get through it.</p> +<p>The doctor, Mr. Blunt, came, and he too felt the heat, having +spent hours in going his rounds in the closeness and dust. +He was a rough man, and his temper did not always hold out; he +told Alfred sharply that he would have no whining, and when the +boy moaned and winced more than he would have done on a good day, +he punished him by not trying to be tender-handed. When +Mrs. King said, perhaps a little lengthily, how much the boy had +suffered that morning, the doctor, wearied out, no doubt, with +people’s complaints, cut her short rather rudely, +‘Ay, ay, my good woman, I know all that.’</p> +<p>‘And can nothing be done, Sir, when he feels so sinking +and weak?’</p> +<p>‘Sinking—he must feel sinking—nothing to do +but to bear it,’ said Mr. Blunt gruffly, as he prepared to +go. ‘Don’t keep me now;’ and as Alfred +held up his hand, and made some complaint of the tightness of the +bandage, he answered impatiently, ‘I’ve no time for +that, my lad; keep still, and be glad you’ve nothing worse +to complain of.’</p> +<p>‘Then you don’t think he is getting any better, +Sir?’ said Mrs. King, keeping close to him. ‘I +thought he was yesterday, and I wanted to speak to you. My +oldest daughter thought if we could get him away to the sea, +and—’</p> +<p>‘That’s all nonsense,’ said the hurried +doctor; ‘don’t you spend your money in that way; I +tell you nothing ever will do him any good.’</p> +<p>This was at the bottom of the stairs; and Mr. Blunt was +off. He was the cleverest doctor for a good way round, and +it was not easy to Mrs. King to secure his attendance. Her +savings and Matilda’s were likely to melt away sadly in +paying him, since she was just too well off to be doctored at the +parish expense, and he was really a good and upright man, though +wanting in softness of manner when he was hurried and +teased. If Mrs. King had known that he was in haste to get +to a child with a bad burn, she might have thought him less +unkind in the short ungentle way in which he dashed her +hopes. Alas! there had never been much hope; but she feared +that Alfred might have heard, and have been shocked.</p> +<p>Ellen heard plainly enough, and her heart sank. She +tried to look at her brother’s face, but he had put it out +of sight, and spoke not a word; and she only could sit wondering +what was the real drift of the cruel words, and whether the +doctor meant to give no hope of recovery, or only to dissuade her +mother from vainly trying change of air. Her once bright +brother always thus! It was a sad thought, and yet she +would have been glad to know he would be no worse; and +Ellen’s heart was praying with all her might that he might +have his health and happiness restored to him, and that her +mother might be spared this bitter sorrow.</p> +<p>Alfred said nothing about the doctor’s visit, but he +could eat no dinner, and did not think this so much the fault of +his sickly taste, as of his mother’s potato-pie; he could +not think why she should be so cross as to make that thing, when +she knew he hated it; and as to poor Harold, Alfred would hardly +let him speak or stir, without ordering Ellen down to tell him +not to make such a row.</p> +<p>Ellen was thankful when Harold was fairly hunted out of the +house and garden, even though he betook himself to the meadow, +where Paul Blackthorn was lying on the grass with his feet +kicking in the air, and shewing the skin through his torn +shoes. The two lads squatted down on the grass with their +heads together. Who could tell what mischief that runaway +might be putting into Harold’s head, and all because Alfred +could not bear with him enough for him to be happy at home?</p> +<p>They were so much engrossed, that it needed a rough call from +the farmer to send Paul back to his work when the dinner-hour was +over; whereupon Harold came slowly to his digging again.</p> +<p>Hotter and hotter did it grow, and the grey dull clouds began +to gain a yellow lurid light in the distance; there were low +growlings of thunder far away, and Ellen left her work +unfinished, and forgot how hot she was herself in toiling to fan +Alfred, so as to keep him in some little degree cooler, while the +more he strove with the heat, the more oppressed and miserable he +grew.</p> +<p>Poor fellow! his wretchedness was not so much the heat, as the +dim perception of Mr. Blunt’s hasty words; he had not heard +them fully—he dared not inquire what they had been, and he +could not endure to face them—yet the echo of +‘nothing will ever do him good,’ seemed to ring like +a knell in his ears every time he turned his weary head. +Nothing do him good! Nothing! Always these four +walls, that little bed, this wasting weary lassitude, this +gnawing, throbbing pain, no pony, no running, no shouting, no +sense of vigour and health ever again, and perhaps—that +terrible perhaps, which made Alfred’s very flesh quail, he +would not think of; and to drive it away, he found some fresh +toil to require of the sister who could not content him, toil as +she would.</p> +<p>Slowly the afternoon hours rolled on, one after the other, and +Alfred had just been in a pet with the clock for striking four +when he wanted it to be five, when the sky grew darker, and one +or two heavy drops of rain came plashing down on the thirsty +earth.</p> +<p>‘The storm is coming at last, and now it will be +cooler,’ said Ellen, looking out from the window. +‘Dear me!’ she added, there stopping short.</p> +<p>‘What?’ asked Alfred. ‘What are you +gaping at?’</p> +<p>‘I declare!’ cried Ellen, ‘it’s the +new clergyman! It is Mr. Cope, and he is coming up to the +wicket!’</p> +<p>Alfred turned his head with a peevish sound; he was in the +dreary mood to resent whatever took off attention from him for a +moment.</p> +<p>‘A very pleasant-looking gentleman,’ commented +Ellen, ‘and so young! He does not look older than +Charles Lawrence! I wonder whether he is coming in, or if +it is only to post a letter. Oh! there he is, talking to +Mother! There!’</p> +<p>A vivid flash of lightning came over the room at that moment +and made them all pause till it was followed up by the deep +rumble of the thunder, and then down rushed the rain, plashing +and leaping up again, bringing out the delicious scent from the +earth, and seeming in one moment to breathe refreshment and +relief on the sick boy. His brow was already clearing, as +he listened to his mother’s tones of welcome, as she was +evidently asking the stranger to sit down and wait for the storm +to be over, and the cheerful voice that replied to her. He +did not scold Ellen for, as usual, making things neat; and +whereas, five minutes sooner, he would have hated the notion of +any one coming near him, he now only hoped that his mother would +bring Mr. Cope up; and presently he heard the well-known creak of +the stairs under a manly foot, and his mother’s voice +saying something about ‘a great sufferer, Sir.’</p> +<p>Then came in sight his mother’s white cap, and behind +her one of the most cheerful lively faces that Alfred had ever +beheld. The new Curate looked very little more than a boy, +with a nice round fresh rosy face, and curly brown hair, and a +quick joyous eye, and regular white teeth when he smiled that +merry good-humoured smile. Indeed, he was as young as a +deacon could be, and he looked younger. He knocked his tall +head against the top of the low doorway as he came into the room, +and answered Mrs. King’s apologies with a pleasant +laugh. Ellen knew her mother would like him the better for +his height, for no one since the handsome coachman himself had +had to bend his head to get into the room. Alfred liked the +looks of him the first moment, and by way of salutation put up +one of his weary, white, blue-veined hands to pull his damp +forelock; but Mr. Cope, nodding in answer to Ellen’s +curtsey, took hold of his hand at once, and softening the cheery +voice that was so pleasant to hear, said, ‘Well, my boy, I +hope we shall be good friends. And what’s your +name?’</p> +<p>‘Alfred King, Sir,’ was the answer. It +really was quite a pleasure not to begin with the old weary +subject of being pitied for his illness.</p> +<p>‘King Alfred!’ said Mr. Cope. ‘I met +King Harold yesterday. I’ve got into royal company, +it seems!’</p> +<p>Alfred smiled, it was said so drolly; but his mother, who felt +a little as if she were being laughed at, said, ‘Why, Sir, +my brother’s name was Alfred; and as to Harold, it was to +please Miss Jane’s little sister that died—she was +quite a little girl then, Sir, but so clever, and she would have +him named out of her History of England.’</p> +<p>‘Did Miss Selby give you those flowers?’ said Mr. +Cope, admiring the rose and geranium in the cup on the table.</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir;’ and Mrs. King launched out in the +praises of Miss Jane and of my Lady, an inexhaustible subject +which did not leave Alfred much time to speak, till Mrs. King, +seeing the groom from the Park coming with the letter-bag through +the rain, asked Mr. Cope to excuse her, and went down-stairs.</p> +<p>‘Well, Alfred, I think you are a lucky boy,’ he +said. ‘I was comparing you with a lad I once knew of, +who got his spine injured, and is laid up in a little narrow +garret, in a back street, with no one to speak to all day. +I don’t know what he would not give for a sister, and a +window like this, and a Miss Jane.’</p> +<p>Alfred smiled, and said, ‘Please, Sir, how old is +he?’</p> +<p>‘About sixteen; a nice stout lad he was, as ever I knew, +till his accident; I often used to meet him going about with his +master, and thought it was a pleasure to meet such a +good-humoured face.’</p> +<p>Alfred ventured to ask his trade, and was told he was being +brought up to wait on his father, who was a bricklayer, but that +a ladder had fallen with him as he was going up with a heavy +load, and he had been taken at once to the hospital. The +house on which he was employed belonged to a friend of Mr. Cope, +and all in the power of this gentleman had been done for him, but +that was not much, for it was one of the families that no one can +serve; the father drank, and the mother was forced to be out +charing all day, and was so rough a woman, that she could hardly +be much comfort to poor Jem when she was at home.</p> +<p>Alfred was quite taken up with the history by this time, and +kept looking at Mr. Cope, as if he would eat it up with his eager +eyes. Ellen asked compassionately who did for the poor boy +all day.</p> +<p>‘His mother runs in at dinner-time, if she is not at +work too far off, and he has a jug of water and a bit of bread +where he can reach them; the door is open generally, so that he +can call to some of the other lodgers, but though the house is as +full as a bee-hive, often nobody hears him. I believe his +great friend is a little school-girl, who comes and sits by him, +and reads to him if she can; but she is generally at school, or +else minding the children.’</p> +<p>‘It must be very lonely,’ said Alfred, perceiving +for the first time that there could be people worse off than +himself; ‘but has he no books to read?’</p> +<p>‘He was so irregularly sent to school, that he could not +read to himself, even if his corner were not so dark, and the +window so dingy. My friend gave him a Bible, but he could +not get on with it; and his mother, I am sorry to say, pawned +it.’</p> +<p>Ellen and Alfred both cried out as if they had never heard of +anything so shocking.</p> +<p>‘It was grievous,’ said Mr. Cope; ‘but the +poor things did not know the value, and when there was scarcely a +morsel of bread in the house, there was cause enough for not +judging them hardly, but I don’t think Jem would allow it +now. He got some of his little friend’s easy +Scripture lessons and the like, in large print, which he croons +over as he lies there alone, till one feels sure that they are +working into his heart. The people in the house say that +though he has been ill these three years, he has never spoken an +ill-tempered word; and if any one pities him, he answers, +“It is the Lord,” and seems to wish for no +change. He lies there between dozing and dreaming and +praying, and always seems content.’</p> +<p>‘Does he think he shall get well?’ said Alfred, +who had been listening earnestly.</p> +<p>‘Oh no; there is no chance of that; it is an injury past +cure. But I suppose that while he bears the Will of God so +patiently here, his Heavenly Father makes it up to him in +peacefulness of heart now, and the hope of what is to come +hereafter.’</p> +<p>Alfred made no answer, but his eyes shewed that he was +thinking; and Mr. Cope rose, and looked out of window, as a gleam +of sunshine, while the dark cloud lifted up from the north-west, +made the trees and fields glow with intense green against the +deep grey of the sky, darker than ever from the contrast. +Ellen stood up, and Alfred exclaimed, ‘Oh Sir, please come +again soon!’</p> +<p>‘Very soon,’ said Mr. Cope good-humouredly; +‘but you’ve not got rid of me yet, the rain is pretty +hard still, and I see the beggarmen dancing all down the +garden-walk.’</p> +<p>Alfred and Ellen smiled to hear their mother’s old word +for the drops splashing up again; and Mr. Cope went on:</p> +<p>‘The garden looks very much refreshed by this beautiful +shower. It is in fine order. Is it the other +monarch’s charge?’</p> +<p>‘Harold’s, Sir,’ said Ellen. +‘Yes, he takes a great pride in it, and so did Alfred when +he was well.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, I dare say; and it must be pleasant to you to see +your brother working in it now. I see him under that shed, +and who is that lad with him? They seem to have some good +joke together.’</p> +<p>‘Oh,’ said Ellen, ‘Harold likes company, you +see, Sir, and will take up with anybody. I wish you could +be so good as to speak to him, Sir, for lads of that age +don’t mind women folk, you see, Sir.’</p> +<p>‘What? I hope his majesty does not like bad +company?’ said Mr. Cope, not at all that he thought lightly +of such an evil, but it was his way to speak in that droll +manner, especially as Ellen’s voice was a little bit +peevish.</p> +<p>‘Nobody knows no harm of the chap,’ said Alfred, +provoked at Ellen for what he thought unkindness in setting the +clergyman at once on his brother; but Ellen was the more +displeased, and exclaimed:</p> +<p>‘Nor nobody knows no good. He’s a young +tramper that hired with Farmer Shepherd yesterday, a regular +runaway and reprobate, just out of prison, most +likely.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I hope not so bad as that,’ said Mr. Cope, +‘he’s not a bad-looking boy; but I dare say you are +anxious about your brother. It must be dull for him, to +have his companion laid up;—and by the looks of him, I dare +say his spirits are sometimes too much for you,’ he added, +turning to Alfred.</p> +<p>‘He does make a terrible racket sometimes,’ said +Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Ay, and I dare say you will try to bear with it, and +not drive him out to seek dangerous company,’ said Mr. +Cope; at which Alfred blushed a little, as he remembered the +morning, and that he had never thought of this danger.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope added, ‘I think I shall go and talk to those +two merry fellows; I must not tire you, my lad, but I will soon +come here again;’ and he took leave.</p> +<p>Heartily did Ellen exclaim, ‘Well, that is a nice +gentleman!’ and as heartily did Alfred reply. He felt +as if a new light had come in on his life, and Mr. Cope had not +said one word about patience.</p> +<p>Ellen expected Mr. Cope to come back and warn her mother +against Paul Blackthorn, but she only saw him stand talking to +the two lads till he made them both grin again, and then as the +rain was over, he walked away; Paul went back to his turnips, and +Harold came thundering up-stairs in his great shoes. Alfred +was cheerful, and did not mind him now; but Ellen did, and +scolded him for the quantity of dirt he was bringing up with him +from the moist garden, which was all one steam of sweet smells, +as the sun drew up the vapour after the rain.</p> +<p>‘If you were coming in, you’d better have come out +of the rain, not stood idling there with that good-for-nothing +lad. The new minister said he would be after you if you +were taking up with bad company.’</p> +<p>‘Who told you I was with bad company?’ said +Harold.</p> +<p>‘Why, I could see it! I hope he rebuked you +both.’</p> +<p>‘He asked us if we could play at cricket—and he +asked the pony’s name,’ said Harold, ‘if +that’s what you call rebuking us!’</p> +<p>‘And what did he say to that boy?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! he told him he heard he was a stranger here, like +himself, and asked how long he’d been here, and where he +came from.’</p> +<p>‘And what did he say?’</p> +<p>‘He said he was from Upperscote Union—come out +because he was big enough to keep himself, and come to look for +work,’ said Harold. ‘He’s a right good +chap, I’ll tell you, and I’ll bring him up to see +Alfy one of these days!’</p> +<p>‘Bring up that dirty boy! I should like to see +you!’ cried Ellen, making <i>such</i> a face. +‘I don’t believe a word of his coming out of the +Union. I’m sure he’s run away out of gaol, by +the look of him!’</p> +<p>‘Ellen—Harold—come down to your tea!’ +called Mrs. King.</p> +<p>So they went down; and presently, while Mrs. King was gone up +to give Alfred his tea, there came Mrs. Shepherd bustling across, +with her black silk apron thrown over her cap with the crimson +gauze ribbons. She wanted a bit of tape, and if there were +none in the shop, Harold must match it in Elbury when he took the +letters.</p> +<p>Ellen was rather familiar with Mrs. Shepherd, because she made +her gowns, and they had some talk about the new clergyman. +Mrs. Shepherd did not care for clergymen much; if she had done +so, she might not have been so hard with her labourers. She +was always afraid of their asking her to subscribe to something +or other, so she gave it as her opinion, that she should never +think it worth while to listen to such a very young man as that, +and she hoped he would not stay; and then she said, ‘So +your brother was taking up with that come-by-chance lad, I +saw. Did he make anything out of him?’</p> +<p>‘He fancies him more than I like, or Mother +either,’ said Ellen. ‘He says he’s out of +Upperscote Union; but he’s a thorough impudent one, and +owns he’s no father nor mother, nor nothing belonging to +him. I think it is a deal more likely that he is run away +from some reformatory, or prison.’</p> +<p>‘That’s just what I said to the farmer!’ +said Mrs. Shepherd. ‘I said he was out of some place +of that sort. I’m sure it’s a sin for the +gentlemen to be setting up such places, raising the county rates, +and pampering up a set of young rogues to let loose on us. +Ay! ay! I’ll warrant he’s a runaway +thief! I told the farmer he’d take him to his sorrow, +but you see he is short of hands just now, and the men are so set +up and grabbing, I don’t know how farmers is to +live.’</p> +<p>So Mrs. Shepherd went away grumbling, instead of being +thankful for the beautiful crop of hay, safely housed, before the +thunder shower which had saved the turnips from the fly.</p> +<p>Ellen might have doubted whether she had done right in helping +to give the boy a bad name, but just then in came the ostler from +the Tankard with some letters.</p> +<p>‘Here!’ he said, ‘here’s one from one +of the gentlemen lodging here fishing, to Cayenne. +You’ll please to see how much there is to pay.’</p> +<p>Ellen looked at her Postal Guide, but she was quite at a +fault, and she called up-stairs to Alfred to ask if he knew where +she should look for Cayenne. He was rather fond of maps, +and knew a good deal of geography for a boy of his age, but he +knew nothing about this place, and she was just thinking of +sending back the letter, to ask the gentleman where it was, when +a voice said:</p> +<p>‘Try Guiana, or else South America.’</p> +<p>She looked up, and there were Paul’s dirty face and +dirtier elbows, leaning over the half-door of the shop.</p> +<p>‘Why, how do you know?’ she said, starting +back.</p> +<p>‘I learnt at school, Cayenne, capital of French +Guiana.’ Sure enough Cayenne had Guiana to it in her +list, and the price was found out.</p> +<p>But when this learned geographer advanced into the shop, and +asked for a loaf, what a hand and what a sleeve did he stretch +out! Ellen scarcely liked to touch his money, and felt all +her disgust revive. But, for all that, and for all her fear +of Harold’s running into mischief, what business had she to +set it about that the stranger was an escaped convict?</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Alfred had plenty of food for dreaming over his +fellow sufferer. It really seemed to quiet him to think of +another in the same case, and how many questions he longed to +have asked Mr. Cope! He wanted to know whether it came +easier to Jem to be patient than to himself; whether he suffered +as much wearing pain; whether he grieved over the last hope of +using his limbs; and above all, the question he knew he never +could bear to ask, whether Jem had the dread of death to scare +his thoughts, though never confessed to himself.</p> +<p>He longed for Mr. Cope’s next visit, and felt strongly +drawn towards that thought of Jem, yet ashamed to think of +himself as so much less patient and submissive; so little able to +take comfort in what seemed to soothe Jem, that it was the +Lord’s doing. Could Jem think he had been a wicked +boy, and take it as punishment?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV—PAUL BLACKTHORN</h2> +<p>‘I say,’ cried Harold, running up into his +brother’s room, as soon as he had put away the pony, +‘do you know whether Paul is gone?’</p> +<p>‘It is always Paul, Paul!’ exclaimed Ellen; +‘I’m sure I hope he is.’</p> +<p>‘But why do you think he would be?’ asked +Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Oh, didn’t you hear? He knows no more than +a baby about anything, and so he turned the cows into Darnel +meadow, and never put the hurdle to stop the gap—never +thinking they could get down the bank; so the farmer found them +in the barley, and if he did not run out against him downright +shameful—though Paul up and told him the truth, that +’twas nobody else that did it.’</p> +<p>‘What, and turned him off?’</p> +<p>‘Well, that’s what I want to know,’ said +Harold, going on with his tea. ‘Paul said to me he +didn’t know how he could stand the like of that—and +yet he didn’t like to be off—he’d taken a fancy +to the place, you see, and there’s me, and there’s +old Cæsar—and so he said he wouldn’t go unless +the farmer sent him off when he came to be paid this +evening—and old Skinflint has got him so cheap, I +don’t think he will.’</p> +<p>‘For shame, Harold; don’t call names!’</p> +<p>‘Well, there he is,’ said Alfred, pointing into +the farm-yard, towards the hay-loft door. This was over the +cow-house in the gable end; and in the dark opening sat Paul, his +feet on the top step of the ladder, and Cæsar, the +yard-dog, lying by his side, his white paws hanging down over the +edge, his sharp white muzzle and grey prick ears turned towards +his friend, and his eyes casting such appealing looks, that he +was getting more of the hunch of bread than probably Paul could +well spare.</p> +<p>‘How has he ever got the dog up the ladder?’ cried +Harold.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said Mrs. King, ‘I declare he looks +like a picture I have seen—’</p> +<p>‘Well, to be sure! who would go for to draw a picture of +the like of that!’ exclaimed Ellen, pausing as she put on +her things to carry home some work.</p> +<p>‘It was a picture of a Spanish beggar-boy,’ said +Mrs. King; ‘and the housekeeper at Castlefort used to say +that the old lord—that’s Lady Jane’s +brother—had given six hundred pounds for it.’</p> +<p>Ellen set out on her walk with a sound of wonder quite beyond +words. Six hundred pounds for a picture like Paul +Blackthorn! She did not know that so poor and feeble are +man’s attempts to imitate the daily forms and colourings +fresh from the Divine Hand, that a likeness of the very commonest +sight, if represented with something of its true spirit and life, +wins a strange value, especially if the work of the great +master-artists of many years ago.</p> +<p>And even the painter Murillo himself, though he might +pleasantly recall on his canvas the notion of the bright-eyed, +olive-tinted lad, resting after the toil of the day, could never +have rendered the free lazy smile on his face, nor the gleam of +the dog’s wistful eyes and quiver of its eager ears, far +less the glow of setting sunlight that shed over all that warm, +clear, ruddy light, so full of rest and cheerfulness, +beautifying, as it hid, so many common things: the thatched roof +of the barn, the crested hayrick close beside it; the waggons, +all red and blue, that had brought it home, and were led to rest, +the horses drooping their meek heads as they cooled their feet +among the weed in the dark pond;—the ducks moving, with low +contented quacks and quickly-wagging tails, in one long single +file to their evening foraging in the dewy meadows; the spruce +younger poultry pecking over the yard, staying up a little later +than their elders to enjoy a few leavings in peace, free from the +persecutions of the cross old king of the dung-hill;—all +this left in shade, while the ruddy light had mounted to the +roofs, gave brilliance to every round tuft of moss, and gleamed +on the sober foliage of the old spreading walnut tree.</p> +<p>‘Poor lad,’ said Mrs. King, ‘it seems a pity +he should come to such a rough life, when he seems to have got +such an education! I hope he is not run away from +anywhere.’</p> +<p>‘You’re as bad as Ellen, mother,’ cried +Harold, ‘who will have it that he’s out of +prison.’</p> +<p>‘No, not that,’ said Mrs. King; ‘but it did +cross me whether he could have run away from school, and if his +friends were in trouble for him.’</p> +<p>‘He never had any friends,’ said Harold, +‘nor he never ran away. He’s nothing but a +foundling. They picked him up under a blackthorn bush when +he was a baby, with nothing but a bit of an old plaid shawl round +him.’</p> +<p>‘Did they ever know who he belonged to?’ asked +Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Never; nor he doesn’t care if they don’t, +for sure they could be no credit to him; but they that found him +put him into the Union, and there an old woman, that they called +Granny Moll, took to him. She had but one eye, he says; +but, Mother, I do believe he never had another friend like her, +for he got to pulling up the bits of grass, and was near crying +when he said she was dead and gone, and then he didn’t care +for nothing.’</p> +<p>‘But who taught him about Cayenne?’ asked +Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Oh, that was the Union School. All the children +went to school, and they had a terrible sharp master, who used to +cut them over the head quite cruel, and was sent away at last for +being such a savage; but Paul being always there, and having +nothing else to do, you see, got on ever so far, and can work +sums in his head downright wonderful. There came an +inspector once who praised him up, and said he’d recommend +him to a place where he’d be taught to be a school-master, +if any one would pay the cost; but the guardians wouldn’t +hear of it at no price, and were quite spiteful to find he was a +good scholar, for fear, I suppose, that he’d know more than +they.’</p> +<p>‘Hush, hush, Harold,’ said his mother; ‘wait +till you have to pay the rates before you run out against the +guardians.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean, Mother?’</p> +<p>‘Why, don’t you see, the guardians have their +duties to those who pay the rates, as well as those that have +parish pay. What they have to do, is to mind that nobody +starves, or the like; and their means comes out of the rates, out +of my pocket, and the like of me, as well as my Lady’s and +all the rich. Well, whatever they might like to do, it +would not be serving us fairly to take more than was a bare +necessity from us, to send your Master Paul and the like of him +to a fine school. ’Tis for them to be just, and other +folk to be generous with what’s their own.’</p> +<p>‘Mother talks as if she was a guardian herself!’ +said Alfred in his funny way.</p> +<p>‘Ah, the collector’s going his rounds,’ +responded Harold; and Mrs. King laughed good-humouredly, always +glad to see her sick boy able to enjoy himself; but she sighed, +saying, ‘Ay, and ill can I spare it, though thanks be to +God that I’ve been as yet of them that pay, and not of them +that receive.’</p> +<p>‘Go on the parish! Mother, what are you thinking +of?’ cried both sons indignantly.</p> +<p>Poor Mrs. King was thinking of the long winter, and the heavy +doctor’s bill, and feeling that, after all, suffering and +humbling might not be so very far off; but she was too cheerful +and full of trust to dwell on the thought, so she smiled and +said, ‘I only said I was thankful, boys, for the mercy that +has kept us up. Go on now, Harold; what about the +boy?’</p> +<p>‘Why, I don’t know that he’d have gone if +they had paid his expenses ever so much,’ said Harold, +‘for he’s got a great spirit of his own, and +wouldn’t be beholden to any one, he said, now he could keep +himself—he’d had quite enough of the parish and its +keep; so he said he’d go on the tramp till he got work; and +they let him out of the Union with just the clothes to his back, +and a shilling in his pocket. ’Twas the first time he +had ever been let out of bounds since he was picked up under the +tree; and he said no one ever would guess the pleasure it was to +have nobody to order him here and there, and no bounds round him; +and he quite hated the notion of getting inside walls again, as +if it was a prison.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I know! I can fancy that!’ cried +Alfred, raising himself and panting; ‘and where did he go +first?’</p> +<p>‘First, he only wanted to get as far from Upperscote as +ever he could, so he walked on; I can’t say how he lived, +but he didn’t beg; he got a job here and a job there; but +there are not so many things he knows the knack of, having been +at school all his life. Once he took up with a man that +sold salt, to draw his cart for him, but the man swore at him so +awfully he could not bear it, and beat him too, so he left him, +and he had lived terrible hard for about a month before he came +here! So you see, Mother, there’s not one bit of harm +in him; he’s a right good scholar, and never says a bad +word, nor has no love for drink; so you won’t be like +Ellen, and be always at me for going near him?’</p> +<p>‘You’re getting a big boy, Harold, and it is +lonely for you,’ said Mrs. King reluctantly; ‘and if +the lad is a good lad I’d not cast up his misfortune +against him; but I must say, I should think better of him if he +would keep himself a little bit cleaner and more decent, so as he +could go to church.’</p> +<p>Harold made a very queer face, and said, ‘How is he to +do it up in the hay-loft, Mother? and he ha’n’t got +enough to pay for lodgings, nor for washing, nor to +change.’</p> +<p>‘The river is cheap enough,’ said Alfred. +‘Do you remember when we used to bathe together, Harold, +and go after the minnows?’</p> +<p>‘Ay, but he don’t know how; and then they did +plague him so in the Union, that he’s got to hate the very +name of washing—scrubbing them over and cutting their hair +as if they were in gaol.’</p> +<p>‘Poor boy! he is terribly forsaken,’ said Mrs. +King compassionately.</p> +<p>‘You may say that!’ returned Harold; ‘why, +he’s never so much as seen how folks live at home, and +wanted to know if you were most like old Moll or the master of +the Union!’</p> +<p>Alfred went into such a fit of laughter as almost hurt him; +but Mrs. King felt the more pitiful and tender towards the poor +deserted orphan, who could not even understand what a mother was +like, and the tears came into her eyes, as she said, ‘Well, +I’m glad he’s not a bad boy. I hope he thinks +of the Father and the Home that he has above. I say, +Harold, against next Sunday I’ll look out Alfred’s +oldest shirt for him to put on, and you might bring me his to +wash, only mind you soak it well in the river first.’</p> +<p>Harold quite flushed with gratitude for his mother’s +kindness, for he knew it was no small effort in one so +scrupulously and delicately clean, and with so much work on her +hands; but Mrs. King was one who did her alms by her trouble when +she had nothing else to give. Alfred smiled and said he +wondered what Ellen would say; and almost at the same moment +Harold shot down-stairs, and was presently seen standing upon +Paul’s ladder talking to him; then Paul rose up as though +to come down, and there was much fun going on, as to how +Cæsar was to be got down; for, as every one knows, a dog +can mount a ladder far better than he can descend; and poor +Cæsar stretched out his white paw, looked down, seemed to +turn giddy, whined, and looked earnestly at his friends till they +took pity on him and lifted him down between them, stretching out +his legs to their full length, like a live hand-barrow.</p> +<p>A few seconds more, and there was a great trampling of feet, +and then in walked Harold, exclaiming, ‘Here he +is!’ And there he stood, shy and sheepish, with rusty +black shag by way of hair, keen dark beads of eyes, and very +white teeth; but all the rest, face, hands, jacket, trousers, +shoes, and all, of darker or lighter shades of olive-brown; and +as to the rents, one would be sorry to have to count them; +mending them would have been a thing impossible. What a +difference from the pure whiteness of everything around Alfred! +the soft pink of the flush of surprise on his delicate cheek, and +the wavy shine on his light hair. A few months ago, Alfred +would have been as ready as his brother to take that sturdy hand, +marbled as it was with dirt, and would have heeded all drawbacks +quite as little; but sickness had changed him much, and Paul was +hardly beside his couch before the colour fleeted away from his +cheek, and his eye turned to his mother in such distress, that +she was obliged to make a sign to Harold in such haste that it +looked like anger, and to mutter something about his being taken +worse. And while she was holding the smelling salts to him, +and sprinkling vinegar over his couch, they heard the two +boys’ voices loud under the window, Paul saying he should +never come there again, and Harold something about people being +squeamish and fine.</p> +<p>It hurt Alfred, and he burst out, almost crying, +‘Mother! Mother, now isn’t that too +bad!’</p> +<p>‘It is very thoughtless,’ said Mrs. King +sorrowfully; ‘but you know everybody has their feelings, +Alfred, and I am sorry it happened so.’</p> +<p>‘I’m sure I couldn’t help it,’ said +Alfred, as if his mother were turning against him. +‘Harold had better have brought up the farmer’s whole +stable at once!’</p> +<p>‘When you were well, you did not think of such things +any more than he does.’</p> +<p>Alfred grunted. He could not believe that; and he did +not feel gently when his brother shewed any want of +consideration; but his mother thought he would only grow crosser +by dwelling on the unlucky subject, so she advised him to lie +still and rest before his being moved to bed, and went down +herself to finish some ironing.</p> +<p>Presently Alfred saw the Curate coming over the bridge with +quick long steps, and this brought to his mind that he had been +wishing to hear more of the poor crippled boy. He watched +eagerly, and was pleased to see Mr. Cope turn in at the wicket, +and presently the tread upon the stairs was heard, and the high +head was lowered at the door.</p> +<p>‘Good evening, Alfred; your mother told me it would not +disturb you if I came up alone;’ and he began to inquire +into his amusements and occupations, till Alfred became quite at +home with him, and at ease, and ventured to ask, ‘If you +please, Sir, do you ever hear about Jem now?’ and as Mr. +Cope looked puzzled, ‘the boy you told me of, Sir, that +fell off the scaffold.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, the boy at Liverpool! No, I only saw him once +when I was staying with my cousin; but I will ask after him if +you wish to hear.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, Sir. I wanted to know if he had been a +bad boy.’</p> +<p>‘That I cannot tell. Why do you wish to +know? Was it because he had such an affliction?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think that is quite the way to look at +troubles,’ said Mr. Cope. ‘I should think his +accident had been a great blessing to him, if it took him out of +temptation, and led him to think more of God.’</p> +<p>‘But isn’t it punishment?’ said Alfred, not +able to get any farther; but Mr. Cope felt that he was thinking +of himself more than of Jem.</p> +<p>‘All our sufferings in this life come as punishment of +sin,’ he said. ‘If there had been no sin, there +would have been no pain; and whatever we have to bear in this +life is no more than is our due, whatever it may be.’</p> +<p>‘Every one is sinful,’ said Alfred slowly; +‘but why have some more to bear than others that may be +much worse?’</p> +<p>‘Did you never think it hard to be kept strictly, and +punished by your good mother?’</p> +<p>Alfred answered rather fretfully, ‘But if it is good to +be punished, why ain’t all alike?’</p> +<p>‘God in His infinite wisdom sees the treatment that each +particular nature needs. Some can be better trained by joy, +and some by grief; some may be more likely to come right by being +left in active health; others, by being laid low, and having +their faults brought to mind.’</p> +<p>Alfred did not quite choose to take this in, and his answer +was half sulky:</p> +<p>‘Bad boys are quite well!’</p> +<p>‘And a reckoning will be asked of them. Do not +think of other boys. Think over your past life, of which I +know nothing, and see whether you can believe, after real looking +into it, that you have done nothing to deserve God’s +displeasure. There are other more comforting ways of +bringing joy out of pain; but of this I am sure, that none will +come home to us till we own from the bottom of our heart, that +whatever we suffer in this life, we suffer most justly for the +punishment of our sins. God bless and help you, my poor +boy. Good night.’</p> +<p>With these words he went down-stairs, for well he knew that +while Alfred went on to justify himself, no peace nor joy could +come to him, and he thought it best to leave the words to work +in, praying in his heart that they might do so, and help the boy +to humility and submission.</p> +<p>Finding Mrs. King in her kitchen, he paused and said, +‘We shall have a Confirmation in the spring, Mrs. King; +shall not you have some candidates for me?’</p> +<p>‘My daughter will be very glad, thank you, Sir; she is +near to seventeen, and a very good girl to me. And Harold, +he is but fourteen—would he be old enough, Sir?’</p> +<p>‘I believe the Bishop accepts boys as young; and he +might be started in life before another opportunity.’</p> +<p>‘Well, Sir, he shall come to you, and I hope you +won’t think him too idle and thoughtless. He’s +a good-hearted boy, Sir; but it is a charge when a lad has no +father to check him.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed it is, Mrs. King; but I think you must have done +your best.’</p> +<p>‘I hope I have, Sir,’ she said sadly; +‘I’ve tried, but my ability is not much, and he is a +lively lad, and I’m sometimes afraid to be too strict with +him.’</p> +<p>‘If you have taught him to keep himself in order, +that’s the great thing, Mrs. King; if he has sound +principles, and honours you, I would hope much for +him.’</p> +<p>‘And, Sir, that boy he has taken a fancy to; he is a +poor lost lad who never had a home, but Harold says he has been +well taught, and he might take heed to you.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, Mrs. King; I will certainly try to speak to +him. You said nothing of Alfred; do you think he will not +be well enough?’</p> +<p>‘Ah! Sir,’ she said in her low subdued +voice, ‘my mind misgives me that it is not for Confirmation +that you will be preparing him.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope started. He had seen little of illness, and had +not thought of this. ‘Indeed! does the doctor think +so ill of him? Do not these cases often partially +recover?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know, Sir; Mr. Blunt does not give much +account of him,’ and her voice grew lower and lower; +‘I’ve seen that look in his father’s and his +brother’s face.’</p> +<p>She hid her face in her handkerchief as if overpowered, but +looked up with the meek look of resignation, as Mr. Cope said in +a broken voice, ‘I had not expected—you had been much +tried.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir. The Will of the Lord be done,’ +she said, as if willing to turn aside from the dark side of the +sorrow that lay in wait for her; ‘but I’m thankful +you are come to help my poor boy now—he frets over his +trouble, as is natural, and I’m afraid he should offend, +and I’m no scholar to know how to help him.’</p> +<p>‘You can help him by what is better than +scholarship,’ said Mr. Cope; and he shook her hand warmly, +and went away, feeling what a difference there was in the ways of +meeting affliction.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V—AN UNWELCOME VISITOR</h2> +<p>‘The axe is laid to the root of the tree,’ was +said by the Great Messenger, when the new and better Covenant was +coming to pierce, try, and search into, the hearts of men.</p> +<p>Something like this always happens, in some measure, whenever +closer, clearer, and more stringent views of faith and of +practice are brought home to Christians. They do not always +take well the finding that more is required of them than they +have hitherto fancied needful; and there are many who wince and +murmur at the sharp piercing of the weapon which tries their very +hearts; they try to escape from it, and to forget the disease +that it has touched, and at first, often grow worse rather than +better. Well is it for them if they return while yet there +is time, before blindness have come over their eyes, and hardness +over their heart.</p> +<p>Perhaps this was the true history of much that grieved poor +Mrs. King, and distressed Ellen, during the remainder of the +summer. Anxious as Mrs. King had been to bring her sons up +in the right way, there was something in Mr. Cope’s manner +of talking to them that brought things closer home to them, +partly from their being put in a new light, and partly from his +being a man, and speaking with a different kind of authority.</p> +<p>Alfred did not like his last conversation—it was little +more than his mother and Miss Selby had said—but then he +had managed to throw it off, and he wanted to do so again. +It was pleasanter to him to think himself hardly treated, than to +look right in the face at all his faults; he knew it was of no +use to say he had none, so he lumped them all up by calling +himself a sinful creature, like every one else; and thus never +felt the weight of them at all, because he never thought what +they were.</p> +<p>And yet, because Mr. Cope’s words had made him uneasy, +he could not rest in this state; he was out of temper whenever +the Curate’s name was spoken, and accused Ellen of +bothering about him as much as Harold did about Paul Blackthorn; +and if he came to see him, he made himself sullen, and would not +talk, sometimes seeming oppressed and tired, and unable to bear +any one’s presence, sometimes leaving Ellen to do all the +answering, dreading nothing so much as being left alone with the +clergyman. Mr. Cope had offered to read prayers with him, +and he could not refuse; but he was more apt to be thinking that +it was tiresome, than trying to enter into what, poor foolish +boy, would have been his best comfort.</p> +<p>To say he was cross when Mr. Cope was there, would be saying +much too little; there was scarcely any time when he was not +cross; he was hardly civil even to Miss Jane, so that she began +to think it was unpleasant to him to have her there; and if she +were a week without calling, he grumbled hard thoughts about fine +people; he was fretful and impatient with the doctor; and as to +those of whom he had no fears, he would have been quite +intolerable, had they loved him less, or had less pity on his +suffering.</p> +<p>He never was pleased with anything; teased his mother half the +night, and drove Ellen about all day. She, good girl, never +said one word of impatience, but bore it all with the sweetest +good humour; but her mother now and then spoke severely for +Alfred’s own good, and then he made himself more miserable +than ever, and thought she was unkind and harsh, and that he was +very much to be pitied for having a mother who could not bear +with her poor sick boy. He was treating his mother as he +was treating his Father in Heaven.</p> +<p>How Harold fared with him may easily be guessed—how the +poor boy could hardly speak or step without being moaned at, till +he was almost turned out of his own house; and his mother did not +know what to do, for Alfred was really very ill, and fretting +made him worse, and nothing could be so bad for his brother as +being driven out from home, to spend the long summer evenings as +he could.</p> +<p>Ellen would have been thankful now, had Paul Blackthorn been +the worst company into which Harold fell. Not that Paul was +a bit cleaner; on the contrary, each day could not fail to make +him worse, till, as Ellen had once said, you might almost grow a +crop of radishes upon his shoulders.</p> +<p>Mrs. King’s kind offer of washing his shirt had come to +nothing. She asked Harold about it, and had for answer, +‘Do you think he would, after the way you served +him?’</p> +<p>Either he was affronted, or he was ashamed of her seeing his +rags, or, what was not quite impossible, there was no shirt at +all in the case; and he had a sturdy sort of independence about +him, that made him always turn surly at any notion of anything +being done for him for charity.</p> +<p>How or why he stayed on with the farmer was hard to guess, for +he had very scanty pay, and rough usage; the farmer did not like +him; the farmer’s wife scolded him constantly, and laid on +his shoulders all the mischief that was done about the place; and +the shuffler gave him half his own work to do, and hunted him +about from dawn till past sunset. He was always going at +the end of every week, but never gone; perhaps he had undergone +too much in his wanderings, to be ready to begin them again; or +perhaps either Cæsar or Harold, one or both, kept him at +Friarswood. And there might be another reason, too, for no +one had ever spoken to him like Mr. Cope. Very few had ever +thrown him a kindly word, or seemed to treat him like a thing +with feelings, and those few had been rough and unmannerly; but +Mr. Cope’s good-natured smile and pleasant manner had been +a very different thing; and perhaps Paul promised to come to the +Confirmation class, chiefly because of the friendly tone in which +he was invited.</p> +<p>When there, he really liked it. He had always liked what +he was taught, apart from the manner of teaching; and now both +manner and lessons were delightful to him. His answers were +admirable, and it was not all head knowledge, for very little +more than a really kind way of putting it was needed, to make him +turn in his loneliness to rest in the thought of the ever-present +Father. Hard as the discipline of his workhouse home had +been, it had kept him from much outward harm; the little he had +seen in his wanderings had shocked him, and he was more untaught +in evil than many lads who thought themselves more respectable, +so there was no habit of wickedness to harden and blunt him; and +the application of all he had learnt before, found his heart +ready.</p> +<p>He had not gone to church since he left the workhouse: he did +not think it belonged to vagabonds like him; besides, he always +felt walls like a prison; and he had not profited much by the +workhouse prayers, which were read on week-days by the master, +and on Sundays by a chaplain, who always had more to do than he +could manage, and only went to the paupers when they were very +ill. But when Mr. Cope talked to him of the duty of going +to church, he said, ‘I will, Sir;’ and he sat in the +gallery with the young lads, who were not quite as delicate as +Alfred.</p> +<p>The service seemed to rest him, and to be like being brought +near a friend; and he had been told that church might always be +his home. He took a pleasure in going thither—the +more, perhaps, that he rather liked to shew how little he cared +for remarks upon his appearance. There was a great deal of +independence about him; and, having escaped from the unloving +maintenance of the parish, while he had as yet been untaught what +affection or gratitude meant, he <i>would</i> not be beholden to +any one.</p> +<p>Scanty as were his wages, he would accept nothing from +anybody; he daily bought his portion of bread from Mrs. King, but +it was of no use for her to add a bit of cheese or bacon to it; +he never would see the relish, and left it behind; and so he +never would accept Mr. Cope’s kind offers of giving him a +bit of supper in his kitchen, perhaps because he was afraid of +being said to go to the Rectory for the sake of what he could +get.</p> +<p>He did not object to the farmer’s beer, which was +sometimes given him when any unusual extra work had been put on +him. That was his right, for in truth the farmer did not +pay him the value of his labour, and perhaps disliked him the +more, because of knowing in his conscience that this was shameful +extortion.</p> +<p>However, just at harvest time, when Paul’s shoes had +become very like what may be sometimes picked up by the roadside, +Mr. Shepherd did actually bestow on him a pair that did not fit +himself! Harold came home quite proud of them.</p> +<p>However, on the third day they were gone, and the +farmer’s voice was heard on the bridge, rating Paul +violently for having changed them away for drink.</p> +<p>Mrs. King felt sorrowful; but, as Ellen said, ‘What +could you expect of him?’ In spite of the affront, +there was a sort of acquaintance now over the counter between +Mrs. King and young Blackthorn; and when he came for his bread, +she could not help saying, ‘I’m sorry to see you in +those again.’</p> +<p>‘Why, the others hurt me so, I could hardly get +about,’ said Paul.</p> +<p>‘Ah! poor lad, I suppose your feet has got spread with +wearing those old ones; but you should try to use yourself to +decent ones, or you’ll soon be barefoot; and I do think it +was a pity to drink them up.’</p> +<p>‘That’s all the farmer, Ma’am. He +thinks one can’t do anything but drink.’</p> +<p>‘Well, what is become of them?’</p> +<p>‘Why, you see, Ma’am, they just suited Dick +Royston, and he wanted a pair of shoes, and I wanted a Bible and +Prayer-book, so we changed ’em.’</p> +<p>When Ellen heard this, she could not help owning that Paul was +a good boy after all, though it was in an odd sort of way. +But, alas! when next he was to go to Mr. Cope, there was a +hue-and-cry all over the hay-loft for the Prayer-book. +There was no place to put it safely, or if there had been, Poor +Paul was too great a sloven to think of any such thing; and as it +was in a somewhat rubbishy state to begin with, it was most +likely that one of the cows had eaten it with her hay; and all +that could be said was, that it would have been worse if it had +been the Bible.</p> +<p>As to Dick Royston, to find that he would change away his +Bible for a pair of shoes, made Mrs. King doubly concerned that +he should be a good deal thrown in Harold’s way. +There are many people who neglect their Bibles, and do not read +them; but this may be from thoughtlessness or press of care, and +is not like the wilful breaking with good, that it is to part +with the Holy Scripture, save under the most dire necessity; and +Dick was far from being in real want, nor was he ignorant, like +Mr. Cope’s poor Jem, for he had been to school, and could +read well; but he was one of those many lads, who, alas! are +everywhere to be found, who break loose from all restraint as +soon as they can maintain themselves. They do their work +pretty well, and are tolerably honest; but for the +rest—alas! they seem to live without God. Prayers and +Church they have left behind, as belonging to school-days; and in +all their strength and health, their days of toil, their evenings +of rude diversion, their Sundays of morning sleep, noonday +basking in the sun, evening cricket, they have little more notion +of anything concerning their souls than the horses they +drive. If ever a fear comes over them, it seems a long long +way off, a whole life-time before them; they are awkward, and in +dread of one another’s jeers and remarks; and if they ever +wish to be better, they cast it from them by fancying that time +must steady them when they have had their bit of fun, or that +something will come from somewhere to change them all at once, +and make it easy to them to be good—as if they were not +making it harder each moment.</p> +<p>This sort of lad had been utterly let alone till Mr. Cope +came; and Lady Jane and the school-master felt it was dreary work +to train up nice lads in the school, only to see them run riot, +and forget all good as soon as they thought themselves their own +masters.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope was anxious to do the best he could for them, and the +Confirmation made a good opportunity; but the boys did not like +to be interfered with—it made them shy to be spoken to; and +they liked lounging about much better than having to poke into +that mind of theirs, which they carried somewhere about them, but +did not like to stir up. They had no notion of going to +school again—which no one wanted them to do—nor to +church, because it was like little boys; and they wouldn’t +be obliged.</p> +<p>So Mr. Cope made little way with them; a few who had better +parents came regularly to him, but others went off when they +found it too much trouble, and behaved worse than ever by way of +shewing they did not care. This folly had in some degree +taken possession of Harold; and though he could not be as bad as +were some of the others, he was fast growing impatient of +restraint, and worried and angry, as if any word of good advice +affronted him. Driven from home by the fear of disturbing +Alfred, he was left the more to the company of boys who made him +ashamed of being ordered by his mother; and there was a jaunty +careless style about all his ways of talking and moving, that +shewed there was something wrong about him—he scorned +Ellen, and was as saucy as he dared even to his mother; and +though Mr. Cope found him better instructed than most of his +scholars, he saw him quite as idle, as restless at church, and as +ready to whisper and grin at improper times, as many who had +never been trained like him.</p> +<p>One August Sunday afternoon, Mrs. King was with Alfred while +Ellen was at church. He was lying on his couch, very +uncomfortable and fretful, when to the surprise of both, a knock +was heard at the door. Mrs. King looked out of the window, +and a smart, hard-looking, pigeon’s-neck silk bonnet at +once nodded to her, and a voice said, ‘I’ve come over +to see you, Cousin King, if you’ll come down and let me +in. I knew I should find you at home.’</p> +<p>‘Betsey Hardman!’ exclaimed Alfred, in dismay; +‘you won’t let her come up here, Mother?’</p> +<p>‘Not if I can help it,’ said Mrs. King, +sighing. If there were a thing she disliked above all +others, it was Sunday visiting.</p> +<p>‘You must help it, Mother,’ said Alfred, in his +most pettish tones. ‘I won’t have her here, +worrying with her voice like a hen cackling. Say you +won’t let her come her!’</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ said Mrs. King, in doubt of her own +powers, and in haste to be decently civil.</p> +<p>‘Say you won’t,’ repeated Alfred. +‘Gadding about of a Sunday, and leaving her old sick +mother—more shame for her! Promise, +Mother!’</p> +<p>He had nearly begun to cry at his mother’s unkindness in +running down-stairs without making the promise, for, in fact, +Mrs. King had too much conscience to gain present quiet for any +one by promises she might be forced to break; and Betsey Hardman +was only too well known.</p> +<p>Her mother was an aunt of Alfred’s father, an old +decrepit widow, nearly bed-ridden, but pretty well to do, by +being maintained chiefly by her daughter, who made a good thing +of taking in washing in the suburbs of Elbury, and always had a +girl or two under her. She had neither had the education, +nor the good training in service, that had fallen to Mrs. +King’s lot; and her way of life did not lead to softening +her tongue or temper. Ellen called her vulgar, and though +that is not a nice word to use, she was coarse in her ways of +talking and thinking, loud-voiced, and unmannerly, although +meaning to be very good-natured.</p> +<p>Alfred lay in fear of her step, ten times harder than +Harold’s in his most boisterous mood, coming clamp clamp! +up the stairs; and her shrill voice—the same tone in which +she bawled to her deaf mother, and hallooed to her girls when +they were hanging out the clothes in the high wind—coming +pitying him—ay, and perhaps her whole weight lumbering down +on the couch beside him, shaking every joint in his body! +His mother’s ways, learnt in the Selby nursery, had made +him more tender, and more easily fretted by such things, than +most cottage lads, who would have been used to them, and never +have thought of not liking to have every neighbour who chose +running up into the room, and talking without regard to subject +or tone.</p> +<p>He listened in a fright to the latch of the door, and the +coming in. Betsey’s voice came up, through every +chink of the boards, whatever she did herself; and he could hear +every word of her greeting, as she said how it was such a fine +day, she said to Mother she would take a holiday, and come and +see Cousin King and the poor lad: it must be mighty dull for him, +moped up there.</p> +<p>Stump! stump! Was she coming? His mother was +answering something too soft for him to hear.</p> +<p>‘What, is he asleep?’</p> +<p>‘O Mother, must you speak the truth?’</p> +<p>‘Bless me! I should have thought a little cheerful +company was good for him. Do you leave him quite +alone? Well—’ and there was a frightful noise +of the foot of the heaviest chair on the floor. +‘I’ll sit down and wait a bit! Is he so very +fractious, then?’</p> +<p>What was his mother saying? Alfred clenched his fist, +and grinned anger at Betsey with closed teeth. There was +the tiresome old word, ‘Low—ay, so’s my mother; +but you should rise his spirits with company, you see; +that’s why I came over; as soon as ever I heard that there +wasn’t no hope of him, says I to Mother—’</p> +<p>What? What was that she had heard? There was his +mother, probably trying to restrain her voice, for it came up now +just loud enough to make it most distressing to try to catch the +words, which sounded like something pitying. ‘Ay, +ay—just like his poor father; when they be decliny, it will +come out one ways or another; and says I to Mother, I’ll go +over and cheer poor Cousin King up a bit, for you see, after all, +if he’d lived, he’d be nothing but a burden, crippled +up like that; and a lingering job is always bad for poor +folks.’</p> +<p>Alfred leant upon his elbow, his eyes full stretched, but +feeling as if all his senses had gone into his ears, in his agony +to hear more; and he even seemed to catch his mother’s +voice, but there was no hope in that; it was of her knowing it +would be all for the best; and the sadness of it told him that +she believed the same as Betsey. Then came, ‘Yes; I +declare it gave me such a turn, you might have knocked me down +with a feather. I asked Mr. Blunt to come in and see +what’s good for Mother, she feels so weak at times, and has +such a noise in her head, just like the regiment playing drums, +she says, till she can’t hardly bear herself; and so what +do you think he says? Don’t wrap up her head so warm, +says he—a pretty thing for a doctor to say, as if a poor +old creature like that, past seventy years old, could go without +a bit of flannel to her head, and her three night-caps, and a +shawl over them when there’s a draught. I say, +Cousin, I ha’n’t got much opinion of Mr. Blunt. +Why don’t you get some of them boxes of pills, that does +cures wonderful? Ever so many lords and ladies cured of a +perplexity fit, by only just taking an imposing draught or +two.’</p> +<p>Another time Alfred would have laughed at the very imposing +draught, that was said to cure lords and ladies of this jumble +between apoplexy and paralysis; but this was no moment for +laughing, and he was in despair at fancying his mother wanted to +lead her off on the quack medicine; but she went on.</p> +<p>‘Well, only read the papers that come with them. I +make my girl Sally read ’em all to me, being that +she’s a better scholar; and the long words is quite +heavenly—I declare there ain’t one of them shorter +than peregrination. I’d have brought one of them over +to shew you if I hadn’t come away in a hurry, because +Evans’s cart was going out to the merry orchard, and says I +to Mother, Well, I’ll get a lift now there’s such a +chance to Friarswood: it’ll do them all a bit of good to +see a bit of cheerful company, seeing, as Mr. Blunt says, that +poor lad is going after his father as fast as can be. Dear +me, says I, you don’t say so, such a fine healthy-looking +chap as he was. Yes, he says, but it’s in the +constitution; it’s getting to the lungs, and he’ll +never last out the winter.’</p> +<p>Alfred listened for the tone of his mother’s voice; he +knew he should judge by that, even without catching the +words—low, subdued, sad—he almost thought she began +with ‘Yes.’</p> +<p>All the rest that he heard passed by him merely as a sound, +noted no more than the lowing of the cattle, or the drone of the +thrashing machine. He lay half lifted up on his pillows, +drawing his breath short with apprehension; his days were +numbered, and death was coming fast, fast, straight upon +him. He felt it within himself—he knew now the +meaning of the pain and sinking, the shortness of breath and +choking of throat that had been growing on him through the long +summer days; he was being ‘cut off with pining +sickness,’ and his sentence had gone forth. He would +have screamed for his mother in the sore terror and agony that +had come over him, in hopes she might drive the notion from him; +but the dread of seeing her followed by that woman kept his lips +shut, except for his long gasps of breath.</p> +<p>And she could not keep him—Mr. Blunt could not keep him; +no one could stay the hand that had touched him! +Prayer! They had prayed for his father, for Charlie, but it +had not been God’s Will. He had himself many times +prayed to recover, and it had not been granted—he was worse +and worse.</p> +<p>Moreover, whither did that path of suffering lead? Up +rose before Alfred the thought of living after the unknown +passage, and of answering for all he had done; and now the faults +he had refused to call to mind when he was told of chastisement, +came and stood up of themselves. Bred up to know the good, +he had not loved it; he had cared for his own pleasure, not for +God; he had not heeded the comfort of his widowed mother; he had +been careless of the honour of God’s House, said and heard +prayers without minding them; he had been disrespectful and +ill-behaved at my Lady’s—he had been bad in every +way; and when illness came, how rebellious and murmuring he had +been, how unkind he had been to his patient mother, sister, and +brother; and when Mr. Cope had told him it was meant to lead him +to repent, he would not hear; and now it was too late, the door +would be shut. He had always heard that there was a time +when sorrow was no use, when the offer of being saved had been +thrown away.</p> +<p>When Ellen came in, and after a short greeting to Betsey +Hardman, went up-stairs, she found Alfred lying back on his +pillow, deadly white, the beads of dew standing on his brow, and +his breath in gasps. She would have shrieked for her +mother, but he held out his hand, and said, in a low hoarse +whisper, ‘Ellen, is it true?’</p> +<p>‘What, Alfy dear? What is the matter?’</p> +<p>‘What <i>she</i> says.’</p> +<p>‘Who? Betsey Hardman? Dear dear Alf, is it +anything dreadful?’</p> +<p>‘That I shall die,’ said Alfred, his eyes growing +round with terror again. ‘That Mr. Blunt said I +couldn’t last out the winter.’</p> +<p>‘Dear Alfy, don’t!’ cried Ellen, throwing +her arms round him, and kissing him with all her might; +‘don’t fancy it! She’s always gossiping +and gadding about, and don’t know what she says, and +she’d got no business to tell stories to frighten my +darling!’ she exclaimed, sobbing with agitation. +‘I’m sure Mr. Blunt never said no such +thing!’</p> +<p>‘But Mother thinks it, Ellen.’</p> +<p>‘She doesn’t, she can’t!’ cried Ellen +vehemently; ‘I know she doesn’t, or she could never +go about as she does. I’ll call her up and ask her, +to satisfy you.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, not while that woman is there!’ cried +Alfred, holding her by the dress; ‘I’ll not have +<i>her</i> coming up.’</p> +<p>Even while he spoke, however, Mrs. King was coming. +Betsey had spied an old acquaintance on the way from church, and +had popped out to speak to her, and Mrs. King caught that moment +for coming up. She understood all, for she had been sitting +in great distress, lest Alfred should be listening to every word +which she was unable to silence, and about which Betsey was quite +thoughtless. So many people of her degree would talk to the +patient about himself and his danger, and go on constantly before +him with all their fears, and the doctor’s opinions, that +Betsey had never thought of there being more consideration and +tenderness shewn in this house, nor that Mrs. King would have +hidden any pressing danger from the sick person; but such plain +words had not yet passed between her and Mr. Blunt; and though +she had long felt what Alfred’s illness would come to, the +perception had rather grown on her than come at any particular +moment.</p> +<p>Now when Ellen, with tears and agitation, asked what that +Betsey had been saying to frighten Alfred so, and when she saw +her poor boy’s look at her, and heard his sob, ‘Oh, +Mother!’ it was almost too much for her, and she went up +and kissed him, and laid him down less uneasily, but he felt a +great tear fall on his face.</p> +<p>‘It’s not true, Mother, I’m sure it is not +true,’ cried Ellen; ‘she ought—’</p> +<p>Mrs. King looked at her daughter with a sad sweet face, that +stopped her short, and brought the sense over her too. +‘Did he say so, Mother?’ said Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Not to me, dear,’ she answered; ‘but, +Ellen, she’s coming back! She’ll be up here if +you don’t go down.’</p> +<p>Poor Ellen! what would she not have given for power to listen +to her mother, and cry at her ease? But she was forced to +hurry, or Betsey would have been half-way up-stairs in another +instant. She was a hopeful girl, however, and after that +‘not to me,’ resolved to believe nothing of the +matter. Mrs. King knelt down by her son, and looked at him +tenderly; and then, as his eyes went on begging for an answer, +she said, ‘Dr. Blunt never told me there was no hope, my +dear, and everything lies in God’s power.’</p> +<p>‘But you don’t think I shall get well, +Mother?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t feel as if you would, my boy,’ she +said, very low, and fondling him all the time. +‘You’ve got to cough like Father and Charlie, +and—though He might raise my boy up—yet anyhow, Alfy +boy, if God sees it good for us, it <i>will</i> be good for us, +and we shall be helped through with it.’</p> +<p>‘But I’m not good, Mother! What will become +of me?’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps the hearing this is all out of God’s +mercy, to give you time to get ready, my dear. You are no +worse now than you were this morning; you are not like to go yet +awhile. No, indeed, my child; so if you don’t put off +any longer—’</p> +<p>‘Mother!’ called up Ellen. She was in +despair. Betsey was not to be kept by her from satisfying +herself upon Alfred’s looks, and Mrs. King was only in time +to meet her on the stairs, and tell her that he was so weak and +low, that he could not be seen now, she could not tell how it +would be when he had had his tea.</p> +<p>Ellen thought she had never had so distressing a tea-drinking +in her life, as the being obliged to sit listening civilly to +Betsey’s long story about the trouble she had about a +stocking of Mrs. Martin’s that was lost in the wash, and +that had gone to Miss Rosa Marlowe, because Mrs. Martin had her +things marked with a badly-done K. E. M., and all that Mrs. +Martin’s Maria and all Miss Marlowe’s Jane had said +about it, and all Betsey’s ‘Says I to +Mother,’—when she was so longing to be watching poor +Alfred, and how her mother could sit so quietly making tea, and +answering so civilly, she could not guess; but Mrs. King had that +sense of propriety and desire to do as she would be done by, +which is the very substance of Christian courtesy, the very want +of which made Betsey, with all her wish to be kind, a real +oppression and burthen to the whole party.</p> +<p>And where was Harold? Ellen had not seen him coming out +of church, but meal-times were pretty certain to bring him +home.</p> +<p>‘Oh,’ said Betsey, ‘I’ll warrant he is +off to the merry orchard.’</p> +<p>‘I hope not,’ said Mrs. King gravely.</p> +<p>‘He never would,’ said Ellen, in anger.</p> +<p>‘Ah, well, I always said I didn’t see no harm in a +lad getting a bit of pleasure.’</p> +<p>‘No, indeed,’ said Mrs. King. ‘Harold +knows I would not stint him in the fruit nor in the pleasure, but +I should be much vexed if he could go out on a Sunday, buying and +selling, among such a lot as meet at that orchard.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know when poor folks +is to have a holiday if not on a Sunday, and the poor boy must be +terrible moped with his brother so ill.’</p> +<p>‘Not doing thine own pleasure on My holy day,’ +thought Ellen, but she did not say it, for her mother could not +bear for texts to be quoted at people. But her heart was +very heavy; and when she went up with some tea to Alfred, she +looked from the window to see whether, as she hoped, Harold might +be in Paul’s hay-loft, preferring going without his tea to +being teased by Betsey. Paul sat in his loft, with his +Bible on his knee, and his head on Cæsar’s neck.</p> +<p>‘Alfred,’ said Ellen, ‘do you know where +Harold is? Sure he is not gone to the merry +orchard?’</p> +<p>‘Is not he come home?’ said Alfred. +‘Oh, then he is! He is gone to the merry orchard, +breaking Sunday with Dick Royston! And by-and-by +he’ll be ill, and die, and be as miserable as I +am!’ And Alfred cried as Ellen had never seen him +cry.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI—THE MERRY ORCHARD</h2> +<p>Where was Harold?</p> +<p>Still the evening went on, and he did not come. Alfred +had worn himself out with his fit of crying, and lay quite still, +either asleep, or looking so like it, that when Betsey had +finished her tea, and again began asking to see him, Ellen could +honestly declare that he was asleep.</p> +<p>Betsey had bidden them good-bye, more than half affronted at +not being able to report to her mother all about his looks, +though she carried with her a basket of gooseberries and French +beans, and Mrs. King walked all the way down the lane with her, +and tried to shew an interest in all she said, to make up for the +disappointment.</p> +<p>Maybe likewise Mrs. King felt it a relief to her uneasiness to +look up and down the road, and along the river, and into the +farm-yard, in the hope that Harold might be in sight; but nothing +was to be seen on the road, but Master Norland, his wife, and +baby, soberly taking their Sunday walk; nor by the river, except +the ducks, who seemed to be enjoying their evening bath, and +almost asleep on the water; nor in the yard, except Paul +Blackthorn, who had come down from his perch to drive the horses +in from the home-field, and shut the stable up for the night.</p> +<p>She could not help stopping a moment at the gate, and calling +out to Paul to ask whether he had seen anything of Harold. +He seemed to have a great mind not to hear, and turned very +slowly with his shoulder towards her, making a sound like +‘Eh?’ as if to ask what she said.</p> +<p>‘Have you seen my boy Harold?’</p> +<p>‘I saw him in the morning.’</p> +<p>‘Have you not seen him since? Didn’t he go +to church with you?’</p> +<p>‘No; I don’t go to Sunday school.’</p> +<p>‘Was he there?’</p> +<p>She did not receive any answer.</p> +<p>‘Do you know if many of the boys are gone to the merry +orchard?’</p> +<p>‘Ay.’</p> +<p>‘Well, you are a good lad not to be one of +them.’</p> +<p>‘Hadn’t got any money,’ said Paul gruffly; +but Mrs. King thought he said so chiefly from dislike to be +praised, and that there had been some principle as well as +poverty to keep him away.</p> +<p>‘It might be better if no one had it on a Sunday,’ +she could not help sighing out as she looked anxiously along the +lane ere turning in, and then said, ‘My good lad, I +don’t want to get you to be telling tales, but it would set +my heart at rest, and his poor brother’s up there, if you +could tell me he is not gone to Briar Alley.’</p> +<p>Paul turned up his face from the gate upon which he was +leaning his elbows, and gazed for a moment at her sad, meek, +anxious face, then exclaimed, ‘I can’t think how he +could!’</p> +<p>Poor Paul! was it not crossing him how impossible it would +seem to do anything to vex one who so cared for him?</p> +<p>‘Then he is gone,’ she said mournfully.</p> +<p>‘They were all at him,’ said Paul; ‘and he +said he’d never seen what it was like. Please +don’t take on, Missus; he’s right kind and +good-hearted, and wanted to treat me.’</p> +<p>‘I had rather he had hearkened to you, my boy,’ +said Mrs. King.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know why he should do that,’ said +Paul, perhaps meaning that a boy who heeded not such a mother +would certainly heed no one else. ‘But please, +Missus,’ he added, ‘don’t beat him, for you +made me tell on him.’</p> +<p>‘Beat him! no,’ said Mrs. King, with a sad smile; +‘he’s too big a boy for me to manage that way. +I can’t do more than grieve if he lets himself be led +away.’</p> +<p>‘Then I’d like to beat him myself if he grieves +you!’ burst out Paul, doubling up his brown fist with +indignation.</p> +<p>‘But you won’t,’ said Mrs. King gently; +‘I don’t want to make a quarrel among you, and I hope +you’ll help to keep him out of bad ways, Paul. I look +to you for it. Good-night.’</p> +<p>Perhaps the darkness and her own warm feeling made her forget +the condition of that hand; at any rate, as she said Good-night +she took it in her own and shook it heartily, and then she went +in.</p> +<p>Paul did not say Good-night in answer; but when she had turned +away, his head went down between his two crossed arms upon the +top of the gate, and he did not move for many many minutes, +except that his shoulders shook and shook again, for he was +sobbing as he had never sobbed since Granny Moll died. If +home and home love were not matters of course to you, you might +guess what strange new fountains of feeling were stirred in the +wild but not untaught boy, by that face, that voice, that +touch.</p> +<p>And Mrs. King, as she walked to her own door in the twilight, +with bitter pain in her heart, could not help thinking of those +from the highways and hedges who flocked to the feast set at +naught by such as were bidden.</p> +<p>A sad and mournful Sunday evening was that to the mother and +daughter, as each sat over her Bible. Mrs. King would not +talk to Ellen, for fear of awakening Alfred; not that low voices +would have done so, but Ellen was already much upset by what she +had heard and seen, and to talk it over would have brought on a +fit of violent crying; so her mother thought it safest to say +nothing. They would have read their Bible to one another, +but each had her voice so choked with tears, that it would not +do.</p> +<p>That Alfred was sinking away into the grave, was no news to +Mrs. King; but perhaps it had never been so plainly spoken to her +before, and his own knowledge of it seemed to make it more sure; +but broken-hearted as she felt, she had been learning to submit +to this, and it might be better and safer for him, she thought, +to be aware of his state, and more ready to do his best with the +time left to him. That was not the freshest sorrow, or more +truly a darker cloud had come over, namely, the feeling, so +terrible to a good careful mother, that her son is breaking out +of the courses to which she has endeavoured and prayed to bring +him up—that he is casting off restraint, and running into +evil that may be the beginning of ruin, and with no +father’s hand to hold him in.</p> +<p>O Harold, had you but seen the thick tears dropping on the +walnut table behind the arm that hid her face from Ellen, you +would not have thought your fun worth them!</p> +<p>That merry orchard was about three miles from +Friarswood. It belonged to a man who kept a small +public-house, and had a little farm, and a large garden, with +several cherry trees, which in May were perfect gardens of +blossoms, white as snow, and in August with small black fruit of +the sort known as merries; and unhappily the fertile produce of +these trees became a great temptation to the owner and to all the +villagers around.</p> +<p>As Sunday was the only day when people could be at leisure, he +chose three Sundays when the cherries were ripe for throwing open +his orchard to all who chose to come and buy and eat the fruit, +and of course cakes and drink of various kinds were also +sold. It was a solitary spot, out of the way of the police, +or the selling in church-time would have been stopped; but as +there may be cases of real distress, the law does not shut up all +houses for selling food and drink on a Sunday, so others, where +there is no necessity, take advantage of it; and so for miles +round all the idle young people and children would call it a +holiday to go away from their churches to eat cherries at Briar +Alley, buying and selling on a Sunday, noisy and clamorous, and +forgetting utterly that it was the Lord’s Day, not their +day of idle pleasure.</p> +<p>It was a sad pity that an innocent feast of fruit should be +almost out of reach, unless enjoyed in this manner. To be +sure, merries might be bought any day of the week at Briar Alley, +and were hawked up and down Friarswood so cheaply that any one +might get a mouth as purple as the black spaniel’s any day +in the season; but that was nothing to the fun of going with +numbers, and numbers never could go except on a Sunday. But +if people wish to serve God truly, why, they must make up their +minds to miss pleasures for His sake, and this was one to begin +with; and I am much mistaken if the happiness of the week would +not have turned out greater in the end with him. Ay, and as +to the owner of the trees, who said he was a poor man, and could +not afford to lose the profit, I believe that if he would have +trusted God and kept His commandment, his profit in the long run +would have been greater here, to say nothing of the peril to his +own soul of doing wrong, and leading so many into temptation.</p> +<p>The Kings had been bred up to think a Sunday going to the +merry orchard a thing never to be done; and in his most idle days +Alfred would never have dreamt of such a thing. Indeed, +their good mother always managed to have some treat to make up +for it when they were little; and they certainly never wanted for +merries, nay, a merry pudding had been their dinner this very +day, with savage-looking purple juice and scalding hot +stones. If Harold went it was for the frolic, not for want +of the dainty; and wrong as it was, his mother was grieving more +at the thought of his casting away the restraint of his old +habits than for the one action. One son going away into the +unseen world, the other being led away from the paths of +right—no wonder she wept as she tried to read!</p> +<p>At last voices were coming, and very loud ones. The +summer night was so still, they could be heard a great +way—those rude coarse voices of village boys boasting and +jeering one another.</p> +<p>‘I say, wouldn’t you like to be one of they chaps +at Ragglesford School?’</p> +<p>‘What lots they bought there on Saturday, to be +sure!’</p> +<p>‘Well they may: they’ve lots of tin!’</p> +<p>‘Have they? How d’ye know?’</p> +<p>‘Why, the money-letters! Don’t I know the +feel of them—directed to master this and master that, and +with a seal and a card, and half a sovereign, or maybe a whole +one, under it; and such lots as they gets before the +holidays—that’s to go home, you see.’</p> +<p>‘Well, it’s a shame such little impudent rogues +should get so much without ever doing a stroke of work for +it.’</p> +<p>‘I say, Harold, don’t ye never put one of they +letters in your pocket?’</p> +<p>‘For shame, Dick!’</p> +<p>‘Ha! I shall know where to come when I wants half +a sovereign or so!’</p> +<p>‘No, you won’t.’</p> +<p>It was only these last two or three speeches that reached the +cottage at all clearly; and they were followed by a sound as if +Harold had fallen upon one of the others, and they were holding +him off, with halloos and shouts of hoarse laughing, which broke +Alfred’s sleep, and his voice came down-stairs with a +startled cry of ‘Mother! Mother! what is +that?’ She ran up-stairs in haste, and Ellen threw +the door open. The sudden display of the light silenced the +noisy boys; and Harold came slowly up the garden-path, pretty +certain of a scolding, and prepared to feel it as little as he +could help.</p> +<p>‘Well, Master, a nice sort of a way of spending a Sunday +evening this!’ began Ellen; ‘and coming hollaing up +the lane, just on purpose to wake poor Alfred, when he’s so +ill!’</p> +<p>‘I’m sure I never meant to wake him.’</p> +<p>‘Then what did you bring all that good-for-nothing set +roaring and shouting up the road for? And just this +evening, too, when one would have thought you would we have cared +for poor Mother and Alfred,’ said she, crying.</p> +<p>‘Why, what’s the matter now?’ said +Harold.</p> +<p>‘Oh, they’ve been saying he can’t live out +the winter,’ said Ellen, shedding the tears that had been +kept back all this time, and broke out now with double force, in +her grief for one brother and vexation with the other.</p> +<p>But next winter seemed a great way off to Harold, and he was +put out besides, so he did not seem shocked, especially as he was +reproached with not feeling what he did not know; so all he did +was to say angrily, ‘And how was I to know that?’</p> +<p>‘Of course you don’t know anything, going +scampering over the country with the worst lot you can find, away +from church and all, not caring for anything! Poor Mother! +she never thought one of her lads would come to that!’</p> +<p>‘Plenty does so, without never such a fuss,’ said +Harold. ‘Why, what harm is there in eating a few +cherries?’</p> +<p>There would be very little pleasure or use in knowing what a +wrangling went on all the time Mrs. King was up-stairs putting +Alfred to bed. Ellen had all the right on her side, but she +did not use it wisely; she was very unhappy, and much displeased +with Harold, and so she had it all out in a fretful manner that +made him more cross and less feeling than was his nature.</p> +<p>There was something he did feel, however—and that was +his mother’s pale, worn, sorrowful face, when she came +down-stairs and hushed Ellen, but did not speak to him. +They took down the books, read their chapter, and she read +prayers very low, and not quite steadily. He would have +liked very much to have told her he felt sorry, but he was too +proud to do so after having shewn Ellen he was above caring for +such nonsense.</p> +<p>So they all went to bed, Harold on a little landing at the top +of the stairs; but—whether it was from the pounds of +merry-stones he had swallowed, or the talk he had had with his +sister—he could not go to sleep, and lay tossing and +tumbling about, thinking it very odd he had not heeded more what +Ellen had said when he first came in, and the notion dawning on +him more and more, that day after day would come and make Alfred +worse, and that by the time summer came again he should be +alone. Who could have said it? Why had not he +asked? What could he have been thinking about? It +should not be true! A sort of frenzy to speak to some one, +and hear the real meaning of those words, so as to make sure they +were only Ellen’s nonsense, came over him in the silent +darkness. Presently he heard Alfred moving on his pillow, +for the door was open for the heat; and that long long sigh made +him call in a whisper, ‘Alf, are you awake?’</p> +<p>In another moment Harold was by his brother’s +side. ‘Alf! Alf! are you worse?’ he +asked, whispering.</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘Then what’s all this? What did they +say? It’s all stuff; I’m sure it is, and +you’re getting better. But what did Ellen +mean?’</p> +<p>‘No, Harold,’ said Alfred, getting his +brother’s hand in his, ‘it’s not stuff; I +shan’t get well; I’m going after poor Charlie; and +don’t you be a bad lad, Harold, and run away from your +church, for you don’t know—how bad it feels +to—’ and Alfred turned his face down, for the tears +were coming thick.</p> +<p>‘But you aren’t going to die, Alf. Charlie +never was like you, I know he wasn’t; he was always +coughing. It is all Ellen. Who said it? I +won’t let them.’</p> +<p>‘The doctor said it to Betsey Hardman,’ said +Alfred; and his cough was only too like his brother’s.</p> +<p>Harold would have said a great deal in contempt of Betsey +Hardman, but Alfred did not let him.</p> +<p>‘You’ll wake Mother,’ he said. +‘Hush, Harold, don’t go stamping about; I can’t +bear it! No, I don’t want any one to tell me now; +I’ve been getting worse ever since I was taken, +and—oh! be quiet, Harold.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t be quiet,’ sobbed Harold, coming +nearer to him. ‘O Alf! I can’t spare +you! There hasn’t been no proper downright fun +without you, and—’</p> +<p>Harold had lain down by him and clung to his hand, trying not +to sob aloud.</p> +<p>‘O Harold!’ sighed Alfred, ‘I don’t +think I should mind—at least not so much—if I +hadn’t been such a bad boy.’</p> +<p>‘You, Alfy! Who was ever a good boy if you was +not?’</p> +<p>‘Hush! You forget all about when I was up at my +Lady’s, and all that. Oh! and how bad I behaved at +church, and when I was so saucy to Master about the marbles; and +so often I’ve not minded Mother. O Harold! and God +judges one for everything!’</p> +<p>What a sad terrified voice it was!</p> +<p>‘Oh! don’t go on so, Alf! I can’t bear +it! Why, we are but boys; and those things were so long +ago! God will not be hard on little boys. He is +merciful, don’t you know?’</p> +<p>‘But when I knew it was wrong, I did the worst I +could!’ said Alfred. ‘Oh, if I could only begin +all over again, now I do care! Only, Harold, Harold, you +are well; you can be good now when there’s time.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll be ever so good if you’ll only get +well,’ said Harold. ‘I wouldn’t have gone +to that there place to-night; but ’tis so terribly dull, +and one must do something.’</p> +<p>‘But in church-time, and on Sunday!’</p> +<p>‘Well, I’ll never do it again; but it was so +sunshiny, and they were all making such fun, you see, and it did +seem so stuffy, and so long and tiresome, I couldn’t help +it, you see.’</p> +<p>Alfred did not think of asking how, if Harold could not help +it this time, he could be sure of never doing so again. He +was more inclined to dwell on himself, and went back to that one +sentence, ‘God judges us for everything.’ +Harold thought he meant it for him, and exclaimed,</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes, I know, but—oh, Alf, you +shouldn’t frighten one so; I never meant no +harm.’</p> +<p>‘I wasn’t thinking about that,’ sighed +Alfred. ‘I was wishing I’d been a better lad; +but I’ve been worse, and crosser, and more unkind, ever +since I was ill. O Harold! what shall I do?’</p> +<p>‘Don’t go on that way,’ said Harold, crying +bitterly. ‘Say your prayers, and maybe you will get +well; and then in the morning I’ll ask Mr. Cope to come +down, and he’ll tell you not to mind.’</p> +<p>‘I wouldn’t listen to Mr. Cope when he told me to +be sorry for my sins; and oh, Harold, if we are not sorry, you +know they will not be taken away.’</p> +<p>‘Well, but you are sorry now.’</p> +<p>‘I have heard tell that there are two ways of being +sorry, and I don’t know if mine is the right.’</p> +<p>‘I tell you I’ll fetch Mr. Cope in the morning; +and when the doctor comes he’ll be sure to say it is all a +pack of stuff, and you need not be fretting yourself.’</p> +<p>When Harold awoke in the morning, he found himself lying +wrapped in his coverlet on Alfred’s bed, and then he +remembered all about it, and looked in haste, as though he +expected to see some sudden and terrible change in his +brother.</p> +<p>But Alfred was looking cheerful, he had awakened without +discomfort; and with some amusement, was watching the starts and +movements, the grunts and groans, of Harold’s waking. +The morning air and the ordinary look of things, had driven away +the gloomy thoughts of evening, and he chiefly thought of them as +something strange and dreadful, and yet not quite a dream.</p> +<p>‘Don’t tell Mother,’ whispered Harold, +recollecting himself, and starting up quietly.</p> +<p>‘But you’ll fetch Mr. Cope,’ said Alfred +earnestly.</p> +<p>Harold had begun not to like the notion of meeting Mr. Cope, +lest he should hear something of yesterday’s doings, and he +did not like Alfred or himself to think of last night’s +alarm, so he said, ‘Oh, very well, I’ll see about +it.’</p> +<p>He had not made up his mind. Very likely, if chance had +brought him face to face with Mr. Cope, he would have spoken +about Alfred as the best way to hinder the Curate from reproving +himself; but he had not that right sort of boldness which would +have made him go to meet the reproof he so richly deserved, and +he was trying to persuade himself either that when Alfred was +amused and cheery, he would forget all about ‘that there +Betsey’s nonsense,’ or else that Mr. Cope might come +that way of himself.</p> +<p>But Alfred was not likely to forget. What he had heard +hung on him through all the little occupations of the morning, +and made him meek and gentle under them, and he was reckoning +constantly upon Mr. Cope’s coming, fastening on the notion +as if he were able to save him.</p> +<p>Still the Curate came not, and Alfred became grieved, feeling +as if he was neglected.</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt, however, came, and at any rate he would have it out +with him; so he asked at once very straightforwardly, ‘Am I +going to die, Sir?’</p> +<p>‘Why, what’s put that in your head?’ said +the doctor.</p> +<p>‘There was a person here talking last night, Sir,’ +said Mrs. King.</p> +<p>‘Well, but am I?’ said Alfred impatiently.</p> +<p>‘Not just yet, I hope,’ said Mr. Blunt +cheerfully. ‘You are weak, but you’ll pick up +again.’</p> +<p>‘But of this?’ persisted Alfred, who was not to be +trifled with.</p> +<p>Mr. Blunt saw he must be in earnest.</p> +<p>‘My boy,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid it is +not a thing to be got over. I’ll do the best I can +for you, by God’s blessing; and if you get through the +winter, and it is a mild spring, you might do; but you’d +better settle your mind that you can’t be many years for +this world.’</p> +<p>Many years! that sounded like a reprieve, and sent gladness +into Ellen’s heart; but somehow it did not seem in the same +light to Alfred; he felt that if he were slowly going down hill +and wasting away, so as to have no more health or strength in +which to live differently from ever before, the length of time +was not much to him, and in his sickly impatience he would almost +have preferred that it should not be what Betsey kindly called +‘a lingering job.’</p> +<p>There he lay after Mr. Blunt was gone, not giving Ellen any +trouble, except by the sad thoughtfulness of his face, as he lay +dwelling on all that he wanted to say to Mr. Cope, and the terror +of his sin and of judgment sweeping over him every now and +then.</p> +<p>Still Mr. Cope came not. Alfred at last began to wonder +aloud, and asked if Harold had said anything about it when he +came in to dinner; but he heard that Harold had only rushed in +for a moment, snatched up a lump of bread and cheese, and made +off to the river with some of the lads who meant to spend the +noon-tide rest in bathing.</p> +<p>When he came for the evening letters he was caught, and Mr. +Cope was asked for; and then it came out that Harold had never +given the message at all.</p> +<p>Alfred, greatly hurt, and sadly worn by his day of +expectation, had no self-restraint left, and flew out into a +regular passion, calling his brother angry names. Harold, +just as passionate, went into a rage too, and scolded his brother +for his fancies. Mrs. King, in great displeasure, turned +him out, and he rushed off to ride like one mad to Elbury; and +poor Alfred remained so much shocked at his own outbreak, just +when he meant to have been good ever after, and sobbing so +miserably, that no one could calm him at all; and Ellen, as the +only hope, put on her bonnet to fetch Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>At that moment Paul was come for his bit of bread. She +found him looking dismayed at the sounds of violent weeping from +above, and he asked what it was.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Alfred is so low and so bad, and he wants Mr. +Cope! Here’s your bread, don’t keep +me!’</p> +<p>‘Let me go! I’ll be quicker!’ cried +Paul; and before she could thank him, he was down the garden and +right across the first field.</p> +<p>Alfred had had time to cry himself exhausted, and to be lying +very still, almost faint, before Mr. Cope came in in the summer +twilight. Good Paul! He had found that Mr. Cope was +dining at Ragglesford and had run all the way thither; and here +was the kind young Curate, quite breathless with his haste, and +never regretting the cheerful party whence he had been called +away. All Alfred could say was, ‘O Sir, I shall die; +and I’m a bad boy, and wouldn’t heed you when you +said so.’</p> +<p>‘And God has made you see your sins, my poor boy,’ +said Mr. Cope. ‘That is a great blessing.’</p> +<p>‘But if I can’t do anything to make up for them, +what’s the use? And I never shall be well +again.’</p> +<p>‘You can’t make up for them; but there is One Who +has made up for them, if you will only truly repent.’</p> +<p>‘I wasn’t sorry till I knew I should die,’ +said Alfred.</p> +<p>‘No, your sins did not come home to you! Now, do +you know what they are?’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes; I’ve been a bad boy to Mother, and at +church; and I’ve been cross to Ellen, and quarrelled with +Harold; and I was so audacious at my Lady’s, they +couldn’t keep me. I never did want really to be +good. Oh! I know I shall go to the bad +place!’</p> +<p>‘No, Alfred, not if you so repent, that you can hold to +our Blessed Saviour’s promise. There is a fountain +open for sin and all uncleanness.’</p> +<p>‘It is very good of Him,’ said Alfred, a little +more tranquilly, not in the half-sob in which he had before +spoken.</p> +<p>‘Most merciful!’ said Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>‘But does it mean me?’ continued Alfred.</p> +<p>‘You were baptized, Alfred, you have a right to all His +promises of pardon.’ And he repeated the blessed +sentences:</p> +<p>‘Come unto Me, all that travail and are heavy laden, and +I will refresh you.’</p> +<p>‘God so loved the world, that He gave His only-begotten +Son, to the end that all that believe in Him should not perish, +but have everlasting life.’</p> +<p>‘But how ought I to believe, Sir?’</p> +<p>‘You say you feel what your sins are; think of them all +as you lie, each one as you remember it; say it out in your heart +to our Saviour, and pray God to forgive it for His sake, and then +think that it cost some of the pain He bore on the Cross, some of +the drops of His agony in the Garden. Each sin of ours was +indeed of that burden!’</p> +<p>‘Oh, that will make them seem so bad!’</p> +<p>‘Indeed it does; but how it will make you love Him, and +feel thankful to Him, and anxious not to waste the sufferings +borne for your sake, and glad, perhaps, that you are bearing some +small thing yourself. But you are spent, and I had better +not talk more now. Let me read you a few prayers to help +you, and then I will leave you, and come again +to-morrow.’</p> +<p>How differently those Prayers and Psalms sounded to Alfred now +that he had really a heart grieved and wearied with the burthen +of sin! The point was to make his not a frightened heart, +but a contrite heart.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII—HAROLD TAKES A WRONG TURN</h2> +<p>Mrs. King was very anxious about Alfred for many hours after +this visit from the Curate, for he was continually crying, not +violently, but the tears flowing quietly from his eyes as he lay, +thinking. Sometimes it was the badness of the faults as he +saw them now, looking so very different from what they did when +they were committed in the carelessness of fun and high spirits, +or viewed afterwards in the hardening light of +self-justification. Now they did look so wantonly hard and +rude—unkind to his sister, ruinous to Harold, regardless of +his widowed mother, reckless of his God—that each one +seemed to cut into him with a sense of its own badness, and he +was quite as much grieved as afraid; he hated the fault, and +hated himself for it.</p> +<p>Indeed, he was growing less afraid, for the sorrow seemed to +swallow that up; the grief at having offended One so loving was +putting out the terror of being punished; or rather, when he +thought that this illness was punishment, he was almost glad to +have some of what he deserved; just as when he was a little boy, +he really used to be happier afterwards for having been whipped +and put in the corner, because that was like making it up. +Though he knew very well that if he had ten thousand times worse +than this to bear, it would not be making up for his faults, and +he felt now that one of them had been his ‘despising the +chastening of the Lord.’ And then the thought of what +had made up for it would come: and though he had known of it all +his life, and heeded it all too little, now that his heart was +tender, and he had felt some of the horror and pain of sin, he +took it all home now, and clung to it. He recollected the +verses about that One kneeling—nay, falling on the ground, +in the cold dewy night, with the chosen friends who could not +watch with Him, and the agony and misery that every one in all +the world deserved to feel, gathering on Him, Who had done no +wrong, and making His brow stream with great drops of Blood.</p> +<p>And the tortures, the shame, the slow Death—circumstance +after circumstance came to his mind, and ‘for me,’ +‘this fault of mine helped,’ would rise with it, and +the tears trickled down at the thought of the suffering and of +the Love that had caused it to be undergone.</p> +<p>Once he raised up his head, and saw through the window the +deep dark-blue sky, and the stars, twinkling and sparkling away; +that pale band of light, the Milky Way, which they say is made of +countless stars too far off to be distinguished, and looking like +a cloud, and on it the larger, brighter burnished stars, +differing from one another in glory. He thought of some +lines in a book Miss Jane once gave Ellen, which said of the +stars:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The Lord resigned them all to gain<br /> +The bliss of pardoning thee.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And when he thought that it was the King of those stars Who +was scourged and spit on, and for the sake of <i>his</i> faults, +the loving tears came again, and he turned to another hymn of +Ellen’s:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me,<br /> +Let me hide myself in Thee!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And going on with this, he fell into a more quiet sleep than +he had had for many nights.</p> +<p>Alfred had worked up his mind to a point where it could not +long remain; and when he awoke in the morning, the common affairs +of the day occupied him in a way that was not hurtful to him, as +the one chief thought was ever present, only laid away for a +time, and helping him when he might have been fretful or +impatient.</p> +<p>He was anxious for Mr. Cope, and grateful when he saw him +coming early in the day. Mr. Cope did not, however, say +anything very new. He chiefly wished to shew Alfred that he +must not think all his struggle with sin over, and that he had +nothing to do but to lie still and be pardoned. There was +much more work, as he would find, when the present strong feeling +should grow a little blunt; he would have to keep his will bent +to bear what was sent by God, and to prove his repentance by +curing himself of all his bad habits of peevishness and exacting; +to learn, in fact, to take up his cross.</p> +<p>Alfred feebly promised to try, and it did not seem so +difficult just then. The days were becoming cooler, and he +did not feel quite so ill; and though he did not know how much +this helped him, it made it much easier to act on his good +resolutions. Miss Selby came to see him, and was quite +delighted to see him looking so much less uncomfortable and +dismal.</p> +<p>‘Why, Alfred,’ said she, ‘you must be much +better.’</p> +<p>Ellen looked mournful at this, and shook her head so that Miss +Jane turned her bright face to her in alarm.</p> +<p>‘No, Ma’am,’ said Alfred. ‘Dr. +Blunt says I can never get over it.’</p> +<p>‘And does that make you glad?’ almost gasped Miss +Jane.</p> +<p>‘No, Ma’am,’ said Alfred; ‘but Mr. +Cope has been talking to me, and made it all so—’</p> +<p>He could not get out the words; and, besides, he saw Miss +Jane’s eyes winking very fast to check the tears, and +Ellen’s had begun to rain down fast.</p> +<p>‘I didn’t mean to be silly,’ said little +Jane, in rather a trembling voice; ‘but I’m +sorry—no—I’m glad you are happy and good, +Alfred.’</p> +<p>‘Not good, Miss Jane,’ cried Alfred; +‘I’m such a bad boy, but there are such good things +as I never minded before—’</p> +<p>‘Well then, I think you’ll like what I’ve +brought you,’ said Jane eagerly.</p> +<p>It was a little framed picture of our Blessed Lord on His +Cross, all darkness round, and the Inscription above His Head; +and Miss Jane had painted, in tall Old English red letters, under +it the two words, ‘For me.’</p> +<p>Alfred looked at it as if indeed it would be a great comfort +to him to be always reminded by the eye, of how ‘He was +wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for our +iniquities.’</p> +<p>He thanked Miss Jane with all his heart, and she and Ellen +soon found a place to hang it up well in his sight. It was +a pretty bright sight to see her insisting on holding the nail +for it, and then playfully pretending to shrink and fancy that +Ellen would hammer her fingers.</p> +<p>Alfred could enjoy the sunshine of his sick-room again; and +Ellen and his mother down-stairs told Miss Selby, with many +tears, of the happy change that had come over him ever since he +had resigned himself to give up hopes of life. Mrs. King +looked so peaceful and thankful, that little Jane could hardly +understand what it was that made her so much more at rest.</p> +<p>Even Ellen, though her heart ached at the hope having gone +out, and left a dark place where it had been, felt the great +relief from hour to hour of not being fretted and snarled at for +whatever she either did or left undone. Thanks and smiles +were much pleasanter payment than groans, murmurs, and scoldings; +and the brother and sister sometimes grew quite cheerful and +merry together, as Alfred lay raised up to look over the hedge +into the harvest-field across the meadow, where the reaper and +his wife might be seen gathering the brown ears round, and +cutting them with the sickle, and others going after to bind them +into the glorious wheat sheaves that leant against each other in +heaps of blessed promise of plenty.</p> +<p>Paul tried reaping; but the first thing he did was to make a +terrible cut in his hand, which the shuffler told him was for +good luck! Some of the women in the field bound it up, but +he was good for nothing after it except going after the cattle, +and so he was likely to lose all the chance of earning himself +any better clothes in harvest-time.</p> +<p>Harold grumbled dreadfully that his mother could not spare him +to go harvesting beyond their own tiny quarter of an acre of +wheat. The post made it impossible for him to go out to +work like the labourers; and besides, his mother did not think he +had gained much good in hay-time, and wished to keep him from the +boys.</p> +<p>Very hard he thought it; and to hear him grumble, any one +would have thought Mrs. King was a tyrant far worse than Farmer +Shepherd, working the flesh off his bones, taking away the fun +and the payment alike.</p> +<p>The truth was, that the morning when Harold threw away from +him the thought of his brother’s danger, and broke all his +promises to him in the selfish fear of a rebuke from the +clergyman, had been one of the turning-points of his life, and a +turning-point for the bad. It had been a hardening of his +heart, just as it had begun to be touched, and a letting in of +evil spirits instead of good ones.</p> +<p>He became more than ever afraid of Mr. Cope, and shirked going +near him so as to be spoken to; he cut Ellen off short if she +said a word to him, and avoided being with Alfred, partly because +it made him melancholy, partly because he was afraid of +Alfred’s again talking to him about the evil of his +ways. In reality, his secret soul was wretched at the +thought of losing his brother; but he tried to put the notion +away from him, and to drown it in the noisiest jokes and most +riotous sports he could meet with, keeping company with the +wildest lads about the parish. That Dick Royston +especially, whose honesty was doubtful, but who, being a clever +fellow, was a sort of leader, was doing great harm by setting his +face against the new parson, and laughing at the boys who went to +him. Mrs. King was very unhappy. It was almost worse +to think of Harold than of his sick brother; and Alfred grieved +very much too, and took to himself the blame of having made home +miserable to Harold, and driven him into bad company; of having +been so peevish and unpleasant, that it was no wonder he would +not come near him more than could be helped; and above all, of +having set a bad example of idleness and recklessness, when he +was well. If the tears were brought into his eyes at first +by some unkind neglect of Harold’s, they were sure to end +in this thought at last; and then the only comfort was, that Mr. +Cope had told him that he might make his sick-bed very precious +to his brother’s welfare, by praying always for him.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope had talked it over with Mrs. King; and they had +agreed that as Harold was under the regular age for Confirmation, +and seemed so little disposed to prepare for it in earnest, they +would not press it on him. He was far from fit for it, and +he was in such a mood of impatient irreverence, that Mr. Cope was +afraid of making his sin worse by forcing serious things on him, +and his mother was in constant fear of losing her last hold on +him.</p> +<p>Yet Harold was not a bad or unfeeling boy by nature; and if he +would but have paused to think, he would have been shocked to see +how cruelly he was paining his widowed mother and dying brother, +just when he should have been their strength and stay.</p> +<p>One afternoon in October, when Alfred was in a good deal of +pain, Mr. Blunt said he would send out some cooling ointment for +the wound at the joint, when Harold took the evening letters into +Elbury. Alfred reckoned much on the relief this was to +give, and watched the ticks of the clock for the time for Harold +to set off.</p> +<p>‘Make haste,’ were the last words his mother +spoke—and Harold fully meant to make haste; nor was it +weather to tempt him to stay long, for there was a chill raw fog +hanging over the meadows, and fast turning into rain, which hung +in drops upon his eyebrows, and the many-tiered cape of his +father’s box-coat, which he always wore in bad +weather. It was fortunate he was likely to meet nothing, +and that he and the pony both knew the road pretty well.</p> +<p>How fuzzy the grey fog made the lamps of the town look! +Did they disturb the pony? What a stumble! Ha! +there’s a shoe off. Be it known that it was +Harold’s own fault; he had not looked at the shoes for many +a morning, as he knew it was his duty to do.</p> +<p>He left Peggy with her ears back, much discomposed at being +shod in a strange forge, and by any one but Bill Saunders.</p> +<p>Then Harold was going to leave his bag at the post-office, +when, as he turned up the street, some one caught hold of him, +and cried, ‘Ho! Harold King on foot! +What’s the row? Old pony tumbled down +dead?’</p> +<p>‘Cast a shoe,’ said Harold.</p> +<p>‘Oh, jolly, you’ll have to wait!’ went on +Dick Royston. ‘Come in here! Here’s such +a lark!’</p> +<p>Harold looked into a court-yard belonging to a low +public-house, and saw what was like a tent, with a bright red +star on a blue ground at the end, lighted up. A dark figure +came between, and there was a sudden crack that made Harold +start.</p> +<p>‘It’s the unique (he called it eu-ni-quee) royal +shooting-gallery, patronized by his Royal Highness the Prince of +Wales,’ (what a story!) said Dick. +‘You’ve only to lay down your tin; one copper for +three shots, and if you hit, you may take your +choice—gingerbread-nuts, or bits of cocoa-nut, or, +what’s jolliest, lollies with gin inside ’em! +Come, blaze away! or ha’n’t you got the money? +Does Mother keep you too short?’</p> +<p>If there was a thing Harold had a longing for, it was to fire +off a gun! If there was a person he envied more than +another, it was old Isaac Coffin, when he prowled up and down +Farmer Ledbitter’s fields with an old blunderbuss and some +powder, to keep off the birds!</p> +<p>To be sure it was a public-house, but it was not inside +one! And Mother would call it gambling. Oh, but it +wasn’t cards or skittles! And if he shot away his +half-pence, how should he pay for the shoeing of the pony? +The blacksmith might trust him, or the clerk at the post-office +would lend him the money, or Betsey Hardman. And the +time? One shot would not waste much! Pony must be +shod. Besides, Dick and all the rest would say he was a +baby.</p> +<p>He paid the penny, threw aside his cap, and took the gun, +though after all it was only a sham one, and what a miss he +made! What business had every one to set up that great +hoarse laugh? which made him so angry that he had nearly turned +on Dick and cuffed him for his pains.</p> +<p>However, he was the more bent on trying again, and the owner +of the gallery shewed him how to manage better. He hit +anything but the middle of the star, and just saw how he thought +he might hit next time. Next time was barely a miss, so +that the man actually gave him a gin-drop to encourage him. +That made him mad to meet with real success; but it was the turn +of another ‘young gent,’ as the man called him, and +Harold had to stand by, with his penny in his hand, burning with +impatience, and fancying he could mend each shot of that young +gent, and another, and another, and another, who all thrust in to +claim their rights before him. His turn came at last; and +so short and straight was the gallery, that he really did hit +once the side of the star, and once the middle, and thus gained +one gingerbread-nut, and three of the gin-drops.</p> +<p>It would have been his nature to share them with Alfred, but +he could not do so without saying where he had been, and that he +could not do, so he gave one to Dick, and swallowed the rest to +keep out the cold.</p> +<p>Just then the town clock struck six, and frightened him. +He had been there three-quarters of an hour. What would +they say at the post-office?</p> +<p>The clerk looked out of his hole as angry as clerk could +look. ‘This won’t do, King,’ he +said. ‘Late for sorting! Fine, +remember—near an hour after time.’</p> +<p>‘Pony cast a shoe, Sir,’ said Harold. He had +never been so near a downright falsehood.</p> +<p>‘Whew! Then I suppose I must not report you this +time! But look out! You’re getting +slack.’</p> +<p>No time this for borrowing of the clerk. Harold was +really frightened, for he <i>had</i> dawdled much more than he +ought of late, and though he sometimes fancied himself sick of +the whole post business, a complaint to his mother would be a +dreadful matter. It put everything else out of his head; +and he ran off in great haste to get the money from Betsey +Hardman, knocking loud at her green door.</p> +<p>What a cloud of steamy heat the room was, with the fire +glowing like a red furnace, and five black irons standing up +before it; and clothes-baskets full of heaps of whiteness, and +horses with vapoury webs of lace and cambric hanging on them; and +the three ironing-boards, where smoothness ran along with the +irons; and the heaps of folded clothes; and Betsey in her white +apron, broad and red in the midst of her maidens!</p> +<p>‘Ha! Harold King! Well, to be sure, you are +a stranger! Don’t come nigh that there hoss; +it’s Mrs. Parnell’s best pocket-handkerchiefs, real +Walencines!’ (she meant Valenciennes.) ‘If +you’ll just run up and see Mother, I’ll have it out +of the way, and we’ll have a cup of tea.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, but I—’</p> +<p>‘My! What a smoke ye’re in! Take care, +or I shall have ’em all to do over again. Go up to +Mother, do, like a good lad.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t, Betsey; I must go home.’</p> +<p>‘Ay! that’s the way. Lads never can sit down +sensible and comfortable! it’s all the +same—’</p> +<p>‘I wanted,’ said Harold, interrupting her, +‘to ask you to lend me sixpence. Pony’s cast a +shoe, and I had to leave her with the smith.’</p> +<p>‘Ay? Who did you leave her with?’</p> +<p>‘The first I came to, up in Wood Street.’</p> +<p>‘Myers. Ye shouldn’t have done that. +His wife’s the most stuck-up proud body I ever +saw—wears steel petticoats, I’ll answer for it. +You should have gone to Charles Shaw.’</p> +<p>‘Can’t help it,’ said Harold. +‘Please, Betsey, let me have the sixpence; I’ll pay +you faithfully to-morrow!’</p> +<p>‘Ay! that’s always the way. Never come in +unless ye want somewhat. ‘Twasn’t the way your +poor father went on! He’d a civil word for every +one. Well, and can’t you stop a minute to say how +your poor brother is?’</p> +<p>‘Much the same,’ said Harold impatiently.</p> +<p>‘Yes, he’ll never be no better, poor thing! +All decliny; as I says to Mother, what a misfortune it is upon +poor Cousin King! they’ll all go off, one after +t’other, just like innocents to the slaughter.’</p> +<p>This was not a cheerful prediction; and Harold petulantly said +he must get back, and begged for the sixpence. He got it at +last, but not till all Betsey’s pocket had been turned out; +and finding nothing but shillings and threepenny-bits, she went +all through her day’s expenses aloud, calling all her girls +to witness to help her to account for the sixpence that ought to +have been there.</p> +<p>Mrs. Brown had paid her four and sixpence—one florin and +a half-crown—and she had three threepenny-pieces in her +pocket, and twopence. Then Sally had been out and got a +shilling’s-worth of soap, and six-penn’orth of blue, +and brought home one shilling; and there was the +sausages—no one could recollect what they had cost, though +they talked so much about their taste; and five-pence-worth of +red-herrings, and the butter; yes, and threepence to the beggar +who said he had been in Sebastopol. Harold’s head was +ready to turn round before it was all done; but he got away at +last, with a scolding for not going up to see Mother.</p> +<p>Home he trotted as hard as the pony would go, holding his head +down to try to bury nose and mouth in his collar, and the thick +rain plastering his hair, and streaming down the back of his +neck. What an ill-used wretch was he, said he to himself, +to have to rattle all over the country in such weather!</p> +<p>Here was home at last. How comfortable looked the bright +light, as the cottage door was thrown open at the sound of the +horse’s feet!</p> +<p>‘Well, Harold!’ cried Ellen eagerly, ‘is +anything the matter?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ he said, beginning to get sulky because he +felt he was wrong; ‘only Peggy lost a +shoe—’</p> +<p>‘Lame?’</p> +<p>‘No, I took her to the smith.’</p> +<p>‘Give me Alfred’s ointment, please, before you put +her up. He is in such a way about it, and we can’t +put him to bed—’</p> +<p>‘Haven’t got it.’</p> +<p>‘Not got it! O Harold!’</p> +<p>‘I should like to know how to be minding such things +when pony loses a shoe, and such weather! I declare +I’m as wet—!’ said Harold angrily, as he saw +his sister clasp her hands in distress, and the tears come in her +eyes.</p> +<p>‘Is Harold come safe?’ called Mrs. King from +above.</p> +<p>‘Is the ointment come?’ cried Alfred, in a piteous +pain-worn voice.</p> +<p>Harold stamped his foot, and bolted to the stable to put the +pony away.</p> +<p>‘It’s not come,’ said Ellen, coming +up-stairs, very sadly.</p> +<p>‘He has forgot it.’</p> +<p>‘Forgot it!’ cried Alfred, raising himself +passionately. ‘He always does forget +everything! He don’t care for me one farthing! +I believe he wants me dead!’</p> +<p>‘This is very bad of him! I didn’t think +he’d have done it,’ said Mrs. King sorrowfully.</p> +<p>‘He’s been loitering after some mischief,’ +exclaimed Alfred. ‘Taking his pleasure—and I +must stay all this time in pain! Serve him right to send +him back to Elbury.’</p> +<p>Mrs. King had a great mind to have done so; but when she +looked at the torrents of rain that streamed against the window, +and thought how wet Harold must be already, and of the fatal +illnesses that had been begun by being exposed to such weather, +she was afraid to venture a boy with such a family constitution, +and turning back to Alfred, she said, ‘I am very sorry, +Alfred, but it can’t be helped; I can’t send Harold +out in the rain again, or we shall have him ill too.’</p> +<p>Poor Alfred! it was no trifle to have suffered all day, and to +be told the pain must go on all night. His patience and all +his better thoughts were quite worn away, and he burst into tears +of anger and cried out that it was very hard—his mother +cared for Harold more than for him, and nobody minded it, if he +lay in such pain all night.</p> +<p>‘You know better than that, dear,’ said his poor +mother, sadly grieved, but bearing it meekly. ‘Harold +shall go as soon as can be to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘And what good will that be to-night?’ grumbled +Alfred. ‘But you always did put Harold before +me. However, I shall soon be dead and out of your way, +that’s all!’</p> +<p>Mrs. King would not make any answer to this speech, knowing it +only made him worse. She went down to see about Harold, an +additional offence to Alfred, who muttered something about +‘Mother and her darling.’</p> +<p>‘How can you, Alfred, speak so to Mother?’ cried +Ellen.</p> +<p>‘I’m sure every one is cross enough to me,’ +returned Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Not Mother,’ said Ellen. ‘She +couldn’t help it.’</p> +<p>‘She won’t send Harold out again, though; +I’m sure I’d have gone for him.’</p> +<p>‘You don’t know what the rain was,’ said +Ellen.</p> +<p>‘Well, he should have minded; but you’re all +against me.’</p> +<p>‘You’ll be sorry by-and-by, Alfred; this +isn’t like the way you talk sometimes.’</p> +<p>‘Some one else had need to be sorry, not me.’</p> +<p>Perhaps, in the midst of his captious state, Alfred was +somewhat pacified by hearing sounds below that made him certain +that Harold was not escaping without some strong words from his +mother.</p> +<p>They were not properly taken. Harold was in no mood of +repentance, and the consciousness that he had been behaving most +unkindly, only made him more rough and self-justifying.</p> +<p>‘I can’t help it! I can’t be a slave +to run about everywhere, and remember everything—pony +losing her shoe, and nigh tumbling down with me, and Ross at the +post so cross for nothing!’</p> +<p>‘You’ll grieve at the way you have used your poor +brother one of these days, Harold,’ quietly answered his +mother, so low, that Alfred could not hear through the +floor. ‘Now, you’ll please to go to +bed.’</p> +<p>‘Ain’t I to have no supper?’ said Harold in +a sullen voice, with a great mind to sit down in the +chimney-corner in defiance.</p> +<p>‘I shall give you something hot when you are in +bed. If I treated you as you deserve, I should send you to +Mr. Blunt’s this moment; but I can’t afford to have +you ill too, so go to bed this moment.’</p> +<p>His mother could still master him by her steadiness and he +went up, muttering that he’d no notion of being treated +like a baby, and that he would soon shew her the difference: he +wasn’t going to be made a slave to Alfred, and ’twas +all a fuss about that stuff!</p> +<p>He did fancy he said his prayers; but they could not have been +real ones, for he was no softer when his mother came to his +bedside with a great basin of hot gruel. He said he hated +such nasty sick stuff, and grunted savagely when, with a look +that ought to have gone to his heart, she asked if he thought he +deserved anything better.</p> +<p>Yet she did not know of the shooting gallery, nor of his false +excuses. If he had not been deceiving her, perhaps he might +have been touched.</p> +<p>‘Well, Harold,’ she said at last, after taking the +empty basin from him, and picking up his wet clothes and boots to +dry them by the fire, ‘I hope as you lie there you’ll +come to a better mind. It makes me afraid for you, my +boy. It is not only your brother you are sinning against, +but if you are a bad boy, you know Who will be angry with +you. Good-night.’</p> +<p>She lingered, but Harold was still hard, and would neither own +himself sorry, nor say good-night.</p> +<p>When she passed his bed at the top of the stairs again, after +hanging up the things by the fire, he had his head hidden, and +either was, or feigned to be, asleep.</p> +<p>Alfred’s ill-temper was nearly gone, but he still +thought himself grievously injured, and was at no pains to keep +himself from groaning and moaning all the time he was being put +to bed. In fact, he rather liked to make the most of it, to +shew his mother how provoking she was, and to reproach Harold for +his neglect.</p> +<p>The latter purpose he did not effect; Harold heard every +sound, and consoled himself by thinking what an intolerable work +Alfred was making on purpose. If he had tried to bear it as +well as possible, his brother would have been much more likely to +be sorry.</p> +<p>Alfred was thinking too much about his misfortunes and +discomforts to attend to the evening reading, but it soothed him +a little, and the pain was somewhat less, so he did fall asleep, +so uneasily though, that Mrs. King put off going to bed as late +as she could.</p> +<p>It was nearly eleven, and Ellen had been in bed a long time, +when Alfred started, and Mrs. King turned her head, at the click +of the wicket gate, and a step plashing on the walk. She +opened the little window, and the gust of wet wind puffed the +curtains, whistled round the room, and almost blew out the +candle.</p> +<p>‘Who’s there?</p> +<p>‘It’s me, Mrs. King! I’ve got the +stuff,’ called a hoarse tired voice.</p> +<p>‘Well, if ever! It’s Paul Blackthorn!’ +exclaimed Mrs. King. ‘Thank ye kindly. +I’ll come and let you in.’</p> +<p>‘Paul Blackthorn!’ cried Alfred. ‘Been +all the way to Elbury for me! O Mother, bring him up, and +let me thank him! But how ever did he know?’ +The tears came running down Alfred’s cheeks at such +kindness from a stranger. Mrs. King had hurried +down-stairs, and at the threshold stood a watery figure, holding +out the gallipot.</p> +<p>‘Oh! thank you, thank you; but come in! Yes, come +in! you must have something hot, and get dried.’</p> +<p>Paul shambled in very foot-sore. He looked as if he were +made of moist mud, and might be squeezed into any shape, and +streams of rain were dropping from each of his many rags.</p> +<p>‘Well, I don’t know how to thank you—such a +night! But he’ll sleep easy now. How did you +come to think of it?’</p> +<p>‘I was just coming home from the parson’s, and I +met Harold putting up Peggy, in a great way because he’d +forgotten. That’s all, Missus,’ said Paul, +looking shamefaced. ‘Good-night to you.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, that won’t do. I must have you sit +down and get dry,’ said Mrs. King, nursing up the remains +of the fire; and as Paul’s day-garments served him for +night-gear likewise, he could hardly help accepting the +invitation, and spreading his chilled hands to the fire.</p> +<p>As to Mrs. King’s feelings, it must be owned that, +grateful as she was, it was rather like sitting opposite to the +heap in the middle of Mr. Shepherd’s farm-yard.</p> +<p>‘Would you take that?’ she said, holding out a +three-penny piece. ‘I’d make it twice as much +if I could, but times are hard.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, Missus, I didn’t do it for that,’ +said Paul, putting it aside.</p> +<p>‘Then you must have some supper, that I +declare.’</p> +<p>And she brought out a slice of cold bacon, and some bread, and +warmed some beer at the fire. She would go without bacon +and beer herself to-morrow, but that was nothing to her. It +was a real pleasure to see the colour come into Paul’s bony +yellow cheeks at the hearty meal, which he could not refuse; but +he did not speak much, for he was tired out, and the fire and the +beer were making him very sleepy.</p> +<p>Alfred rapped above with the stick that served as a +bell. It was to beg that Paul would come and be thanked; +and though Mrs. King was a little afraid of the experiment, she +did ask him to walk up for a moment.</p> +<p>Grunt went he, and in rather an unmannerly way, he said, +‘I’d rather not.’</p> +<p>‘Pray do,’ said Mrs. King; ‘I don’t +think Alfred will sleep easy without saying thank you.’</p> +<p>So Paul complied, and in a most ungainly fashion clumped +up-stairs and stood at the door. He had not forgotten his +last reception, and would not come a step farther, though Alfred +stretched out his hand and begged him to come in.</p> +<p>Alfred could say only ‘Thank you, I never thought any +one would be so kind.’</p> +<p>And Paul made gruff reply, ‘Ye’re very +welcome,’ turned about as if he were running away, and +tumbled down-stairs, and out of the house, without even answering +Mrs. King’s ‘Good-night.’</p> +<p>Harold had wakened at the sounds. He heard all, but he +chose to seem to be asleep, and, would you believe it? he was +only the more provoked! Paul’s exertion made his +neglect seem all the worse, and he was positively angry with him +for ‘going and meddling, and poking his nose where +he’d no concern. Now he shouldn’t be able to +get the stuff to-morrow, and so make it up; and of course mother +would go and dock Paul’s supper out of his +dinner!’</p> +<p>If such reflections were going on upon one side of the +partition, there were very different thoughts upon the +other. The stranger’s kindness had done more than +relieve Alfred’s pain: the warm sense of thankfulness had +softened his spirit, and carried off his selfish fit. He +knew not how kind people were to him, and how ungrateful he had +been to punish his innocent mother and sister, and so much to +magnify a bit of thoughtlessness on Harold’s part; to be +angry with his mother for not driving him out when she thought it +might endanger his health and life, and to say such cruel things +on purpose to wound her. Alfred felt himself far more cruel +than he had even thought Harold.</p> +<p>And was this his resolution? Was this the shewing the +sincerity of his repentance through his conduct in illness? +Was this patience? Was it brotherly love? Was it the +taking up the cross so as to bear it like his Saviour, Who spoke +no word of complaining, no murmur against His tormentors?</p> +<p>How he had fallen! How he had lost himself! It was +a bitter distress, and threw him almost into despair. He +prayed over and over to be forgiven, and began to long for some +assurance of pardon, and for something to prevent all his right +feelings and wishes from thus seeming to slip away from his grasp +at the first trial.</p> +<p>He told his mother how sorry he was; and she answered, +‘Dear lad, don’t fret about it. It was very +hard for you to bear, and you are but learning, you see, to be +patient.’</p> +<p>‘But I’m not learning if I don’t go on no +better,’ sighed Alfred.</p> +<p>‘By bits you are, my boy,’ she said; ‘you +are much less fractious now than you used to be, only you could +not stand this out-of-the-way trial.’</p> +<p>Alfred groaned.</p> +<p>‘Do you remember what our Saviour said to St. +Peter?’ said his mother; ‘“Whither I go thou +canst not follow Me now, but thou shalt follow Me +afterwards.” You see, St. Peter couldn’t bear +his cross then, but he went on doing his best, and grieving when +he failed, and by-and-by he did bear it almost like his +Master. He got to be made strong out of +weakness.’</p> +<p>There was some comfort to Alfred in this; but he feared, and +yet longed, to see Mr. Cope, and when he came, had scarcely +answered his questions as to how he felt, before he said, +‘O Sir, I’ve been a bad boy again, and so cross to +them all!’</p> +<p>‘O Sir,’ said Ellen, who could not bear for him to +blame himself, ‘I’m sure it was no +wonder—he’s so distracted with the pain, and Harold +getting idling, and forgetting to bring him the ointment. +Why, even that vagabond boy was so shocked, that he went all the +way to Elbury that very night for it. I told Alfred +you’d tell him that anybody would be put out, and nobody +would think of minding what he said.’</p> +<p>‘Nobody, especially so kind a sister,’ said Mr. +Cope, smiling; ‘but that is not what Alfred is thinking +of.’</p> +<p>‘No, Sir,’ said Alfred; ‘their being so good +to me makes it all the worse.’</p> +<p>‘I quite believe so; and you are very much disappointed +in yourself.’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, Sir, just when I wanted to be getting patient, +and more like—’ and his eyes turned to the little +picture, and filled with tears.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope said somewhat of what his mother had said that he was +but a scholar in patience, and that he must take courage, though +he had slipped, and pray for new strengthening and refreshing to +go on in the path of pain his Lord had hallowed for him.</p> +<p>Perhaps the words reminded Alfred of the part of the Catechism +where they occur, for he said, ‘Oh, I wish I was +confirmed! If I could but take the Holy Sacrament, to make +me stronger, and sure of being forgiven—’</p> +<p>‘You shall—before—’ said Mr. Cope, +speaking eagerly, but becoming choked as he went on. +‘You are one whom the Church would own as ready and +desirous to come, though you cannot be confirmed. You +should at once—but you see I am not yet a priest; I have +not the power to administer the Holy Communion; but I trust I +shall be one in the spring, and then, Alfred—Or if you +should be worse, I promise you that I would bring some one +here. You shall not go without the Bread of +Life.’</p> +<p>Alfred felt what he said to the depths of his heart, but he +could not say anything but ‘Thank you, Sir.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope, still much moved, laid his hand upon that of the +boy. ‘So, Alfred, we prepare together. As I +hope and long to prepare myself to have that great charge +committed to me, which our Saviour Christ gave to His Apostles; +so you prepare for the receiving of that Bread and that Cup which +will more fully unite you to Him, and join your suffering to what +He bore for you.’</p> +<p>‘How shall I, Sir?’ murmured Alfred.</p> +<p>‘I will do my best to shew you,’ said Mr. Cope; +‘but your Catechism tells you best. Think over that +last answer.’</p> +<p>Alfred’s face lighted sweetly as he went over it. +‘Why, that’s what I can’t help doing, Sir; I +can’t forget my faults, I’m so afraid of them; and +I’m sure I do want to lead a new life, if I didn’t +keep on being so bad; and thinking about His dying is the best +comfort I have. Nor I’m sure I don’t bear +ill-will to nobody, only I suppose it is not charity to run out +at poor Mother and Ellen when one’s put out.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps that is what you want to learn,’ said Mr. +Cope, ‘and to get all these feelings deepened, and more +earnest and steadfast. If the long waiting does that for +you, it will be good, and keep you from coming lightly to the +Holy Feast.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I could not do that!’ exclaimed Alfred. +‘And may I think that all my faults will be taken away and +forgiven?’</p> +<p>‘All you repent of, and bring in faith—’</p> +<p>‘That is what they say at church in the +Absolution,’ said Alfred thoughtfully.</p> +<p>‘Rather it is what the priest says to them,’ said +Mr. Cope; ‘it is the applying the promise of forgiveness +that our Saviour bought. I may not yet say those words with +authority, Alfred, but I should like to hope that some day I may +speak them to you, and bring rest from the weight at your +heart.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! I hope I may live to that!’ said +Alfred.</p> +<p>‘You shall hear them, whether from me or from +another,’ said Mr. Cope, ‘that is, if God will grant +us warning. But you need not fear, Alfred, if you +thoroughly repent, and put your full faith in the great Sacrifice +that has been offered for your sins and the sins of all the +world. God will take care of His child, and you already +have His promise that He will give you all that is needful for +your salvation.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII—CONFIRMATION</h2> +<p>If Harold had known all the consequences of his neglect, +perhaps he would have been more sorry for it than as yet he had +chosen to be.</p> +<p>The long walk and the warm beer and fire sent Paul to his +hay-nest so heavy with sleep, that he never stirred till next +morning he was wakened by Tom Boldre, the shuffler, kicking him +severely, and swearing at him for a lazy fellow, who stayed out +at night and left him to do his work.</p> +<p>Paul stumbled to his feet, quite confused by the pain, and +feeling for his shoes in the dark loft. The shuffler +scarcely gave him an instant to put them on, but hunted him +down-stairs, telling him the farmer was there, and he would catch +it.</p> +<p>It would do nobody any good to hear the violent way in which +Mr. Shepherd abused the boy. He was a passionate man, and +no good labourers liked to work with him because of his +tongue. With such grown men as he had, he was obliged to +keep himself under some restraint, but this only incited him to +make up for it towards the poor friendless boy.</p> +<p>It was really nearly eight o’clock, and Paul’s +work had been neglected, which was enough to cause displeasure; +and besides, Boldre had heard Paul coming home past eleven, and +the farmer insisted on knowing what he had been doing.</p> +<p>Under all his rags, Paul was a very proud boy, and thus asked, +he would not tell, but stood with his legs twisted, looking very +sulky.</p> +<p>‘No use asking him,’ cried Mrs. Shepherd’s +shrill voice at the back door; ‘why, don’t ye hear +that Mrs. Barker’s hen-roost has been robbed by Dick +Royston and two or three more on ’em?’</p> +<p>‘I never robbed!’ cried Paul indignantly.</p> +<p>‘None of your jaw,’ said the farmer angrily. +‘If you don’t tell me this moment where you’ve +been, off you go this instant. Drinking at the Tankard, +I’ll warrant.’</p> +<p>‘No such thing, Sir,’ said Paul. ‘I +went to Elbury after some medicine for a sick person.’</p> +<p>Somehow he had a feeling about the house opposite, which would +not let him come out with the name in such a scene.</p> +<p>‘That’s all stuff,’ broke in Mrs. Shepherd, +‘I don’t believe one word of it! Send him off; +take my advice, Farmer, let him go where he comes from; Ellen +King told me he was out of prison.’</p> +<p>Paul flushed crimson at this, and shook all over. He had +all but turned to go, caring for nothing more at Friarswood; but +just then, John Farden, one of the labourers, who was carrying +out some manure, called out, ‘No, no, Ma’am. +Sure enough he did go to Elbury to Dr. Blunt’s. I was +on the road myself, and I hears him. +“Good-night,” says I. “Good-night,” +says he. “Where be’est going?” says +I. “To doctor’s,” says he, “arter +some stuff for Alfred King.”</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Paul, speaking more to Farden than to +his master, ‘and then Mrs. King gave me some supper, and +that was what made me so late.’</p> +<p>‘She ought to be ashamed of herself, then,’ said +Mrs. Shepherd spitefully, ‘having a vagabond scamp like +that drinking beer at her house at that time of night. How +one is deceived in folks!’</p> +<p>‘Well, what are you doing here?’ cried the farmer, +turning on Paul angrily; ‘d’ye mean to waste any more +of the day?’</p> +<p>So Paul was not turned off, and had to go straight to his +work. It was well he had had so good a supper, for he had +not a moment to snatch a bit of breakfast. It so happened +that his work was to go with John Farden, who was carrying out +the manure in the cart. Paul had to hold the horse, while +John forked it out into little heaps in the field. John was +a great big powerful man, with a foolish face, not a good +workman, nor a good character, or he would not have been at that +farm. He had either never been taught anything, or had +forgotten it all; he never went near church; he had married a +disreputable wife, and had two or three unruly children, who were +likely to be the plagues of their parents and the parish, but not +a whit did John heed; he did not seem to have much more sense +than to work just enough to get food, lodging, beer, and tobacco, +to sleep all night, and doze all Sunday. There was not any +malice nor dishonesty in him; but it was terrible that a man with +an immortal soul should live so nearly the life of the brute +beasts that have no understanding, and should never wake to the +sense of God or of eternity.</p> +<p>He was not a man of many words, and nothing passed for a long +time but shouts of hoy, and whoa, and the like, to the +horse. Paul went heavily on, scarce knowing what he was +about; there was a stunned jaded feel about him, as if he were +hunted and driven about, a mere outcast, despised by every one, +even by the Kings, whose kindness had been his only ray of +brightness. Not that his senses or spirits were alive +enough even to be conscious of pain or vexation; it was only a +dull dreary heedlessness what became of him next; and, quick +clever boy as he had been in the Union, he did not seem to have a +bit more sense, thought, or feeling, than John Farden.</p> +<p>John Farden was the first to break the silence: ‘I +wouldn’t bide,’ said he.</p> +<p>Paul looked up, and muttered, ‘I have nowhere to +go.’</p> +<p>‘Farmer uses thee shameful,’ repeated John. +‘Why don’t thee cut?’</p> +<p>Paul saw the smoke of Mrs. King’s chimney. That +had always seemed like a friend to him, but it came across him +that they too thought him a runaway from prison, and he felt as +if his only bond of fellowship was gone. But there was +something else, too; and he made answer, ‘I’ll bide +for the Confirmation.’</p> +<p>‘Eh?’ said John, ‘what good’ll that do +ye?’</p> +<p>‘Help me to be a good lad,’ said Paul, who knew +John Farden would not enter into any other explanation.</p> +<p>‘Why, what’ll they do to ye?’</p> +<p>‘The Bishop will put his hand on me and bless me,’ +said Paul; and as he said the words there was hope and +refreshment coming back. He was a child of God, if no other +owned him.</p> +<p>‘Whoy,’ said Farden, much as he might have spoken +to his horse, ‘rum sort of a head thou’st got! +Thee’ll never go up to Bishop such a guy!’</p> +<p>‘Can’t help it,’ said Paul rather sullenly; +‘it ain’t the clothes that God looks at.’</p> +<p>John scanned him all over, with his face looking more foolish +than ever in the puzzle he felt.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ he said, ‘and what wilt get by +it?’</p> +<p>‘God’s grace to do right, I hope,’ said +Paul; then he added, out of his sad heart, ‘It’s bad +enough here, to be sure. It would be a bad look-out if one +hoped for nothing afterwards.’</p> +<p>Somehow John’s mind didn’t take in the notion of +afterwards, and he did not go on talking to Paul. Perhaps +there was a dread in his poor dull mind of getting frightened out +of the deadly stupefied sleep it was bound in.</p> +<p>But that bit of talk had done Paul great good, by rousing him +to the thought of what he had to hope for. There was the +Confirmation nigh at hand, and then on beyond there was rest; and +the words came into his mind, ‘There the wicked cease from +troubling, and there the weary are at rest.’</p> +<p>Poor, poor boy! He was very young to have such yearnings +towards the grave, and well-nigh to wish he lay as near to it as +Alfred King, so he might have those loving tender hands near him, +those kind voices round him. Paul had gone through a great +deal in these few months; and, used to good shelter and regular +meals, he was less inured to bodily hardship than many a cottage +boy. His utter neglect of his person was telling on him; he +was less healthy and strong than he had been, and though high +spirits, merriment, and the pleasure of freedom and independence, +had made all light to him in the summer, yet now the cold +weather, with his insufficient food and scanty clothing, was +dulling him and deadening him, and hard work and unkind usage +seemed to be grinding his very senses down. To be sure, +when twelve o’clock came, he went up into the loft, ate his +bit of dry bread, and said his prayers, as he had not been able +to do in the morning, and that made him feel less forlorn and +downcast for a little while; but then as he sat, he grew cold, +and numb, and sleepy, and seemed to have no life in him, but to +be moving like a horse in a mill, when Boldre called him down, +and told him not to be idling there.</p> +<p>The theft in Mrs. Barker’s poultry-yard was never traced +home to any one, but the world did not the less believe Dick +Royston and Jesse Rolt to have been concerned in it. +Indeed, they had been drinking up some of their gains when Harold +met them at the shooting-gallery: and Mrs. Shepherd would not put +it out of her head that Paul Blackthorn was in the secret, and +that if he did really go for the medicine as he said, it was only +as an excuse for carrying the chickens to some receiver of stolen +goods. She had no notion of any person doing anything out +of pure love and pity. Moreover, it is much easier to put a +suspicion into people’s heads than out again; and if +Paul’s whole history and each day’s doings had been +proved to her in a court of justice, she would still have chiefly +remembered that she had always thought ill of him, and that Ellen +King had said he was a runaway convict, and so she would have +believed him to the end.</p> +<p>Ellen had long ago forgotten that she had said anything of the +kind; and though she still held her nose rather high when Paul +was near, she would have answered for his honesty as readily as +for that of her own brothers. But hers had not been the +charity that thinketh no evil, and her idle words had been like +thistle-down, lightly sent forth, but when they had lighted, +bearing thorns and prickles.</p> +<p>Those thorns were galling poor Paul. Nobody could guess +what his glimpses of that happy, peaceful, loving family were to +him. They seemed to him like a softer, better kind of +world, and he looked at their fair faces and fresh, well-ordered +garments with a sort of reverence; a kind look or greeting from +Mrs. King, a mere civil answer from Ellen, those two sights of +the white spirit-looking Alfred, were like the rays of light that +shone into his dark hay-loft. Sometimes he heard them +singing their hymns and psalms on a Sunday evening, and then the +tears would come into his eyes as he leant over the gate to +listen. And, as if it was because Ellen kept at the +greatest distance from him, he set more store by her words and +looks than those of any one else, was always glad when she served +him in the shop, and used to watch her on Sunday, looking as +fresh as a flower in her neat plain dress.</p> +<p>And now to hear that she not only thought meanly of him, which +he knew well enough, but thought him a thief, a runaway, and an +impostor coming about with false tales, was like a weight upon +his sunken spirits, and seemed to take away all the little heart +hard usage had left him, made him feel as if suspicious eyes were +on him whenever he went for his bit of bread, and took away all +his peace in looking at the cottage.</p> +<p>He did once take courage to say to Harold, ‘Did your +sister really say I had run away from gaol?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, nobody minds what our Ellen says,’ was the +answer.</p> +<p>‘But did she say so?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know, I dare say she did. +She’s so fine, that she thinks no one that comes up-stairs +in dirty shoes worth speaking to. I’m sure +she’s the plague of my life—always at me.’</p> +<p>That was not much comfort for Paul. He had other +friends, to be sure. All the boys in the place liked him, +and were very angry with the way the farmer treated him, and +greatly to their credit, they admired his superior learning +instead of being jealous of it. Mrs. Hayward, the +sexton’s wife, the same who had bound up his hand when he +cut it at harvest, even asked him to come in and help her boys in +the evenings with what they had to prepare for Mr. Cope. He +was not sorry to do so sometimes. The cottage was a +slatternly sort of place, where he did not feel ashamed of +himself, and the Haywards were mild good sort of folks, from whom +he was sure never to hear either a bad or an unkind word; though +he did not care for them, nor feel refreshed and helped by being +with them as he did with the Kings.</p> +<p>John Farden, too, was good-natured to him, and once or twice +hindered Boldre from striking or abusing him; he offered him a +pipe once, but Paul could not smoke, and another time brought him +out a pint of beer into the field. Mrs. Shepherd spied him +drinking it from her upper window, and believed all the more that +he got money somehow, and spent it in drink.</p> +<p>So the time wore on till the Confirmation, all seeming like +one dull heavy dream of bondage; and as the weather became +colder, the poor boy seemed to have no power of thinking of +anything, but of so getting through his work as to avoid +violence, to keep himself from perishing with cold, and not to +hurt his chilblains more than he could help.</p> +<p>All his quick intellect and good instruction seemed to have +perished away, and the last time he went to Mr. Cope’s, he +sat as if he were stupid or asleep, and when a question came to +him, sat with his mouth open like silly Bill Pridden.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope knew him too well not to feel, as he wrote the +ticket, that there were very few of whom he could so entirely +from his heart say ‘Examined and APPROVED,’ as the +poor lonely outcast foundling, Paul Blackthorn, who could not +even tell whether he were fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen, but +could just make sure that he had once been caned by old Mr. +Haynes, who went away from the Union twelve years ago.</p> +<p>‘Do you think you can keep the ticket safe if I give it +you now, Paul?’ asked Mr. Cope, recollecting that the cows +might sup upon it like his Prayer-book.</p> +<p>Paul put his hands down to the bottom of his pockets. +They were all one hole, and that sad lost foolish look came over +his wan face again, and startled Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>The boys grinned, but Charles Hayward stepped forward. +‘Please, Sir, let me take care of it for him.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope and Paul both agreed, and Mr. Cope kept Charles for a +moment to say, as he gave him a shilling, ‘Look here, +Charles, do you think you can manage to get that poor fellow a +tolerable breakfast on Saturday before he goes? And if you +could make him look a little more decent?’</p> +<p>Charles pulled his forelock and looked knowing. In fact, +there was a little plot among these good-natured boys, and Harold +King was in it too, though he was not of the Confirmation party, +and said and thought he was very glad of it. He did not +want to bind himself to be so very good. Silly boy; as if +Baptism had not bound him already!</p> +<p>Mrs. Hayward put her head out as Paul passed her cottage, and +called out, ‘I say, you Paul, you come in to-morrow evening +with our Charlie and Jim, and I’ll wash you when I washes +them.’</p> +<p>Good Mrs. Hayward made a mistake that the more delicate-minded +Mrs. King would never have made. Perhaps if a pail of warm +water and some soap had been set before Paul, he might actually +have washed himself; but he was much too big and too shamefaced a +lad to fancy sharing a family scrubbing by a woman, whatever she +might do to her own sons. But considering the size of the +Hayward cottage, and the way in which the family lived, this sort +of notion was not likely to come into the head of the +good-natured mother.</p> +<p>So she and her boys were much vexed when Paul did not make his +appearance, and she made a face of great disgust when Charles +said, ‘Never mind, Mother, my white frock will hide no end +of dirt.’</p> +<p>‘I shall have to wash it over again before you can wear +it, I know,’ said Mrs. Hayward. ‘Not as I +grudges the trouble; he’s a poor lost orphant, that +it’s a shame to see so treated.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Hayward did not know that she was bestowing the cup of +cold water, as well as being literally ready to wash the feet of +the poor disciple.</p> +<p>A clean body is a type and token of a pure mind; and though +the lads of Friarswood did not quite perceive this, there was a +feeling about them of there being something unnatural and +improper, and a disgrace to Friarswood, in any one going up to +the Bishop in such a condition as Paul. Especially, as +Charles Hayward said, when he was the pick of the whole +lot. Perhaps Charles was right, for surely Paul was +single-hearted in his hope of walking straight to his one home, +Heaven, and he had been doing no other than bearing his cross, +when he so patiently took the being ‘buffeted’ when +he did well, and faithfully served his froward master.</p> +<p>But Paul was not to escape the outward cleansing, and from one +of the very last people from whom it would have been +expected. He had just pulled his bed of hay down over him, +and was trying to curl himself up so as to stop his teeth from +chattering, with Cæsar on his feet, when the dog growled, +and a great voice lowered to a gruff whisper, said, ‘Come +along, young un!’</p> +<p>‘I’m coming,’ cried Paul.</p> +<p>Though it was not Boldre’s voice, it had startled him +terribly; he was so much used to ill-treatment, that he expected +a savage blow every moment.</p> +<p>But the great hand that closed on him, though rough, was not +unkind.</p> +<p>‘Poor lad, how he quakes!’ said John +Farden’s voice. ‘Don’t ye be afeard, +it’s only me.’</p> +<p>‘Nobody got at the horses?’ cried Paul.</p> +<p>‘No, no; only I ain’t going to have you going up +to yon big parson all one muck-heap! Come on, and make no +noise about it.’</p> +<p>Paul did not very well know what was going to befall him, but +he did not feel unsafe with John Farden, and besides, his lank +frame was in the grasp of that big hand like a mouse in the power +of a mastiff. So he let himself be hauled down the ladder, +into an empty stall, where, behold, there was a dark lantern +(which had been at bad work in its time), a pail, a brush, a bit +of soap, and a ragged towel.</p> +<p>John laid hold of him much as Alfred in his page days used to +do of Lady Jane’s little dog when it had to be washed, but +Puck had the advantage in keeping on his shaggy coat all the +time, and in being more gently handled, whereas Farden scrubbed +with such hearty good-will, that Paul thought his very skin would +come off. But he had undergone the like in the workhouse, +and he knew how to accommodate himself to it; and when his rough +bath was over, though he was very sore, and stiff, and chilly, he +really felt relieved, and more respectable than he had done for +many months, only rather sorry he must put on his filthy old rags +again; and he gave honest John more thanks than might have been +expected.</p> +<p>The Confirmation was to be at eleven o’clock, at Elbury, +and John had undertaken his morning’s work, so that Mr. +Shepherd grudgingly consented to spare him, knowing that all the +other farmers of course did the same, and that there would be a +cry of shame if he did not.</p> +<p>Paul had just found his way down the ladder in the morning, +with thoughts going through his mind that to him this would be +the coming of the Comforter, and he was sure he wanted comfort; +and that for some hours of this day at least, he should be at +peace from rude words and blows, when he heard a great confusion +of merry voices and suppressed laughing, and saw the heads of +some of the lads bobbing about near Mrs. King’s garden.</p> +<p>Was it time already to set off, he wondered, looking up to the +sun; but then those boys seemed to be in an uproarious state such +as did not suit his present mood, nor did he think Mr. Cope would +consider it befitting. He would have let them go by, +feeling himself such a scare-crow as they might think a blot upon +them; but he remembered that Charles Hayward had his ticket, and +as he looked at himself, he doubted whether he should be let into +a strange church.</p> +<p>‘Paul! Paul Blackthorn!’ called Harold, with +a voice all aglee.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said Paul, ‘what do you want of +me?’</p> +<p>‘Come on, and you’ll see.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want a row. Is Charlie Hayward +there? Just ask him for my card, and don’t make a +work.’</p> +<p>‘He’ll give it you if you’ll come for +it,’ said Harold; and seeing there was no other chance, +Paul slowly came. Harold led him to the stable, where just +within the door stood a knot of stout hearty boys, snorting with +fun, hiding their heads on each other’s shoulders, and +bending their buskined knees with merriment.</p> +<p>‘Now then!’ cried Charles Hayward, and he had got +hold of the only button that held Paul’s coat together.</p> +<p>Paul was bursting out with something, but George Grant’s +arms were round his waist, and his hands were fumbling at his +fastenings. They were each one much stronger than he was +now, and they drowned his voice with shouts of laughter, while as +fast as one garment was pulled off, another was put on.</p> +<p>‘Mind, you needn’t make such a work, it +bain’t presents,’ said George Grant, ‘only we +won’t have them asking up at Elbury if we’ve saved +the guy to bring in.’</p> +<p>‘It is a present, though, old Betty Bushel’s +shirt,’ said Charles Hayward. ‘She said +she’d throw it at his head if he brought it back again; but +the frock’s mine.’</p> +<p>‘And the corduroys is mine,’ said George +Grant. ‘My! they be a sight too big in the +band! Run in, Harold, and see if your mother can lend us a +pin.’</p> +<p>‘And the waistcoat is my summer one,’ said Fred +Bunting. ‘He’s too big too; why, Paul, +you’re no better than a natomy!’</p> +<p>‘Never mind, my white frock will hide it all,’ +said Charles, ‘and here’s Ned’s cap for +you. Oh! and it’s poor Alfred’s +boots.’</p> +<p>Paul could not make up his mind to walk all the way in the +boots, but to satisfy the boys he engaged to put them on as soon +as they were getting to Elbury.</p> +<p>‘My! he looks quite respectable,’ cried Charles, +running back a little way to look at him.</p> +<p>‘I wonder if Mr. Cope will know him?’ exclaimed +Harold, jumping leap-frog fashion on George Grant’s +back.</p> +<p>‘The maids will take him for some strange +gentleman,’ exclaimed Jem Hayward; ‘and why, bless +me, he’s washed, I do declare!’ as a streak of light +from the door fell on Paul’s visage.</p> +<p>‘No, you don’t mean it,’ broke out +Charles. ‘Let’s look! yes, I protest, why, the +old grime between his eyes is gone after all. How did you +manage that, Paul?’</p> +<p>Paul rather uneasily mumbled something about John Farden, and +the boys clapped their hands, and shouted, so that Alfred, who +well knew what was going on, raised himself on his pillow and +laughed. It was rather blunt treatment for feelings if they +were tender, but these were rough warm-hearted village boys, and +it was all their good-nature.</p> +<p>‘And where’s the grub?’ asked Charles +importantly, looking about.</p> +<p>‘Oh, not far off,’ said Harold; and in another +moment, he and Charles had brought in a black coffee-pot, a large +mug, some brown sugar, a hunch of bread, some butter, and a great +big smoking sausage.</p> +<p>Paul looked at it, as if he were not quite sure what to do +with it. One boy proceeded to turn in an inordinate +quantity of sugar, another to pour in the brown coffee that sent +out a refreshing steam enough to make any one hungry. +George Grant spread the butter, cut the sausage in half, put it +on the bread, and thrust it towards Paul.</p> +<p>‘Eat it—s—s,’ said Charles, patting +Paul on the back. ‘Mr. Cope said you was to, and you +must obey your minister.’</p> +<p>‘Not all for me?’ said Paul, not able to help a +pull at the coffee, the mug warming his fingers the while.</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, we’ve all had our breakfastisses,’ +said George Grant; ‘we are only come to make you eat yours +like a good boy, as Mr. Cope said you should.’</p> +<p>They stood round, looking rather as they would have done had +Paul been an elephant taking his meal in a show; but not one +would hear of helping him off with a crumb out of Mr. +Cope’s shilling. George Grant was a big hungry lad, +and his breakfast among nine at home had not been much to speak +of; but savoury as was the sausage, and perfumy as was the +coffee, he would have scorned to take a fragment from that +stranger, beg him to do so as Paul might; and what could not be +eaten at that time, with a good pint of the coffee, was put aside +in a safe nook in the stable to be warmed up for supper.</p> +<p>That morning’s work was not a bad preparation for +Confirmation after all.</p> +<p>Harold had stayed so long, that he had to jump on the pony and +ride his fastest to be in time at the post. He was very +little ashamed of not being among those lads, and felt as if he +had the more time to enjoy himself; but there were those who felt +very sad for him—Alfred, who would have given so much to +receive the blessing; and Ellen, whose confirmation was very +lonely and melancholy without either of her brothers; besides his +mother, to whom his sad carelessness was such constant grief and +heart-ache.</p> +<p>Ellen was called for by the carriage from the Grange, and sat +up behind with the kitchen-maid, who was likewise to be +confirmed. Little Miss Jane sat inside in her white dress +and veil, looking like a snowdrop, Alfred thought, as his mother +lifted him up to the window to see her, as the carriage stood +still while Ellen climbed to her seat.</p> +<p>In the course of the morning, Mrs. King made time to read over +the Confirmation Service with Alfred, to think of the blessing +she was receiving, and to pray that it might rest upon her +through life. And they entreated, too, that Harold might +learn to care for it, and be brought to a better mind.</p> +<p>‘O Mother,’ said Alfred, after lying thinking for +sometime, ‘if I thought Harold would take up for good and +be a better boy to you than I have been, I should not mind +anything so much.’</p> +<p>And there was Harold all the time wondering whether he should +be able to get out in the evening to have a lark with Dick and +Jesse.</p> +<p>Ellen was set down by-and-by. Her colour was very deep, +but she looked gentle and happy, and the first thing she did was +to bend over Alfred, kiss him, and say how she wished he had been +there.</p> +<p>Then, when she had been into her own room, she came back and +told them about the beautiful large Elbury Church, and the great +numbers of young girls and boys on the two sides of the aisle, +and of the Bishop seated in the chair by the altar, and the +chanted service, with the organ sounding so beautiful.</p> +<p>And then how her heart had beat, and she hardly dared to speak +her vow, and how she trembled when her turn came to go up to the +rail, but she said it was so comfortable to see Mr. Cope in his +surplice, looking so young among the other clergymen, and coming +a little forward, as if to count out and encourage his own +flock. She was less frightened when she had met his kind +eye, and was able to kneel down with a more quiet mind to receive +the gift which had come down on the Day of Pentecost.</p> +<p>Alfred wanted to know whether she had seen Paul, but Ellen had +been kneeling down and not thinking of other people, when the +Friarswood boys went up. Only she had passed him on the way +home, and seen that though he was lagging the last of the boys, +he did not look dull and worn, as he had been doing lately.</p> +<p>Ellen had been asked to go to the Grange after church +to-morrow evening, and drink tea there, in celebration of the +Confirmation which the two young foster-sisters had shared.</p> +<p>Harold went to fetch her home at night, and they both came +into the house fresh and glowing with the brisk frosty air, and +also with what they had to tell.</p> +<p>‘O mother, what do you think? Paul Blackthorn is +to go to the Grange to-morrow. My Lady wants to see him, +and perhaps she will make Mr. Pound find some work for him about +the farm.’</p> +<p>Harold jumped up and snapped his fingers towards the +farm. ‘There’s for old Skinflint!’ said +he; ‘not a chap in the place but will halloo for +joy!’</p> +<p>‘Well, I am glad!’ said Mrs. King; ‘I +didn’t think that poor lad would have held out much longer, +winter weather and all. But how did my Lady come to hear of +it?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, it seems she noticed him going to church in all his +rags, and Mr. Cope told her who he was; so Miss Jane came and +asked me all about him, and I told her what a fine scholar he is, +and how shamefully the farmer and Boldre treat him, and how good +he was to Alfred about the ointment, and how steady he is. +And I told her about the boys dressing him up yesterday, and how +he wouldn’t take a gift. She listened just as if it +was a story, and she ran away to her grandmamma, and presently +came back to say that the boy was to come up to-morrow after his +work, for Lady Jane to speak to him.’</p> +<p>‘Well, at least, he has been washed once,’ said +Mrs. King; ‘but he’s so queer; I hope he will have no +fancies, and will behave himself.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll tackle him,’ declared Harold +decidedly. ‘I’ve a great mind to go out this +moment and tell him.’</p> +<p>Mrs. King prevented this; she persuaded Harold that Mrs. +Shepherd would fly out at them if she heard any noise in the +yard, and that it would be better for every one to let Paul alone +till the morning.</p> +<p>Morning came, and as soon as Harold was dressed, he rushed to +the farm-yard, but he could not find Paul anywhere, and concluded +that he had been sent out with the cows, and would be back by +breakfast-time.</p> +<p>As soon as he had brought home the post-bag, he dashed across +the road again, but came back in a few moments, looking beside +himself.</p> +<p>‘He’s gone!’ he said, and threw himself back +in a chair.</p> +<p>‘Gone!’ cried Mrs. King and Ellen with one voice, +quite aghast.</p> +<p>‘Gone!’ repeated Harold. ‘The farmer +hunted him off this morning! Missus will have it that +he’s been stealing her eggs, and that there was a lantern +in the stable on Friday night; so they told him to be off with +him, and he’s gone!’</p> +<p>‘Poor, poor boy! just when my Lady would have been the +making of him!’ cried Ellen.</p> +<p>‘But where—which way is he gone?’ asked Mrs. +King.</p> +<p>‘I might ride after him, and overtake him,’ cried +Harold, starting up, ‘but I never thought to ask! And +Mrs. Shepherd was ready to pitch into me, so I got away as soon +as I could. Do you run over and ask, Ellen; you always were +a favourite.’</p> +<p>They were in such an eager state, that Ellen at once sprang +up, and hastily throwing on her bonnet, ran across the road, and +tapped at Mrs. Shepherd’s open door, exclaiming +breathlessly, ‘O Ma’am, I beg your pardon, but will +you tell me where Paul Blackthorn is gone?’</p> +<p>‘Paul Blackthorn! how should I know?’ said Mrs. +Shepherd crossly. ‘I’m not to be looking after +thieves and vagabonds. He’s a come-by-chance, and +he’s a go-by-chance, and a good riddance too!’</p> +<p>‘Oh but, Ma’am, my Lady wanted to speak to +him.’</p> +<p>This only made Mrs. Shepherd the more set against the poor +boy.</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay, I know—coming over the gentry; and a good +thing he’s gone!’ said she. ‘The place +isn’t to be harbouring thieves and vagrants, or who’s +to pay the rates? My eggs are gone, I tell you, and who +should take ’em but that lad, I’d like to +know?’</p> +<p>‘Them was two rotten nest-eggs as I throwed away when I +was cleaning the stable.’</p> +<p>‘Who told you to put in your word, John Farden?’ +screamed Mrs. Shepherd, turning on him. ‘Ye’d +best mind what ye’re about, or ye’ll be after him +soon.’</p> +<p>‘No loss neither,’ muttered John, stopping to pick +up his shovel.</p> +<p>‘And you didn’t see which way he was gone?’ +asked Ellen, looking from the labourer to the farmer’s +wife.</p> +<p>‘Farmer sent un off or ever I come,’ replied John, +‘or I’d ha’ gied un a breakfast.’</p> +<p>‘I’m sure I can’t tell,’ said Mrs. +Shepherd, with a toss of her head. ‘And as to you, +Ellen King, I’m surprised at you, running after a scamp +like that, that you told me yourself was out of a +prison.’</p> +<p>‘Oh but, Mrs. Shepherd—’</p> +<p>‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ interrupted +Mrs. Shepherd; ‘and I wonder your mother allows it. +But there’s nothing like girls now-a-days.’</p> +<p>Ellen thought John Farden grinned; and feeling as if nothing +so shocking could ever happen to her again, she flew back, she +hardly knew how, to her home, clapped the door after, and +dropping into a chair as Harold had done, burst into such a fit +of crying, that she could not speak, and only shook her head in +answer to Harold’s questions as to how Paul was gone.</p> +<p>‘Oh, no one knew!’ she choked out among her sobs; +‘and Mrs. Shepherd—such things!’</p> +<p>Harold stamped his foot, and Mrs. King tried to soothe +her. In the midst, she recollected that she could not bear +her brothers to guess at the worst part of the ‘such +things;’ and recovering herself a moment, she said, +‘No, no, they’ve driven him off! He’s +gone, and—and, oh! Mother, Mrs. Shepherd will have it +he’s a thief, and—and she says I said so.’</p> +<p>That was bad enough, and Ellen wept bitterly again; while her +mother and Harold both cried out with surprise.</p> +<p>‘Yes—but—I did say I dare said he was out of +a reformatory—and that she should remember it! Now +I’ve taken away his character, and he’s a poor lost +boy!’</p> +<p>Oh, idle words! idle words!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX—ROBBING THE MAIL</h2> +<p>There was no helping it! People must have their letters +whether Paul Blackthorn were lost or not, and Harold was a +servant of the public, and must do his duty, so after some +exhortations from his mother, he ruefully rose up, hoping that he +should not have to go to Ragglesford.</p> +<p>‘Yes, you will,’ said his mother, ‘and maybe +to wait. Here’s a registered letter, and I think +there are two more with money in them.’</p> +<p>‘To think,’ sighed Harold, as he mounted his pony, +‘of them little chaps getting more money for nothing, than +Paul did in a month by working the skin off his bones!’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be discontented, Harold, on that +score. Them little chaps will work hard enough by-and-by: +and the money they have now is to train them in making a fit use +of it then.’</p> +<p>Harold looked anxiously up and down the road for Paul, and +asked Mr. Cope’s housekeeper whether he had been there to +take leave. No; and indeed Harold would have been a little +vexed if he had wished good-bye anywhere if not at home.</p> +<p>There was a fine white frost, and the rime hung thickly on +every spray of the heavy branches of the dark firs and larches +that overhung the long solitary lane between the Grange and +Ragglesford, and fringed the park palings with crystals. +Harold thought how cold poor Paul must be going on his way in his +ragged clothes. The ice crackled under the pony’s +feet as she trotted down Ragglesford Lane, and the water of the +ford looked so cold, that Peggy, a very wise animal, turned her +head towards the foot-bridge, a narrow and not very sound affair, +over which Harold had sometimes taken her when the stream was +high, and threatened to be over his feet.</p> +<p>Harold made no objection; but no sooner were all the +pony’s four hoofs well upon the bridge, than at the other +end appeared Dick Royston.</p> +<p>‘Hollo, Har’ld!’ was his greeting, +‘I’ve got somewhat to say to ye.’</p> +<p>‘D’ye know where Paul Blackthorn is?’ asked +Harold.</p> +<p>‘Not I—I’m a traveller myself, you must +know.’</p> +<p>‘You, going to cut?’ cried Harold.</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said Dick, laying hold of the pony’s +rein. ‘The police have been down at +Rolt’s—stupid fellow left old gander’s feet +about—Mrs. Barker swore to ’em ‘cause +he’d had so many kicks and bites on +common—Jesse’s took up and peached—I’ve +been hiding about all night—precious cold it was, and just +waiting, you see, to wish you good-bye.’</p> +<p>Harold, very much shocked, could have dispensed with his +farewells, nor did he like the look of his eyes.</p> +<p>‘Thank you, Dick; I’m sorry—I didn’t +think—but I’m after time—I wish you’d let +go of Peggy.’</p> +<p>‘So that’s all you have to say to an old +comrade!’ said Dick; ‘but, I say, Har’ld, +I’m not going so. I must have some tin to take me to +Portsmouth. I want to know what you’ve got in that +there bag!’</p> +<p>‘You won’t have that; it’s the post. +Let go, Dick;’ and he pushed the pony forward, but Dick had +got her fast by the head. Harold looked round for help, but +Ragglesford Lane was one of the loneliest places in the +country. There was not a house for half a mile, and Lady +Jane’s plantations shut in the road on either side.</p> +<p>‘I mean to have it,’ said Dick, looking coolly up +into his face; ‘I mean to see if there’s any of the +letters with a half-sovereign in ’em, that you tell us +about.’</p> +<p>‘Dick, Dick, it would be robbing! For shame, +Dick! What would become of Mother and me?’</p> +<p>‘That’s your look-out,’ said Dick; and he +stretched out his hand for the bag. He was four years older +than Harold, and much stouter.</p> +<p>Harold, with a ready move, chucked the bag round to his back, +and shouted lustily in hopes that there might be a keeper in the +woods, ‘Help! Thieves! He’s robbing the +post!’</p> +<p>Dick’s hoarse laugh was all the answer. +‘That’ll do, my dear,’ he said; ‘now +you’d best be quiet; I’d be loath to hurt +you.’</p> +<p>For all answer, Harold, shouting all the time, dealt him a +stroke right over the eyes and nose with his riding-switch, and +made a great effort to force the pony on in hopes the blow might +have made him slacken his hold. But though one moment +Dick’s arm was thrown over his watering eyes, the other +hand held the bridle as firmly as ever, and the next instant his +fist dealt Harold such a blow, as nearly knocked out all his +breath. Setting his teeth, and swearing an oath, Dick was +pouncing on the boy’s arm, when from the road before them +came bursting a meagre thing darting like a wild cat, which fell +upon him, hallooing as loud as Harold.</p> +<p>Dick turned in fury, and let go the bridle. The pony +backed in alarm. The new-comer was grappling with the +thief, and trying to drag him aside. ‘On, on; go on, +Har’ld!’ he shouted, but his strength was far from +equal to Dick’s, who threw him aside on the +hand-rail. Old rotten rail that it was, it crashed under +the weight, and fell with both the boys into the water. +Peggy dashed forward to the other side, where Harold pulled her +up with much difficulty, and turned round to look at the robber +and the champion. The fall was not far, nor the water deep, +and they had both risen, and were ready to seize one another +again in their rage. And now Harold saw that he who had +come to his help was no other than Paul Blackthorn, who shouted +loudly, ‘On, go on! I’ll keep him.’</p> +<p>‘He’ll kill you!’ screamed Harold, in +despair, ready to push in between them with his horse; but at +that moment cart-wheels were heard in the road, and Dick, shaking +his fist, and swearing at them both, shook off Paul as if he had +been a feather, and splashing out of the ford on the other side, +leapt over the hedge, and was off through the plantations.</p> +<p>Paul more slowly crept up towards Harold, dripping from head +to foot.</p> +<p>‘Paul! Paul! I’m glad I’ve found +you!’ cried Harold. ‘You’ve saved the +letters, man, and one was registered! Come along with me, +up to the school.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, I’ll not do that,’ said Paul.</p> +<p>‘Then you’ll stay till I come back,’ said +Harold earnestly; ‘I’ve got so much to tell +you! My Lady sent for you. Our Ellen told her all +about you, and you’re to go to her. Ellen was in such +a way when she found you were off.’</p> +<p>‘Then she didn’t think I’d taken the +eggs?’ said Paul.</p> +<p>‘She’d as soon think that I had,’ said +Harold. ‘Why, don’t we all know that +you’re one of the parson’s own sort? But what +made you go off without a word to nobody?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know. Every one was against +me,’ said Paul; ‘and I thought I’d just go out +of the way, and you’d forget all about me. But I +never touched those eggs, and you may tell Mr. Cope so, and thank +him for all his kindness to me.’</p> +<p>‘You’ll tell him yourself. You’re +going home along with me,’ cried Harold. +‘There! I’ll not stir a step till you’ve +promised! Why, if you make off now, ‘twill be the way +to make them think you have something to run away for, like that +rascal.’</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ said Paul, rather dreamily.</p> +<p>‘Then you won’t?’ said Harold. +‘Upon your word and honour?’</p> +<p>Paul said the words after him, not much as if he knew what he +was about; and Harold, rather alarmed at the sound of the Grange +clock striking, gave a cut to the pony, and bounded on, only +looking back to see that Paul was seating himself by the side of +the lane. Harold said to himself that his mother would not +have liked to see him do so after such a ducking, but he knew +that he was more tenderly treated than other lads, and with +reason for precaution too; and he promised himself soon to be +bringing Paul home to be dried and warmed.</p> +<p>But he was less speedy than he intended. When he arrived +at the school, he had first to account to the servants for his +being so late, and then he was obliged to wait while the owner of +the registered letter was to sign the green paper, acknowledging +its safe delivery.</p> +<p>Instead of having the receipt brought back to him, there came +a message that he was to go up to tell the master and the young +gentlemen all about the robbery.</p> +<p>So the servant led the way, and Harold followed a little shy, +but more curious. The boys were in school, a great bare +white-washed room, looking very cold, with a large arched window +at one end, and forms ranged in squares round the hacked and +hewed deal tables. Harold thought he should tell Alfred +that the young gentlemen had not much the advantage of themselves +in their schoolroom.</p> +<p>The boys were mostly smaller than he was, only those of the +uppermost form being of the same size. There might be about +forty of them, looking rather red and purple with the chilly +morning, and all their eighty eyes, black or brown, blue or grey, +fixed at once upon the young postman as he walked into the room, +straight and upright, in his high stout gaiters over his cord +trousers, his thick rough blue coat and red comforter, with his +cap in his hand, his fair hair uncovered, and his blue eyes and +rosy cheeks all the more bright for that strange morning’s +work. He was a well-mannered boy, and made his bow very +properly to Mr. Carter, the master, who sat at his high desk.</p> +<p>‘So, my little man,’ said the master, ‘I +hear you’ve had a fight for our property this +morning. You’ve saved this young gentleman’s +birthday present of a watch, and he wants to thank +you.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, Sir,’ said Harold; ‘but +he’d have been too much for me if Paul hadn’t come to +help. He’s a deal bigger than me.’</p> +<p>The boys all made a thumping and scuffling with their feet, as +if to applaud Harold; and their master said, ‘Tell us how +it was.’</p> +<p>Harold gave the account in a very good simple manner, only he +did not say who the robber was—he did not like to do +so—indeed, he would not quite believe it could be his old +friend Dick. The boys clapped and thumped doubly when he +came to the switching, and still more at the tumble into the +water.</p> +<p>‘Do you know who the fellow was?’ asked Mr. +Carter.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I knowed him,’ said Harold, and stopped +there.</p> +<p>‘But you had rather not tell. Is that +it?’</p> +<p>‘Please, Sir, he’s gone, and I wouldn’t get +him into trouble.’</p> +<p>At this the school-boys perfectly stamped, and made signs of +cheering.</p> +<p>‘And who is the boy that came to help you?’</p> +<p>‘Paul Blackthorn, Sir; he’s a boy from the Union +who worked at Farmer Shepherd’s. He’s a right +good boy, Sir; but he’s got no friends, nor +no—nothing,’ said Harold, pausing ere he +finished.</p> +<p>‘Why didn’t you bring him up with you?’ +asked the master.</p> +<p>‘Please, Sir, he wouldn’t come.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Mr. Carter, ‘you’ve +behaved like a brave fellow, and so has your friend; and +here’s something in token of gratitude for the rescue of +our property.’</p> +<p>It was a crown piece.</p> +<p>‘And here,’ said the boy whose watch had been +saved, ‘here’s half-a-crown. Shake hands, +you’re a jolly fellow; and I’ll tell my uncle about +you.’</p> +<p>Harold was a true Englishman, and of course his only answer +could be, ‘Thank you, Sir, I only did my duty;’ and +as the other boys, whose money had been rescued, brought forward +more silver pledges of gratitude, he added, ‘I’ll +take it to Paul—thank you, Sir—thank you, +Sir.’</p> +<p>‘That’s right; you must share, my lad,’ said +the school-master. ‘It is a reward for both of +you.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, Sir, it was <i>my</i> duty,’ repeated +Harold, making his bow.</p> +<p>‘Sir, Sir, pray let us give him three cheers,’ +burst out the head boy in an imploring voice.</p> +<p>Mr. Carter smiled and nodded; and there was such a hearty +roaring and stamping, such ‘hip, hip, hurrah!’ +bursting out again and again, that the windows clattered, and the +room seemed fuller of noise than it could possibly hold. It +is not quite certain that Mr. Carter did not halloo as loud as +any of the boys.</p> +<p>Harold turned very red, and did not know which way to look +while it was going on, nor what to do when it was over, except to +say a very odd sort of ‘Thank you, Sir;’ but his +heart leapt up with a kind of warm grateful feeling of liking +towards those boys for going along with him so heartily; and the +cheers gave a pleasure and glow that the coins never would have +done, even had he thought them his own by right.</p> +<p>He was not particularly good in this; he had never felt the +pinch of want, and was too young to care; and he did not happen +to wish to buy anything in particular just then. A selfish +or a covetous boy would not have felt as he did; but these were +not his temptations. Knowing, as he did, that the assault +had been the consequence of his foolish boasts about the +money-letters, and that he, being in charge, ought to defend them +to the last gasp, he was sure he deserved the very contrary from +a reward, and never thought of the money belonging to any one but +Paul, who had by his own free will come to the rescue, and saved +the bag from robbery, himself from injury and disgrace.</p> +<p>How happy he was in thinking what a windfall it was for his +friend, and how far it would go in fitting him up +respectably!</p> +<p>Peggy was ready to trot nearly as fast as he wished her down +the lane to the place where he had left Paul; and no sooner did +Harold come in sight of the olive-coloured rags, than he bawled +out a loud ‘Hurrah! Come on, Paul; you don’t +know what I’ve got for you! ’Twas a young +gentleman’s watch as you saved; and they’ve come down +right handsome! and here’s twelve-and-sixpence for +you—enough to rig you out like a regular swell! Why, +what’s the matter?’ he added in quite another voice, +as he had now come up to Paul, and found him sitting nearly +doubled up, with his head bent over his knees.</p> +<p>He raised his face up as Harold came, and it was so ghastly +pale, that the boy, quite startled, jumped off his pony.</p> +<p>‘Why, old chap, what is it? Have you got knit up +with cold, sitting here?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Paul; but his very voice +shivered, his teeth chattered, and his knees knocked together +with the chill. ‘The pains run about me,’ he +added; but he spoke as if he hardly knew what he was doing or +saying.</p> +<p>‘You must come home with me, and Mother will give you +something hot,’ said Harold. ‘Come, +you’ll catch your death if you don’t. You shall +ride home.’</p> +<p>He pulled Paul from his seat with some difficulty, and was +further alarmed when he found that the poor fellow reeled and +could hardly stand; but he was somewhat roused, and knew better +what he was about. Harold tried to put him on the pony, but +this could not be managed: he could not help himself enough, +Peggy always swerved aside, nor was Harold strong enough to lift +him up.</p> +<p>The only thing to be done was for Harold to mount, and Paul to +lean against the saddle, while the pony walked. When they +had to separate at the ford, poor Paul’s walk across the +bridge was so feeble and staggering, that Harold feared every +moment that he would fall where the rail was broken away, but was +right glad to put his arm on his shoulder again to help to hold +him up. The moving brought a little more life back to the +poor boy’s limbs, and he walked a little better, and +managed to tell Harold how he had felt too miserable to speak to +any one after the rating the farmer had given him, and how he had +set out on the tramp for more work, though with hope so nearly +dead in his heart, that he only wished he could sit down and +die. He had walked out of the village before people were +about, so as not to be noticed, and then had found himself so +weak and weary that he could not get on without food, and had sat +down by the hedge to eat the bit of bread he had with him. +Then he had taken the first lonely-looking way he saw, without +knowing that it was one of Harold’s daily rides, and was +slowly dragging himself up the hill from the ford when the +well-known voice, shouting for help, had suddenly called him +back, and filled him with spirit and speed that were far enough +off now, poor fellow!</p> +<p>That was a terrible mile and a half—Harold sometimes +thought it would never be over, or that Paul would drop down, and +he would have to gallop off for help; but Paul was not one to +give in, and somehow they got back at last, and Harold, with his +arm round his friend, dragged him through the garden, and across +the shop, and pushed him into the arm-chair by the fire, Mrs. +King following, and Ellen rushing down from up-stairs.</p> +<p>‘There!’ cried Harold, all in a breath, +‘there he is! That rascal tried to rob me on +Ragglesford Bridge, and was nigh too much for me; but <i>he</i> +there came and pulled him off me, and got spilt into the river, +and he’s got a chill, and if you don’t give him +something jolly hot, Mother, he’ll catch his +death!’</p> +<p>Mrs. King thought so too: Paul’s state looked to her +more alarming than it did even to Harold. He did not seem +able to think or speak, but kept rocking himself towards the +fire, and that terrible shivering shaking him all over.</p> +<p>‘Poor lad!’ she said kindly. +‘I’ll tell you what, Harold, all you can do is put +him into your bed at once.—Here, Ellen, you run up first, +and bring me a shirt to warm for him. Then we’ll get +his own clothes dried.’</p> +<p>‘No, no,’ cried Harold, with a caper, +‘we’ll make a scare-crow of ’em. You +don’t know what I know, Mother. I’ve got twelve +shillings and sixpence here all his own; and you’ll see +what I won’t do with it at old Levi’s, the +second-hand clothes man, to-night.’</p> +<p>Harold grew less noisy as he saw how little good the fire was +doing to his patient, and how ill his mother seemed to think +him. He quietly obeyed her, by getting him up-stairs, and +putting him into his own bed, the first in which Paul had lain +down for more than four months. Then Mrs. King sent Harold +out for some gin; she thought hot spirits and water the only +chance of bringing back any life after such a dreadful chill; and +she and Ellen kept on warming flannels and shawls to restore some +heat, and to stop the trembling that shook the bed, so that +Alfred felt it, even in the next room, where he lay with the door +open, longing to be able to help, and wishing to understand what +could have happened.</p> +<p>At last, the cordial and the warm applications effected some +good. Paul was able to say, ‘I don’t know why +you are so good to me,’ and seemed ready to burst into a +great fit of crying; but Mrs. King managed to stop him by saying +something about one good turn deserving another, and that she +hoped he was coming round now.</p> +<p>Harold was now at leisure to tell the story in his +brother’s room. Alfred did not grieve now at his +brother’s being able to do spirited things; he laughed out +loud, and said, ‘Well done, Harold!’ at the +switching, and rubbed his hands, and lighted up with glee, as he +heard of the Ragglesford boys and their cheers; and then, Harold +went eagerly on with his scheme for fitting up Paul at the +second-hand shop, both Mrs. King and Alfred taking great interest +in his plans, till Mrs. King hearing something like a moan, went +back to Paul.</p> +<p>She found his cheeks and hands as burning hot as they had been +cold; they were like live coals; and what was worse, such severe +pains were running all over his limbs, that he was squeezing the +clothes into his mouth that he might not scream aloud.</p> +<p>Happily it was Mr. Blunt’s day for calling; and before +the morning was over he came, and after a few words of +explanation, he stood at Paul’s bedside.</p> +<p>Not much given to tenderness towards the feelings of patients +of his degree, Mr. Blunt’s advice was soon given. +‘Yes, he is in for rheumatic fever—won’t be +about again for a long time to come. I say, Mistress, all +you’ve got to do is to send in your boy to the Union at +Elbury, tell ’em to send out a cart for him, and take him +in as a casual pauper. Then they may pass him on to his +parish.’</p> +<p>Therewith Mr. Blunt went on to attend to Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Then you think this poor lad will be ill a long time, +Sir?’ said Mrs. King, when Mr. Blunt was preparing to +depart.</p> +<p>‘Of course he will; I never saw a clearer case! +You’d better send him off as fast as you can, while he can +be moved. He’ll have a pretty bout of it, I dare +say.</p> +<p>‘It is nothing infectious, of course, Sir?’ said +the mother, a little startled by this hastiness.</p> +<p>‘Infectious—nonsense! why, you know better than +that, Mrs. King; I only meant that you’d better get rid of +him as quick as you can, unless you wish to set up a hospital at +once—and a capital nurse you’d be! I would +leave word with the relieving officer for you, but that +I’ve got to go on to Stoke, and shan’t be at home +till too late.’</p> +<p>Mrs. King’s heart ached for the poor forlorn orphan, +when she remembered what she had heard of the nursing in Elbury +Union. She did not know how to turn him from her door the +day he had saved her son from danger such as she could not think +of without shuddering; and yet, what could she do? Her rent +and the winter before her, a heavy doctor’s bill, and the +loss of Alfred’s work!</p> +<p>Slowly she went up the stairs again to the narrow landing that +held the bed where Paul Blackthorn lay. He was quite still, +but there were large tears coursing one after the other from his +eyes, his hollow cheeks quite glazed with them.</p> +<p>‘Is the pain so very bad?’ she said in her soft +voice, putting her hand over his hot forehead, in the way that +Alfred liked.</p> +<p>‘I don’t—know,’ he answered; and his +black eyes, after looking up once in her face with the piteous +earnest glance that some loving dogs have, shut themselves as if +on purpose to keep in the tears, but she saw the dew squeezing +out through the eye-lashes.</p> +<p>‘My poor boy, I’m sure it’s very bad for +you,’ she said again.</p> +<p>‘Please, don’t speak so kind,’ said Paul; +and this time he could not prevent a-sob. ‘Nobody +ever did so before, and—’ he paused, and went on, +‘I suppose they do it up in Heaven, so I hope I shall +die.’</p> +<p>‘You are vexing about the Union,’ said Mrs. King, +without answering this last speech, or she knew that she should +begin to cry herself.</p> +<p>‘I <i>did</i> think I’d done with them,’ +said Paul, with another sob. ‘I said I’d never +set foot in those four walls again! I was proud, maybe; but +please don’t stop with me! If you wouldn’t look +and speak like that, the place wouldn’t seem so hard, +seeing I’m bred to it, as they say;’ and he made an +odd sort of attempt to laugh, which ended in his choking himself +with worse tears.</p> +<p>‘Harold is not gone yet,’ said Mrs. King +soothingly; ‘we’ll wait till he comes in from his +work, and see how you are, when you’ve had a little +sleep. Don’t cry; you aren’t going just +yet.’</p> +<p>That same earnest questioning glance, but with more hope in +it, was turned on her again; but she did not dare to bind +herself, much as she longed to take the wanderer to her +home. She went on to her son’s room.</p> +<p>‘Mother, Mother,’ Alfred cried in a whisper, so +eager that it made him cough, ‘you can’t never send +him to the workhouse?’</p> +<p>‘I can’t bear the thought, Alfy,’ she said, +the tears in her eyes; ‘but I don’t know what to +do. It’s not the trouble. That I’d take +with all my heart, but it is hard enough to live, +and—’</p> +<p>‘I’m sure,’ said Ellen, coming close, that +her undertone might be heard, ‘Harold and I would never +mind how much we were pinched.’</p> +<p>‘And I could go without—some things,’ began +Alfred.</p> +<p>‘And then,’ went on the mother, ‘you see, if +we got straitened, and Matilda found it out, she’d want to +help, and I can’t have her savings touched; and yet I +can’t bear to let that poor lad be sent off, so ill as he +is, and after all he’s done for Harold—such a good +boy, too, and one that’s so thankful for a common kind +word.’</p> +<p>‘O Mother, keep him!’ said Alfred; +‘don’t you know how the Psalm says, “God careth +for the stranger, and provideth for the fatherless and the +widow”?’</p> +<p>Mrs. King almost smiled. ‘Yes, Alf, I think it +would be trusting God’s word; but then there’s my +duty to you.’</p> +<p>‘You’ve not sent Harold off for the cart?’ +said Alfred.</p> +<p>‘No; I thought somehow, we have enough for to-day; and +it goes against me to send him away at once. I thought +we’d wait to see how it is to-morrow; and Harold +won’t mind having a bed made up in the kitchen.’</p> +<p>Tap, tap, on the counter. Some one had come in while +they were talking. It was Mr. Cope, very anxious to hear +the truth of the strange stories that were going about the +place. Ellen and Alfred thought it very tiresome that he +was so long in coming up-stairs; but the fact was, that their +mother was very glad to talk the matter over without them. +She knew indeed that Mr. Cope was a very young man, and not +likely to be so well able as herself, with all her experience, to +decide what she could afford, or whether she ought to follow her +feelings at the risk of debt or of privations for her delicate +children; but she also knew that though he had not experience, +education had given him a wider and clearer range of thought; and +that, as her pastor, he ought to be consulted; so though she did +not exactly mean to make it a matter for his decision (unless, +indeed, he should have some view which had not occurred to her), +she knew that he was by far the best person to help her to see +her way, and form her own judgment.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope heard all the story with as much eagerness as the +Ragglesford boys themselves, and laughed quite out loud at +Harold’s spirited defence.</p> +<p>‘That’s a good lad!’ said he. +‘Well, Mrs. King, I don’t think you need be very +uneasy about your boy. When a fellow can stand up like that +in defence of his duty, there must be the right stuff in him to +be got at in time! And now, as to his ally—this other +poor fellow—very kind of you to have taken him +in.’</p> +<p>‘I couldn’t do no other, Sir,’ said Mrs. +King; ‘he came in so drenched, and so terribly bad, I could +do nothing but let him lie down on Harold’s bed; and now +Dr. Blunt thinks he’s going to have a rheumatic fever, and +wanted me to send in to the relieving officer, to have him +removed, but I don’t know how to do that; the poor lad +doesn’t say one word against it, but I can see it cuts him +to the heart; and they do tell such stories of the nurses at the +Union, that it does seem hard to send him there, such an innocent +boy, too, and one that doesn’t seem to know how to believe +it if one says a kind word to him.’ The tears were in Mrs. +King’s eyes as she went on: ‘I do wish to let him +stay here and do what I can for him, with all my heart, and so +does all the children, but I don’t hardly know what’s +right by them, poor things. If the parish would but allow +him just one shilling and sixpence a week out of the house, I +think I could do it.’</p> +<p>‘What, with your own boy in such a state, you could +undertake to nurse a stranger through a rheumatic +fever!’</p> +<p>‘It wouldn’t make much difference, Sir,’ +said Mrs. King. ‘You see I am up a good deal most +nights with Alfred, and we have fire and candle almost always +alight. I should only be glad to do it for a poor +motherless lad like that, except for the cost; and I thought +perhaps if you could speak to the Guardians, they might allow him +ever so little, because there will be expenses.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope had not much hope from the parish, so he said, +‘Mr. Shepherd ought to do something for him after he has +worked for him so long. He has been looking wretchedly ill +for some time past; and I dare say half this illness is brought +on by such lodging and living as he got there. But what did +you say about some eggs?’</p> +<p>Mrs. King told him; and he stood a moment thoughtful, then +said, ‘Well, I’ll go and see about it,’ and +strode across to the farm.</p> +<p>When Mr. Cope came back, Ellen was serving a customer. +He stood looking redder than they had ever seen him, and tapping +the toe of his boot impatiently with his stick; and the moment +the buyer had turned away, he said, ‘Ellen, ask your mother +to be kind enough to come down.’</p> +<p>Mrs. King came, and found the young Curate in such a state of +indignation, as he could not keep to himself. He had learnt +more than he had ever known, or she had ever known, of the +oppression that the farmer and his wife and Tom Boldre had +practised on the friendless stranger, and he was burning with all +the keen generous displeasure of one new to such base ways. +At the gate he had met, going home to dinner, John Farden with +Mrs. Hayward, who had been charing at the farm. Both had +spoken out, and he had learned how far below the value of his +labour the boy had been paid, how he had been struck, abused, and +hunted about, as would never have been done to one who had a +father to take his part. And he had further heard +Farden’s statement of having himself thrown away the eggs, +and Mrs. Hayward’s declaration that she verily believed +that the farmer only made the accusation an excuse for hurrying +the lad off because he thought him faltering for a fever, and +wouldn’t have him sick there.</p> +<p>This was shocking enough; Mr. Cope had thought it merely the +kind-hearted woman’s angry construction, but it was still +worse when he came to the farmer and his wife.</p> +<p>So used were they to think it their business to wring the +utmost they could out of whatever came in their way, that they +had not the slightest shame about it. They thought they had +done a thing to be proud of in making such a good bargain of the +lad, and getting so much work out of him for so little pay; in +fact, that they had been rather weakly kind in granting him the +freedom of the hay-loft; the notion of his dishonesty was firmly +fixed in their heads, though there was not a charge to bring +against him. This was chiefly because they had begun by +setting him down as a convict, and because they could not imagine +any one living honestly on what they gave him. And lastly, +the farmer thought the cleverest stroke of all, was the having +got rid of him just as winter was coming on and work was scarce, +and when there seemed to be a chance of his being laid up to +encumber the rates. Mr. Cope was quite breathless after the +answer he had made to them. He had never spoken so strongly +in his life before, and he could hardly believe his own ears, +that people could be found, not only to do such things, but to be +proud of having done them.</p> +<p>It is to be hoped there are not many such thoroughgoing +tyrants; but selfishness is always ready to make any one into a +tyrant, and Mammon is a false god, who manages to make his +servants satisfied that they are doing their duty.</p> +<p>It was plain enough that no help was to be expected from the +farm, and neither Mrs. King nor the clergyman thought there was +much hope in the Guardians; however, they were to be applied to, +and this would be at least a reprieve for Paul. Mr. Cope +went up to see him, and found Harold sitting on the top step of +the stairs.</p> +<p>‘Well, boys,’ he said, in his hearty voice, +‘so you’ve had a battle, I hear. I’m glad +it turned out better than your namesake’s at +Hastings.’</p> +<p>Paul was not too ill to smile at this; and Harold modestly +said, ‘It was all along of he, Sir.’</p> +<p>‘And he seems to be the chief sufferer.—Are you in +much pain, Paul?’</p> +<p>‘Sometimes, Sir, when I try to move,’ said Paul; +‘but it is better when I’m still.’</p> +<p>‘You’ve had a harder time of it than I supposed, +my boy,’ said Mr. Cope. ‘Why did you never let +me know how you were treated?’</p> +<p>Paul’s face shewed more wonder than anything else. +‘Thank you, Sir,’ he said, ‘I didn’t +think it was any one’s business.’</p> +<p>‘No one’s business!’ exclaimed the young +clergyman. ‘It is every one’s business to see +justice done, and it should never have gone on so if you had +spoken. Why didn’t you?’</p> +<p>‘I didn’t think it would be any use,’ again +said Paul. ‘There was old Joe Joiner, he always said +’twas a hard world to live in, and that there was nothing +for it but to grin and bear it.’</p> +<p>‘There’s something better to be done than to +grin,’ said Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I know, Sir,’ said Paul, with a brighter +gleam on his face; ‘and I seem to understand that better +since I came here. I was thinking,’ he added, +‘if they pass me back to Upperscote, I’ll tell old +Joe that folks are much kinder than he told me, by +far.’</p> +<p>‘Kinder—I should not have thought that your +experience!’ exclaimed Mr. Cope, his head still running on +the Shepherds.</p> +<p>But Paul did not seem to think of them at all, or else to take +their treatment as a matter-of-course, as he did his Union +hardships. There was a glistening in his eyes; and he moved +his head so as to sign down-stairs, as he said, ‘I +didn’t think there was ne’er a one in the world like +<i>her</i>.’</p> +<p>‘What, Mrs. King? I don’t think there are +many,’ said Mr. Cope warmly. ‘And yet I hope +there are.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, Sir,’ said Paul fervently. ‘And +there’s Harold, and John Farden, and all the chaps. +Please, Sir, when I’m gone away, will you tell them all +that I’ll never forget ’em? and I’ll be happier +as long as I live for knowing that there are such good-hearted +folks.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope felt trebly moved towards one who thought harshness +so much more natural than kindness, and who received the one so +submissively, the other so gratefully; but the conversation was +interrupted by Harold’s exclaiming that my Lady in her +carriage was stopping at the gate, and Mother was running out to +her.</p> +<p>Rumours of the post-office robbery, as little Miss Selby +called it, had travelled up to the Grange, and she was wild to +know what had happened to Harold; but her grandmamma, not knowing +what highway robbers might be roaming about Friarswood, would not +hear of her walking to the post-office, and drove thither with +her herself, in full state, close carriage, coachman and footman; +and there was Mrs. King, with her head in at the carriage window, +telling all the story.</p> +<p>‘So you have this youth here?’ said Lady Jane.</p> +<p>‘Yes, my Lady; he was so poorly that I couldn’t +but let him lie down.’</p> +<p>‘And you have not sent him to the workhouse +yet?’</p> +<p>‘Why, no, not yet, my Lady; I thought I would wait to +see how he is to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘You had better take care, Mary,’ said Lady +Jane. ‘You’ll have him too ill to be moved; and +then what will you do? a great lad of that age, and with illness +enough in the house already!’ She sighed, and it was +not said unkindly; but Mrs. King answered with something about +his being so good a lad, and so friendless. And Miss Jane +exclaimed, ‘O Grandmamma, it does seem so hard to send him +to the workhouse!’</p> +<p>‘Do not talk like a silly child, my dear,’ said +Lady Jane. ‘Mary is much too sensible to think of +saddling herself with such a charge—not fit for her, nor +the children either—even if the parish made it worth her +while, which it never will. The Union is intended to +provide for such cases of destitution; and depend on it, the +youth looks to nothing else.’</p> +<p>‘No, my Lady,’ said Mrs. King; ‘he is so +patient and meek about it, that it goes to one’s very +heart.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay,’ said the old lady; ‘but +don’t be soft-hearted and weak, Mary. It is not what +I expect of you, as a sensible woman, to be harbouring a mere +vagrant whom you know nothing about, and injuring your own +children.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed, my Lady,’ began Mrs. King, +‘I’ve known the poor boy these four months, and so +has Mr. Cope; and he is as steady and serious a boy as ever +lived.’</p> +<p>‘Very likely,’ said Lady Jane; ‘and I am +sure I would do anything for him—give him work when he is +out again, or send him with a paper to the county hospital. +Eh?’</p> +<p>But the county hospital was thirty miles off; and the +receiving day was not till Saturday. That would not do.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ added Lady Jane, ‘I’ll drive +home directly, and send Price with the spring covered cart to +take him in to Elbury. That will be better for him than +jolting in the open cart they would send for him.’</p> +<p>‘Why, thank you, my Lady, but I—I had passed my +word that he should not go to-day.’</p> +<p>Lady Jane made a gesture as if Mary King were a hopelessly +weak good-natured woman; and shaking her head at her with a sort +of lady-like vexation, ordered the coachman to drive on.</p> +<p>My Lady was put out. No wonder. She was a very +sensible, managing woman herself, and justly and up-rightly kind +to all her dependants; and she expected every one else to be +sternly and wisely kind in the same pattern. Mrs. King was +one whom she highly esteemed for her sense and good judgment, and +she was the more provoked with her for any failure in these +respects. If she had known Paul as the Kings did, it is +probable she might have felt like them. Not knowing him, +nor knowing the secrets of Elbury Union, she thought it Mrs. +King’s clear duty to sacrifice him for her children’s +sake. Moreover, Lady Jane had strict laws against +lodgers—the greatest kindness she could do her tenants, +though often against their will. So to have her model woman +receiving a strange boy into her house, even under the +circumstances, was beyond bearing.</p> +<p>So Mrs. King stood on her threshold, knowing that to keep Paul +Blackthorn would be an offence to her best friend and +patroness. Moreover, Mr. Cope was gone, without having left +her a word of advice to decide her one way or the other.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X—CHRISTMAS DAY</h2> +<p>Things are rather apt to settle themselves; and so did Paul +Blackthorn’s stay at the post-office, for the poor boy was +in such an agony of pain all night, and the fever ran so high, +that it was impossible to think of moving him, even if the +waiting upon him in such suffering had not made Mrs. King feel +that she could not dismiss him to careless hands. His +patience, gratitude, and surprise at every trouble she took for +him were very endearing, as were the efforts he made to stifle +and suppress moans and cries that the terrible aches would wring +from him, so as not to disturb Alfred. When towards morning +the fever ran to his head, and he did not know what he said, it +was more moving still to see that the instinct of keeping quiet +for some one’s sake still suppressed his voice. Then, +too, his wanderings shewed under what dread and harshness his +life had been spent, and what his horror was of a return to the +workhouse. In his senses, he would never have thought of +asking to remain at Friarswood; but in his half-conscious state, +he implored again and again not to be sent away, and talked about +not going back, but only being left in a corner to die; and Mrs. +King, without knowing what she was about, soothed him by telling +him to lie still, for he was not going to that place again. +At day-break she sent Harold, on his way to the post, for an +order from the relieving officer for medical attendance; and, +after some long and weary hours, the Union doctor came. He +said, like Mr. Blunt, that it was a rheumatic fever, the effect +of hardship and exposure; for which perhaps poor Paul—after +his regular meals, warm clothing, and full shelter, in the +workhouse—was less prepared than many a country lad, whose +days had been much happier, but who had been rendered more hardy +by often going without some of those necessaries which were +provided for the paupers.</p> +<p>The head continued so much affected, that the doctor said the +hair must be taken off; which was done by old Master Warren, who +singed the horses in the autumn, killed the pigs in the winter, +and shaved the men on Saturday night. It was a very good +thing for all parties; and he would take no pay for his trouble, +but sent down a pitcher with what he called ‘all manner of +yarbs’ steeping in it, with which, as he said, to +‘ferment the boy’s limbs.’ Foment was +what he meant; and Mrs. King thought, as it was kindly intended, +and could do no harm, she would try if it would do any good; but +she could not find that it made much difference whether she used +that or common warm water. However, the good will made Paul +smile, and helped to change his notion about its being very few +that had any compassion for a stranger. So, too, did good +Mrs. Hayward, who, when he was at the worst, twice came to sit up +all night with him after her day’s work; and though she was +not as tender a nurse as Mrs. King, treated him like her own son, +and moreover carried off to her own tub all the clothes she could +find ready to be washed, and would not take so much as a mouthful +of meat or drink in return, struggling, toil-worn body as she +was.</p> +<p>The parish, as might have been foreseen, would afford nothing +but the doctor to a chance-comer such as Paul. If he needed +more, he might come into the House, and be passed home to +Upperscote.</p> +<p>But by the time this reply came, Mrs. King not only felt that +it would be almost murder to send a person in such a state four +miles on a November day, but she was caring so much for her +patient, that it sounded almost as impossible as to send Alfred +away.</p> +<p>Besides, she had remembered the cup of cold water, she had +thought of the widow’s cruse of oil and barrel of meal, and +she had called to mind, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto +one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto +Me;’ and thereupon she took heart, and made up her mind +that it was right to tend the sick lad; and that even if she +should bring trouble and want on herself and her children, it +would be a Heaven-sent trial that would be good for them.</p> +<p>So she made up her resolution to a winter of toil, anxiety, +and trouble, and to Lady Jane’s withdrawal of favour; and +thinking her ungrateful, which, to say the truth, grieved her +more than anything else, excepting of course her forebodings for +Alfred.</p> +<p>Ellen was in great distress about my Lady’s +displeasure. Not that she dreamt of her mother’s +giving up Paul on that account; but she was very fond of her +little foster-sister, and of many of the maid-servants, and her +visits to the Grange were the chief change and amusement she ever +had. So while Mrs. King was busy between the shop, her +work, and Paul, Ellen sat by her brother, making the +housekeeper’s winter dress, and imagining all sorts of +dreadful things that might come of my Lady being angry with them, +till Alfred grew quite out of patience. ‘Well, +suppose and suppose,’ he said, ‘suppose it was not to +happen at all! Why, Mother’s doing right would be any +good for nothing if she only did it to please my Lady.’</p> +<p>Certainly this was the very touchstone to shew whether the +fear of man were the guide. And Ellen was still more +terrified that day, for when she went across to the farm for the +evening’s supply of milk and butter, Mrs. Shepherd launched +out into such a torrent of abuse against her and her mother, that +she came home trembling from head to foot; and Mrs. King declared +she should never go thither again. They would send to Mrs. +Price’s for the little bit of fresh butter that was real +nourishment to Alfred: the healthy ones would save by going +without any.</p> +<p>One word more as to the Shepherds, and then we have done with +him. On the Sunday, Mr. Cope had an elder brother staying +with them, who preached on the lesson for the day, the second +chapter of the Prophet Habakkuk; and when he came to the text, +‘Woe to him that coveteth an evil covetousness to his +house,’ he brought in some of the like passages, the +threats to those that ‘grind the faces of the poor,’ +that ‘oppress the hireling in his wages,’ and that +terrible saying of St. James, ‘Behold, the hire of the +labourers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept +by fraud, crieth; and the cries of them which have reaped are +entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabbath.’</p> +<p>Three days after, the Curate was very much amazed to hear that +Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd did not choose to be preached at in their +own church, and never meant to come thither again. Now it +so happened that he could testify that the sermon had been +written five years ago, and that his brother had preached it +without knowing that the Shepherds were in existence, for he had +only come late the night before, and there was so much to say +about their home, that the younger brother had not said a word +about his parish before church, though the Kings and their guests +were very near his heart.</p> +<p>But it was of no use to say so. It was the <i>truth</i> +that wounded the farmer and his wife, and no one could make that +otherwise. They did not choose to hear their sin rebuked, +so they made an excuse by pretending to take offence, and except +when they now and then went to the next parish to a +meeting-house, cut themselves off from all that might disturb +them in the sole pursuit of gain. It is awful to think of +such hardening of the heart, first towards man, then towards the +warnings of God.</p> +<p>And mind, whoever chooses profit rather than mercy, is in the +path of Farmer Shepherd.</p> +<p>Some certainty as to Lady Jane Selby’s feelings came on +the second evening of Paul’s illness. Mrs. Crabbe, +the housekeeper, was seen with infinite trouble and disgust +getting her large person over the stiles across the path +fields. A call from her was almost a greater event than one +from my Lady herself. Why! Mother had been her +still-room maid, and always spoke to her as +‘Ma’am,’ and she called her ‘Mary,’ +and she had chosen Matilda’s name for her, and had given +her a silver watch!</p> +<p>So when Mrs. Crabbe had found her way in, and had been set +down to rest in the arm-chair, she proceeded to give +‘Mary’ a good round scolding against being weak and +soft-hearted, saying at last that my Lady was quite in a way +about it. She was sure that Harold would catch his death of +cold, putting him to sleep in the kitchen, upon the +stones—and so—my Lady had sent off the cart with the +little chair-bed, that would take down and put up +again—mattress, bed-clothes, and all.</p> +<p>That was a comfortable finish to the scolding! Not that +it was a finish though, for the thanks made Mrs. Crabbe afraid +the family thought themselves forgiven, so she went on to declare +they all would be pinched, and get into debt, and she should +advise her god-daughter, Matilda, not to help them with a +farthing of her wages, and as to going without their full meals, +that was what none of them were fit to do. With which it +appeared that the cart was bringing a can of broth, a couple of +rabbits, some calves’-feet jelly, and a bottle of port wine +for Alfred, who lived on that and cod-liver oil more than on any +other nourishment.</p> +<p>At that rate, Lady Jane’s displeasure did not seem +likely to do much harm; but there was pain in it too, for when +Mrs. Crabbe had managed to get up-stairs, past the patch-work +quilt that was hung up to shelter Paul from the draught, and had +seen Alfred, and been shocked to find how much wasted he was +since she last had seen him, she said, ‘One thing you +know—my Lady says she can’t have Miss Selby coming +down here to see Alfred while this great lad is always +about. And I’m sure it is not proper for her at any +time, such a young lady as she is, over all those inconvenient +stiles. I declare I shall speak to Mr. Price about +them.’</p> +<p>Losing Miss Jane’s visits was to Alfred like losing a +sunbeam, and his spirit felt very dreary after he had heard this +sentence. Ellen knew her well enough to suspect that she +was very sorry, but that she could not help herself; and Mrs. +King caught the brother and sister making such grumbling speeches +to each other about the old lady’s crossness, that her +faithful, grateful spirit was quite grieved, and she spoke +strongly up for the just, right-minded lady to whom she had +loyally looked up for many and many a year, though, with the +right sort of independence, she would not give up to any +one’s opinion what she knew to be her duty.</p> +<p>‘We all knew it must cost us something,’ she said, +‘and we’ll try to be ready with it, though it does go +to one’s heart that the first should be what vexes you, my +Alfy; but it won’t be for long.’</p> +<p>‘No, Mother; but if it ain’t here long? +Oh! I don’t seem to have nothing to look to if Miss +Jane ain’t coming here no more, with her pretty +ways!’</p> +<p>And there were large tears on his cheeks. Mrs. King had +tears in her eyes too, but she bent down over the boy, and +turning his eyes to the little picture on the wall, she said in a +whisper in his ear, ‘Didn’t He bear His Cross for the +sake of other people?’ Alfred did not answer; he +turned his face in towards the pillow, and though Ellen thought +he was crying, it did not seem to her to be so sadly.</p> +<p>Cost them something their kindness did. To be sure, +there came a party of boys with the master from Ragglesford, when +there had been time for them to write the history of the robbery +to their homes; and as it came just before the monthly letter +which they all had to write by way of practice, to be shewn up to +the master, it was a real treasure to them to have such a story +to tell. Some of their friends, especially the uncle who +gave the watch, had sent small sums of money for the lad who had +behaved so well, and these altogether came to a fair amount, +which the boys were highly pleased to give over into Mrs. +King’s hands. She, like Harold, never made the +smallest question that it was all for Paul’s benefit, and +though, when she mentioned it to him, he gave a cheery smile, and +said it would lessen the cost of his illness to her, yet she put +it all aside with the first twelve-and-sixpence. She told +Ellen that it went against her to touch the orphan’s money, +and that unless it came to very bad times indeed, it should be +kept to set him up decently when he should recover.</p> +<p>No one else could afford aid in money, not Mr. Cope, for he +had little more than a maintenance for himself; indeed, Mrs. King +was not in a station where it would seem becoming to offer alms +to her. Lady Jane gave help in nourishing food, but the +days when this would come were uncertain, and she had made a +resolution against undertaking any share of the expense, lest she +should seem to encourage Mary King, as she said, in such weak +good nature—cramming up her house with a strange boy like +that, when she had quite enough to do with her own son. So +they had to fight on as they could; and the first week, when +Paul’s illness was at the height, Ellen had so much more to +do for Alfred and about the house, and was so continually called +off her work, that she could not finish Mrs. Crabbe’s gown +as soon as was expected; and the ladies’ maid, who was kept +waiting, took huff, and sent her new purple silk to Elbury to be +madeup.</p> +<p>It is not quite certain that Ellen did not shed a few +tears.</p> +<p>Harold had to go without his butter, and once took it much to +heart that his mother would buy no shrimps for tea, but after +some one had whispered to him that if there were a trouble about +rent, or about Mr. Blunt’s bill, Peggy would be sold, he +bore it all pretty well; and after all, Alfred and Paul were so +apt to give him tastes of their dainties, that he had not much +loss!</p> +<p>Rent was the care. The pig was killed and cut up to +great advantage; Mrs. King sold a side of it at once, which went +a good way towards it, but not the whole; and there was a bad +debt of John Farden’s for bread, contracted last winter, +and which he had never paid off in the summer. That would +just have made it up, but what hopes were there of that?</p> +<p>Just then, however, came a parcel from Matilda. It was +her way of helping her family to send them the clothes which her +mistresses allowed her to have when they left them off, when Mrs. +King either made them up for herself or Ellen, or disposed of +them at Elbury.</p> +<p>What a treat those parcels were! How curious were all +the party at the unpacking, looking at the many odd things that +were sure to come out, on the happy doubtful certainty that each +one would be remembered by the good sister.</p> +<p>So there were the little directed parcels—a neat knitted +grey and black handkerchief for Mother to wear in the shop; a +whole roll of fashion-books for Ellen, and a nice little +pocket-book besides; and a bundle of ‘Illustrated +News’ to amuse the boys; a precious little square book of +‘Hymns for the Sick’ for Alfred; and a famous pair of +riding-gloves, like bears’ paws, for Harold. And what +rolls besides! Worn flimsy dresses, once pretty, but now +only fit for the old-clothes man, yet whose trimmings Ellen +pulled out and studied; bonnets that looked as if they had been +sat upon; rolls of soft ragged cambric handkerchiefs, on which +Mrs. King seized as the most valuable part of the cargo, so +useful would they be to poor Alfred; some few real good things, +in especial, a beautiful thick silk dress which had been stained, +but which dyeing would render very useful; and a particularly +nice grey cloth mantle, which Matilda had mentioned in her letter +as likely to be useful to Ellen—it was not at all the worse +for wear, except as to the lining of the hood, and she should +just fancy Ellen in it.</p> +<p>Ellen could just fancy herself in it. She had a black +silk one, which had come in the same way, and looked very well, +but it was just turning off, and it was not warm enough for +winter without a shawl under it. That grey looked as if it +was made for her, it suited her shoulders and her shape so +well! She put it on and twisted about in it, and then she +saw her good mother not saying one word, and knew she was +thinking of the sum that was wanting to the rent.</p> +<p>‘Well, Mother,’ said Ellen, ‘I’ll go +in and take the things to Betsey on the next market-day, and if +we can get thirty shillings on them without the +mantle—’</p> +<p>‘Yes, if you can, my dear,’ said her mother; +‘I’m sure I should be very glad for you to have it, +but you see—’</p> +<p>And Mrs. King sighed.</p> +<p>Ellen passed by Paul on the landing, and saw him with his face +flushed with pain and fever, trying to smile at her. She +remembered how her unkind words had brought trouble on him, and +how her mother had begun by telling her that they must give up +their own wishes if they were to nurse him.</p> +<p>Ellen went to Elbury on the market-day, and by the help of +Betsey Hardman, she got great credit for her bargaining. +She brought home thirty shillings, and ten shillings’ worth +of soap for the shop, where that article was running low; but she +did not bring home the cloak, though Betsey had told her a silk +cloak over a shawl looked so mean! and she feared all the +servants at the Grange would think the same!</p> +<p>‘They always were good children to me,’ said Mrs. +King to Mr. Cope, ‘but somehow, since Paul has been here, I +think they are better than ever! There’s poor Alfred, +though his cough has been so bad of late, has been so thoughtful +and so good; he says he’s quite ashamed to find how patient +Paul is under so much sharper pain than he ever had, and +he’s ready to send anything to Paul that he fancies will do +him good—quite carried out of himself, you see; and +there’s Harold, so much steadier; I’ve hardly had to +find fault with him since that poor boy made off—he’s +sure to come in in time, and takes care not to disturb his +brother, and helps his sister and me all he can.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope was not at all surprised that the work of mercy was +blessed to all the little household, nor that it drew out all the +better side of their dispositions.</p> +<p>There was no positive change, nor sudden resolution, to alter +Harold; but he had been a good deal startled by Dick’s +wickedness, and in him had lost a tempter. Besides, he +considered Paul as his own friend, received for his sake, and +therefore felt himself bound to do all he could for him, and +though he was no nurse, he could do much to set his mother and +Ellen free to attend to their patients. And Paul’s +illness, though so much less dangerous, frightened and subdued +Harold much more than the quiet gradual pining away of Alfred, to +which he was used. The severe pain, the raging fever, and +the ramblings in talk, were much more fearful things to witness +than the low cough, the wearing sore, and the helpless languor, +though there was much hope for the one, and scarcely any for the +other. While to Harold’s apprehension, Alfred was +always just the same, only worsening visibly from month to month; +Paul was better or worse every time he came in, and when fresh +from hearing his breath gasp with sharp pain, or receiving his +feeble thanks for some slight service, it was not in Harold to go +out and get into thoughtless mischief.</p> +<p>Moreover, there were helpful things to do at home, such as +Harold liked. He was fond of chopping wood, so he was very +obliging about the oven, and what he liked best of all was +helping his mother in certain evening cookeries of sweet-meats, +by receipts from Mrs. Crabbe. On the day of the expedition +from Ragglesford, the young gentlemen had found out that Mrs. +King’s bottles contained what they called ‘the real +article and no mistake,’ much better than what the old +woman at the turnpike sold; and so they were, for Mrs. King made +them herself, and, like an honest woman, without a morsel of sham +in them. She was not going to break the Eighth Commandment +by cheating in a comfit any more than by stealing a purse; and +the children of Friarswood had long known that, and bought all +the ‘lollies’ that they were not naughty enough to +buy on Sundays, when, as may be supposed, her shutters were not +shut only for a decent show.</p> +<p>And now Harold did not often ride up to the school without +some little master giving him a commission for some variety of +sweet-stuff; and though Mrs. King used to say it was a pity the +children should throw away their money in that fashion, it +brought a good deal into her till, and Harold greatly liked +assisting at the manufacture. How often he licked his +fingers during the process need not be mentioned; but his +objection to Ragglesford was quite gone off, now that some one +was nearly certain to be looking out for him, with a good-natured +greeting, or an inquiry for Paul. He knew one little boy +from another, and felt friendly with them all, and he really was +quite grieved when the holidays came, and they wished him +good-bye. The coach that had been hired to take them to +Elbury seemed something to watch for now, and some thoughtful boy +stopped all the whooping and hurraing as they came near the house +on the bridge. Some other stopped the coach, and they all +came dropping off it like a swarm of black flies, and tumbling +into the shop, where Mrs. King and her daughter had need to have +had a dozen pair of hands to have served them, and they did not +go till they had cleared out her entire stock of sweet things and +gingerbread; nay, some of them would have gone off without their +change, if she had not raced out to catch them with it after they +were climbing up the coach, and then the silly fellows said they +hated coppers! And meeting Harold and his post-bag on his +way home from Elbury, they raised such a tremendous cheer at him +that poor Peggy seemed to make but three springs from the +milestone to the bridge, and he could not so much as touch his +cap by way of answer.</p> +<p>Somehow, even after those droll customers were gone, every +Saturday’s reckoning was a satisfactory one. More +always seemed to come in than went out. The potatoes had +been unusually free from disease in Mrs. King’s garden, and +every one came for them; the second pig turned out well; a lodger +at the butcher’s took a fancy to her buns; and on the +whole, winter, when her receipts were generally at the lowest, +was now quite a prosperous time with her. The great +pressure and near anxiety she had expected had not come, and +something was being put by every week towards the bill for flour, +and for Mr. Blunt’s account, so that she began to hope that +after all the Savings Bank would not have to be left quite +bare.</p> +<p>Quite unexpectedly, John Farden came in for a share of the +savings of an old aunt at service, and, like an honest fellow as +he was, he got himself out of debt at once. This quite +settled all Mrs. King’s fears; Mr. Blunt and the miller +would both have their due, and she really believed she should be +no poorer!</p> +<p>Then she recollected the widow’s cruse of oil, and tears +of thankfulness and faith came into her eyes, and other tears +dropped when she remembered the other more precious comfort that +the stranger had brought into the widow’s house, but she +knew that the days of miracles and cures past hope were gone, and +that the Christian woman’s promise was ‘that her +children should come again,’ but not till the resurrection +of the just.</p> +<p>And though to her eye each frost was freshly piercing her +boy’s breast, each warm damp day he faded into greater +feebleness, yet the hope was far clearer. He was happy and +content. He had laid hold of the blessed hope of +Everlasting Life, and was learning to believe that the Cross laid +on him here was in mercy to make him fit for Heaven, first making +him afraid and sorry for his sins, and ready to turn to Him Who +could take them away, and then almost becoming gladness, in the +thought of following his Master, though so far off.</p> +<p>Not that Alfred often said such things, but they breathed +peace over his mind, and made Scripture-reading, prayers, and +hymns very delightful to him, especially those in Matilda’s +book; and he dwelt more than he told any one on Mr. Cope’s +promise, when he trusted to be made more fully ‘one with +Christ’ in the partaking of His Cup of Life. It used +to be his treat, when no one was looking, to read over that +Service in his Prayer-book, and to think of the time. It +was like a kind of step; he could fix his mind on that, and the +sense of forgiveness he hoped for therein, better than on the +great change that was coming; when there was much fear and +shrinking from the pain, and some dread of what as yet seemed +strange and unknown, he thought he should feel lifted up so as to +be able to bear the thought, when that holy Feast should have +come to him.</p> +<p>All this made him much less occupied with himself, and he took +much more share in what was going on; he could be amused and +playful, cared for all that Ellen and Harold did, and was +inclined to make the most of his time with his brother. It +was like old happy times, now that Alfred had ceased to be +fretful, and Harold took heed not to distress him.</p> +<p>One thing to which Alfred looked forward greatly, was +Paul’s being able to come into his room, and the two on +their opposite sides of the wall made many pleasant schemes for +the talk and reading that were to go on. But when the day +came, Alfred was more disappointed than pleased.</p> +<p>Paul had been cased, by Lady Jane’s orders, in flannel; +he had over that a pair of trousers of Alfred’s—much +too long, for the Kings were very tall, and he was small and +stunted in growth—and a great wrapping-gown that Mr. Cope +had once worn when he was ill at college, and over his shaven +head a night-cap that had been their father’s.</p> +<p>Ellen, with many directions from Alfred, had made him up a +couch with three chairs, and the cushions Alfred used to have +when he could leave his bed; the fire was made up brightly, and +Mrs. King and Harold helped Paul into the room.</p> +<p>But all the rheumatic pain was by no means over, and walking +made him feel it; he was dreadfully weak, and was so giddy and +faint after the first few steps, that they could not bring him to +shake hands with Alfred as both had wished, but had to lay him +down as fast as they could. So tired was he, that he could +hardly say anything all the time he was there; and Alfred had to +keep silence for fear of wearying him still more. There was +a sort of shyness, too, which hindered the two from even letting +their eyes meet, often as they had heard each other’s +voices, and had greeted one another through the thin +partition. As Paul lay with his eyes shut, Alfred raised +himself to take a good survey of the sharp pinched features, the +hollow cheeks, deep-sunk pits for the eyes,—and yellow +ghastly skin of the worn face, and the figure, so small and +wasted that it was like nothing, curled up in all those +wraps. One who could read faces better than young Alfred +could, would have gathered not only that the boy who lay there +had gone through a great deal, but that there was much mind and +thought crushed down by misery, and a gentle nature not fit to +stand up alone against it, and so sinking down without +exertion.</p> +<p>And when Alfred was learning a verse of his favourite +hymn—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘There is a rill whose waters +rise—’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Paul’s eye-lids rose, and looked him all over dreamily, +comparing him perhaps with the notions he had carried away from +his two former glimpses. Alfred did not look now so utterly +different from anything he had seen before, since Mrs. King and +Ellen had been hovering round his bed for nearly a month past; +but still the fair skin, pink colour, dark eye-lashes, glossy +hair, and white hands, were like a dream to him, as if they +belonged to the pure land whither Alfred was going, and he was +quite loath to hear him speak like another boy, as he knew he +could do, having often listened to his talk through the +wall. At the least sign of Alfred’s looking up, he +turned away his eyes as if he had been doing something by +stealth.</p> +<p>He came in continually after this; and little things each day, +and Harold’s talk, made the two acquainted and like boys +together; but it was not till Christmas Day that they felt like +knowing each other.</p> +<p>It was the first time Paul felt himself able to be of any use, +for he was to be left in charge of Alfred, while Mrs. King and +both her other children went to church. Paul was sadly +crippled still, and every frost filled his bones with acute pain, +and bent him like an old man, so that he was still a long way +from getting down-stairs, but he could make a shift to get about +the room, and he looked greatly pleased when Alfred declared that +he should want nobody else to stay with him in the morning.</p> +<p>Very glad he was that his mother would not be kept from +Ellen’s first Holy Communion. Owing to the Curate not +being a priest, the Feast had not been celebrated since +Michaelmas; but a clergyman had come to help Mr. Cope, that the +parish might not be deprived of the Festival on such a day as +Christmas.</p> +<p>Harold, though in a much better mood than at the Confirmation +time, was not as much concerned to miss it as perhaps he ought to +have been. Thought had not come to him yet, and his head +was full of the dinner with the servants at the Grange. It +was sad that he and Ellen should alone be able to go to it; but +it would be famous for all that! Ay, and so were the young +postman’s Christmas-boxes!</p> +<p>So Paul and Alfred were left together, and held their tongues +for full five minutes, because both felt so odd. Then +Alfred said something about reading the Service, and Paul offered +to read it to him.</p> +<p>Paul had not only been very well taught, but had a certain +gift, such as not many people have, for reading aloud well. +Alfred listened to those Psalms and Lessons as if they had quite +a new meaning in them, for the right sound and stress on the +right words made them sound quite like another thing; and so +Alfred said when he left off.</p> +<p>‘I’m sure they do to me,’ said Paul. +‘I didn’t know much about “good-will to +men” last Christmas.’</p> +<p>‘You’ve not had overmuch good-will from them, +neither,’ said Alfred, ‘since you came +out.’</p> +<p>‘What! not since I’ve been at Friarswood?’ +exclaimed Paul. ‘Why, I used to think all <i>that</i> +was only something in a book.’</p> +<p>‘All what?’ asked Alfred.</p> +<p>‘All about—why, loving one’s +neighbour—and the Good Samaritan, and so on. I never +saw any one do it, you know, but it was comfortable like to read +about it; and when I watched to your mother and all of you, I saw +how it was about one’s neighbour; and then, what with that +and Mr. Cope’s teaching, I got to feel how it +was—about God!’ and Paul’s face looked very +grave and peaceful.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Alfred, ‘I don’t know as +I ever cared about it much—not since I was a little +boy. It was the fun last Christmas.’</p> +<p>And Paul looking curious, Alfred told all about the going out +for holly, and the dining at the Grange, and the snap-dragon over +the pudding, till he grew so eager and animated that he lost +breath, and his painful cough came on, so that he could just +whisper, ‘What did you do?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! I don’t know. We had prayers, and +there was roast beef for dinner, but they gave it to me where it +was raw, and I couldn’t eat it. Those that had +friends went out; but ‘twasn’t much unlike other +days.’</p> +<p>‘Poor Paul!’ sighed Alfred.</p> +<p>‘It won’t be like that again, though,’ said +Paul, ‘even if I was in a Union. I know—what I +know now.’</p> +<p>‘And, Paul,’ said Alfred, after a pause, +‘there’s one thing I should like if I was you. +You know our Blessed Saviour had no house over Him, but was left +out of the inn, and nobody cared for Him.’</p> +<p>Paul did not make any answer; and Alfred blushed all over.</p> +<p>Presently Alfred said, ‘Harold will run in soon. I +say, Paul, would you mind reading me what they will say after the +Holy Sacrament—what the Angels sang is the +beginning.’</p> +<p>Paul found it, and felt as if he must stand to read such +praise.</p> +<p>‘Thank you,’ said Alfred. ‘I’m +glad Mother and Ellen are there. They’ll remember us, +you know. Did you hear what Mr. Cope promised +me?’</p> +<p>Paul had not heard; and Alfred told him, adding, ‘It +will be the Ember-week in Lent. You’ll be one with me +then, Paul?’</p> +<p>‘I’d like to promise,’ said Paul fervently; +‘but you see, when I’m well—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, you won’t go away for good. My Lady, or +Mr. Cope, will get you work; and I want you to be Mother’s +good son instead of me; and a brother to Harold and +Ellen.’</p> +<p>‘I’d never go if I could help it,’ said +Paul; ‘I sometimes wish I’d never got better! I +wish I could change with you, Alfred; nobody would care if +’twas me; nor I’m sure I shouldn’t.’</p> +<p>‘I should like to get well!’ said Alfred slowly, +and sighing. ‘But then you’ve been a much +better lad than I was.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know why you should say that,’ said +Paul, with his hand under his chin, rather moodily. +‘But if I thought I could be good and go on well, I would +not mind so much. I say, Alfred, when people round go on +being—like Tom Boldre, you know—do you think one can +always feel that about God being one’s Father, and church +home, and all the rest?’</p> +<p>‘I can’t say—I never tried,’ said +Alfred. ‘But you know you can always go to +church—and then the Psalms and Lessons tell you those +things. Well, and you can go to the Holy Sacrament—I +say, Paul, if you take it the first time with me, you’ll +always remember me again every time after.’</p> +<p>‘I must be very odd ever to forget you!’ said +Paul, not far from crying. ‘Ha!’ he exclaimed, +‘they are coming out of church!’</p> +<p>‘I want to say one thing more, while I’ve got it +in my head,’ said Alfred. ‘Mr. Cope said all +this sickness was a cross to me, and I’d got to take it up +for our Saviour’s sake. Well, and then mayn’t +yours be being plagued and bullied, without any friends? +I’m sure something like it happened to our Lord; and He +never said one word against them. Isn’t that the way +you may be to follow Him?’</p> +<p>Illness and thought had made such things fully plain to +Alfred, and his words sank deep into Paul’s mind; but there +was not time for any answer, for Harold was heard unlocking the +door, and striding up three steps at a time, sending his voice +before him. ‘Well, old chaps, have you quarrelled +yet? Have you been jolly together? I say, Mrs. Crabbe +told Ellen that the pudding was put into the boiler at eight +o’clock last night; and my Lady and Miss Jane went in to +give it a stir! I’m to bring you home a slice, you +know; and Paul will know what a real pudding is like.’</p> +<p>The two boys spent a happy quiet afternoon with Mrs. King; and +Charles Hayward brought all the singing boys down, that they +might hear the carols outside the window. Paul, much tired, +was in his bed by that time; but his last thought was that +‘Good-will to Men’ had come home to him at last.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI—BETTER DAYS FOR PAUL</h2> +<p>Paul’s reading was a great prize to Alfred, for he soon +grew tired himself; his sister could not spare time to read to +him, and if she did, she went mumbling on like a bee in a +bottle. Her mother did much the same, and Harold used to +stumble and gabble, so that it was horrible to hear him. +Such reading as Paul’s was a new light to them all, and was +a treat to Ellen as she worked as much as to Alfred; and Paul, +with hands as clean as Alfred’s, was only too happy to get +hold of a book, and infinitely enjoyed the constant supply kept +up by Miss Selby, to make up for her not coming herself.</p> +<p>Then came the making out the accounts, a matter dreaded by all +the family. Ellen and Alfred both used to do the sums; but +as they never made them the same, Mrs. King always went by some +reckoning of her own by pencil dots on her thumb-nail, which took +an enormous time, but never went wrong. So the slate and +the books came up after tea, one night, and Ellen set to work +with her mother to pick out every one’s bill. There +might be about eight customers who had Christmas bills; but many +an accountant in a London shop would think eight hundred a less +tough business than did the King family these eight; especially +as there was a debtor and creditor account with four, and coals, +butcher’s meat, and shoes for man and horse, had to be set +against bread, tea, candles, and the like.</p> +<p>One pound of tea, 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>, that was all very +well; but an ounce and a half of the same made Ellen groan, and +look wildly at the corner over Alfred’s bed, as if in hopes +she should there see how to set it down, so as to work it.</p> +<p>‘Fourpence, all but—’ said a voice from the +arm-chair by the fire.</p> +<p>Ellen did not take any particular heed, but announced the fact +that three shillings were thirty-six pence, and six was +forty-two. Also that sixteen ounces were one pound, and +sixteen drams one ounce; but there she got stuck, and began +making figures and rubbing them out, as if in hopes that would +clear up her mind. Mrs. King pecked on for ten minutes on +her nail.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ she said, ‘Paul’s right; it is +fourpence.’</p> +<p>‘However did you do it?’ asked Ellen.</p> +<p>‘As 16 to 1.5, so 42,’ quoth Paul quickly. +‘Three halves into 42; 21 and 42 is 63; 63 by 16, gives 3 +and fifteen-sixteenths. You can’t deduct a sixteenth +of a penny, so call it fourpence.’</p> +<p>Ellen and Alfred were as wise as to the working as they were +before.</p> +<p>Next question—Paul’s answer came like the next +line in the book—Mrs. King proved him right, and so on till +she was quite tired of the proofs, and began to trust him. +Alfred asked how he could possibly do such things, which seemed +to him a perfect riddle.</p> +<p>‘I should have had my ears pretty nigh pulled off if I +took five minutes to work <i>that</i> in my head,’ said +Paul. ‘But I’ve forgotten things now; I could +do it faster once.’</p> +<p>‘I’m sure you hadn’t need,’ said Mrs. +King; ‘it’s enough to distract one’s senses to +count so fast. All in your poor head too!’</p> +<p>‘And I’ve got to write them all out +to-morrow,’ said Ellen dismally; ‘I must wait till +dark, or I shan’t set a stitch of work. I wish people +would pay ready money, and then one wouldn’t have to set +down their bills. Here’s Mr. Cope, +bread—bread—bread, as long as my arm!’</p> +<p>‘If you didn’t mind, maybe I could save you the +trouble, Miss Ellen,’ said Paul.</p> +<p>‘Did you ever make out a bill?’ asked Mrs. +King.</p> +<p>‘Never a real one; but every Thursday I used to do sham +ones. Once I did a jeweller’s bill for twelve +thousand pounds and odd! It is so long since I touched a +pen, that may be I can’t write; but I should like to +try.’</p> +<p>Ellen brought a pen, and the cover of a letter; and hobbling +up to the table, he took the pen, cleared it of a hair that was +sticking in it, made a scratch or two weakly and ineffectually, +then wrote in a neat clear hand, without running up or down, +‘Friarswood, Christmas.’</p> +<p>‘A pretty hand as ever I saw!’ said Mrs. +King. ‘Well, if you can write like that, and can be +trusted to make no mistakes, you might write out our bills; and +we’d be obliged to you most kindly.’</p> +<p>And so Paul did, so neatly, that when the next evening Mr. +Cope walked in with the money, he said, looking at Harold, +‘Ah! my ancient Saxon, I must make my compliments to you: I +did not think you could write letters as well as you can carry +them.’</p> +<p>‘’Twas Paul did it, Sir,’ said Harold.</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir; ’twas Paul,’ said Mrs. +King. ‘The lad is a wonderful scholar: he told off +all the sums as if they was in print; and to hear him +read—’tis like nothing I ever heard since poor Mrs. +Selby, Miss Jane’s mother.’</p> +<p>‘I saw he had been very well instructed—in +acquaintance with the Bible, and the like.’</p> +<p>‘And, Sir, before I got to know him for a boy that would +not give a false account of himself, I used to wonder whether he +could have run away from some school, and have friends above the +common. If you observe, Sir, he speaks so remarkably +well.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope had observed it. Paul spoke much better English +than did even the Kings; though Ellen was by way of being very +particular, and sometimes a little mincing.</p> +<p>‘You are quite sure it is not so?’ he said, a +little startled at Mrs. King’s surmise.</p> +<p>‘Quite sure now, Sir. I don’t believe he +would tell a falsehood on no account; and besides, poor +lad!’ and she smiled as the tears came into her eyes, +‘he’s so taken to me, he wouldn’t keep nothing +back from me, no more than my own boys.’</p> +<p>‘I’m sure he ought not, Mrs. King,’ said the +Curate, ‘such a mother to him as you have been. I +should like to examine him a little. With so much +education, he might do something better for himself than +field-labour.’</p> +<p>‘A very good thing it would be, Sir,’ said Mrs. +King, looking much cheered; ‘for I misdoubt me sometimes if +he’ll ever be strong enough to gain his bread that +way—at least, not to be a good workman. There! +he’s not nigh so tall as Harold; and so slight and skinny +as he is, going about all bent and slouching, even before his +illness! Why, he says what made him stay so long in the +Union was that he looked so small and young, that none of the +farmers at Upperscote would take him from it; and so at last he +had to go on the tramp.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope went up-stairs, and found Ellen, as usual, at her +needle, and Paul in the arm-chair close by Alfred, both busied in +choosing and cutting out pictures from Matilda’s +‘Illustrated News,’ with which Harold ornamented the +wall of the stair-case and landing. Mr. Cope sat down, and +made them laugh with something droll about the figures that were +lying spread on Alfred.</p> +<p>‘So, Paul,’ he said, ‘I find Mrs. King has +engaged you for her accountant.’</p> +<p>‘I wish I could do anything to be of any use,’ +said Paul.</p> +<p>‘I’ve half a mind to ask you some questions in +arithmetic,’ said Mr. Cope, with his merry eyes upon the +boy, and his mouth looking grave; ‘only I’m afraid +you might puzzle me.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t do as I used, Sir,’ said Paul, +rather nervously; ‘I’ve forgotten ever so much; and +my head swims.’</p> +<p>The slate was lying near; Mr. Cope pushed it towards him, and +said, ‘Well, will you mind letting me see how you can write +from dictation?’</p> +<p>And taking up one of the papers, he read slowly several +sentences from a description of a great fire, with some tolerably +long-winded newspaper words in them. When he paused, and +asked for the slate, there it all stood, perfectly spelt, well +written, and with all the stops and capitals in the right +places.</p> +<p>‘Famously done, Paul! Well, and do you know where +this place was?’ naming the town.</p> +<p>Paul turned his eyes about for a moment, and then gave the +name of a county.</p> +<p>‘That’ll do, Paul. Which part of +England?’</p> +<p>‘Midland.’</p> +<p>And so on, Mr. Cope got him out of his depth by asking about +the rivers, and made him frown and look teased by a question +about a battle fought in that county. If he had ever known, +he had forgotten, and he was weak and easily confused; but Mr. +Cope saw that he had read some history and learnt some geography, +and was not like some of the village boys, who used to think +Harold had been called after Herod—a nice namesake, +truly!</p> +<p>‘Who taught you all this, Paul?’ he said. +‘You must have had a cleverer master than is common in +Unions. Who was he?’</p> +<p>‘He was a Mr. Alcock, Sir. He was a clever +man. They said in the House that he had been a bit of a +gentleman, a lawyer, or a clerk, or something, but that he could +never keep from the bottle.’</p> +<p>‘What! and so they keep him for a +school-master?’</p> +<p>‘He was brought in, Sir; he’d got that mad fit +that comes of drink, Sir, and was fresh out of gaol for +debt. And when he came to, he said he’d keep the +school for less than our master that was gone. He +couldn’t do anything else, you see.’</p> +<p>‘And how did he teach you?’</p> +<p>‘He knocked us about,’ said Paul, drawing his +shoulders together with an unpleasant recollection; ‘he +wasn’t so bad to me, because I liked getting my tasks, and +when he was in a good humour, he’d say I was a credit to +him, and order me in to read to him in the evening.’</p> +<p>‘And when he was not?’</p> +<p>‘That was when he’d been out. They said +he’d been at the gin-shop; but he used to be downright +savage,’ said Paul. ‘At last he never thought +it worth while to teach any lessons but mine, and I used to hear +the other classes; but the inspector came all on a sudden, and +found it out one day when he’d hit a little lad so that his +nose was bleeding, and so he was sent off.’</p> +<p>‘How long ago was this?’</p> +<p>‘Going on for a year,’ said Paul.</p> +<p>‘Didn’t the inspector want you to go to a +training-school?’ said Alfred.</p> +<p>‘Yes; but the Guardians wouldn’t hear of +it.’</p> +<p>‘Did you wish it?’ asked Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>‘I liked my liberty, Sir,’ was the answer; and +Paul looked down.</p> +<p>‘Well, and what you do think now you’ve tried your +liberty?’</p> +<p>Paul didn’t make any answer, but finding that +good-humoured face still waiting, he said slowly, ‘Why, +Sir, it was well-nigh the worst of all to find I was getting as +stupid as the cows.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope laughed, but not so as to vex him; and added, +‘So that was the way you learnt to be a reader, Paul. +Can you tell me what books you used to read to this +master?’</p> +<p>Paul paused; and Alfred said, ‘“Uncle Tom’s +Cabin,” Sir; he told us the story of that.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Paul; ‘but that wasn’t +all: there was a book about Paris, and all the people in the back +lanes there; and a German prince who came, and was +kind.’</p> +<p>‘You must not tell them stories out of that book, +Paul,’ said Mr. Cope quickly, for he knew it was a very bad +one.</p> +<p>‘No, Sir,’ said Paul; ‘but most times it was +books he called philosophy, that I couldn’t make anything +of—no story, and all dull; but he was very savage if I got +to sleep over them, till I hated the sight of them.’</p> +<p>‘I’m glad you did, my poor boy,’ said Mr. +Cope. ‘But one thing more. Tell me how, with +such a man as this, you could have learnt about the Bible and +Catechism, as you have done.’</p> +<p>‘Oh,’ said Paul, ‘we had only the Bible and +Testament to read in the school, because they were the cheapest; +and the chaplain asked us about the Catechism every +Sunday.’</p> +<p>‘What was the chaplain’s name?’</p> +<p>Paul was able, with some recollection, to answer; but he knew +little about the clergyman, who was much overworked, and seldom +able to give any time to the paupers.</p> +<p>Three days after, Mr. Cope again came into the +post-office.</p> +<p>‘Well, Mrs. King, I suppose you don’t need to be +told that our friend Paul has spoken nothing but truth. The +chaplain sends me his baptismal registry, for which I +asked. Just seventeen he must be—a foundling, picked +up at about three weeks old, January 25th, 1836. They fancy +he was left by some tramping musicians, but never were able to +trace them—at least, so the chaplain hears from some of the +people who remember it. Being so stunted, and looking +younger than he is, no farmer would take him from the House, and +the school-master made him useful, so he was kept on till the +grand exposure that he told us of.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! Sir,’ said Mrs. King,’ I’m +afraid that master was a bad man. I only wonder the poor +lad learnt no more harm from him!’</p> +<p>‘One trembles to think of the danger,’ said Mr. +Cope; ‘but you see there’s often a guard over those +who don’t seek the temptation, and perhaps this poor +fellow’s utter ignorance of anything beyond the Union walls +helped him to let the mischief pass by his understanding, better +than if he had had any experience of the world.’</p> +<p>‘I doubt if he’ll ever have that, Sir,’ said +Mrs. King, her sensible face lighting up rather drolly; +‘there’s Harold always laughing at him for being so +innocent, and yet so clever at his book.’</p> +<p>‘So much the better for him,’ said Mr. Cope. +‘The Son of Sirach never said a wiser word than that +“the knowledge of wickedness is not wisdom.” +Why, Mrs. King, what have I said? you look as if you had a great +mind to laugh at me.’</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ said Mrs. King, much +disconcerted at what seemed to her as if it might have been +disrespect, though that was only Mr. Cope’s droll way of +putting it, ‘I never meant—’</p> +<p>‘Well, but what were you thinking of?’</p> +<p>‘Why, Sir, I beg your pardon, but I was thinking it +wouldn’t have been amiss if he had had sense enough to keep +himself clean and tidy.’</p> +<p>‘I agree with you,’ said Mr. Cope, laughing, and +seeing she used ‘innocent’ in a slightly different +sense from what he did; ‘but perhaps Union cleanliness was +not inviting, and he’d not had you to bring him up to fresh +cheeks like Harold’s. Besides, I believe it was half +depression and want of heart to exert himself, when there was no +one to care for him; and he certainly had not been taught either +self-respect, or to think cleanliness next to +godliness.’</p> +<p>‘Poor lad—no,’ said Mrs. King; ‘nor I +don’t think he’d do it again, and I trust he’ll +never be so lost again.’</p> +<p>‘Lost, and found,’ said Mr. Cope gravely. +‘Another thing I was going to say was, that this irreverent +economy of the Guardians, in allowing no lesson-books but the +Bible, seems to have, after all, been blest to him in his +knowledge of it, like an antidote to the evil the master poured +in.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir,’ said Mrs. King, ‘just so; only +he says, that though he liked it, because, poor lad, there was +nothing else that seemed to him to speak kind or soft, he never +knew how much it was meant for him, nor it didn’t seem to +touch him home till he came to you, Sir.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope half turned away. His bright eyes had something +very like a tear in them, for hardly anything could have been +said to make the young clergyman so happy, as to tell him that +any work of his should be blessed; but he went on talking +quickly, to say that the chaplain gave a still worse account of +Alcock than Paul’s had been, saying that some gentlemen who +had newly become Guardians at the time of the inspector’s +visit, had taken up the matter, and had been perfectly shocked at +the discoveries they had made about the man to whom the poor +children had been entrusted.</p> +<p>On his dismissal, some of the old set, who were all for +cheapness, had talked of letting young Blackthorn act as +school-master; but as he was so very young, and had been brought +up by this wretched man, the gentlemen would not hear of it; and +as they could not afford to accept the inspector’s offer of +recommending him to a government school, he had been sent out in +quest of employment, as being old enough to provide for +himself. Things had since, the chaplain said, been put on a +much better footing, and he himself had much more time to attend +to the inmates. As to Paul, he was glad to hear that he was +in good hands; he said he had always perceived him to be a very +clever boy, and knew no harm of him but that he was a favourite +with Alcock, which he owned had made him very glad to get him out +of the House, lest he should carry on the mischief.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope and Mrs. King were both of one mind, that this was +hard measure. So it was. Man’s measure always +is either over hard or over soft, because he cannot see all sides +at once. Now they saw Paul’s side, his simplicity, +and his suffering; the chaplain had only seen the chances of his +conveying the seeds of ungodly teaching to the workhouse +children; he could not tell that the pitch which Paul had not +touched by his own will, had not stuck by him—probably +owing to that very simplicity which had made him so helpless in +common life.</p> +<p>Having learnt all this, Mr. Cope proposed to Paul to use the +time of his recovery in learning as much as he could, so as to be +ready in case any opportunity should offer for gaining his +livelihood by his head rather than by his hands.</p> +<p>Paul’s face glowed. He liked nothing better than +to be at a book, and with Mr. Cope to help him by bright +encouragements and good-natured explanations instead of tweaks of +the ears and raps on the knuckles, what could be +pleasanter? So Mr. Cope lent him books, set him questions, +and gave him pen, ink, and copy-book, and he toiled away with +them till his senses grew dazed, and his back ached beyond +bearing; so that ‘Mother,’ as he called her now, +caught him up, and made him lie on his bed to rest, threatening +to tell Mr. Cope not to set him anything so hard; while Ellen +watched in wonder at any one being so clever, and was proud of +whatever Mr. Cope said he did well; and Harold looked on him as a +more extraordinary creature than the pie-bald horse in the show, +who wore a hat and stood on his hind legs, since he really was +vexed when book and slate were taken out of his hands.</p> +<p>He would have over-tasked himself in his weakness much more, +if it had not been for his lovingness to Alfred. To please +Alfred was always his first thought; and even if a difficult sum +were just on the point of proving itself, he would leave off at +the first moment of seeing Alfred look as if he wanted to be read +to, and would miss all his calculations, to answer some +question—who was going down the village, or what that noise +could be.</p> +<p>Alfred tried to be considerate, and was sorry when he saw by a +furrow on Paul’s brow that he was trying to win up again +all that some trifling saying had made him lose. But Alfred +was not scholar enough to perceive the teasing of such +interruptions, and even had he been aware of it, he was not in a +state when he could lie quite still long together without +disturbing any one; he could amuse himself much less than +formerly, and often had most distressing restless fits, when one +or other of them had to give him their whole attention; and it +was all his most earnest efforts could do to keep from the old +habit of fretfulness and murmuring. And he grieved so much +over the least want of temper, and begged pardon so earnestly for +the least impatient word—even if there had been real +provocation for it—that it was a change indeed since the +time when he thought grumbling and complaint his privilege and +relief. Nothing helped him more than Paul’s reading +Psalms to him—the 121st was his favourite—or saying +over hymns to him in that very sweet voice so full of +meaning. Sometimes Ellen and Paul would sing together, as +she sat at her work, and it almost always soothed him to hear the +Psalm tunes, that were like an echo from the church, about which +he had cared so little when he had been able to go there in +health and strength, but for which he now had such a +longing! He came to be so used to depend on their singing +the Evening Hymn to him, that one of the times when it was most +hard for him to be patient, was one cold evening, when Ellen was +so hoarse that she could not speak, and an unlucky draught in +from the shop door had so knit Paul up again, that he was lying +in his bed, much nearer screaming than singing.</p> +<p>Most of all, however, was Alfred helped by Mr. Cope’s +visits, and the looking forward to the promised Feast, with more +earnestness as the time drew on, and he felt his own weakness +more longing for the support and blessing of uniting his +suffering with that of his Lord. ‘In all our +afflictions He was afflicted,’ was a sound that came most +cheeringly to him, and seemed to give him greater strength and +good-will to bear his load of weakness.</p> +<p>There was a book which young Mrs. Selby had given his mother, +which was often lying on his bed, and had marks in it at all the +favourite places. Some he liked to look at himself, some +for Paul to read to him. They were such sentences as +these:</p> +<p>‘My son, I descended from Heaven for thy salvation; I +took upon Me thy miseries; not necessity, but charity, drawing Me +thereto, that thou thyself mightest learn patience, and bear +temporal miseries without grudging.’</p> +<p>‘For from the hour of My Birth, even until My Death on +the Cross, I was not without suffering and grief.’</p> +<p>And then again:</p> +<p>‘Offer up thyself unto Me, and give thyself wholly for +God, and thy offering shall be acceptable.’</p> +<p>‘Behold, I offered up Myself wholly unto My Father for +thee, and gave My whole Body and Blood for thy food, that I might +be wholly thine, and that thou mightest continue Mine unto the +end.’</p> +<p>So he might think of all that he went through as capable of +being made a free offering, which God would accept for the sake +of the One Great Offering, ‘consuming and burning +away’ (as the book said) ‘all his sins with the fire +of Christ’s love, and cleansing his conscience from all +offences.’ It was what he now felt in the words, +‘Thy Will be done,’ which he tried to say in full +earnest; but he thought he should be very happy when he should go +along with the offering ourselves, our souls, and bodies, to be a +‘reasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice.’</p> +<p>Each of Mr. Cope’s readings brought out or confirmed +these refreshing hopes; and Paul likewise dwelt on such +thoughts. Hardship had been a training to him, like +sickness for Alfred; he knew what it was to be weary and heavy +laden, and to want rest, and was ready to draw closer to the only +Home and Father that he could claim. His gentle unresisting +spirit was one that so readily forgot ill-will, that positively +Harold cherished more dislike to the Shepherds than he did; and +there was no struggle to forgive, no lack of charity for all men, +so that hope and trust were free.</p> +<p>These two boys were a great deal to the young deacon. +Perhaps he reckoned on his first ministration as a priest by +Alfred’s bedside, as much or even more than did the lad, +for to him the whole household were as near and like-minded +friends, though neither he nor they ever departed from the +fitting manners of their respective stations. He was one +who liked to share with others what was near his heart, and he +had shewn Alfred the Service for the Ordination of Priests, and +the Prayers for Grace that would be offered, and the holy vows +that he would take upon him, and the words with which those great +Powers would be conferred—those Powers that our Chief +Shepherd left in trust for the pastors who feed His flock.</p> +<p>And once he had bent down and whispered to Alfred to pray that +help might be given to him to use those powers faithfully.</p> +<p>So wore on the early spring; and the morning had come when he +was to set out for the cathedral town, when Harold rode up to the +parsonage door, and something in his looks as he passed the +window made Mr. Cope hasten to the door to meet him.</p> +<p>‘O Sir!’ said Harold, bursting out crying as he +began to speak, ‘poor Alfred is took so bad; and Mother +told me to tell you, Sir—if he’s not +better—he’ll never live out the day!’</p> +<p>Poor Harold, who had never seemed to heed his brother’s +illness, was quite overwhelmed now. It had come upon him +all at once.</p> +<p>‘What is it? Has the doctor been?’</p> +<p>‘No, Sir; I went in at six o’clock this morning to +ask him to come out, and he said he’d come—and sent +him a blister—but Alf was worse by the time I got back, +Sir,—he can’t breathe—and don’t seem to +notice.’</p> +<p>And without another word, nor waiting for comfort, Harold dug +his heels into Peggy, passed his elbow over his eyes, and +cantered on with the tears drying on his face in the brisk March +wind.</p> +<p>There was no finishing breakfast for the Curate; he thrust his +letters into his pocket, caught up his hat, and walked off with +long strides for the post-office.</p> +<p>It shewed how different things were from usual, that Paul, who +had hardly yet been four times down-stairs, his thin pointed face +all in a flush, was the only person in the shop, trying with a +very shaky hand to cut out some cheese for a great stout farm +maid-servant, who evidently did not understand what was the +matter, and stared doubly when the clergyman put his strong hand +so as to steady Paul’s trembling one, and gave his help to +fold up the parcel.</p> +<p>‘How is he, Paul?’</p> +<p>Paul was very near crying as he answered, ‘Much worse, +Sir. Mother has been up all night with him. O Sir! he +did so want to live till you came home.’</p> +<p>‘May I go up?’ asked Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>Paul was sure that he might, and crept up after him. It +was bad enough, but not quite so bad as Harold, in his fright, +had made Mr. Cope believe. Poor boy! it had all come upon +him now; and seeing his brother unable to speak and much +oppressed, he fancied he did not know him, whereas Alfred was +fully sensible, though too ill to do more than lift his eyes, and +put out his weak fingers as Mr. Cope came into the room, where he +was lying raised on his pillows, with his mother and sister doing +all they could for him.</p> +<p>A terrible pain in the side had come on in the night, making +every breath painful, every cough agonizing, and his whole face +and brow were crimson with the effort of gasping.</p> +<p>Paul looked a moment but could not bear it, and went, and sat +down on the top of the stairs; while Mr. Cope kindly held +Alfred’s hot hand, and Mrs. King, in her low patient tone, +told how the attack had begun.</p> +<p>She was in the midst, when Mr. Blunt’s gig was seen at +the gate. His having thus hastened his coming was more than +they had dared to hope; and while Mrs. King felt grateful for the +kindness, Ellen feared that it shewed that he thought very badly +of the case.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope was much hurried, but he could not bear to go till he +had heard Mr. Blunt’s opinion; so he went down to the +kitchen, tried to console Paul by talking kindly to him, wrote a +note, and read his letters.</p> +<p>They were much comforted to hear that Mr. Blunt thought that +there was hope of subduing the present inflammatory pain; and +though there was much immediate danger, it was not hastening so +very fast to the end as they had at first supposed. Yet, in +such a state as Alfred’s, a few hours might finish +all. There was no saying.</p> +<p>Already, when Mr. Cope went up again, the remedies had given +some relief; and though the breaths came short and hard, like so +many stabs, Alfred had put his head into an easier position, and +his eyes and lips looked more free to look a greeting. +There was so much wistful earnestness in his face, and it deeply +grieved Mr. Cope to be forced to leave him, and in too much haste +even to be able to pray with him.</p> +<p>‘Well, Alfred, dear fellow,’ he said, his voice +trembling, ‘I am come to wish you good-bye. I am +comforted to find that Mr. Blunt thinks there is good hope that +you will be here—that we shall be together when I come +back. Yes, I know that is what is on your mind, and I do +reckon most earnestly on it; but if it should not be His +Will—here, Ellen, will you take care of this note? If +he should be worse, will you send this to Mr. Carter, at +Ragglesford? and I know he will come at once.’</p> +<p>The dew stood on Alfred’s eye-lashes, and his lips +worked. He looked up sadly to Mr. Cope, as if this did not +answer his longings.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope replied to the look—‘Yes, dear boy, but +if it cannot be, still remember it is Communion. He can put +us together. We all drink into one Spirit. I shall be +engaged in a like manner—I would not—I could not go, +Alfred, for pleasure—no, nor business—only for +this. You must think that I am gone to bring you home the +Gift—the greatest, best Gift—the one our Lord left +with His disciples, to bear them through their sorrows and +pains—through the light affliction that is but for a +moment, but worketh an exceeding weight of glory. And if I +should not be in time,’ he added, nearly sobbing as he +spoke, ‘then—then, Alfred, the Gift, the blessing is +yours all the same. It is the Great High Priest to Whom you +must look—perhaps you may do so the more really if it +should not be through—your friend. If we are +disappointed, we will make a sacrifice of our +disappointment. Good-bye, my boy; God bless +you!’ Bending close down to his face, he whispered, +‘Think of me. Pray for +me—now—always.’ Then, rising hastily, he +shook the hands of the mother and sister, ran down-stairs, and +was gone.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII—REST AT LAST</h2> +<p>The east wind had been swept aside by gales from the warm +south, and the spring was bursting out everywhere; the sky looked +softly blue, instead of hard and chill; the sun made everything +glisten: the hedges were full of catkins; white buds were on the +purple twigs of the blackthorns; primroses were looking out on +the sunny side of the road; the larks were mounting up, singing +as if they were wild with delight; and the sunbeams were full of +dancing gnats, as the Curate of Friarswood walked, with quick +eager steps, towards the bridge.</p> +<p>His eyes were anxiously bent on the house, watching the white +smoke rising from the chimney; then he hastened on to gain the +first sight at the upper windows, feeling almost as he could have +done had it been a brother who lay there; so much was his heart +set on the first whom he had striven to help through the valley +of the shadow of death. The window was open, but the blind +was not drawn; and almost at the same moment the gate opened, +some one looked out, and seeing him, waved his hand and arm in +joyful signal towards some one within, and this gesture set Mr. +Cope’s heart at rest.</p> +<p>Was it Harold? No, it was Paul Blackthorn, who stood +leaning on the wicket, as he held it open for the clergyman, at +whom he looked up as if expecting some change, and a little +surprised to find the same voice and manner.</p> +<p>‘Well, Paul, then he is not worse?’</p> +<p>‘No, Sir, thank you, he is better. The pain has +left him, and he can speak again,’ said Paul, but not very +cheerfully.</p> +<p>‘That is a great comfort! But who’s +that?’ as a head, not Ellen’s, appeared for a moment +at the window.</p> +<p>‘That’s Miss King, Sir—Miss +Matilda!’</p> +<p>‘Oh! Well, and how are the bones, Paul? +Better, I hope, since I see you are come out with the +bees,’ said Mr. Cope, laying his hand kindly on his +shoulder (a thing fit to touch now, since it was in a fustian +coat of poor Alfred’s), and accommodating his swift strong +steps to the feeble halt with which Paul still moved.</p> +<p>‘Thank you, Sir, yes; I’ve been down here twice +when the sun was out,’ he said, as if it were a grand +undertaking; but then, with a sudden smile, ‘and poor +Cæsar knew me, Sir; he came right across the road, and +wagged his tail, and licked my hand.’</p> +<p>‘Good old Cæsar! You were his best friend, +Paul.—Well, Mrs. King, this is a blessing!’</p> +<p>Mrs. King looked sadly worn out with nursing, and her eyes +were full of tears.</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir,’ she said, ‘indeed it is. +My poor darling has been so much afraid he was too much set on +your coming home, and yet so patient and quiet about +it.’</p> +<p>‘Then you ventured to wait?’</p> +<p>And Mr. Cope heard that the attack of inflammation had given +way to remedies, but that Alfred was so much weakened, that they +could not raise him again. He was sustained by as much +nourishment as they could give him: but the disease had made +great progress, and Mr. Blunt did not think that he could last +many days. His eldest sister had come for a fortnight from +her place, and was a great comfort to them all. ‘And +so is Paul,’ said Mrs. King, looking for him kindly; +‘I don’t know what we should do without his help +up-stairs and down. And, Sir, yesterday,’ she added, +colouring a good deal—‘I beg your pardon, but I +thought, maybe, you’d like to hear it—Alfred would +have nobody else up with him in morning church-time—and +made him read the most—of that Service, Sir.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cope’s eyes glistened, and he said something huskily +of being glad that Alfred could think of it.</p> +<p>It further appeared that Alfred had wished very much to see +Miss Selby again, and that Mrs. King had sent the two sisters to +the Grange to talk it over with Mrs. Crabbe, and word had been +sent by Harold that morning that the young lady would come in the +course of the afternoon.</p> +<p>Mr. Cope followed Mrs. King up-stairs; Alfred’s face +lighted up as his sister Matilda made way for the +clergyman. He was very white, and his breath was oppressed; +but his look had changed very much—it had a strange, still +sort of brightness and peace about it. He spoke in very low +tones, just above a whisper, and smiled as Mr. Cope took his +hand, and spoke to him.</p> +<p>‘Thank you, Sir. It is very nice,’ he +said.</p> +<p>‘I thank God that He has let you wait for me,’ +said Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>‘I am glad,’ said Alfred. ‘I did want +to pray for it; but I thought, perhaps, if it was not His Will, I +would not—and then what you said. And now He is +making it all happy.’</p> +<p>‘And you do not grieve over your year of +illness?’</p> +<p>‘I would not have been without it—no,’ said +Alfred, very quietly, but with much meaning.</p> +<p>‘“It is good for me that I have been in +trouble,” is what you mean,’ said Mr. Cope.</p> +<p>‘It has made our Saviour seem—I mean—He is +so good to me,’ said Alfred fervently.</p> +<p>But talking made him cough, and that brought a line in the +fair forehead so full of peace. Mr. Cope would not say more +to him, and asked his mother whether the Feast, for which he had +so much longed, should be on the following day. She thought +it best that it should be so; and Alfred again said, ‘Thank +you, Sir,’ with the serene expression on his face. +Mr. Cope read a Psalm and a prayer to him, and thinking him equal +to no more, went away, pausing, however, for a little talk with +Paul in the shop.</p> +<p>Paul did not say so, but, poor fellow, he had been rather at a +loss since Matilda had come. In herself, she was a very +good, humble, sensible girl; but she wore a dark silk dress, and +looked, moved, and spoke much more like a lady than Ellen: Paul +stood in great awe of her, and her presence seemed all at once to +set him aloof from the others.</p> +<p>He had been like one of themselves for the last three months, +now he felt that he was like a beggar among them; he did not like +to call Mrs. King mother, lest it should seem presuming; Ellen +seemed to be raised up the same step as her sister, and even +Alfred was almost out of his reach; Matilda read to him, and +Paul’s own good feeling shewed him that he would be only in +the way if he spent all his time in Alfred’s room as +formerly; so he kept down-stairs in the morning, and went to bed +very early. Nobody was in the least unkind to him: but he +had just begun to grieve at being a burden so long, and to wonder +how much longer he should be in getting his health again. +And then it might be only to be cast about the world, and to lose +his one glimpse of home kindness. Poor boy! he still cried +at the thought of how happy Alfred was.</p> +<p>He did all he could to be useful, but he could scarcely manage +to stoop down, could carry nothing heavy, and moved very slowly; +and he now and then made a dreadful muddle in the shop, when a +customer was not like Mrs. Hayward, who told him where everything +was, and the price of all she wanted, as well as Mrs. King could +do herself. He could sort the letters and see to the +post-office very well; and for all his blunders, he did so much +by his good-will, that when Mrs. King wanted to cheer him up, she +declared that he saved her all the expense of having in a woman +from the village to help, and that he did more about the house +than Harold.</p> +<p>This was true: for Harold did not like doing anything but +manly things, as he called them; whereas Paul did not care what +it was, so that it saved trouble to her or Ellen.</p> +<p>Talking and listening to Harold was one use of Paul. Now +that it had come upon him, and he saw Alfred worse from day to +day, the poor boy was quite broken-hearted. Possibly, when +at his work, or riding, he managed to shake off the remembrance; +but at home it always came back, and he cried so much at the +sight of Alfred, and at any attempt of his brother to talk to +him, that they could scarcely let him stay ten minutes in the +room. Then, when Paul had gone to bed on the landing at +seven o’clock, he would come and sit on his bed, and talk, +and cry, and sob about his brother, and his own carelessness of +him, often till his mother came out and ordered him down-stairs +to his own bed in the kitchen; and Paul turned his face into the +pillow to weep himself to sleep, loving Alfred very little less +than did his brother, but making less noise about it, and feeling +very lonely when he saw how all the family cared for each +other.</p> +<p>So Mr. Cope’s kind manner came all the more pleasantly +to him; and after some talk on what they both most cared about, +Mr. Cope said, ‘Paul, Mr. Shaw of Berryton tells me he has +a capital school-master, but in rather weak health, and he wants +to find a good intelligent youth to teach under him, and have +opportunities of improving himself. Five pounds a year, and +board and lodgings. What do you think of it, +Paul?’</p> +<p>Paul’s sallow face began growing red, and he polished +the counter, on which he was leaning; then, as Mr. Cope repeated, +‘Eh, Paul?’ he said slowly, and in his almost rude +way, ‘They wouldn’t have me if they knew how +I’d been brought up.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps they would if they knew what you’ve come +to in spite of bringing up. And,’ added Mr. Cope, +‘they are not so much pressed for time but that they can +wait till you’ve quite forgotten your tumble into the +Ragglesford. We must fatten you—get rid of those +spider-fingers, and you and I must do a few more lessons +together—and I think Mrs. King has something towards your +outfit; and by Whitsuntide, I told Mr. Shaw that I thought I +might send him what I call a very fair sample of a good steady +lad.’</p> +<p>Paul did not half seem to take it in—perhaps he was too +unhappy, or it sounded like sending him away again; or, maybe, +such a great step in life was more than he could comprehend, +after the outcast condition to which he had been used: but Mr. +Cope could not go on talking to him, for the Grange carriage was +stopping at the gate, and Matilda and Ellen were both coming +down-stairs to receive Miss Jane. Poor little thing, she +looked very pale and nervous; and as she shook hands with the +Curate, as he met her in the garden-path, she said with a +startled manner, ‘Oh! Mr. Cope—were you +there? Am I interrupting—?’</p> +<p>‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I had only +called in as I came home, and had just come down +again.’</p> +<p>‘Is it—is it very dreadful?’ murmured Jane, +with a sort of gasp. She was so entirely unused to scenes +of sadness or pain, that it was very strange and alarming to her, +and it was more difficult than ever to believe her no younger +than Ellen.</p> +<p>‘Very far from dreadful or distressing,’ said Mr. +Cope kindly, for he knew it was not her fault that she had been +prevented from overcoming such feelings, and that this was a +great effort of kindness. ‘It is a very peaceful, +soothing sight—he is very happy, and not in a suffering +state.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, will you tell Grandmamma?’ said Jane, with +her pretty look of earnestness; ‘she is so much afraid of +its much for me, and she was so kind in letting me +come.’</p> +<p>So Miss Selby went on to the two sisters, and Mr. Cope +proceeded to the carriage, where Lady Jane had put out her head, +glad to be able to ask him about the state of affairs. +Having nothing but this little grand-daughter left to her, the +old lady watched over her with almost over-tender care, and was +in much alarm both lest the air of the sick-room should be +unwholesome, or the sight too sorrowful for her; and though she +was too kind to refuse the wish of the dying boy, she had come +herself, in order that ‘the child,’ as she called +her, might not stay longer than was good for her; and she was +much relieved to hear Mr. Cope’s account of Alfred’s +calm state, and of the freshness of the clean room, in testimony +of which he pointed to the open window.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I hope Mary King was wise +enough; but I hardly knew how it might be with such a number +about the house—that boy and all. He is not gone, is +he?’</p> +<p>‘No, he is not nearly well enough yet, though he does +what he can to be useful to her. When he is recovered, I +have a scheme for him.’</p> +<p>So Mr. Cope mentioned Mr. Shaw’s proposal, by which my +Lady set more store than did Paul as yet. Very kind-hearted +she was, though she did not fancy adopting chance-comers into her +parish; and as long as he was not saddled upon Mary King, as she +said, she was very glad of any good for him; so she told Mr. Cope +to come to her for what he might want to fit him out properly for +the situation; and turning her keen eyes on him as he stood near +the cottage door, pronounced that, after all, he was a nice, +decent-looking lad enough, which certainly her Ladyship would not +have said before his illness.</p> +<p>Miss Jane did not stay long. Indeed, Alfred could not +talk to her, and she did not know what to say to him; she could +only stand by his bed, with the tears upon her cheeks, making +little murmuring sounds in answer to Mrs. King, who said for her +son what she thought he wished to have said. Meanwhile, +Jane was earnestly looking at him, remarking with awe, that, +changed as he was since she had last seen him—so much more +wasted away—the whole look of his face was altered by the +gentleness and peace that it had gained, so as to be like the +white figure of a saint.</p> +<p>She could not bear it when Mrs. King told her Alfred wanted to +thank her for all her kindness in coming to see him. +‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘I was not kind at +all;’ and her tears would not be hindered. +‘Only, you know, I could not help it.’</p> +<p>Alfred gave her a bright look. Any one could see what a +pleasure it was to him to be looking at her again, though he did +not repent of his share in the sacrifice for Paul’s +sake. No, if Paul had been given up that Miss Jane might +come to him, Alfred would not have had the training that made all +so sweet and calm with him now. He turned his head to the +little picture, and said, ‘Thank you, Ma’am, for +that. That’s been my friend.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, indeed it has, Miss Jane,’ said his +mother. ‘There’s nothing you ever did for him +that gave him the comfort that has been.’</p> +<p>‘And please, Ma’am,’ said Alfred, +‘will you tell my Lady—I give her my duty—and +ask her pardon for having behaved so bad—and Mrs. +Crabbe—and the rest?’</p> +<p>‘I will, Alfred; but every one has forgiven that +nonsense long ago.’</p> +<p>‘It was very bad of me,’ said Alfred, pausing for +breath; ‘and so it was not to mind you—Miss +Jane—when you said I was ill for a warning.’</p> +<p>‘Did I?’ said Jane.</p> +<p>‘Yes—in hay-time—I mind it—I +didn’t mind for long—but ’twas true. He +had patience with me.’</p> +<p>The cough came on, and Jane knew she must go; her grandmother +had bidden her not to stay if it were so, and she just ventured +to squeeze Alfred’s hand, and then went down-stairs, +checking her tears, to wish Matilda and Ellen good-bye; and as +she passed by Paul, told him not to uncover his still very +short-haired head, and kindly hoped he was better.</p> +<p>Paul, in his dreary feelings, hardly thought of Mr. +Cope’s plan, till, as he was getting the letters ready for +Harold, he turned up one in Mr. Cope’s writing, addressed +to the ‘Rev. A. Shaw, Berryton, Elbury.’</p> +<p>‘That’s to settle for me, then,’ he said; +and Harold who was at tea, asking, ‘What’s +that?’ he explained.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Harold, ‘every one to his +taste! I wouldn’t go to school again, not for a +hundred pounds; and as to <i>keeping</i> school!’ +(Such a face as he made really caused Paul to smile.) +‘Nor you don’t half like it, neither,’ +continued Harold. ‘Come, you’d better stay and +get work here! I’d sooner be at the plough-tail all +day, than poke out my eyes over stuff like that,’ pointing +to Paul’s slate, covered with figures. ‘Here, +Nelly,’ as she moved about, tidying the room, ‘do you +hear? Mr. Cope’s got an offer of a place for +Paul—five pounds a year, and board and lodging, to be +school-master’s whipper-in, or what d’ye call +it?’</p> +<p>‘What do you say, Harold?’ cried Ellen, putting +her hands on the back of a chair, quite interested. +‘You going away, Paul?’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Cope says so—and I must get my living, you +know,’ said Paul.</p> +<p>‘But not yet; you are not well enough yet,’ said +the kind girl. ‘And where did you +say—?’</p> +<p>‘To Berryton.’</p> +<p>‘Berryton—oh! that’s just four miles out on +the other side of Elbury, where Susan Congleton went to live that +was housemaid at the Grange. She says it’s such a +nice place, and such beautiful organ and singing at church! +And what did you say you were to be, Paul?’</p> +<p>‘I’m to help the school-master.’</p> +<p>‘Gracious me!’ cried Ellen. ‘Why, such +a scholar as you are, you’ll be quite a gentleman yet, +Paul. Why, they school-masters get fifty or sixty pounds +salaries sometimes. I protest it’s the best thing +I’ve heard this long time! Was it Mr. Cope’s +doing, or my Lady’s?’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Cope’s,’ said Paul, beginning to think +he had been rather less grateful than he ought.</p> +<p>‘Ah! it is like him,’ said Ellen, ‘after all +the pains he has taken with you. And you’ll not be so +far off, Paul: you’ll come to see us in the holidays, you +know.’</p> +<p>‘To be sure he will,’ said Harold; ‘or if he +don’t, I shall go and fetch him.’</p> +<p>‘Of course he will,’ said Ellen, with her hand on +Paul’s chair, and speaking low and affectionately to +console him, as she saw him so downcast; ‘don’t you +know how poor Alfy says he’s come to be instead of a son to +Mother, and a brother to us? I must go up and tell Alf and +mother. They’ll be so pleased.’</p> +<p>Paul felt very differently about the plan now. All the +house congratulated him upon it, and Matilda evidently thought +more of him now that she found he was to have something to +do. But such things as these were out of sight beside that +which was going on in the room above.</p> +<p>Alfred slept better that night, and woke so much revived, that +they thought him better: and Harold, greatly comforted about him, +stood tolerably quietly by his side, listening to one or two +things that Alfred had longed for months past to say to him.</p> +<p>‘Promise me, Harold dear, that you’ll be a good +son to Mother: you’ll be the only one now.’</p> +<p>Harold made a bend of his head like a promise.</p> +<p>‘O Harold, be good to her!’ went on Alfred +earnestly; ‘she’s had so much trouble! I do +hope God will leave you to her—if you are steady and +good. Do, Harold! She’s not like some, as +don’t care what their lads get to. And don’t +take after me, and be idle! Be right-down good, Harold, as +Paul is; and when you come to be ill—oh! it won’t be +so bad for you as it was for me!’</p> +<p>‘I do want to be good,’ sighed Harold. +‘If I’d only been confirmed; but ’twas all +along of them merries last summer!’</p> +<p>‘And I was such a plague to you—I drove you +out,’ said Alfred.</p> +<p>‘No, no, I was a brute to you! Oh! Alfy, Alfy, if +I could only get back the time!’</p> +<p>He was getting to the sobs that hurt his brother; and his +sister was going to interfere; but Alfred said:</p> +<p>‘Never mind, Harold dear, we’ve been very happy +together, and we’ll always love each other. +You’ll not forget Alf, and you’ll be Mother’s +good son to take care of her! Won’t you?’</p> +<p>So Harold gave that promise, and went away with his +tears. Poor fellow, now was his punishment for having +slighted the Confirmation. Like Esau, an exceeding bitter +cry could not bring back what he had lightly thrown away. +Well was it for him that this great sorrow came in time, and that +it was not altogether his birthright that he had parted +with. He found he could not go out to his potato-planting +and forget all about it, as he would have liked to have +done—something would not let him; and there he was sitting +crouched up and sorrowful on the steps of the stairs, when Mr. +Cope and all the rest were gathered in Alfred’s room, a +church for the time. Matilda and Ellen had set out the low +table with the fair white cloth, and Mr. Cope brought the small +cups and paten, which were doubly precious to him for having +belonged to his father, and because the last time he had seen +them used had been for his father’s last Communion.</p> +<p>Now was the time to feel that a change had really passed over +the young pastor in the time of his absence. Before, he +could only lead Alfred in his prayers, and give him counsel, tell +him to hope in his repentance, and on what that hope was +founded. Now that he had bent beneath the hand of the +Bishop, he had received, straight down from the Twelve, the Power +from on High. It was not Mr. Cope, but the Lord Who had +purchased that Pardon by His own most Precious Blood, Who by him +now declared to Alfred that the sins and errors of which he had +so long repented, were pardoned and taken away. The Voice +of Authority now assured him of what he had been only told to +hope and trust before. And to make the promise all the more +close and certain, here was the means of becoming a partaker of +the Sacrifice—here was that Bread and that Cup which shew +forth the Lord’s Death till He come. It was very +great rest and peace, the hush that was over the quiet room, with +only Alfred’s hurried breath to be heard beside Mr. +Cope’s voice as he spoke the blessed words, and the low +responses of the little congregation. Paul was close beside +Alfred—he would have him there between his mother and the +wall—and the two whose first Communion it was, were the +last to whom Mr. Cope came. To one it was to be the Food +for the passage into the unseen world; to the other might it be +the first partaking of the Manna to support him through the +wilderness of this life.</p> +<p>‘From the highways and hedges,’ here was one +brought into the foretaste of the Marriage Supper. Ah! +there was one outside, who had loved idle pleasure when the +summons had been sent to him. Perhaps the misery he was +feeling now might be the means of sparing him from missing other +calls, and being shut out at last.</p> +<p>It seemed to fulfil all that Alfred had wished. He lay +still between waking and sleeping for a long time afterwards, and +then begged for Paul to read to him the last chapters of the Book +of Revelation. Matilda wished to read them for him; but he +said, ‘Paul, please.’ Paul’s voice was +fuller and softer when it was low; his accent helped the sense, +and Alfred was more used to them than to his visitor +sister. Perhaps there was still another reason, for when +Paul came to the end, and was turning the leaves for one of +Alfred’s favourite bits, he saw Alfred’s eyes on him, +as if he wanted to speak. It was to say, ‘Brothers +quite now, Paul! Thank you. I think God must have +sent you to help me.’</p> +<p>Alfred seemed better all the evening, and they went to bed in +good spirits; but at midnight, Mr. Cope, who was very deeply +studying and praying, the better to fit himself for his new +office in the ministry, was just going to shut his book, and go +up to bed, when he heard a tremulous ring at the bell.</p> +<p>It was Harold, his face looking very white in the light from +Mr. Cope’s candle.</p> +<p>‘Oh! please, Sir,’ he said, ‘Alfred is +worse; and Mother said, if your light wasn’t out, +you’d like to know.’</p> +<p>‘I am very grateful to her,’ said Mr. Cope; and +taking up his plaid, he wrapped one end round the boy, and put +his arm round him, as he felt him quaking as Paul had done +before, but not crying—too much awe-struck for that. +He said that his mother thought something had broken in the +lungs, and that he would be choked. Mr. Cope made the more +haste, that he might judge if the doctor would be of any use.</p> +<p>Paul was sitting up in his bed—they had not let him get +up—but his eyes were wide open with distress, as he plainly +heard the loud sob that each breath had become. Mrs. King +was holding Alfred up in her arms; Matilda was trying to chafe +his feet; Ellen was kneeling with her face hidden.</p> +<p>The light of sense and meaning was not gone from +Alfred’s eyes, though the last struggle had come. He +gave a look as though he were glad to see Mr. Cope, and then +gazed on his brother. Mrs. King signed to Harold to come +nearer, and whispered, ‘Kiss him.’ His sisters +had done so, and he had missed Harold. Then Mr. Cope +prayed, and Alfred’s eyes at first owned the sounds; but +soon they were closed, and the long struggling breaths were all +that shewed that the spirit was still there.</p> +<p>‘He shall swallow up death in victory, and the Lord God +shall wipe away tears from all eyes.’</p> +<p>One moment, and the blue eyes they knew so well were opened +and smiling on his mother, and then—</p> +<p>It was over; and through affliction and pain, the young spirit +had gone to rest!</p> +<p>The funeral day was a very sore one to Paul Blackthorn. +He would have given the world to be there, and have heard the +beautiful words of hope which received his friend to his +resting-place, but he could not get so far. He had tried to +carry a message to a house not half so far off as the church, but +his knees seemed to give way under him, and his legs ached so +much that he could hardly get home. Somehow, a black suit, +just such as Harold’s, had come home for him at the same +time; but this could not hinder him from feeling that he was but +a stranger, and one who had no real place in the home where he +lived. There was the house full of people, who would only +make their remarks on him—Miss Hardman (who was very +critical of the coffin-plate), the school-master, and some of the +upper-servants of the house—and poor Mrs. King and Matilda, +who could not help being gratified at the attention to their +darling, were obliged to go down and be civil to them; while +Ellen, less used to restraint, was shut into her own room crying; +and Harold was standing on the stairs, very red, but a good deal +engaged with his long hat-band. Poor Paul! he had not even +his usual refuge—his own bed to lie upon and hide his +face—for that had been taken away to make room for the +coffin to be carried down.</p> +<p>There, they were going at last, when it had seemed as if the +bustle and confusion would never cease. There was Alfred +leaving the door where he had so often played, carried upon the +shoulders of six lads in white frocks, his old school-fellows and +Paul’s Confirmation friends. How Paul envied them for +doing him that last service! There was his mother, always +patient and composed, holding Harold’s arm—Harold, +who must be her stay and help, but looking so slight, so boyish, +and so young, then the two girls, Ellen so overpowered with +crying that her sister had to lead her; Mrs. Crabbe with Betsey +Hardman, who held up a great white handkerchief, for other +people’s visible grief always upset her, as she said; and +besides, she felt it a duty to cry at such a time; and the rest +two and two, quite a train, in their black suits: how unlike the +dreary pauper funerals Paul had watched away at Upperscote! +That respectable look seemed to make him further off and more +desolate, like one cut off, whom no one would follow, no one +would weep for. Alfred, who had called him a brother, was +gone, and here he was alone!</p> +<p>The others were taking their dear one once more to the church +where they had so often prayed that he might have a happy issue +out of all his afflictions.</p> +<p>They were met by Mr. Cope, ending his loving intercourse with +Alfred by reading out the blessed promise of +Resurrection—the assurance that the body they were sowing +in weakness would be raised in power; so that the noble boy, whom +they had seen fade away like a drooping flower, would rise again +blossoming forth in glory, after the Image of the +Incorruptible—that Image, thought Mr. Cope, as he read on, +which he faithfully strove to copy even through the sufferings +due to the corruptible. His voice often shook and +faltered. He had never before read that Service; and +perhaps, except for those of his own kin, it could never be a +greater effort to him, going along with Alfred as he had done, +holding up the rod and staff that bore him through the dark +valley. And each trembling of his tone seemed to answer +something that the mother was feeling in her peaceful, hopeful, +thankful grief—yes, thankful that she could lay her once +high-spirited and thoughtless boy in his grave, with the same +sure and certain hope of a joyful Resurrection, as that ripe and +earnest-minded Christian his father, or his little innocent +brother. It was peace—awful peace, indeed, but +soothing even to Ellen and Harold, new as they were to grief.</p> +<p>But to poor Paul at home, out of hearing of the words of hope, +only listening to the melancholy toll of the knell, and quite +alone in the disarranged forlorn house, there seemed nothing to +take off the edge of misery. He was not wanted to keep +Alfred company now, nor to read to him—no one needed him, +no one cared for him. He wandered up to where Alfred had +lain so long, as if to look for the pale quiet face that used to +smile to him. There was nothing but the bed-frame and +mattress! He threw himself down on it and cried. He +did not well know why—perhaps the chief feeling was that +Alfred was gone away to rest and bliss, and he was left alone to +be weary and without a friend.</p> +<p>At last the crying began to spend itself, and he turned and +looked up. There was Alfred’s little picture of the +Crucified still on the wall, and the words under it, ‘For +us!’ Paul’s eye fell on it; and somehow it +brought to mind what Alfred had said to him on Christmas +Day. There was One Who had no home on earth; there was One +Who had made Himself an outcast and a wanderer, and Who had not +where to lay His Head. Was not He touched with a +fellow-feeling for the lonely boy? Would He not help him to +bear his friendless lot as a share of His own Cross? Nay, +had He not raised him up friends already in his utmost +need? ‘There is a Friend Who sticketh closer than a +brother.’ He was the Friend that Paul need never +lose, and in Whom he could still meet his dear Alfred. +These thoughts, not quite formed, but something like them, came +gently as balm to the poor boy, and though they brought tears +even thicker than the first burst of lonely sorrow, they were as +peaceful as those shed beside the grave. Though Paul was +absent in the body, this was a very different shutting out from +Harold’s on last Tuesday.</p> +<p>Paul must have cried himself to sleep, for he did not hear the +funeral-party return, and was first roused by Mrs. King coming +up-stairs. He had been so much used to think of this as +Alfred’s room, that he had never recollected that it was +hers; and now that she was come up for a moment’s +breathing-time, he started up ashamed and shocked at being so +caught.</p> +<p>But good motherly Mrs. King saw it all, and how he had been +weeping where her child had so long rested. Indeed, his +face was swelled with crying, and his voice all unsteady.</p> +<p>‘Poor lad! poor lad!’ she said kindly, ‘you +were as fond of him as any of them; and if we wanted anything +else to make you one of us, that would do it.’</p> +<p>‘O Mother,’ said Paul, as she kindly put her hand +on him, ‘I could not bear it—I was so lost—till +I looked at <i>that</i>,’ pointing to the little print.</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said Mrs. King, as she wiped her quiet +tears, ‘that Cross was Alfred’s great comfort, and so +it is to us all, my boy, whatever way we have to carry it, till +we come to where he is gone. No cross, no crown, they +say.’</p> +<p>Perhaps it was not bad for any one that this forlorn day had +given Paul a fresh chill, which kept him in bed for nearly a +week, so as gently to break the change from her life of nursing +to Mrs. King, and make him very happy and peaceful in her +care.</p> +<p>And when at last on a warm sunny Sunday, Paul Blackthorn +returned thanks in church for his recovery—ay, and for a +great deal besides—he had no reason to think that he was a +stranger cared for by no one.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII—SIX YEARS LATER</h2> +<p>It is a beautiful morning in Easter week. The sun is +shining on the gilded weathercock, which flashes every time it +veers from south to west; the snowdrops are getting quite out of +date, and the buttercups and primroses have it all their own way; +the grass is making a start, and getting quite long upon the +graves in Friarswood churchyard.</p> +<p>‘Really, I should have sent in the Saxon monarch to tidy +us up!’ says to himself the tall young Rector, as he +stepped over the stile with one long stride; ‘but I suppose +he is better engaged.’</p> +<p>That tall young Rector is the Reverend Marcus Cope, six years +older, but young still. The poor old Rector, Mr. John +Selby, died four years ago abroad; and Lady Jane and Miss +Selby’s other guardians gave the living to Mr. Cope, to the +great joy of all the parish, except the Shepherds, who have never +forgiven him for their own usage of their farming boy, nor for +the sermon he neither wrote nor preached.</p> +<p>The Saxon monarch means one Harold King, who looks after the +Rectory garden and horse, as well as the post-office and other +small matters.</p> +<p>The clerk is unlocking the church, and shaking out the +surplice, and Mr. Cope goes into the vestry, takes out two big +books covered with green parchment, and sees to the pen. It +is a very good one, judging by the writing of the last names in +that book. They are Francis Mowbray and Jane Arabella +Selby.</p> +<p>‘Captain and Mrs. Mowbray will be a great blessing to +the place, if they go on as they have begun,’ thinks Mr. +Cope. ‘How happy they are making old Lady Jane, and +how much more Mrs. Mowbray goes among the cottages now that she +does more as she pleases.’</p> +<p>Then Mr. Cope goes to the porch and looks out. He sees +two men getting over the stile. One is a small slight +person, in very good black clothes, not at all as if they were +meant to ape a gentleman, and therefore thoroughly +respectable. He has a thin face, rather pointed as to the +chin and nose, and the eyes dark and keen, so that it would be +over-sharp but that the mouth looks so gentle and subdued, and +the whole countenance is grave and thoughtful. You could +not feel half so sure that he is a certificated school-master, as +you can that his very brisk-looking companion is so.</p> +<p>‘Good morning, Mr. Brown.—Good morning, +Paul,’ said Mr. Cope. ‘I did not expect to see +you arrive in this way.’</p> +<p>The grave face glitters up in a merry look of amusement, +while, with a little colouring, he answers:</p> +<p>‘Why, Sir, Matilda said it was the proper thing, and so +we supposed she knew best.’</p> +<p>There are not so many people who <i>do</i> talk of Paul +now. Most people know him as Mr. Blackthorn, late +school-master at Berryton, where the boys liked him for his +bright and gentle yet very firm ways; the parents, for getting +their children on, and helping them to be steady; and the +clergyman, for being so perfectly to be trusted, so anxious to do +right, and, while efficient and well informed, perfectly humble +and free from conceit. Now he has just got an appointment +to Hazleford school, in another diocese, with a salary of fifty +pounds a year; but, as Charles Hayward would tell you, ‘he +hasn’t got one bit of pride, no more than when he lived up +in the hay-loft.’</p> +<p>There is not long to wait. There is another party +getting over the stile. There is a very fine tall youth +first. As Betsey Hardman tells her mother, ‘she never +saw such a one for being fine-growed and stately to look at, +since poor Charles King when he wore his best wig.’ A +very nice open honest face, and as merry a pair of blue eyes as +any in the parish, does Harold wear, nearly enough to tell you +that, if in these six years it would be too much to say he has +never done <i>anything</i> to vex his mother, yet in the main his +heart is in the right place—he is a very good son, very +tender to her, and steady and right-minded.</p> +<p>Whom is he helping over the stile? Oh, that is Mrs. +Mowbray’s pretty little maid! a very good young thing, whom +she has read with and taught; and here, lady-like and +delicate-looking as ever, is Matilda. Bridemaids before the +bride! that’s quite wrong; but the bride has a shy fit, and +would not get over first, and Matilda and Harold are, the one +encouraging her, the other laughing at her; and Mr. Blackthorn +turns very red, and goes down the path to meet her, and she takes +his arm, and Harold takes Lucy, and Mr. Brown Miss King.</p> +<p>Very nice that bride looks, with her hair so glossy under her +straw bonnet trimmed with white, her pretty white shawl, and +quiet purple silk dress, her face rather flushed, but +quiet-looking, as if she were growing more like her mother, with +something of her sense and calmness.</p> +<p>How Mr. Blackthorn ever came to ask her that question, nobody +can guess, and Harold believes he does not know himself. +However, it got an answer two years ago, and Mrs. King gave her +consent with all her heart, though she knew Betsey Hardman would +talk of picking a husband up out of the gutter, and that my Lady +would look severe, and say something of silly girls. +Yes—and though the rich widower bailiff had said sundry +civil things of Miss Ellen being well brought up and +notable—‘For,’ as Mrs. King wrote to Matilda, +‘I had rather see Ellen married to a good religious man +than to any one, and I do not know one I can be so sure of as +Paul, nor one that is so like a son to me; and if he has no +friends belonging to him, that is better than bad +friends.’ And Ellen herself, from looking on him as a +mere boy, as she had done at their first acquaintance, had come +to thinking no one ever had been so wise or so clever, far less +so good, certainly not so fond of her—so her answer was no +great wonder. Then they were to be prudent, and wait for +some dependence; and so they did till Mr. Shaw recommended Paul +Blackthorn for Hazleford school, where there is a beautiful new +house for the master, so that he will have no longer to live in +lodgings, and be ‘done for,’ as the saying is. +Harold tells Ellen that he is afraid that without her he +won’t wash above once in four months; but however that may +be, she is convinced that the new school-house will be lost on +him, and that in spite of all his fine arithmetic, his fifty +pounds will never go so far for one as for two; and so she did +not turn a deaf ear to his entreaties that she would not send him +alone to Hazleford.</p> +<p>They wanted very much to get ‘Mother’ to come and +live with them, give up the post-office, and let Harold live in +Mr. Cope’s house; but Mother has a certain notion that +Harold’s stately looks and perfect health might not last, +if she were not always on the watch to put him into dry clothes +if he comes in damp, and such like ‘little fidgets,’ +as he calls them, which he would not attend to from any one but +Mother. So she will keep on the shop and the post-office, +and try to break in that uncouth girl of John Farden’s to +be a tidy little maid; and Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorn will spend +their holidays with her and Harold. She may come to them +yet in time, if, as Paul predicts, Master Harold takes up with +Lucy at the Grange—but there’s time enough to think +of that; and even if he should, it would take many years to make +Lucy into such a Mrs. King as she who is now very busy over the +dinner at home, but thinking about a good deal besides the +dinner.</p> +<p>There! Paul and Ellen have stood and knelt in an earnest +reverent spirit, making their vows to one another and before God, +and His blessing has been spoken upon them to keep them all their +lives through.</p> +<p>It is with a good heart of hope that Mr. Cope speaks that +blessing, knowing that, as far as human eye can judge, here +stands a man who truly feareth the Lord, and beside him a woman +with the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.</p> +<p>They are leaving the church now, the bridegroom and his bride, +arm in arm, but they turn from the path to the wicket, and Harold +will not let even Matilda follow them. Just by the south +wall of the church there are three graves, one a very long one, +one quite short, one of middle length. The large one has a +head-stone, with the names of Charles King, aged forty years, and +Charles King, aged seven years. The middle-sized one has a +stone cross, and below it ‘Alfred King, aged sixteen +years,’ and the words, ‘In all their afflictions He +was afflicted.’</p> +<p>It was Matilda who paid the cost of that stone, Miss Selby who +drew the pattern of it, and ‘Mother’ who chose the +words, as what Alfred himself loved best. At the bottom of +Ellen’s best work-box is a copy of verses about that very +cross. She thinks they ought to have been carved out upon +it, but Paul knows a great deal better, so all she could do was +to write them out on a sheet of note-paper with a wide lace +border, and keep them as her greatest treasure. Perhaps she +prizes them even more than the handsome watch that Mr. Shaw gave +Paul, though less, of course, than the great Bible and +Prayer-book, in which Mr. Cope has waited till this morning to +write the names of Paul and Ellen Blackthorn.</p> +<p>So they stand beside the cross, and read the words, and they +neither of them can say anything, though the white sweet face is +before the eyes of their mind at the same time, and Ellen thinks +she loves Paul twice as much for having been one of his great +comforts.</p> +<p>‘Good-bye, Alfred dear,’ she whispers at last.</p> +<p>‘No, not good-bye,’ says Paul. ‘He is +as much with us as ever, wherever we are. Remember how we +were together, Ellen. I have always thought of him at every +Holy Communion since, and have felt that if till now, no one +living—at least one at rest, were mine by right.’</p> +<p>Ellen pressed his arm.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Paul; ‘the months I spent with +Alfred were the great help and blessing of my life. I +don’t believe any recollection has so assisted to guard me +in all the frets and temptations there are in a life like +mine.’</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIARSWOOD POST-OFFICE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 4296-h.htm or 4296-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/9/4296 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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