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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e5cd53 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50089 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50089) diff --git a/old/50089-0.txt b/old/50089-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b74640c..0000000 --- a/old/50089-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9543 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. Barr - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you’ll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Paper Cap - A Story of Love and Labor - -Author: Amelia E. Barr - -Illustrator: Stockton Mulford - -Release Date: September 30, 2015 [EBook #50089] -Last Updated: October 31, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PAPER CAP *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE PAPER CAP - -A Story Of Love And Labor - -By Amelia E. Barr - -Author Of “An Orkney Maid,” “Christine,” Etc. - - “A king may wear a golden crown, - - A Paper Cap is lighter; - - And when the crown comes tumbling down - - The Paper Cap sits tighter - -Frontispiece By Stockton Mulford - -D. Appleton And Company New York - -Copyright, 1918. - - -[Illustration: 0008] - - -[Illustration: 0009] - - - -TO SAMUEL GOMPERS - -THE WORKER’S FRIEND THIS STORY OF LABOR’S FORTY YEARS’ STRUGGLE FOR THE -RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED - - This is the Gospel of Labor, - - Ring it, ye bells of the Kirk, - - The Lord of Love came down from above - - To live with the people who work. - - --Henry Van Dyke - - The headdress of nationalities, and of public and private societies, -has been in all ages a remarkable point of interest. Religion, Poetry, -Politics, superstitions, and so forth, have all found expression by the -way they dressed or covered their heads. Priests, soldiers, sailors, -lawyers, traders, professions of all kinds are known by some peculiar -covering of the head which they assume. None of these symbols are -without interest, and most of them typify the character or intents of -their wearers. - -The Paper Cap has added to its evident story a certain amount of -mystery, favorable in so far as it permits us to exercise our ingenuity -in devising a probable reason for its selection as the symbol of Labor. -A very industrious search has not yet positively revealed it. No public -or private collection of old prints of the seventeenth century that I -have seen or heard from has any representation of an English working man -wearing a Paper Cap. There is nothing of the kind in any _Hone’s_ four -large volumes of curious matters; nor does _Notes and Queries_ mention -it. Not until the agitation and the political disturbance attending the -Reform Bill, is it seen or mentioned. Then it may be found in the rude -woodcuts and chap books of the time while in every town and village it -soon became as familiar as the men who wore it. - -Now, if the working man was looking for a symbol, there are many reasons -why the Paper Cap would appeal to him. It is square, straight, upright; -it has no brim. It permits the wearer to have full sight for whatever he -is doing. It adds five inches or more to his height. It is cool, light -and clean, and it is made of a small square of brown paper, and costs -nothing. Every man makes his own paper cap, generally while he smokes -his first morning pipe. It was also capable of assuming all the -expressions of more pretentious head coverings--worn straight over the -brows, it imparted a steady, business-like appearance. Tilted to one -side, it showed the wearer to be interested in his own appearance. If it -was pushed backward he was worried or uncertain about his work. On the -heads of large masterful men it had a very “hands off” look. Employers -readily understood its language. - -I do not remember ever seeing anyone but working men wear a Paper Cap -and they generally wore it with an “air” no pretender could assume. In -the days of the Reform Bill a large company of Paper-Capped men were a -company to be respected. - -The man whose clever fingers first folded into such admirable shape -a piece of brown paper seems to be unknown. I was once told he was a -Guiseley man, again he was located at Burnley, or Idle. No one pretended -to know his name. It was perhaps some tired weaver or carpenter whose -head was throbbing in the sultry room and who feared to expose it to -the full draught from some open window near his loom or bench. No other -affiliation ever assumed or copied this cap in any way and for a century -it has stood bravely out as the symbol of Labor; and has been respected -and recognized as the badge of a courageous and intelligent class. - -Now, if we do not positively know the facts about a certain matter, we -can consider the circumstances surrounding it and deduct from them a -likelihood of the truth; and I cannot avoid a strong belief that the -Paper Cap was invented early in the agitation for the Reform Bill of A. -D. 1832 and very likely directly after the immense public meeting at New -Hall, where thousands of English working men took bareheaded and with -a Puritan solemnity, a solemn oath to stand by the Reform Bill until it -was passed. It was not fully passed until 1884, and during that interval -the Paper Cap was everywhere in evidence. Might it not be the symbol of -that oath and a quiet recognition of brotherhood and comradeship in the -wearing of it? - -It is certain that after this date, 1884, its use gradually declined, -yet it is very far from being abandoned. In Nova Scotia and Canada it is -still common, and we all know how slowly any personal or household habit -dies in England. I am very sure that if I went to-morrow to any weaving -town in the West Riding, I would see plenty of Paper Caps round the -great centers of Industry. Last week only, I received half-a-dozen from -a large building firm in Bradford. - -As a symbol of a sacred obligation between men, it is fitting and -unique. It has never been imitated or copied, and if the habit of making -a clean one every day is observed, then whatever it promises will be -kept clean and clear in the memory. Long live the Paper Cap! - -My theory that the Paper Cap is associated with the Reform Bill, may, -or may not be correct, but the union seems to be a very natural one--the -Bill deserved the friendship and long adherence of the Cap, and the Cap -deserved the freedom and strength of the Bill. - - - - -THE PAPER CAP - - - - -CHAPTER I--THE SQUIRE OF ANNIS - - - “The turning point in life arrives for all of us. - - A land of just and old renown, - - Where Freedom slowly broadens down - - From precedent to precedent.” - - NEARLY ninety years ago, there was among the hills and wolds of the -West Riding of Yorkshire a lovely village called Annis. It had grown -slowly around the lords of the manor of Annis and consisted at the -beginning of the nineteenth century of men and women whose time was -employed in spinning and weaving. The looms were among their household -treasures. They had a special apartment in every home, and were worthily -and cheerfully worked by their owners. There were no mills in Annis -then, and no masters, and no Trade Unions. They made their own -work-hours and the Leeds Cloth Hall settled the worth of their work. - -Squire Antony Annis owned the greater part of the village. The pretty -white stone cottages, each in its own finely cared-for garden, were, -generally speaking, parts of his estate and he took a fatherly, masterly -care of them. It was the squire who bought their work, and who had to -settle with the Leeds Cloth Hall. It was the squire who found the wool -for the women to spin and who supplied the men with the necessary yarns. - -He lived close to them. His own ancient Hall stood on a high hill just -outside the village!--a many-gabled building that had existed for nearly -three hundred years. On this same hilly plateau was the church of Annis, -still more ancient, and also the Rectory, a handsome residence that -had once been a monastery. Both were in fine preservation and both were -influential in the village life, though the ancient church looked down -with grave disapproval on the big plain Wesleyan Chapel that had stolen -from it the lawful allegiance it had claimed for nearly five centuries. -Yet its melodious chimes still called at all canonical hours to worship, -and its grand old clock struck in clarion tones the hours of their labor -and their rest. - -They were handsome men in this locality, strong and powerful, with a -passion for horses and racing that not even Methodism could control. -Their women were worthy of them, tall and fine-looking, with splendid -coloring, abundant hair, and not unfrequently eyes like their Lancashire -neighbors; gray and large, with long dark lashes, and that “look” in -them which the English language has not yet been able to find a word -for. They were busy wives, they spun the wool for their husbands’ looms -and they reared large families of good sons and daughters. - -The majority of the people were Methodists--after their kind. The -shepherds on the mountains around took as naturally to Methodism as a -babe to its mother’s milk. They lived with their flocks of Merino sheep -half their lives in the night and its aërial mysteries. The doctrine -of “Assurance” was their own spiritual confidence, and John Wesley’s -Communion with the other world they certified by their own experience. -As to the weavers, they approved of a religion that was between God and -themselves only. They had a kind of feudal respect for Squire Annis. -He made their pleasant independent lives possible and they would take a -word or two of advice or reproof from him; and also the squire knew what -it was to take a glass of strong ale when he had been to a race and seen -the horse he had backed, win it--but the curate! The curate knew nothing -about horses. - -If they saw the curate approaching them they got out of his way; if they -saw the squire coming they waited for him. He might call them idle -lads, but he would walk to their looms with them and frankly admire the -excellence of their work, and perhaps say: “I wonder at a fine lad like -thee leaving a bit of work like that. If I could do it I would keep at -it daylight through.” - -And the weaver would look him bravely in the face and answer--“Not thou, -squire! It wouldn’t be a bit like thee. I see thee on t’ grandstand, -at ivery race I go to. I like a race mysen, it is a varry democratic -meeting.” - -Then the squire would give the child at the spinning wheel a shilling -and go off with a laugh. He knew that in any verbal contest with Jimmy -Riggs, he would not be the victor. - -Also if the squire met any mother of the village he would touch his -hat and listen to what she wished to say. And if one of her lads was in -trouble for “catching a rabbit on the common”--though he suspected the -animal was far more likely from his own woods--he always promised to -help him and he always did so. - -“Our women have such compelling eyes,” he would remark in excuse, “and -when they would look at you through a mist of tears a man that can say -‘no’ to them isn’t much of a man.” - -Naturally proud, the squire was nevertheless broadly affable. He could -not resist the lifted paper cap of the humblest man and his lofty -stature and dignified carriage won everyone’s notice. His face was -handsome, and generally wore a kind thoughtful expression, constantly -breaking into broad smiles. And all these advantages were seconded and -emphasized by his scrupulous dress, always fit and proper for every -occasion. - -He was riding slowly through the village one morning when he met a -neighbor with whom he had once been on intimate friendly terms. It was -John Thomas Bradley, who had just built a large mill within three miles -of Annis village and under the protecting power of the government had -filled it with the latest power-looms and spinning jennies. - -“Good morning, Annis!” he said cheerfully. “How dost tha do?” - -“I do none the better for thy late doings. I can tell thee that!” - -“Is tha meaning my new building?” - -“Is tha ashamed to speak its proper name? It’s a factory, call it that. -And I wouldn’t wonder, if tha hes been all through Annis, trying to get -some o’ my men to help thee run it.” - -“Nay, then. I wouldn’t hev a man that hes been in thy employ, unless it -were maybe Jonathan Hartley. They are all petted and spoiled to death.” - -“Ask Jonathan to come to thy machine shop. He wouldn’t listen to thee.” - -“Well, then, I wouldn’t listen to his Chartist talk. I would want to -cut the tongue out o’ his head. I would that! O Annis, we two hev been -friends for forty years, and our fathers were hand and glove before us.” - -“I know, Bradley, I know! But now thou art putting bricks and iron -before old friendship and before all humanity; for our workers are men, -first-rate men, too--and thou knows it.” - -“Suppose they are, what by that?” - -“Just this; thou can’t drive men by machines of iron tethered to steam! -It is an awful mastership, that it is! It is the drive of the devil. The -slaves we are going to set free in the West Indies are better off, far -better off than factory slaves. They hed at any rate human masters, that -like as not, hev a heart somewhere about them. Machines hev no heart, -and no sympathy and no weakness of any make. They are regular, untiring, -inexorable, and----” - -“They do more work and better work than men can do.” - -“Mebbe they do, and so men to keep up wi’ them, hev to work longer, and -harder, and wi’ constantly increasing peril o’ their lives. Yes, for the -iron master, the man must work, work, work, till he falls dead at its -iron feet. It is a cruel bad do! A bad do! Bradley, how can thou fashion -to do such things? Oh, it isn’t fair and right, and thou knows it!” - -“Well, Annis, thou may come to see things a good deal different and tha -knows well I can’t quarrel wi’ thee. Does ta think I can iver forget -March 21, 1823, when thou saved me and mine, from ruin?” - -“Let that pass, Bradley. It went into God’s memory--into God’s memory -only. Good morning to thee!” And the men parted with a feeling of -kindness between them, though neither were able to put it into words. - -Still the interview made the squire unhappy and he instantly thought of -going home and telling his wife about it. “I can talk the fret away with -Annie,” he thought, and he turned Annisward. - -At this time Madam Annis was sitting in the morning sunshine, with her -finest set of English laces in her hand. She was going carefully over -them, lifting a stitch here and there, but frequently letting them fall -to her lap while she rested her eyes upon the wealth of spring flowers -in the garden which at this point came close up to the windows. - -Madam Annis was fifty years old but still a beautiful woman, full of -life, and of all life’s sweetest and bravest sympathies. She wore an -Indian calico--for Manchester’s printed calicoes were then far from -the perfection they have since arrived at--and its bizarre pattern, and -wonderfully brilliant colors, suited well her fine proportions and regal -manner. A small black silk apron with lace pockets and trimmings of -lace, and black silk bows of ribbon--a silver chatelaine, and a little -lace cap with scarlet ribbons on it, were the most noticeable items -of her dress though it would hardly do to omit the scarlet morocco -slippers, sandaled and trimmed with scarlet ribbon and a small silver -buckle on the instep. - -Suddenly she heard rapid footsteps descending the great stairway, and -in the same moment she erected her position, and looked with kind but -steady eyes at the door. It opened with a swift noiseless motion and a -girl of eighteen years entered; a girl tall and slender, with masses of -bright brown hair, a beautiful mouth and star-like eyes. - -“Mother,” she said, “how am I to go to London this spring?” - -“I am not yet in thy father’s intentions about the journey, Katherine. -He promised to take thee when he went up to the House. If he forswears -his promise, why then, child, I know not. Ask him when he is going.” - -“I did so this morning and he said I must excuse him at present.” - -“Then he will take thee, later.” - -“That’s a bit different, mother; and it isn’t what he promised me. It is -my wish to go now.” - -“There is no way for thee to go now. Let London wait for its proper -time.” - -“Alura Percival, and Lady Capel, and Agatha Wickham, are already on -their way there. Captain Chandos told me so an hour ago.” - -“Indeed! Has he learned how to speak the truth?” - -“Like other people, he speaks as much of it as is profitable to him. If -father is not going just yet cannot you go, dear mother? You know Jane -will expect us to keep our promise.” - -“Jane knows enough of the times to understand why people are now often -prevented from keeping their promises. Is Jane going much out?” - -“A great deal and she says Lord Leyland wishes her to keep open house -for the rest of the season. Of course, I ought to be with her.” - -“I see no ‘ought’ in the matter.” - -“She is my sister and can introduce me to noblemen and distinguished -people. She desires me to come at once. I have just had a letter from -her. And what about my frocks, mother? If father is not ready to go -you could go with me, dear mother! That would be just as well, perhaps -better!” And she said these flattering words from the very summit of her -splendid eyes. - -“There are people here in Annis who are wanting bread and----” - -“It is their own fault, mother, and you know it. The Annis weavers are a -lot of stubborn old fogies.” - -“They have only taken this world as they found it. Isn’t that right?” - -“No. It is all wrong. Every generation ought to make it better. You said -that to father last night, I heard you.” - -“I doan’t always talk to thy father as I do to thee. It wouldn’t be a -bit suitable. Whatever were thou talking to Captain Chandos for--if he -is a captain--I doubt it.” - -“His uncle bought him a commission in The Scotch Greys. His mother is -Scotch. I suppose he has as much right there, as the rest of the Hanover -fools.” - -“And if thou are going to indulge thyself in describing people in the -army and the court thou wilt get thy father into trouble.” - -“I saw father talking to Squire Bradley for a long time this morning.” - -“In what mood? I hope they were not--quarreling.” - -“They were disputing rather earnestly, father looked troubled, and so -did Bradley.” - -“They were talking of the perishing poor and the dreadful state of. -England no doubt. It’s enough to trouble anybody, I’m sure of that.” - -“So it is, but then father has a bad way of making things look worse -than they are. And he isn’t friendly with Bradley now. That seems wrong, -mother, after being friends all their live-long lives.” - -“It is wrong. It is a bit of silent treason to each other. It is that! -And how did thou happen to see them talking this morning?” - -“They met on the village green. I think Bradley spoke first.” - -“I’ll warrant it. Bradley is varry good-natured, and he thought a deal -o’ thy father. How did thou happen to be on the green so early in the -day?” - -“I was sitting with Faith Foster, and her parlor window faces the -Green.” - -“Faith Foster! And pray what took thee to her house?” - -“I was helping her to sew for a lot of Annis babies that are nearly -naked, and perishing with cold.” - -“That was a varry queer thing for thee to do.” - -“I thought so myself even while I was doing it--but Faith works as she -likes with everyone. You can’t say ‘No’ to anything she wants.” - -“Such nonsense! I’m fairly astonished at thee.” - -“Have you ever seen Faith, mother?” - -“Not I! It is none o’ my place to visit a Methodist preacher’s -daughter.” - -“Everybody visits her--rich and poor. If you once meet her she can bring -you back to her as often as she wishes.” - -“Such women are very dangerous people to know. I’d give her a wide -border. Keep thyself to thyself.” - -“I am going to London. Maybe, mother, I ought to tell you that our Dick -is in love with Faith Foster. I am sure he is. I do not see how he can -help it.” - -“Dick and his father will hev that matter to settle, and there is enough -on hand at present--what with mills, and steam, and working men, not to -speak of rebellion, and hunger, and sore poverty. Dick’s love affairs -can wait awhile. He hes been in love with one and twenty perfect -beauties already. Some of them were suitable fine girls, of good family, -and Lucy Todd and Amy Schofield hed a bit of money of their awn. Father -and I would hev been satisfied with either o’ them, but Dick shied off -from both and went silly about that French governess that was teaching -the Saville girls.” - -“I do not think Dick will shy off from Faith Foster. I am sure that he -has never yet dared to say a word of love to her.” - -“Dared! What nonsense! Dick wasn’t born in Yorkshire to take a dare from -any man or woman living.” - -“Well, mother, I have made you wise about Faith Foster. A word is all -you want.” - -“I the girl pretty?” - -“Pretty She is adorable.” - -“You mean that she is a fine looking girl?” - -“I mean that she is a little angel. You think of violets if she comes -where you are. Her presence is above a charm and every door flies open -to her. She is very small. Mary Saville, speaking after her French -governess, calls her _petite_. She is, however, beautifully fashioned -and has heavenly blue, deep eyes.” - -“Tell me nothing more about her. I should never get along with such a -daughter-in-law. How could thou imagine it?” - -“Now, mother, I have told you all my news, what have you to say to me -about London?” - -“I will speak to thy father some time to-day. I shall hev to choose both -a proper way and a proper time; thou knows that. Get thy frocks ready -and I will see what can be done.” - -“If father will not take me, I shall write to Aunt Josepha.” - -“Thou will do nothing of that kind. Thy Aunt Josepha is a very peculiar -woman. We heard from the Wilsons that she hed fairly joined the radicals -and was heart and soul with the Cobden set. In her rough, broad way she -said to Mrs. Wilson, that steam and iron and red brick had come to take -possession of England and that men and women who could not see that -were blind fools and that a pinch of hunger would do them good. She -even scolded father in her letter two weeks ago, and father her _eldest -brother_. Think of that! I was shocked, and father felt it far more than -I can tell thee. _Why!_--he wouldn’t hev a mouthful of lunch, and that -day we were heving hare soup; and him so fond of hare soup.” - -“I remember. Did father answer that letter?” - -“I should think he did. He told Josepha Temple a little of her duty; he -reminded her, in clear strong words, that he stood in the place of her -father, and the head of the Annis family, and that he had a right to her -respect and sympathy.” - -“What did Aunt Josepha say to that?” - -“She wrote a laughable, foolish letter back and said: ‘As she was two -years older than Antony Annis she could not frame her mouth to ‘father’ -him, but that she was, and always would be, his loving sister.’ You see -Josepha Temple was the eldest child of the late squire, your father came -two years after her.” - -“Did you know that Dick had been staying with her for a week?” - -“Yes. Dick wrote us while there. Father is troubled about it. He says -Dick will come home with a factory on his brain.” - -“You must stand by Dick, mother. We are getting so pinched for money you -know, and Lydia Wilson told me that everyone was saying: ‘Father was -paying the men’s shortage out of his estate.’ They were sorry for -father, and I don’t like people being sorry for him.” - -“And pray what has Lydia Wilson to do with thy father’s money and -business? Thou ought to have asked her that question. Whether thou -understands thy father or not, whatever he does ought to be right in thy -eyes. Men don’t like explaining their affairs to anyone; especially to -women, and I doan’t believe they iver tell the bottom facts, even to -themselves.” - -“Mother, if things come to the worst, would it do for me to ask Jane for -money?” - -“I wonder at thee. Jane niver gives or lends anything to anybody, but to -Jane.” - -“She says she is going to entertain many great people this winter and -she wishes me to meet them so I think she might help me to make a good -appearance.” - -“I wouldn’t wonder if she asked thy father to pay her for introducing -thee into the titled set. She writes about them and talks about them and -I dare warrant dreams about them.” - -“Oh, mother!” - -“Does she ever forget that she has managed to become Lady Leyland? She -thinks that two syllables before her name makes her better than her own -family. _Chut!_ Katherine! Leyland is only the third of the line. It -was an official favor, too--what merit there is in it has not yet been -discovered. We have lived in this old house three hundred years, and -three hundred before that in old Britain.” - -“Old Britain?” - -“To be sure--in Glamorganshire, I believe. Ask thy father. He knows his -genealogy by heart. I see him coming. Go and meet him.” - -“Yes, mother, but I think I will write a short note to Aunt Josepha. I -will not name business, nor money, nor even my desire to make a visit to -London.” - -“Write such a letter if thou wishes but take the result--whatever it -is--in a good humor. Remember that thy aunt’s temper, and her words -also, are entirely without frill.” - -“That, of course. It is the Annis temper.” - -“It is the English temper.” - -“Well, mother, things seem to be ordered in a very unhappy fashion but -I suppose we might as well take to them at once. Indeed, we shall be -compelled to do it, if so be, it pleases them above.” - -“Just so,” answered Madam. “But, Katherine, The Hands of Compulsion -generally turn out to be The Hands of Compassion.” - -Katherine smiled happily, the door opened, and the next moment she gave -the smile in a kiss to her father, as he clasped her fondly in his arms, -crying, “Eh, my joy! I am glad to see thee!” Then the two women made -that charming fuss over his “tired look,” which is so consoling to men -fresh from the slings and arrows of an outrageous world that will not do -as they want it to do. - -In his family life the squire still retained many old-fashioned customs, -and his dinner at one o’clock was a settled ceremony. This day, in the -very middle of it, Katherine said, “I saw you, father, this morning when -you were talking to Mr. Bradley on the Green--about ten o’clock.” - -“And I saw thee trailing through the low meadows with Bradley’s son.” - -“Yes, he came home last night.” - -“And went out t’ varry next morning, to meet thee in t’ low meadow.” - -“If you say, he happened to meet me in the low meadow, it would be -better.” - -“Whativer hed the lad to do in my meadow so early in the morning?” - -“Do you call half-past ten early, dad?” - -“I call it too early for thee to be traipsing through t’ wet grass with -Henry Bradley.” - -“Let us keep to facts, dear father. The grass was quite dry--too dry. -Joel was wishing for rain; he said, ‘Master so pampered his cattle, that -they perfectly thought scorn of half-cured grass.’” - -“Thou art trying to slip by my question and I’m not going to let thee -do it. What was John Henry Bradley doing wi’ thee in the low meadow this -morning?” - -“He brought me a letter from my brother Dick. Dick and Harry have been -in London together, and they stayed four days with Aunt Josepha. They -liked her very much. They took her to the opera and the play and she -snubbed O’Connell and some other famous men and told them to let her -alone, that she had two innocent lads in her care--and so on. You know.” - -“Was he making love to thee?” - -“You should not ask me a question of that kind, dad.” - -“Thou need not tell me, what I should, or should not do. I hed learned -all that, before thou wer born. And I’ll tell thee plainly that I will -not hev any lovemaking between thee and Harry Bradley.” - -“Very well, father. If you are going to the stable will you tell someone -to have my saddle horse at the door in half-an-hour?” - -“To be sure, I will. If tha wants a ride and will go to Yoden Bridge, -I’ll go with thee.” - -“I would like that but I promised to help Faith Foster, who is making -clothing for the naked, shivering babies in Annis village. When Oddy’s -little girl died a week ago, there wasn’t a night-gown in the house -to bury it in. Its mother tore a breadth out of her one petticoat and -folded her baby in it.” - -“Oh, Katherine Annis! Surely that tale is not true!” cried Madam. - -“Alas, it is too true! The baby’s one little gown was not fit even for -the grave.” - -The Squire sat down and covered his face with his hands and when -Katherine left the room he looked up pitifully at his wife. And she -stooped and kissed him and as she did so comforted him with broken -words of affection and assurances that it was not his fault--“thou hast -pinched us all a bit to keep the cottage looms busy,” she said, “thou -couldn’t do more than that, could thou, Antony?” - -“I thought I was doing right. Is there any other way?” - -“Thou could build--like the rest.” - -He did not answer the remark but stood up hurriedly, saying, “I must go -and order Katherine’s mount and she will expect me to put her up. After -that I may go to Yoden Bridge.” - -Madam sighed and turned hopelessly away. “When will he listen to -reason?” she whispered, but there was no answer. - - - - -CHAPTER II--THE PROSPECT OF LONDON LIFE - - - “Men who their duties know, - - But know their rights, and knowing dare maintain.” - - - “The blind mole casts - - Copp’d hills toward heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d - - By man’s oppression and the poor worm doth die for’t.” - - - IT is during the hungry years of the thirties and forties of the -nineteenth century that the great body of Englishmen and Englishwomen -reveal themselves most nobly and clearly in their national character. -They were years of hunger and strife but it is good to see with what -ceaseless, persistent bravery they fought for their ideals year after -year, generation after generation, never losing hope or courage but -steadily working and waiting for the passage of that great Reform Bill, -which would open the door for their recognition at least as members of -the body politic. - -Yet this Reform Bill terrified the aristocracy and great land holders -and they were sure that its passage would sweep away both the monarchy -and the House of Lords. What else could be looked for if the franchise -was given to the laborer and the mechanic? The Bill had been well -received by the House of Commons, but rejected by the House of Lords -on the twentieth day of the previous October; and the condition of the -country was truly alarming. - -Madam Annis reminded her daughter of this fact but Katherine was not to -be frightened. “Your father,” she said, “has just told us about the riot -and outrages at Derby and the burning of Nottingham Castle by a frantic -mob and the press says--‘the people in London are restless and full -of passion.’ Still more to be wondered at is the letter which Thomas -Attwood, the great banker, has just sent to the Duke of Wellington. In -this letter he dared to threaten the government, to tell them he would -march on London with a hundred thousand men, in order to inquire why the -Reform Bill was hindered and delayed. This morning’s paper comments -on this threat and says, The Duke of Wellington is not afraid of this -visit, but would rather it was not paid.’ All the way up to London there -is rioting. It is not a fit journey for thee to take. Mind what I say.” - -“Oh, mother, only think! I might have been in the Ladies’ Gallery, -in the House. I might have heard Mr. Macaulay’s answer to the Lord’s -denial, with his grand question to the Commons, ‘Ought we to abandon the -Reform Bill because the Lords have rejected it? No! We must respect the -lawful privileges of their House, but we ought also to assert our own.’ -No wonder the Commons cheered, and cheered, and cheered him. Oh, how -gladly I would have helped them!” - -“You are going too far and too fast, Katherine.” - -“Father ought to have been in the House on the third of February and it -is now the seventh of March: Is that right?” - -“A great many landed men will not go to this session. The Reform Bill, -re-written by Lord Russell, is to come up again and father does not want -to vote either for, or against it.” - -“Why?” - -“He hes his reasons. I doan’t know that his reasons are any business of -thine.” - -“Harry Bradley was explaining things to me this morning, and I am for -the Reform Bill. I am sure the people are right.” - -“I wouldn’t say as much on thy opinion. Wisdom wasn’t born wi’ thee and -I doan’t expect she will die wi’ thee. I think if thou went to London -this spring thou would make more enemies than thou could manage. Father -is following my advice in staying home, and London isn’t a fit place for -a young girl like thee and the way there is full of rioters. Thy father -is a landed man and he doesn’t believe in giving every weaver and hedger -and ditcher a voice in the government of England.” - -“Harry Bradley says, some of their leaders and speakers are very clever -eloquent men.” - -“I wouldn’t talk nonsense after Harry Bradley. Who’s Harry Bradley?” - -“He is my friend, mother. We have been friends nearly twenty years.” - -“Not you! It is not yet eighteen years since thou showed thy face in -this world.” - -“I was speaking generally, mother.” - -“Eh, but there’s something wrong in that way! A lot o’ bother can come -out of it. I wouldn’t mind anything Harry Bradley says, thy father won’t -hev any nonsense about him. I can tell thee that!” - -“Father is so set in his own way. No one suits him lately. We met -Captain Chandos last Monday, and he would hardly notice him.” - -“Well, then, there are plenty of folk no one can suit, and varry often -they can’t suit themselves.” - -“Oh, I don’t care about Chandos, mother; but I feel angry when Harry is -slighted. You see, mother, I might come to marry Harry Bradley.” - -“I do hope thou won’t be so far left to thysen, as that would mean.” - -“Then you would be wise to let me go to London. A girl must have a -lover, or she feels out in the cold, and Harry is the best specimen of a -man round about Annis.” - -“All right. Let me tell thee that I hev noticed that the girls who never -throw a line into the sea of marriage, do a deal better than them that -are allays fishing.” - -“Perhaps so, but then there is the pleasure of throwing the line.” - -“And perhaps the pleasure of being caught by some varry undesireable -fisherman for tha needn’t think that women are the only fishers. The men -go reg’lar about that business and they will soon find out that thou -hes a bit o’ money o’ thy awn and are well worth catching. See if they -doan’t.” - -“Mother, I want to go to London and see the passing of the great Reform -Bill. I am in love with those brave men Earl Grey and Lord Russell and -Mr. Macaulay, who dared to speak up for the poor, before all England.” - -“I rather think they are all married men, Katherine, and marrying for -love is an unwise and generally an unprofitable bit of business.” - -“Business and Love have nothing to do with each other.” - -“Eh, but they hev!” - -“I shall marry for love.” - -“Well, then, marry for love, but love wisely.” - -“Money is only one thing, mother.” - -“To be sure, but it is a rayther important thing.” - -“You might persuade father that he had better take me to London out of -Harry’s way. Dear mammy, do this for your little girl, won’t you? You -can always get round father in some way or other.” - -“I will ask thy father again but I shall take no roundabout way. -Straightforrard is the best. And I am above a bit astonished at thee, a -Yorkshire lass, thinking of any crooked road to what thou wants! If tha -can’t get thy way openly and fairly make up thy mind any other way isn’t -worth while, for it will be full of ups and downs, and lonely bits, and -stony bits, and all sorts and kinds of botherations. Keep these words in -thy mind.” - -“I will.” - -“Then I’ll ask thy father again, to take thee with him to London--if he -goes himsen--if he does not go at all, then----” - -“I must find out some other way, and really the most straightforward way -would be to marry Harry Bradley, and go to London with him as a wedding -trip.” - -“Thou must stop talking nonsense or else it will stop my talking one -word for thy wish.” - -“I was just joking, mother.” - -“Always keep everything straight between thysen and thy mother. The -first deception between me and thee opens the gates of Danger.” - -“I will never forget that, mother. And if I should go away I ask you to -take my place with Faith Foster, who is making clothing for the poor in -the village.” - -“Well, Katherine, what with one thing and what with another, I doan’t -know what tha wants. Does tha know thysen?” - -“Well, I think it would look better if the Hall should trouble itself -a little about the suffering in the village. Faith Foster is the only -person doing anything. I was helping her, but----” - -“I should think thou would have told thysen that it was varry forrard in -a young person putting herself in my place without even a word to me -on the matter. She ought to hev come and told me what was needed and -offered her help to me. Thy father is Lord of the Manor of Annis, and it -is his business to see the naked clothed. I wonder at thee letting any -one take my place and then asking me to help and do service for them. -That is a bit beyond civility, I think.” - -“It was very thoughtless. I am sorry I did it. I was so touched by -Faith’s description of the hunger and nakedness in Abram Oddy’s family, -that I thought of nothing but how to relieve it.” - -“Well, well! It is all right, someway or other. I see father coming -towards the house. I wonder what he is wanting.” - -“And he is walking so rapidly and looks so happy, something must have -pleased him. I will go away, mother. This may be a good hour for our -request.” - -“Why _our?_” - -Katherine had disappeared. She left the room by one door as the squire -entered by the other. Madam rose to meet him but before she could speak -the squire had kissed her and was saying in glad eager tones, “I hev -hurried a bit, my Joy, to tell thee that both thysen and Katherine can -go wi’ me to London. I had a lump of good fortune this afternoon. Mark -Clitheroe sent me the thousand pounds he owed, when he broke up five -years ago. He told me he wouldn’t die till he had paid it; and I -believed him. The money came to-day and it came with a letter that does -us both credit.” - -“However has Clitheroe made a thousand pounds to spare since his -smash-up? Thou said, it wer a varry complete ruin.” - -“It was all of that, yet he tells me, he will be able to pay the last -farthing he owes to anyone, during this year some time.” - -“It caps me! How hes he made the money?” - -“Why, Annie, his father built a factory for him and filled it with the -finest power-looms and he says he hes been doing a grand business. Old -Clitheroe hed allays told him he was wasting time and good brass in hand -weaving but Mark would hev his awn way, and somehow his awn way took him -to ruin in three years. I was his main creditor. Well, well! I am both -astonished and pleased, I am that! Now get thysen and Katherine ready -for London.” - -“I doan’t really want to go, Antony.” - -“But I cannot do without thee. Thou wilt hev to go, and there is -Katherine, too! Ten to one, she will need a bit of looking after.” - -“When art thou going to start?” - -“Not for a month. I must see to the sowing of the land--the land feeds -us. I thought, though, it would be right to give thee the bit o’ change -and pleasure to think about and talk about.” - -“Where does thou intend to stay while in London?” - -“I am thinking of the Clarendon Hotel for thee and mysen. I suppose -Katherine can be comfortable and welcome at her sister’s.” - -“Certainly she can. Jane isn’t anything but kind at heart. It is just -her _you-shallness_ that makes her one-sided to live with. But Katherine -can hold her own side, without help, she can that! And if thou art bound -for London, then London is the place where my heart will be and we will -go together.” - -“Thou art a good wife to me, Annie.” - -“Well, then, I promised thee to be a good wife, and I’m Yorkshire -enough to keep a promise--good or bad. I am glad thou art going to -the Clarendon. It is a pleasant house but thy sister Josepha is a bit -overbearing, isn’t she, Antony?” - -“She does not overbear me. I am her eldest brother. I make her remember -that. Howiver, I shall hev to listen to such a lot o’ strong language -in the House that I must hev only thee about me when I can get away from -committees, and divisions, taking of votes, and the like.” - -By this time the squire had filled his pipe, and seated himself in -his favorite corner on that side of the hearth, that had no draughts -whichever way the wind blew. Then Madam said: “I’ll leave thee a few -minutes, Antony. I am going to tell Katherine that thou art going to -take her to London.” - -“Varry well. I’ll give thee five minutes, then thou must come back here, -for I hev something important to tell thee.” - -“Katherine will want to come back here with me. She will be impatient to -thank thee for thy goodness and to coax some sovereigns in advance for -a new dress and the few traveling things women need when they are on the -road.” - -“Then thou hed better advise her to wait until supper time. When the -day’s work is all done I can stand a bit of cuddling and petting and I -doan’t mind waring a few sovereigns for things necessary. Of course, -I know the little wench will be happy and full o’ what she is going to -see, and to do, and to hear. Yet, Annie, I hev some important thoughts -in my mind now and I want thy help in coming to their settlement.” - -“Antony Annis! I _am_ astonished at thee, I am that! When did thou ever -need or take advice about thy awn business? Thou hes sense for all that -can be put up against thy opinion, without asking advice from man or -woman--‘specially woman.” - -“That may be so, Annie, perhaps it _is_ so, but thou art different. -Thou art like mysen and it’s only prudent and kind to talk changes over -together. For thou hes to share the good or the bad o’ them, so it is -only right thou should hev time to prepare for whatever they promise. -Sit thee down beside me. Now, then, this is what happened just as soon -as I hed gotten my money--and I can assure thee, that a thousand pounds -in a man’s pocket is a big set up--I felt all my six feet four inches -and a bit more, too--well, as I was going past the Green to hev a talk -wi’ Jonathan Hartley, I saw Mr. Foster come to his door and stand there. -As he was bare-headed, I knew he was waiting to speak to me. I hev liked -the man’s face and ways iver since he came to the village, and when he -offered his hand and asked me to come in I couldn’t resist the kindness -and goodness of it.” - -“Thou went into the preacher’s house?” - -“I surely did, and I am glad of it. I think a deal o’ good may come from -the visit.” - -“Did thou see his daughter?” - -“I did and I tell thee she is summat to see.” - -“Then she is really beautiful?” - -“Yes, and more than that. She was sitting sewing in a plain, small -parlor but she seemed to be sitting in a circle of wonderful peace. -All round her the air looked clearer than in the rest of the room and -something sweet and still and heavenly happy came into my soul. Then -she told me all about the misery in the cottages and said it had now got -beyond individual help and she was sure if thou knew it, and the curate -knew it, some proper general relief could be carried out. She had began, -she said, ‘with the chapel people,’ but even they were now beyond her -care; and she hoped thou would organize some society and guide all with -thy long and intimate knowledge of the people.” - -“What did thou say to this?” - -“I said I knew thou would do iverything that it was possible to do. And -I promised that thou would send her word when to come and talk the ways -and means over with thee and a few others.” - -“That was right.” - -“I knew it would be right wi’ thee.” - -“Katherine says that our Dick is in love wi’ the preacher’s daughter.” - -“I wouldn’t wonder, and if a man hedn’t already got the only perfect -woman in the world for his awn you could not blame him. No, you could -not blame him!” - -“Thou must hev stayed awhile there for it is swinging close to five -o’clock.” - -“Ay, but I wasn’t at the preacher’s long. I went from his house to -Jonathan Hartley’s, and I smoked a pipe with him, and we hed a long talk -on the situation of our weavers. Many o’ them are speaking of giving-in, -and going to Bradley’s factory, and I felt badly, and I said to -Jonathan, ‘I suppose thou is thinking of t’ same thing.’ And he looked -at me, Annie, and I was hot wi’ shame, and I was going to tell him so, -but he looked at me again, and said: - -“‘Nay, nay, squire, thou didn’t mean them words, and we’ll say nothing -about them’; so we nodded to each other, and I wouldn’t be sure whether -or not we wer’ not both nearer tears than we’d show. Anyway, he went on -as if nothing had happened, telling me about the failing spirit of -the workers and saying a deal to excuse them. ‘Ezra Dixon’s eldest and -youngest child died yesterday and they are gathering a bit of money -among the chapel folk to bury them.’ Then I said: ‘Wait a minute, -Jonathan,’ and I took out of my purse a five pound note and made him go -with it to the mother and so put her heart at ease on that score. You -know our poor think a parish funeral a pitiful disgrace.” - -“Well, Antony, if that was what kept thee, thou wert well kept. Faith -Foster is right. I ought to be told of such sorrow.” - -“To be sure we both ought to know, but tha sees, Annie, my dearie, we -hev been so much better off than the rest of weaving villages that the -workers hev not suffered as long and as much as others. But what’s -the use of making excuses? I am going to a big meeting of weavers on -Saturday night. It is to be held in t’ Methodist Chapel.” - -“Antony! Whatever art thou saying? What will the curate say? What will -all thy old friends say?” - -“Annie, I hev got to a place where I don’t care a button what they say. -I hev some privileges, I hope, and taking my awn way is one o’ them. The -curate hes been asked to lend his sanction to the meeting, and the men -are betting as to whether he’ll do so or not. If I was a betting man I -would say ‘No’!” - -“Why?” - -“His bishop. The bishops to a man were against the Reform Bill. Only one -is said to have signed for it. That is not sure.” - -“Then do you blame him?” - -“Nay, I’m sorry for any man, that hesn’t the gumption to please his awn -conscience, and take his awn way. However, his career is in the bishop’s -hand, and he’s varry much in love with Lucy Landborde.” - -“Lucy Landborde! That handsome girl! How can he fashion himself to make -up to Lucy?” - -“She thinks he is dying of love for her, so she pities him. Women are a -soft lot!” - -“It is mebbe a good thing for men that women are a soft lot. Go on with -thy story. It’s fair wonderful.” - -“Mr. Foster will preside, and they’ll ask the curate to record -proceedings. St. George Norris and Squire Charington and the Vicar of -Harrowgate will be on the platform, I hear. The vicar is going to marry -Geraldine Norris next week to a captain in the Guards.” - -“I declare, Antony, thou finds out iverything going on.” - -“To be sure. That is part o’ my business as Lord of the Manor. Well tha -sees now, that it is going to be a big meeting, especially when they add -to it a Member of Parliament, a Magistrate, and a Yorkshire Squire.” - -“Who art thou talking about now?” - -“Mysen! Antony Annis! Member of Parliament, Squire of Annis and Deeping -Wold, and Magistrate of the same district.” - -“Upon my word, I had forgotten I was such a big lady. And I am to go to -London with thee. I am as set up about that as a child would be. I think -I ought to go and tell Katherine.” - -“Mebbe it would be the kind thing. Sharing a pleasure doubles it;” and -as the squire uttered the words, Katherine rather impetuously opened the -parlor door. - -“O daddy!” she cried as she pulled a chair to his side. “What are you -talking about? I know it is about London; are you going to take me there -with you? Say yes. Say it surely.” - -“Give me a kiss and I will take both thee and thy mother there with me.” - -“How soon, daddy? How soon?” - -“As soon as possible. We must look after the poor and the land and then -we can go with a good heart.” - -“Let us talk it all over. Where are you going to stay?” - -“Nay, my dear lass. I am talking to thy mother now and she is on a -different level to thee. Run away to thy room and make up thy mind about -thy new dress and the other little tricks thou wants.” - -“Such as a necklace and a full set of amber combs for my hair.” - -“Nay, nay! I hev no money for jewelry, while little childer and women -all round us are wanting bread. Thou wouldn’t suit it and it wouldn’t be -lucky to thee. Run away now, I’ll talk all thou wants to-morrow.” - -“Verry well, dear daddy. Thy word is enough to build on. I can sit quiet -and arrange my London plans, for a promise from thee is as sure as the -thing itself.” - -Then the squire laughed and took a letter out of his pocketbook. “It -is good for a thousand pounds, honey,” he said, “and that is a bit of -security for my promise, isn’t it?” - -“Not a penny’s worth. Thy promise needs no security. It stands alone as -it ought to do.” - -She rose as she spoke and the squire rose and opened the door for her -and then stood and watched her mount the darkening stairway. At the -first reach, she turned and bent her lovely face and form towards him. -The joyful anticipations in her heart transfigured her. She was radiant. -Her face shone and smiled; her white throat, and her white shoulders, -and her exquisite arms, and her firm quick feet seemed to have some new -sense given them. You would have said that her body thought and that her -very voice had a caress in it as she bridged the space between them with -a “Thank you, dear, dear daddy! You are the very kindest father in all -the world!” - -“And thou art his pet and his darling!” With these words he went back to -his wife. “She is justtip-on-top,” he said. “There’s no girl I know like -her. She sits in the sunlight of my heart. Why, Annie, she ought to make -a better marriage than Jane, and Jane did middling well.” - -“Would thou think Harry Bradley a good match?” - -“I wouldn’t put him even in a passing thought with Katherine. Harry -Bradley, indeed! I am fairly astonished at thee naming the middle class -fellow!” - -“Katherine thinks him all a man should be.” - -“She will change her mind in London.” - -“I doubt that.” - -“Thou lets her hev opinions and ideas of her awn. Thou shouldn’t do it. -Jane will alter that. Jane will tell her how to rate men and women. Jane -is varry clever.” - -“Jane is no match for Katherine. Dost thou think Antony Annis will be?” - -“I wouldn’t doubt it.” - -“Then don’t try conclusions with her about Harry Bradley, and happen -then thou may keep thy illusion. Katherine’s fault is a grave one, -though it often looks like a virtue.” - -“I doan’t see what thou means. Faults are faults, and virtues are -virtues. I hev niver seen a fault of any kind in her, unless it be -wanting more guineas than I can spare her just now, but that is the -original sin o’ women as far as I can make out. Whativer is this fault -that can look like a virtue?” - -“She overdoes everything. She says too little, or too much; she does too -little, or too much; she gives too little, or too much. In everything -she exceeds. If she likes anyone, she is unreasonable about them; if she -dislikes them, she is unjust.” - -“I doan’t call that much of a fault--if thou knew anything about farming -thou would make little of it. Thou would know that it is the richest -land that hes the most weeds in its crop. The plow and the harrow will -clear it of weeds and the experience of life will teach Katherine to be -less generous with both her feelings and her opinions. Let her overdo, -it is a fault that will cure itself.” - -“And in the meantime it makes her too positive and insisting. She -thinks she is right and she wants others to be right. She is even a bit -forceable----” - -“And I can tell thee that women as well as men need some force of -character, if they mean to do anything with their lives. _Why-a!_ Force -is in daily life all that powder is to shot. If our weavers’ wives hed -more force in their characters, they wouldn’t watch their children dying -of hunger upon their knees and their hearths, they would make their -stubborn men go to any kind of a loom. They wouldn’t be bothering -themselves about any Bill in Parliament, they would be crying out for -bread for their children. We must see about the women and children -to-morrow or we shall not be ready for Faith Foster’s visit.” - -“To be sure, but we need not think of it to-night. I’m heart weary, -Antony. Nobody can give sympathy long unless they turn kind words into -kind actions.” - -“Then just call Katherine and order a bit of supper in. And I’d like a -tankard of home-brewed, and a slice or two of cold mutton. My word, but -the mutton bred in our rich meadows is worth eating! Such a fine color, -so tender and juicy and full of rich red gravy.” - -“I think thou would be better without the tankard. Our ale is four years -old, and tha knows what it is at that age. It will give thee a rattling -headache. The cask on now is very strong.” - -“To be sure it is. A man could look a lion in the face after a couple of -glasses of it.” - -“I advise thee to take a glass of water, with thy mutton to-night.” - -“No, I won’t. I’ll hev a glass of sherry wine, and thou can be my -butler. And tell Katherine not to talk about London to-night. I hevn’t -got my intentions ready. I’d be making promises it would not be right to -keep. Tha knows----!” - -“Yes, I know.” - -Katherine had not yet been promoted to a seat at the late supper table, -and only came to it when specially asked. So Madam found her ungowned, -and with loosened hair, in a dressing-sacque of blue flannel. She was -writing a letter to a school friend, but she understood her mother’s -visit and asked with a smile-- - -“Am I to come to supper, mother? Oh, I am so glad.” - -“Then, dearie, do not speak of London, nor the poor children, nor the -selfish weavers.” - -“Not selfish, mother. They believe they are fighting for their rights. -You know that.” - -“I doan’t know it. I doan’t believe it. Their wives and children ought -to be more to them than their awn way which is what they really want. -Doan’t say a word about them.” - -“I will not. I am going to tell father about the Arkroyds, who owned -Scar Top House so long.” - -“Father will like to hear anything good about Colonel Arkroyd. He is the -last of a fine Yorkshire family. Who told thee anything about him?” - -“Before I came to my room I went to give Polly some sugar I had in my -pocket for her, and I met Britton, who had just come from the stable. -He turned and went with me and he was full of the story and so I had to -listen to it.” - -“Well, then, we will listen to it when thou comes down. Father is -hungry, so don’t keep him waiting, or he will be put out of his way.” - -“I will be down in five minutes, and father is never cross with me.” - -Indeed, when Madam went back to the parlor, a servant was bringing in -the cold mutton and Madam had the bottle of sherry in her hand. A few -minutes later Katherine had joined her parents, and they were sitting -cozily round a small table, set in the very warmth and light of the -hearthstone. Then Madam, fearing some unlucky word or allusion, said as -quickly as possible-- - -“Whatever was it thou heard about Colonel Ark-royd, Katherine?” - -“Ay! Ay! Colonel Arkroyd! Who has anything to say about him?” asked the -squire. “One of the finest men alive to-day.” - -“I heard a strange thing about his old house, an hour ago.” - -“But he sold Scar Top House, and went to live in Kendal. A man from -Bradford bought it, eh?” - -“Yes, a man with a factory and six hundred looms, they say. Father, -have you noticed how crowded our rookery is with the birds’ nests this -spring?” - -“I doan’t know that I hev noticed the number of the nests, but nobody -can help hearing their noisy chattering all over Annis.” - -“Do you remember the rookery at Scar Top?” - -“Yes. I often hed a friendly threep with Ark-royd about it. He would -insist, that his rookery hed the largest congregation. I let him think -so--he’s twenty years older than I am--and I did hear that the Bradford -man had bought the place because of the rookery.” - -“So he did. And now, father, every bird has left it. There was not one -nest built there this spring. Not one!” - -“I never heard the like. Whoever told thee such a story?” - -“The whole village knows it. One morning very early every rook in Scar -Top went away. They went altogether, just before daybreak. They went to -Saville Court and settled in a long row of elm trees in the home meadow. -They are building there now and the Bradford man----” - -“Give him his name. It is John Denby. He was born in Annis--in my -manor--and he worked for the colonel, near twenty years.” - -“Very well. John Denby and Colonel Arkroyd have quarreled about the -birds, and there is likely to be a law suit over them.” - -“Upon my word! That will be a varry interesting quarrel. What could -make birds act in such a queer way? I niver knew them to do such a thing -before.” - -“Well, father, rooks are very aristocratic birds. Denby could not get a -_caw_ out of the whole flock. They would not notice Denby, and they used -to talk to Arkroyd, whenever he came out of the house. Denby used to -work for Colonel Arkroyd, and the rooks knew it. They did not consider -him a gentleman, and they would not accept his hospitality.” - -“That is going a bit too far, Katherine.” - -“Oh, no! Old Britton told me so, and the Yorkshire bird does not live -who has not told Britton all about itself. He said further, that rooks -are very vain and particularly so about their feathers. He declared they -would go far out of their way in order to face the wind and so prevent -ruffling their feathers.” - -“Rooks are at least a very human bird,” said Madam; “our rooks make -quite a distinction between thee and myself. I can easily notice it. The -male birds are in a flutter when thou walks through the rookery, they -moderate their satisfaction when I pay them a call and it is the female -birds who do the honors then.” - -“That reminds me, mother, that Britton told me rooks intermarried -generation after generation, and that if a rook brought home a strange -bride, he was forced to build in a tree the community selected, at -some distance from the rookery. If he did not do this, his nest was -relentlessly torn down.” - -“Well, my Joy, I am glad to learn so much from thee. How do the rooks -treat thee?” - -“With but moderate notice, father, unless I am at Britton’s side. Then -they ‘caw’ respectfully, as I take my way through their colony. Britton -taught me to lift my hat now and then, as father does.” The squire -laughed, and was a bit confused. “Nay, nay!” he said. “Britton hes been -making up that story, though I vow, I would rayther take off my hat to -gentlemanly rooks than to some humans I know; I would that! There is one -thing I can tell thee about rooks, Britton seems to have forgot; they -can’t make a bit of sunshine for themselves. If t’ weather is rainy, no -bird in the world is more miserable. They sit with puffed out feathers -in uncontrollable melancholy, and they hevn’t a caw for anybody. Yet I -hev a great respect for rooks.” - -“And I hev a great liking for rook pies,” said Madam. “There is not a -pie in all the records of cookery, to come near it. _Par excellence_ is -its name. I shall miss my rook pies, if we go away this summer.” - -“But we shall have something better in their place, dear mother.” - -“Who can tell? In the meantime, sleep will be the best thing for all. -To-morrow is a new day. Sleep will make us ready for it.” - - - - -CHAPTER III--THE REALIZATION OF TROUBLE - - - “Beneath this starry arch, - - Naught resteth, or is still; - - And all things have their march, - - As if by one great will. - - Move on! Move all! - - Hark to the footfall! - - On, on! forever!” - - - THE next morning Katherine came to her mother full of enthusiasm. She -had some letters in her hand and she said: “I have written these letters -all alike, mother, and they are ready to send away, if you will give me -the names of the ladies you wish them to go to.” - -“How many letters hast thou written?” - -“Seven. I can write as many as you wish.” - -“Thou hes written too many already.” - -“Too many!” - -“Yes, tha must not forget, that this famine and distress is over all -Yorkshire--over all England. Every town and village hes its awn sick and -starving, and hes all it can do to look after them. Thy father told me -last night he hed been giving to all the villages round us for a year -back but until Mr. Foster told him yesterday he hed no idea that there -was any serious trouble in Annis. Tha knows, dearie, that Yorkshire and -Lancashire folk won’t beg. No, not if they die for want of begging. The -preacher found out their need first and he told father at once. Then -Jonathan Hartley admitted they were all suffering and that something -must be done to help. That is the reason for the meeting this -afternoon.” - -“Oh, dear me!” - -“Jonathan hes been preparing for it for a week but he did not tell -father until yesterday. I will give thee the names of four ladies -that may assist in the way of sending food--there is Mrs. Benson, the -doctor’s wife--her husband is giving his time to the sick and if she -hedn’t a bit of money of her awn, Benson’s family would be badly off, I -fear. She may hev the heart to _do_ as well as to pinch and suffer, but -if she hesn’t, we can’t find her to blame. Send her an invitation. -Send another to Mistress Craven. Colonel Craven is with his regiment -somewhere, but she is wealthy, and for anything I know, good-hearted. -Give her an opportunity. Lady Brierley can be counted on in some way -or other and perhaps Mrs. Courtney. I can think of no others because -everyone is likely to be looking for assistance just as we are. What day -hev you named for the meeting?” - -“Monday. Is that too soon?” - -“About a week too soon. None of these ladies will treat the invitation -as a desirable one. They doubtless hev many engagements already -made. Say, next Saturday. It is not reasonable to expect them to drop -iverything else and hurry to Annis, to sew for the hungry and naked.” - -“O mother! Little children! Who would not hurry to them with food and -clothing?” - -“Hes thou been with Faith Foster to see any children hungry and naked?” - -“No, mother; but I do not need to _see_ in order to _feel_. And I have -certainly noticed how few children are on the street lately.” - -“Well, Katherine, girls of eighteen shouldn’t need to _see_ in order to -feel. Thank God for thy fresh young feelings and keep them fresh as long -as thou can. It will be a pity when thou begins to reason about them. -Send letters to Mrs. Benson, Mrs. Craven, Lady Brierley, and Mrs. -Courtney, and then we shall see what comes from them. After all, we are -mere mortals!” - -“But you are friendly with all these four ladies?” - -“Good friends to come and go upon. By rights they ought to stand by -Annis--but ‘ought’ stands for nothing.” - -“Why _ought_, mother?” - -“Thy father hes done ivery one o’ them a good turn of one kind or -the other but it isn’t his way to speak of the same. Now send off thy -letters and let things slide until we see what road they are going to -take. I’m afraid I’ll hev to put mysen about more than I like to in this -matter.” - -“That goes without saying but you don’t mind it, do you, mother?” - -“Well, your father took me on a sudden. I hedn’t time to think before I -spoke and when my heart gets busy, good-by to my head.” - -“Mrs. Courtney has not been here for a long time.” - -“She is a good deal away but I saw her in London last year every now and -then. She is a careless woman; she goes it blind about everything, and -yet she wants to be at the bottom of all county affairs.” - -“Mother, could we not do a little shopping today?” - -“At the fag end of the week? What are you talking about? Certainly not. -Besides, thy father is worried about the meeting this afternoon. He says -more may come of it than we can dream of.” - -“How is that?” - -“Why, Katherine, it might end in a factory here, or it might end in the -weavers heving to leave Annis and go elsewhere.” - -“Cannot they get work of some other kind, in, or near by Annis?” - -“Nay, tha surely knows, that a weaver hes to keep his fingers soft, and -his hands supple. Hard manual work would spoil his hands forever for -the loom, and our men are born weavers. They doan’t fashion to any other -work, and to be sure England hes to hev her weavers.” - -“Mother, would it not be far better to have a factory? Lately, when I -have taken a walk with father he always goes to the wold and looks all -round considering just like a man who was wondering about a site for a -building. It would be a good thing for us, mother, would it not?” - -“It seems so, but father does not want it. He says it will turn Annis -into a rough village, full of strangers, with bad ways, and also that it -will spoil the whole country-side with its smoke and dirt.” - -“But if it makes money?” - -“Money isn’t iverything.” - -“The want of it is dreadful.” - -“Thy father got a thousand pounds this morning. If he does not put most -of it into a factory, he will put it into bread, which will be eaten -to-day and wanted again to-morrow. That would make short work of a -thousand pounds.” - -“Have you reminded father of that?” - -“I doan’t need to. Father seems an easy-going man but he thinks of -iverything; and when he _hes_ to act no one strikes the iron quicker -and harder. If thou saw him in London, if thou heard him in the House, -brow-beating the Whigs and standing up for Peel and Wellington and -others, thou would wonder however thou dared to tease, and contradict, -and coax him in Annis. Thou would that! Now I am going to the lower -summer house for an hour. Send away thy letters, and let me alone a -bit.” - -“I know. I saw father going down the garden. He is going to the summer -house also; he intends to tell you, mother, what he is going to say -to-night. He always reads, or recites his speeches to you. I have heard -him sometimes.” - -“Then thou ought to be ashamed to speak of it! I am astonished at thy -want of honor! If by chance, thou found out some reserved way of thy -father it should have been held by thee as a sacred, inviolable secret. -Not even to me, should thou have dared to speak of it. I am sorry, -indeed, to hev to teach thee this point of childhood’s honor. I thought -it would be natural to the daughter of Antony and Annie Annis!” - -“Mother! Forgive me! I am ashamed and sorry and oh, do not, for my sake, -tell father! My dear, dear father! You have made it look like mocking -him--I never thought how shameful it could look--oh, I never thought -about it! I never spoke of it before! I never did!” - -“Well, then, see thou never again listens to what was not intended for -thee to hear. It would be a pretty state of things, if thy father hed -to go somewhere out of the way of listeners to get a bit of private talk -with me.” - -“Mother, don’t be so cruel to me.” - -“Was thou trying to compliment me or was thou scorning a bit about thy -father’s ways? If thou thought I would feel complimented by being set -above him that thought was as far wrong as it could possibly get.” - -“Mother! Mother! You will break my heart! You never before spoke this -way to me--_Oh, dear! Oh, dear!_” - -For a few minutes Madam let her weep, then she bent over the crouching, -sobbing girl, and said, “There now! There now!” - -“I am so sorry! So sorry!” - -“Well, dearie, sorrow is good for sin. It is the only thing sorrow is -good for. Dry thy eyes, and we will niver name the miserable subject -again.” - -“Was it really a sin, mother?” - -“Hes thou forgotten the fifth commandment? That little laugh at thy -father’s saying his speeches to me first was more than a bit scornful. -It was far enough from the commandment ‘Honor thy father and thy -mother.’ It wasn’t honoring either of us.” - -“I can never forgive myself.” - -“Nay! nay! Give me a kiss and go and look after thy letters; also tell -Yates dinner must be on the table at one o’clock no matter what his -watch says.” Then Katherine walked silently away and Madam went to the -lower summer house, and the dinner was on the table at one o’clock. It -was an exceedingly quiet meal, and immediately after it, the squire’s -horse was brought to the door. - -“So thou art going to ride, Antony!” said Mistress Annis, and the squire -answered, “Ay, I hev a purpose in riding, Annie.” - -“Thou art quite right,” was the reply, for she thought she divined his -purpose and the shadow of a smile passed between them. Then he looked at -his watch, mounted his horse and rode swiftly away. His wife watched him -out of sight and, as she turned into the house, she told herself with -a proud and happy smile, “He is the best and the handsomest man in the -West Riding, and the horse suits him! He rides to perfection! God bless -him!” - -It was a point with the squire to be rigidly punctual. He was never -either too soon, or too late. He knew that one fault was as bad as the -other, though he considered the early mistake as the worst. It began -to strike two as he reached the door of the Methodist Chapel, and saw -Jonathan Hartley waiting there for him; and they walked at once to -a rude platform that had been prepared for the speakers. There were -several gentlemen standing there in a group, and the Chapel was crowded -with anxious hungry-looking men. - -It was the first time that Squire Annis had ever stepped inside a -Methodist Chapel. The thought was like the crack of a whip in his -conscience but at that moment he would not listen to any claim or -reproof; for either through liking or disliking, he was sensitive at -once to Bradley’s tall, burly predominance; and could not have said, -whether it was pleasant or unpleasant to him. However, the moment he -appeared, there was loud handclapping, and cries of “Squire Annis! -Squire Annis! Put him in the chair! He’s our man!” - -Then into the squire’s heart his good angel put a good thought, and he -walked to the front of the platform and said, “My men, and my friends, -I’ll do something better for you. I’ll put the Reverend Samuel Foster in -the chair. God’s servant stands above all others, and Mr. Foster knows -all about your poverty and affliction. I am a bit ashamed to say, I do -not.” This personal accusation was cut short by cries of “No! No! No! -Thou hes done a great deal,” and then a cheer, that had in it all the -Yorkshire spirit, though not its strength. The men were actually weak -with hunger. - -Mr. Foster took the chair to which the squire led him without any -affectations of demur, and he was gladly welcomed. Indeed there were few -things that would have pleased the audience more. They were nearly all -Methodists, and their preacher alone had searched out their misery, and -helped them to bear it with patience and with hope. He now stretched out -his hands to them and said--“Friends, just give us four lines, and we -will go at once to business”; and in a sweet, ringing voice, he began -Newman’s exquisite hymn-- - - “Leave God to order all thy ways, - - And hope in Him whate’er betide, - - Thoul’t find Him in the evil days, - - An all sufficient Strength and Guide.” - -The words came fresh and wet with tears from every heart, and it was a -five minutes’ interlude of that complete surrender, which God loves and -accepts. - -After a moment of intense silence, the preacher said, “We are met to-day -to try and find out if hand-loom weaving must go, or if both hand-loom -weaving and power-loom weaving have a chance for the weaver in them. -There are many hand-loom weavers here present. They know all its good -points and all points wherein it fails but they do not know either the -good or bad points of power-loom weaving, and Mr. John Thomas Bradley -has come to tell you something about this tremendous rival of your -household loom. I will now introduce Mr. John.” He got no further in -his introduction, for Bradley stepped forward, and with a buoyant -good-nature said, “No need, sir, of any fine mastering or mistering -between the Annis lads and mysen. We hev thrashed each ither at -football, and chated each ither in all kinds of swapping odds too often, -to hev forgotten what names were given us at our christening. There’s -Israel Swale, he hes a bigger mill than I hev now-a-days, but he’s owing -me three pence half-penny and eleven marbles, yet whenever I ask him for -my brass and my marbles he says--‘I’ll pay thee, John Thomas, when we -play our next game.’ Now listen, lads, next Whitsunday holidays I’ll -ask him to come and see me, and I’ll propose before a house full of -company--and all ready for a bit of fun--that we hev our game of marbles -in the bowling alley, and I’ll get Jonathan Hartley to give you all an -invitation to come and see fair play between us. Will you come?” - -Noisy laughing acceptances followed and one big Guisely weaver said, -“He’d come too, and see that Israel played a straight game for once in -his life.” - -“I’m obliged to thee, Guisely,” answered Bradley, “I hope thou’lt come. -Now then, lads, I hev to speak to you about business, and if you think -what I say is right, go and do what I say, do it boldly; and if you -aren’t sure, then let it alone:--till you are driven to it. I am told -that varry few of the men here present iver saw a power loom. And yet -you mostly think ill o’ it. That isn’t a bit Yorkshire. You treat a man -as you find him, you ought to do the same to a machine, that is almost -a man in intelligence--that is the most perfect bit of beauty and -contrivance that man iver made since man himsen was fitted wi’ fingers -and thumbs by the Great Machinist of heaven and earth.” - -“What is it fashioned like, Bradley?” - -“It is an exceedingly compact machine and takes up little room. It is -easily worked and it performs every weaving operation with neatness -and perfection. It makes one hundred and seventy picks a minute or six -pieces of goods in a week--you know it was full work and hard work to -make one piece a week with the home loom, even for a strong man. It is -made mostly of shining metal, and it is a perfect darling. _Why-a!_ -the lads and lassies in Bradley mill call their looms after their -sweethearts, or husbands, or wives, and I wouldn’t wonder if they said -many a sweet or snappy word to the looms that would niver be ventured on -with the real Bessie or the real Joe. - -“Think of your old cumbersome wooden looms, so hard and heavy and dreary -to work, that it wasn’t fit or right to put a woman down to one. Then go -and try a power loom, and when you hev done a day’s work on it, praise -God and be thankful! I tell you God saw the millions coming whom -Yorkshire and Lancashire would hev to clothe, and He gave His servant -the grave, gentle, middle-aged preacher Edmund Cartwright, the model of -a loom fit for God’s working men and women to use. I tell you men the -power loom is one of God’s latest Gospels. We are spelling yet, with -some difficulty, its first good news, but the whole world will yet thank -God for the power loom!” - -Here the preacher on the platform said a fervent “Thank God!” But the -audience was not yet sure enough for what they were to thank God, and -the few echoes to the preacher’s invitation were strangely uncertain for -a Yorkshire congregation. A few of the Annis weavers compromised on a -solemn “Amen!” All, however, noticed that the squire remained silent, -and they were “not going”--as Lot Clarke said afterwards--“to push -themsens before t’ squire.” - -Then Jonathan Hartley stepped into the interval, and addressing Bradley -said, “Tha calls this wonderful loom a power-loom. I’ll warrant the -power comes from a steam engine.” - -“Thou art right, Jonathan. I wish tha could see the wonderful engine at -Dalby’s Mill in Pine Hollow. The marvelous creature stands in its big -stone stable like a huge image of Destiny. It is never still, but never -restless, nothing rough; calm and steady like the waves of the full sea -at Scarboro’. It is the nervous center, the life, I might say, of all -going on in that big building above it. It moves all the machinery, it -gives life to the devil, * and speeds every shuttle in every loom.” - - * The devil, a machine containing a revolving cylinder armed - with knives or spikes for tearing, cutting, or opening raw - materials. - -“It isn’t looms and engines we are worrying about, Bradley,” said a man -pallid and fretful with hunger. “It is flesh and blood, that can’t stand -hunger much longer. It’s our lile lads and lasses, and the babies at the -mother’s breast, where there isn’t a drop o’ milk for their thin, white -lips! O God! And you talk o’ looms and engines”--and the man sat down -with a sob, unable to say another word. - -Squire Annis could hardly sit still, but the preacher looked at him and -he obeyed the silent wish, as in the meantime Jonathan Hartley had asked -Bradley a question, to partly answer the request made. - -“If you want to know about the workers, all their rooms are large and -cheerful, with plenty of fresh air in them. The weaving rooms are as -light and airy as a bird cage. The looms are mostly managed by women, -from seventeen to thirty, wi’ a sprinkling o’ married men and women. A -solid trade principle governs t’ weaving room--so much work, for so much -money--but I hev girls of eighteen in my mill, who are fit and able -to thread the shuttles, and manage two looms, keeping up the pieces to -mark, without oversight or help.” - -Here he was interrupted by a man with long hair parted in the middle -of the forehead, and dressed in a suit of fashionable cut, but cheap -tailoring. “I hev come to this meeting,” he cried out, “to ask your -parliamentary representative if he intends to vote for the Reform Bill, -and to urge the better education of the lower classes.” - -“Who bid thee come to this meeting?” asked Jonathan Hartley. “Thou -has no business here. Not thou. And we weren’t born in Yorkshire to be -fooled by thee.” - -“I was told by friends of the people, that your member would likely vote -against Reform.” - -“Put him out! Put him out!” resounded from every quarter of the -building, and for the first time since the meeting opened, there was a -touch of enthusiasm. Then the squire stepped with great dignity to the -front of the platform. - -“Young men,” he said with an air of reproof, “this is not a political -meeting. It is not even a public meeting. It is a gathering of friends -to consider how best to relieve the poverty and idleness for which our -weavers are not to blame--and we do not wish to be interrupted.” - -“The blame is all wi’ you rich landowners,” he answered; “ivery one o’ -you stand by a government that robs the poor man and protects the rich. -I am a representative of the Bradford Socialists.” - -“Git out! Git out! Will tha? If tha doesn’t, I’ll fling thee out like -any other rubbish;” and as the man made no attempt to obey the -command given, Hartley took him by the shoulder, and in spite of his -protestations--received with general jeers and contempt--put him -outside the chapel. - -Squire Annis heartily approved the word, act and manner of Hartley’s -little speech. The temperature of his blood rose to fighting heat, -and he wanted to shout with the men in the body of the chapel. Yet his -countenance was calm and placid, for Antony Annis was _Master at Home_, -and could instantly silence or subdue whatever his Inner Man prompted -that was improper or inconvenient. - -He thought, however, that it was now a fit time-for him to withdraw, and -he was going to say the few words he had so well considered, when a very -old man rose, and leaning on his staff, called out, “Squire Annis, my -friend, I want thee to let me speak five minutes. It will varry likely -be t’ last time I’ll hev the chance to say a word to so many lads -altogether in this life.” And the squire smiled pleasantly as he -replied, “Speak, Matthew, we shall all be glad to listen to you.” - -“Ill be ninety-five years old next month, Squire, and I hev been busy -wi’ spinning and weaving eighty-eight o’ them. I was winding bobbins -when I was seven years old, and I was carding, or combing, or working -among wool until I was twenty. Then I got married, and bought from t’ -squire, on easy terms, my cottage and garden plot, and I kept a pig and -some chickens, and a hutch full o’ rabbits, which I fed on the waste -vegetables from my garden. I also had three or four bee skeps, that gave -us honey for our bread, with a few pounds over to sell; t’ squire allays -bought the overbit, and so I was well paid for a pretty bed of flowers -round about the house. I was early at my loom, but when I was tired I -went into my garden, and I smoked a pipe and talked to the bees, who -knew me well enough, ivery one o’ them. If it was raining, I went into -t’ kitchen, and smoked and hed a chat wi’ Polly about our awn concerns. -I hev had four handsome lassies, and four good, steady lads. Two o’ -the lads went to America, to a place called Lowell, but they are now -well-to-do men, wi’ big families. My daughters live near me, and they -keep my cottage as bright as their mother kept it for over fifty years. -I worked more or less till I was ninety years old, and then Squire Annis -persuaded me to stop my loom, and just potter about among my bees and -flowers. Now then, lads, thousands hev done for years and years as much, -even more than I hev done and I hev never met but varry few Home-loom -weavers who were dissatisfied. They all o’ them made their awn hours and -if there was a good race anywhere near-by they shut off and went to it. -Then they did extra work the next day to put their ‘piece’ straight for -Saturday. If their ‘piece’ was right, the rest was nobody’s business.” - -“Well, Matthew,” said the squire, “for many a year you seldom missed a -race.” - -“Not if t’ horses were good, and well matched. I knew the names then of -a’ the racers that wer’ worth going to see. I love a fine horse yet. I -do that! And the Yorkshire roar when the victor came to mark! You could -hear it a mile away! O squire, I can hear it yet! - -“Well, lads, I hev hed a happy, busy life, and I hev been a good -Methodist iver sin’ I was converted, when I was twelve years old. And I -bear testimony this day to the goodness and the faithfulness of God. He -hes niver broken a promise He made me. Niver one! - -“Thousands of Home-loom spinners can live, and have lived, as I did and -they know all about t’ life. I know nothing about power-loom weaving. -I dare say a man can make good or bad o’ it, just as he feels inclined; -but I will say, it brings men down to a level God Almighty niver -intended. It is like this--when a man works in his awn home, and makes -his awn hours, all the world, if he be good and honest, calls him _A -Man_; when he works in a factory he’s nobbut ‘_one o’ the hands_.’” - -At these words Matthew sat down amid a little subdued inexpressible -mixture of tense feeling and the squire said--“In three weeks or less, -men, I am going to London, and I give you my word, that I shall always -be found on the side of Reform and Free Trade. When I return you will -surely have made up your minds and formed some sort of decision; then I -will try and forward your plans to my last shilling.” With these words -he bowed to the gentlemen on the platform, and the audience before -him, and went rapidly away. His servant was at the Chapel door with his -horse; he sprang into the saddle, and before anyone could interrupt his -exit, he was beyond detention. - -A great disturbance was in his soul. He could not define it. The -condition of his people, the changing character of his workers and -weavers, the very village seemed altered, and then the presence of -Bradley! He had found it impossible to satisfy both his offense with -the man and his still vital affection for him. He had often told himself -that “Bradley was dead and buried as far as he was concerned”; but -some affections are buried alive, and have a distressing habit of being -restless in their coffins. It was with the feeling of a fugitive flying -for a place of rest that he went home. But, oh, how refreshing was -his wife’s welcome! What comfort in her happy smile! What music in her -tender words! He leaped to the ground like a young man and, clasping her -hand, went gratefully with her to his own fireside. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--LONDON AND AUNT JOSEPHA - - - “Still in Immortal Youth we dream of Love.” - - - London--“Together let us beat this ample field - - Try what the open and the covert yield.” - - - KATHERINE’S letters bore little fruit. Lady Brierley sent fifty pounds -to buy food, but said “she was going to Bourmouth for the spring months, -being unable to bear the winds of the Yorkshire wolds at that time.” - Mrs. Craven and Mrs. Courtney were on their way to London, and Mrs. -Benson said her own large family required every hour of her time, -especially as she was now only able to keep one servant. So the village -troubles were confided to the charge of Faith Foster and her father. The -squire put a liberal sum of money with the preacher, and its application -was left entirely to his judgment. - -Nor did Annis now feel himself able to delay his journey until April. -He was urged constantly by the leaders of the Reform Bill to hasten his -visit to the House. Letters from Lord Russell, Sir James Grahame and -Lord Grey told him that among the landlords of the West Riding his -example would have a great influence, and that at this “important crisis -they looked with anxiety, yet certainty, for his support.” - -He could not withhold it. After his enlightenment by Mr. Foster, he -hardly needed any further appeal. His heart and his conscience gave him -no rest, and in ten days he had made suitable arrangements, both for the -care of his estate, and the relief of the village. In this business -he had been greatly hurried and pressed, and the Hall was also full of -unrest and confusion, for all Madam’s domestic treasures were to pack -away and to put in strict and competent care. For, then, there really -were women who enjoyed household rackets and homes turned up and over -from top to bottom. It was their relief from the hysteria of monotony -and the temper that usually attends monotony. They knew nothing of the -constant changes and pleasures of the women of today--of little chatty -lunches and theater parties; of their endless societies and games, and -clubs of every description; of fantastic dressing and undressing from -every age and nation; beside the appropriation of all the habits and -pursuits and pleasures of men that seemed good in their eyes, or their -imaginations. - -So to the woman of one hundred years ago--and of much less time--a -thorough house-cleaning, or a putting away of things for a visit or a -journey was an exciting event. There was even a kind of pleasure in the -discomfort and disorder it caused. The unhappy looks of the men of the -house were rather agreeable to them. For a few days they had legitimate -authority to make everyone miserable, and in doing so experienced a very -actual nervous relief. - -Madam Annis was in some measure influenced by similar conditions, for it -takes a strong and powerfully constituted woman to resist the spirit and -influence of the time and locality in which she lives. So the Hall was -full of unrest, and the peaceful routine of life was all broken up. -Ladies’ hide-covered trunks--such little baby trunks to those of the -present day--and leather bags and portmanteaus littered the halls; and -the very furniture had the neglected plaintive look of whatever is to be -left behind. - -At length, however, on the twenty-third of March, all was ready for -the journey, and the squire was impatient to begin it. He was also -continually worrying about his son. “Whereiver is Dick, I wonder? He -ought to be here helping us, ought he not, mother?” he asked Madam -reproachfully, as if he held her responsible for Dick’s absence and -Madam answered sharply--“Indeed, Antony, thou ought to know best. Thou -told Dick to stay in London and watch the ways of that wearisome Reform -Bill and send thee daily word about its carryings on. The lad can’t be -in two places at once, can he?” - -“I hed forgotten mysen, Annie. How near art thou and Katherine ready to -start?” - -“Katherine and I are now waiting on your will and readiness.” - -“Nay, then, Annie, if ta hes got to thy London English already, I’ll be -quiet, I will.” - -“I doan’t like thee to be unjust to Dick. He is doing, and doing well, -just what thou told him to do. I should think thou couldn’t ask more -than that--if thou was in thy right mind.” - -“Dick is the best lad in Yorkshire, he is all that! Doan’t thee care if -I seem a bit cross, Annie. I’ve been that worrited all morning as niver -was. Doan’t mind it!” - -“I doan’t, not in the least, Antony.” - -“Well, then, can thou start to-morrow morning?” - -“I can start, with an hour’s notice, any time.” - -“I wouldn’t be too good, Annie. I’m not worth it.” - -“Thou art worth all I can do for thee.” - -“Varry good, dearie! Then we’ll start at seven to-morrow morning. We -will drive to Leeds, and then tak t’ mail-coach for London there. If t’ -roads don’t happen to be varry bad we may hev time enough in Leeds to go -to the Queen’s Hotel and hev a plate o’ soup and a chop. I hev a bit o’ -business at the bank there but it won’t keep me ten minutes. I hope we -may hev a fairish journey, but the preacher tells me the whole country -is in a varry alarming condition.” - -“Antony, I am a little tired of the preacher’s alarm bell. He is always -prophesying evil. Doan’t thee let him get too much influence over thee. -Before thou knows what thou art doing thou wilt be going to a class -meeting. What does the curate say? He has been fifty miles south, if not -more.” - -“He told me the roads were full of hungry, angry men, who were varry -disrespectful to any of the Quality they met.” - -Here Katherine entered the room. “Mother dear,” she said in an excited -voice, “mother dear! My new traveling dress came home a little while -ago, and I have put it on, to let you admire it. Is it not pretty? Is it -not stylish? Is it not everything a girl would like? O Daddy! I didn’t -see you.” - -“I couldn’t expect thee to see me when tha hed a new dress on. I’ll tell -thee, howiver, I doan’t like it as well as I liked thy last suit.” - -“The little shepherd plaid? Oh, that has become quite common! This is -the thing now. What do you say, mother?” - -“I think it is all right. Put it on in the morning. We leave at seven -o’clock.” - -“Oh, delightful! I am so glad! Life is all in a mess here and I hate a -tossed-up house.” - -At this point the Reverend Mr. Yates entered. He had called to bid the -squire and his family good-bye, but the ladies quickly left the room. -They knew some apology was due the curate for placing the money intended -for relieving the suffering in the village in the preacher’s care, and -at his disposal. But the curate was reasonable, and readily acknowledged -that “nearly all needing help were members of Mr. Foster’s church, and -would naturally take relief better from him than from a stranger.” - -The journey as far as Leeds was a very sad one, for the squire -stopped frequently to speak to groups of despairing, desperate men and -women:--“Hev courage, friends!” he said cheerfully to a gathering of -about forty or more on the Green of a large village, only fourteen miles -south of Annis. “Hev courage a little longer! I am Antony Annis, and I -am on my way to London, with many more gentlemen, to see that the Reform -Bill goes through the Lords, this time. If it does not then it will be -the duty of Englishmen to know the reason why. God knows you hev borne -up bravely. Try it a bit longer.” - -“Squire,” said a big fellow, white with hunger, “Squire, I hevn’t -touched food of any kind for forty hours. You count hours when you are -hungry, squire.” - -“We’re all o’ us,” said his companion, “faint and clemmed. We hevn’t -strength to be men any longer. Look at me! I’m wanting to cry like a -bairn.” - -“I’m ready to fight, squire,” added a man standing near by; “I hev a bit -o’ manhood yet, and I’d fight for my rights, I would that!--if I nobbnd -hed a slice or two o’ bread.” - -At the same time a young woman, little more than a child, came tottering -forward, and stood at the side of Mistress Annis. She had a little baby -in her arms, she did not speak, she only looked in the elder woman’s -face then cast her eyes down upon the child. It was tugging at an empty -breast with little sharp cries of hungry impatience. Then she said, “I -hev no milk for him! The lile lad is sucking my blood!” Her voice was -weak and trembling, but she had no tears left. - -Madam covered her face, she was weeping, and the next moment Katherine -emptied her mother’s purse into the starving woman’s hand. She took it -with a great cry, lifting her face to heaven--“Oh God, it is money! Oh -God, it is milk and bread!” Then looking at Katherine she said, “Thou -hes saved two lives. God sent thee to do it”--and with the words, she -found a sudden strength to run with her child to a shop across the -street, where bread and milk were sold. - -“It’s little Dinas Sykes,” said a man whose voice was weak with hunger. -“Eh! but I’m glad, God hes hed mercy on her!” and all watched Dinas -running for milk and bread with a grateful sympathy. The squire was -profoundly touched, his heart melted within him, and he said to the -little company with the voice of a companion, not of a master, “Men, how -many of you are present?” - -“About forty-four men--and a few half grown lads. They need food worse -than men do--they suffer more--poor lile fellows!” - -“And you all hev women at home? Wives and daughters?” - -“Ay, squire, and mothers, too! Old and gray and hungry--some varry -patient, and just dying on their feet, some so weak they are crying like -t’ childer of two or four years old. My God! Squire, t’ men’s suffering -isn’t worth counting, against that of t’ women and children.” - -“Friends, I hev no words to put against your suffering and a ten pound -note will be better than all the words I could give you. It will at -least get all of you a loaf of bread and a bit of beef and a mug of ale. -Who shall I give it to?” - -“Ben Shuttleworth,” was the unanimous answer, and Ben stepped forward. -He was a noble-looking old man just a little crippled by long usage of -the hand loom. “Squire Annis,” he said, “I’ll gladly take the gift God -hes sent us by thy hands and I’ll divide it equally, penny for penny, -and may God bless thee and prosper thy journey! We’re none of us men -used to saying ‘thank’ee’ to any man but we say it to thee. Yes, we say -it to thee.” - -Kindred scenes occurred in every village and they did not reach Leeds -in time for the mail coach they intended to take. The squire was not -troubled at the delay. He said, “he hed a bit of his awn business to -look after, and he was sure Katherine hed forgotten one or two varry -necessary things, that she could buy in Leeds.” - -Katherine acknowledged that she had forgotten her thimble and her hand -glass, and said she had “been worrying about her back hair, which she -could not dress without one.” - -Madam was tired and glad to rest. “But Antony,” she said, “Dick will -meet this coach and when we do not come by it, he will have wonders and -worries about us.” - -“Not he! Dick knows something about women, and also, I told him we might -sleep a night or two at some town on the way, if you were tired.” - -The next day they began the journey again, half-purposing to stop and -rest at some half-way town. The squire said Dick understood them. He -would be on hand if they loitered a week. And Madam was satisfied; -she thought it likely Dick had instructions fitting his father’s -uncertainty. - -Yet though the coach prevented actual contact with the miserable famine -sufferers, it could not prevent them witnessing the silent misery -sitting on every door step, and looking with such longing eyes for help -from God or man. Upon the whole it was a journey to break a pitiful -heart, and the squire and his family were glad when the coach drew up -with the rattle of wheels and the blowing of the guard’s horn at its old -stand of Charing Cross. - -The magic of London was already around them, and the first face they saw -was the handsome beaming face of Dick Annis. He nodded and smiled to his -father, who was sitting--where he had sat most of the journey--at the -side of the driver. Dick would have liked to help him to the street, but -he knew that his father needed no help and would likely be vexed at any -offer of it, but Dick’s mother and sister came out of the coach in his -arms, and the lad kissed them and called them all the fond names he -could think of. Noticing at the same time his father’s clever descent, -he put out his left hand to him, for he had his mother guarded with his -right arm. “You did that jump, dad, better than I could have done it. -Are you tired?” - -“We are all tired to death, Dick. Hev you a cab here?” - -“To be sure, I have! Your rooms at the Clarendon are in order, and there -will be a good dinner waiting when you are ready for it.” - -In something less than an hour they were all ready for a good dinner; -their faces had been washed, Katherine’s hair smoothed and Madam’s cap -properly adjusted. The squire was standing on the hearthrug in high -spirits. The sight of his son, the touch of the town, the pleasant light -and comfort of his surroundings, the prospect of dinner, made him forget -for a few minutes the suffering he had passed through, until his son -asked, “And did you have a pleasant journey, father?” - -“A journey, Dick, to break a man’s heart. It hes turned me from a Tory -into a Radical. This government must feed the people or--we will kick -them back----” - -“Dear father, we will talk of that subject by ourselves. It isn’t fit -for two tired women, now is it?” - -“Mebbe not; but I hev seen and I hev heard these last two or three days, -Dick, what I can niver forget. Things hev got to be altered. They hev -that, or----” - -“We will talk that over after mother and Kitty have gone to sleep. We -won’t worry them to-night. I have ordered mother’s favorite Cabinet -pudding for her, and some raspberry cream for Kitty. It wouldn’t be -right to talk of unhappy things with good things in our mouths, now -would it?” - -“They are coming. I can hear Kitty’s laugh, when I can hear nothing -else. Ring the bell, Dick, we can hev dinner now.” - -There were a few pleasant moments spent in choosing their seats, and -as soon as they were taken, a dish of those small delicious oysters for -which England has been famous since the days of the Roman Emperors were -placed before them. “I had some scalloped for mother and Kitty,” Dick -said. “Men can eat them raw, alive if they choose, but women--Oh no! It -isn’t womanlike! Mother and Kitty wouldn’t do it! Not they!” - -“And what else hes ta got for us, Dick?” asked the squire. “I’m mortal -hungry.” - -The last word shocked him anew. He wished he had not said it. What made -him do it? Hungry! He had never been really hungry in all his life; and -those pallid men and women, with that look of suffering on their faces, -and in their dry, anxious eyes, how could he ever forget them? - -He was suddenly silent, and Katherine said: “Father is tired. He would -drive so much. I wonder the coachman let him.” - -“Father paid for the privilege of doing the driver’s work for him. I -have no doubt of that, my dears,” said Madam. “Well, Dick, when did you -see Jane?” - -“Do you not observe, mother, that I am in evening dress? Jane has a -dance and supper to-night. Members from the government side will be -dropping in there after midnight, for refreshment. Both Houses are in -all-night sittings now.” - -“How does Leyland vote?” - -“He is tremendously royal and loyal. You will have to mind your p’s and -q’s with him now, father.” - -“Not I! I take my awn way. Leyland’s way and mine are far apart. How is -your Aunt Josepha?” - -“She is all right. She is never anything else but all right. Certainly -she is vexed that Katherine is not to stay with her. Jane has been -making a little brag about it, I suppose.” - -“Katherine could stay part of the time with her,” said the squire. - -“She had better be with Jane. Aunt will ask O’Connell to her dinners, -and others whom Katherine would not like.” - -“Why does she do it? She knows better.” - -“I suspect we all know better than we do. She says, ‘O’Connell keeps the -dinner table lively.’ So he does. The men quarrel all the time they -eat and the women really admire them for it. They say ‘_Oh!_’ at a very -strong word, but they would love to see them really fighting. Women -affect tenderness and fearfulness; they are actually cruel creatures. -Aunt says, ‘that was what her dear departed told her, and she had no -doubt he had had experiences.’ Jane sent her love to all of you, and she -purposes coming for Katherine about two o’clock to-morrow.” - -“Oh!” said Madam, in a rather indifferent way, “Katherine and I can find -plenty to do, and to see, in London. Jane told me recently, she had a -new carriage.” - -“One of the finest turn-outs Long Acre could offer her. The team is good -also. Leyland is a judge of horses, and he has chosen a new livery -with his new honors--gray with silver trimmings. It looks handsome and -stylish.” - -“And will spoil quickly,” said Madam. “Jane asked me about the livery, -and I told her to avoid light colors.” - -“Then you should have told her to choose light colors. Jane lives and -votes with the opposition.” In pleasant domestic conversation the hours -slipped happily away, but after the ladies had retired, Dick did not -stay long. The squire was really weary, though he “_pooh-poohed_” the -idea. “A drive from Leeds to London, with a rest between, what is that -to tire a man?” he asked, adding, “I hev trotted a Norfolk cob the -distance easy in less time, and I could do it again, if I wanted to.” - -“Of course you could, father. Oh, I wish to ask you if you know anything -of the M.P. from Appleby?” - -“A little.” - -“What can you say about him?” - -“He made a masterly speech last session, in favor of Peel’s ministry. I -liked it then. I hevn’t one good word for it now.” - -“He is a very fine looking man. I suppose he is wealthy. He lives in -good style here.” - -“I know nothing about his money. The De Burgs are a fine family--among -the oldest in England--Cumberland, I believe, down Furness way. Why art -thou bothering thysen about him?” - -“He is one of Jane’s favorites. He goes to Ley-land’s house a deal. I -was thinking of Katherine.” - -“What about Katherine? What about Katherine?” the squire asked sharply. - -“You know Katherine is beautiful, and this De Burg is very handsome--in -his way.” - -“What way?” - -“Well, the De Burgs are of Norman descent and Stephen De Burg shows it. -He has indeed the large, gray eyes of our own North Country, but his -hair is black--very black--and his complexion is swarthy. However, he is -tall and well-built, and remarkably graceful in speech and action--quite -the young man to steal a girl’s heart away.” - -“Hes he stolen any girl’s heart from thee?” - -“Not he, indeed! I am Annis enough to keep what I win; but I was -wondering if our little Kitty was a match for Stephen De Burg.” - -“Tha needn’t worry thysen about Kitty Annis. I’ll warrant her a match -for any man. Her mother says she hes a fancy for Harry Bradley, but -I----” - -“Harry is a fine fellow.” - -“Nobody said he wasn’t a fine fellow, and there is not any need for -thee to interrupt thy father in order to tell him that! Harry Bradley, -indeed! I wouldn’t spoil any plan of De Burg’s to please or help Harry -Bradley! Not I! Now I hope tha understands that! To-morrow thou can tell -me about thy last goddess, and if she be worthy to sit after thy mother -in Annis Court, I’ll help thee to get wedded to her gladly. For I’m -getting anxious, Dick, about my grandsons and their sisters. I’d like to -see them that are to come after me.” - -Then Dick went away with a laugh, but as the father and son stood a -moment hand-clasped, their resemblance was fitting and beautiful; and -no one noticing this fact could wonder at the Englishman’s intense -affection and anxious care for the preservation of his family type. - -The squire then put out the candles and covered the fire just as he -would have done at Annis and while he did so he pondered what Dick -had told him and resolved to say nothing at all about it. “Then,” he -reflected, “I shall get Katherine’s real opinions about De Burg. Women -are so queer, they won’t iver tell you the truth about men unless they -believe you don’t care what they think:--and I won’t tell Annie either. -Annie would take to warning and watching, and, for anything I know, -advising her to be faithful and true to her first love. Such simplicity! -Such nonsense!” - -Then he went to his room and found Mistress Annis sitting with her feet -on the fender, sipping a glass of wine negus, and as she dipped her -little strips of dry toast into it, she said, “I am so glad to see thee, -Antony. I am too excited to sleep and I wanted a few words with thee and -thee only. For three days I hev missed our quiet talks with each other. -I heard Dick laughing; what about?” - -“I told him I was getting varry anxious about my grandsons, eh?” - -Then both laughed and the squire stooped and kissed his wife and in that -moment he sat down by her side and frankly told her all he had heard -about De Burg. They talked about it for half-an-hour and then the squire -went calmly off to sleep without one qualm of conscience for his -broken resolution. In fact he assured himself that “he had done right. -Katherine’s mother was Katherine’s proper guardian and he was only doing -his duty in giving her points that might help her to do her duty.” That -reflection was a comfortable one on which to sleep and he took all the -rest it gave him. - -Madam lay awake worrying about Katherine’s wardrobe. After hearing of -her sister’s growing social importance she felt that it should have been -attended to before they left Yorkshire. For in those days there were no -such things as ready-made suits, and any dress or costume lacking had to -be selected from the web, the goods bought, the dressmaker interviewed, -and after several other visits for the purpose of “trying-on” the gown -might be ready for use. These things troubled Madam. Katherine felt more -confidence in her present belongings. “I have half a dozen white frocks -with me, mother,” she said, “and nothing could be prettier or richer -than my two Dacca muslins. The goods are fine as spider webs, the -embroidery on them is nearly priceless, and they are becoming every year -more and more scarce. I have different colored silk skirts to wear under -them, and sashes and beads, and bows, with which to adorn them.” - -There was a little happy pause, then Katherine said, “Let us go and see -Aunt Josepha. I have not seen her for six years. I was counting the time -as I lay in bed this morning. I was about twelve years old.” - -“That is a good idea. We can shop better after we hev hed a talk with -her.” - -“There, mother! You had two Yorkshireisms in that sentence. Father would -laugh at you.” - -“Niver mind, when my heart talks, my tongue talks as my heart does, and -Yorkshire is my heart’s native tongue. When I talk to thee my tongue -easily slips into Yorkshire.” - -Then a carriage was summoned, and Madam An-nis and her daughter went to -call on Madam Josepha Temple. They had to ride into the city and through -St. James Park to a once very fashionable little street leading from the -park to the river. Madam Temple could have put a fortune in her pocket -for a strip of this land bordering the river, but no money could induce -her to sell it. Even the city’s offer had been refused. - -“Had not Admiral Temple,” she asked, “found land enough for England, and -fought for land enough for England, for his widow to be allowed to keep -in peace the strip of land at the foot of the garden he planted and -where he had also erected a Watergate so beautiful that it had become -one of the sights of London?” And her claim had been politely allowed -and she had been assured that it would be respected. - -The house itself was not remarkable outwardly. It was only one of those -square brick mansions introduced in the Georgian era, full of large -square rooms and wide corridors and, in Madam Temple’s case, of numerous -cupboards and closets; for in her directions to the Admiral she had said -with emphasis: - -“Admiral, you may as well live in a canvas tent without a convenience of -any kind as in a house without closets for your dresses and mantuas; and -cupboards for your china and other things you must have under lock and -key:” and the Admiral had seen to the closet and cupboard subject with -such strict attention that even his widow sometimes grew testy over -their number. - -Whatever faults the house might have, the furnishing had been done -with great judgment. It was solid and magnificent and only the best -tapestries and carpets found a place there. To Madam Temple had been -left the choice of silver, china, linen and damask, and the wisdom and -good taste of her selection had a kind of official approbation. Artists -and silversmiths asked her to permit them to copy the shapes of her old -silver and she possessed many pieces of Wedgwood’s finest china of which -only a very small number had been made ere the mold was broken. - -After the house was finished the Admiral lived but five years and Madam -never allowed anything to be changed or renewed. If told that anything -was fading or wearing, she replied--“I am fading also, just wearing -away. They will last my time.” However the house yet had an air of -comfortable antique grandeur and it was a favorite place of resort -to all who had had the good fortune to win the favor of the Admiral’s -widow. - -As they were nearing the Temple house, Madam said: “The old man who -opens the door was the Admiral’s body servant. He has great influence -with your aunt; speak pleasantly to him.” At these words the carriage -stopped and the old man of whom Madam had spoken threw open the door and -stood waiting their approach. He recognized Madam Annis and said with a -pleasant respect--“Madam will take the right-hand parlor,” but ere Madam -could do so, Mistress Temple appeared. She came hastily forward, talking -as she came and full of pleasure at the visit. - -“You dear ones!” she cried. “How welcome you are! Where is Antony? Why -didn’t he come with you? How is he going to vote? Take off your cloaks -and bonnets. So this is the little girl I left behind me! You are now -a young lady, Kate. Who is the favored sweetheart?” These interjectory -remarks were not twaddle, they were the overflow of the heart. Josepha -Temple meant everything she said. - -Physically she was a feminine portrait of her brother, but in all other -respects she was herself, and only herself, the result of this world’s -training on one particular soul, for who can tell how many hundred -years? She had brought from her last life most of her feelings and -convictions and probably they had the strength and persistence of -many reincarnations behind them. Later generations than Josepha do not -produce such characters; alas! their affections for anyone and their -beliefs in anything are too weak to reincarnate; so they do not come -back from the grave with them. Josepha was different. Death had had -no power over her higher self, she was the same passionate lover of -Protestantism and the righteous freedom of the people that she had been -in Cromwell’s time; and she declared that she had loved her husband -ever since he had fought with Drake and been Cromwell’s greatest naval -officer. - -She was near sixty but still a very handsome woman, for she was alive -from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet and disease of any -kind had not yet found a corner in her body to assail. Her hair was -untouched by Time, and the widow’s cap--so disfiguring to any woman--she -wore with an air that made it appear a very proper and becoming head -covering. Her gowns were always black merino or cloth in the morning, -silk or satin or velvet in the afternoon; but they were brightened by -deep cuffs and long stomachers of white linen, or rich lace, and the -skirts of all, though quite plain, were of regal length and amplitude. - -“Off with your bonnets!” she cried joyfully as she kissed Katherine and -began to untie the elaborate bow of pink satin ribbon under her chin. -“Why, Kate, how lovely you have grown! I thought you would be just an -ordinary Yorkshire girl--I find you extraordinary. Upon my word! You are -a beauty!” - -“Thank you, aunt. Mother never told me so.” - -“Annie, do you hear Kate?” - -“I thought it wiser not to tell her such things.” - -“What trumpery nonsense! Do you say to your roses as they bloom, ‘Do not -imagine, Miss Rose, that you are lovely, and have a fine perfume. You -are well enough and your smell isn’t half-bad, but there are roses far -handsomer and sweeter than you are’?” - -“In their own way, Josepha, all roses are perfect.” - -“In their own way, Annie, all women are perfect. Have you had your -breakfast?” - -“An hour ago.” - -“Then let us talk. Where is Antony? What is he doing?” - -“He is doing well. I think he went to see Lord John Russell.” - -“What can he have to say to Russell? He hasn’t sense enough to be on -Russell’s side. Russell is an A. D. 1832 man, Antony dates back two or -three hundred years.” - -“He does nothing of that kind. He has been wearing a pair o’ seven -leagued boots the past two weeks. Antony’s now as far forward as -Russell, or Grey, or any other noncontent. They’ll find that out as soon -as he opens his mouth in The House of Commons.” - -“We call it ‘t’ Lower House’ here, Annie.” - -“I don’t see why. As good men are in it as sit in t’ Upper House or any -ither place.” - -“It may be because they speak better English there than thou art -speaking right now, Annie.” - -Then Annie laughed. “I had forgot, Josepha,” she said, “forgive me.” - -“Nay, there’s nothing to forgive, Annie. I can talk Yorkshire as well -as iver I did, if I want to. After all, it’s the best and purest English -going and if you want your awn way or to get your rights, or to make -your servants do as they’re told, a mouthful of Yorkshire will do it--or -nothing will. And I was telling Dick only the other day, to try a bit -o’ Yorkshire on a little lass he is varry bad in love with--just at -present.” - -Katherine had been standing at her aunt’s embroidery frame admiring its -exquisite work but as soon as she heard this remark, she came quickly -to the fireside where the elder ladies had sat down together. They had -lifted the skirts of their dresses across their knees to prevent the -fire from drawing the color and put their feet comfortably on the -shining fender and Katherine did not find them indisposed to talk. - -“Who is it, aunt?” she asked with some excitement. “What is her name? Is -she Yorkshire?” - -“Nay, I doan’t think she hes any claim on Yorkshire. I think she comes -Westmoreland way. She is a sister to a member of the Lower House called -De Burg. He’s a handsome lad to look at. I hevn’t hed time yet to go -further.” - -“Have you seen this little girl, aunt?” - -“Yes. She was here once with her brother. He says she has never been -much from home before, and Dick says, that as far as he can make out, -her home is a gray old castle among the bleak, desolate, Westmoreland -Mountains. It might be a kindness for Katherine to go and see her.” - -“If you will go with me, aunt, I will do so.” - -“Not I. Take Dick with thee. He will fill the bill all round.” - -“Well, then, I will ask Dick;” and to these words the squire entered. - -He appeared to be a little offended because no one had seen him coming -and all three women assumed an air of contrition for having neglected to -be on the lookout for him. “We were all so interested about Dick’s new -sweetheart,” said Madam Annis, “and somehow, thou slipped out of mind -for a few minutes. It _was_ thoughtless, Antony, it was that.” - -“Have you had a good meal lately, Antony?” asked his sister. - -“No, Josepha, I hevn’t. I came to ask thee to give me a bit of lunch. -I hev an appointment at three o’clock for The House and I shall need -a good substantial bite, for there’s no saying when I’ll get away from -there. What can thou give me?” - -“Oysters, hare soup, roast beef, and a custard pudding.” - -“All good enough. I suppose there’ll be a Yorkshire pudding with thy -beef; it would seem queer and half-done without it.” - -“Well, Antony, I suppose I do know how to roast beef before t’ fire and -put a pudding under it. I’d be badly educated, if I didn’t.” - -“If Yorkshire pudding is to be the test, Josepha, then thou art one of -the best educated women in England.” - -“Father, Dick’s new love is Miss De Burg. What do you think of that?” - -“He might do worse than marry a De Burg, and he might do better. I’m not -in a mood to talk about anyone’s marriage.” - -“Not even of mine, father?” - -“Thine, least of all. And thou hes to get a decent lover before thou hes -to ask me if he can be thy husband.” - -“I hev a very good lover, father.” - -“No, thou hes not. Not one that can hev a welcome in my family and home. -Not one! No doubt thou wilt hev plenty before we leave London. Get thy -mother to help thee choose the right one. _There now!_ That’s enough of -such foolishness! My varry soul is full of matters of life or death to -England. I hev not one thought for lovers and husbands at this time. -Why, England is varry near rebellion, and I tell you three women -there is no Oliver Cromwell living now to guide her over the bogs of -misgovernment and anarchy. Russell said this morning, ‘it was the Reform -Bill or Revolution.’” Then lunch was brought in and the subject was -dropped until the squire lit his pipe for “a bit of a smoke.” Katherine -was, however, restless and anxious; she was watching for her sister’s -arrival and when the squire heard of the intended visit, he said: “I -doan’t want to see Jane this afternoon. Tell her I’ll see her at her -home this evening and, Josepha, I’ll smoke my pipe down the garden to -the Watergate and take a boat there for Westminster. Then I can smoke -all the way. I’m sure I can’t tell what I would do without it.” - -And as they watched him down to the Watergate, they heard Jane’s -carriage stop at the street entrance. - - - - -CHAPTER V--THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE - - - “She was good as she was fair - - None on earth above her! - - As pure in thought as angels are, - - To know her was to love her!” - - - THE three ladies had reached the open door in time to watch Lady Jane -leave her carriage, a movement not easy to describe, for it was the -result of an action practiced from early childhood, and combining with -the unconscious grace and ease of habitual action, a certain decisive -touch of personality, that made for distinction. She was dressed in -the visiting costume of the period, a not more ungraceful one than the -fashion of the present time. Its material was rich violet poplin and it -appeared to be worn over a small hoop. It was long enough to touch the -buckles on her sandaled shoes and its belt line was in the proper place. -The bodice was cut low to the shoulders and the sleeves were large and -full to the elbows, then tight to the wrists. A little cape not falling -below the belt and handsomely trimmed with ermine, completed the -costume. The bonnets of that time were large and very high and open, -adorned with ostrich feathers much curled and standing fancifully -upright. Jane’s was of this shape and the open space across the head was -filled with artificial flowers, but at the sides were loose, long curls -of her own splendid hair, falling below her throat, and over the ermine -trimmed cape. This bonnet was tied under the chin with a handsome bow of -violet ribbon. All the smaller items of her dress were perfect in their -way, not only with the mode, but also in strict propriety with her -general appearance. - -She was warmly welcomed and responded to it with hearty acquiescence, -her attitude towards Katherine being specially lovely and affectionate. -“My little sister is a beauty!” she said. “I am so proud of her. And -now let us have a little talk about her gowns and bonnets! She must have -some pretty ones, mother.” - -“She shall have all that is needful, Jane,” said Mrs. Annis. “Their cost -will not break her father, just yet.” - -“You must ask me to go with you to shop, mother. I think I can be of -great use.” - -“Of course. We have calculated on your help. Will you come to the hotel -for me?” - -“Here! Hold on bit!” cried Aunt Josepha. “Am I invited, or not?” - -“Certainly, Josepha,” answered Mistress Annis very promptly. “We cannot -do without you. You will go with us, of course.” - -“Well, as to-morrow is neither Wednesday, nor Friday, I may do so--but I -leave myself free. I may not go.” - -“Why would Wednesday and Friday be objectionable, Josepha?” - -“Well, Annie, if thou hed done as much business with the world as I hev -done, thou’d know by this time of thy life that thou couldn’t make -a good bargain on either o’ them days. There’s some hope on a Friday -because if Friday isn’t the worst day in the week it’s the very best. -There is no perhaps about Wednesday. I allays let things bide as they -are on Wednesday.” - -“Shall I come here for you, aunt?” - -“No, no, Jane. If I go with you I will be at the Clarendon with Annie at -half-past nine. If I’m not there at that time I will not be going--no, -not for love or money.” - -“But you will go the next day--sure?” - -“Not a bit of sureness in me. I doan’t know how I’ll be feeling the next -day. Take off your bonnet and cape, Jane, and sit down. I want to see -how you look. We’ll hev our little talk and by and by a cup of tea, and -then thou can run away as soon as tha likes.” - -“I cannot stay very long. I have a dinner tonight, and my servants need -overlooking.” - -“I hope that cynical De Burg is not going to eat with you. He’ll niver -break bread at my table.” - -“Why, aunt, he is a man of the highest culture and one of the best -speakers in The House!” - -“Let him talk as much as he likes in t’ House; there’s a few men to -match him there.” - -“How has he offended you, aunt? He is quite a favorite with Leyland and -myself.” - -“Whatever does tha see in his favor?” - -“He has such a fine bearing and such graceful manners. Leyland says that -in the most excited hubbubs of The House, he carries himself with all -the serenity and aristocratic poise of an English gentleman--I should -say, nobleman.” - -“There’s no wonder tha forgets his nobility. It only counts to his -grandfather. I’ll tell thee something, Jane--a gentleman is allays a -nobleman, a nobleman may be a gentleman, and he may be varry far from -it; but there, now! I’ll say no more, or I’ll mebbe say too much! How -many dresses does our beauty want?” - -This question opened a discussion of such interest that a servant -entered with the tea service and hot crumpets before they were thinking -of the time; and half an hour afterwards Katherine was ready to -accompany her sister to the Leyland home. - -During the first two weeks, the early part of Katherine’s days were -spent either in shopping, or in “trying on,” and such events rarely need -more than an allusion. Every woman has some, or all of the experiences -incident to this trial; but though they may be of personal importance, -they have no general interest. We may pass Katherine’s dressmaking -trials, by knowing that they were in the hands of four or five women -capable of arranging them in the most satisfactory manner. Katherine -herself left them as early as possible, and spent the most of her time -in her father’s company, and Lady Jane approved transiently of this -arrangement. She did not wish Katherine to be seen and talked about -until she was formally introduced and could make a proper grand -entry into the society she wished her to enter. Of course there were -suppositions floating about concerning the young lady seen so much -with Lady Leyland; but as long as the talk remained indefinite, it was -stimulating and working for a successful début. - -This interval was in many ways very pleasant to Katherine for the squire -took her to all those sights of London which people are expected to -know all about--the Tower--the British Museum--St. Paul’s Church -and Westminster Abbey; and so forth. Sometimes the squire met an old -acquaintance from his own neighborhood and they went somewhere and had a -cup of tea together, the squire simply saying, “This is my little girl, -Denby; my youngest.” Such an introduction demanded nothing but a smile -and a few courteous words, and these civilities Katherine managed with -retiring modesty and simplicity. - -Now, one morning, as they were walking down High Holborn, they met a -near neighbor, a very shrewd, cheerful gentleman, called Samuel Wade, -the squire of Everdeen. Annis and Katherine had turned into a pretty -white dairy for a plate of Devonshire cream and Samuel Wade was slowly -and thoughtfully partaking of the same dainty. - -“Hello, Wade! Whatever hes brought thee away from thy hounds and kennels -this fine spring weather?” asked Annis. - -“I will tell thee, Annis, if tha’ will give me a halfhour and I know no -man I could be so glad to see as thysen. I’m in a quandary, squire, and -I would be glad of a word or two with thee.” - -“Why, then, thou hes it! What does t’a want to say to me?” - -“_Why-a_, Annis, I want to tell thee I am building a mill.” - -“_Niver! Niver!_ Thee building a mill! I niver thought of such a to-do -as that.” - -“Nor I, either, till I was forced to do it, but when that hour arrived, -my weavers and I came to the conclusion that we weren’t bound to starve -to save anybody’s trade feelings. So I agreed to put up a factory -and they hev got work here and there just to learn the ways of this -new-fangled loom, so that when I hev t’ factory ready they’ll be ready -for it and glad enough to come home.” - -“I’m not the man to blame thee, Samuel; I hev hed some such thoughts -mysen.” - -“It was our preacher that put it into my mind. He said to us one night -when the men had been complaining of machine labor--‘Brothers, when God -is on the side of civilization and the power-loom, how are you going to -use the hand loom? The hand loom is dead and buried,’ he said, ‘and what -is the use of keeping up a constant burying of this same old Defuncter. -It’ll cost you all the brass you hev and you’ll die poor and good for -nothing. The world is moving and you can’t hold it back. It will just -kick you off as cumberers of the ground.’ And after that talk three men -went out of t’ chapel and began to build factories; and I was one of t’ -three and I’m none sorry for it--_yet_.” - -“And where is tha building?” - -“Down t’ Otley road a few miles from my awn house, but my three lads are -good riders and it would be hard to beat me unless it was with better -stock than I hev; and I niver let anyone best me in that way if I can -help it. So the few miles does not bother us.” - -“What made you build so far from Wade House?” - -“_Why-a_, squire, I didn’t want to hev the sight of the blamed thing -before my eyes, morning, noon and night, and t’ land I bought was varry -cheap and hed plenty of water-power on it.” - -“To be sure. I hed forgot. Well then what brought thee to London? It is -a rayther dangerous place now, I can tell thee that; or it will be, if -Parliament doesn’t heed the warnings given and shown.” - -“Well, Annis, I came on my awn business and I’m not thinking of -bothering Parliament at present. A factory is enough for all the brains -I hev, for tha knows well that my brains run after horses--but I’ll tell -thee what, factories hey a wonderful way of getting into your pocket.” - -“That is nothing out of the way with thee. Thy pocket is too full, but -I should think a factory might be built in Yorkshire without coming to -London about it.” - -“Annis, tha knaws that if I meddle wi’ anything, I’ll do what I do, -tip-top or not at all. I hed the best of factory architects Leeds could -give me and I hev ordered the best of power looms and of ivery other bit -of machinery; but t’ ither day a man from Manchester went through Wade -Mill and he asked me how many Jacquard looms I was going to run. I hed -niver heard of that kind of a loom, but I felt I must hev some. Varry -soon I found out that none of the weavers round Otley way knew anything -about Jacquard looms and they didn’t seem to want to know either, but -my eldest lad, Sam, said he would like to hev some and to know all -about them. So I made good inquiry and I found out the best of all -the Jacquard weavers in England lived in a bit of London called -Spitalfields. He is a Frenchman, I suppose, for his name is Pierre -Delaney.” - -“And did you send your son to him?” - -“I did that and now Sam knows all about Jacquard looms, for he sent me -word he was coming home after a week in London just to look about him -and then I thought I would like to see the machine at work and get the -name of the best maker of it. So I came at once and I’m stopping at the -hotel where t’ mail coach stopped, but I’m fairly bewildered. Sam has -left his stopping place and I rayther think is on his way home. I was -varry glad to see thy face among so many strange ones. I can tell thee -that!” - -“How can I help thee, Wade?” - -“Why, thou can go with me to see this Jacquard loom and give me thy -opinion.” - -“I hev niver seen a Jacquard loom mysen and I would like to see one; but -I could not go now, for as tha sees I hev my little lass with me.” - -“Father, I want to see this loom at this place called Spitalfields. Let -me go with you. Please, father, let me go with you; do!” - -“There’s nothing to hinder,” said Squire Wade. “I should think, Annis, -that thou and mysen could take care of t’ little lass.” - -“Let me go, father!” - -“Well, then, we will go at once. The day is yet early and bright, but no -one can tell what it will be in an hour or two.” - -So Wade called a coach and they drove to London’s famous manufacturing -district noted for the excellence of its brocaded silks and velvet, and -the beauty and variety of its ribbons, satins and lutestrings. The ride -there was full of interest to Katherine and she needed no explanation -concerning the groups of silent men standing at street corners sullen -and desperate-looking, or else listening to some passionate speaker. -Annis and Wade looked at each other and slightly shook their heads but -did not make any remark. The locality was not a pleasant one; it spoke -only of labor that was too urgent to have time for “dressing up,” as -Pierre Delaney--the man they were visiting--explained to them. - -They found Delaney in his weaving shop, a large many-windowed room full -of strange looking looms and of men silent and intensely pre-occupied. -No one looked round when they entered, and as Wade and Annis talked to -the proprietor, Katherine cast her eyes curiously over the room. She saw -that it was full of looms, large ponderous looms, with much slower and -heavier movements than the usual one; and she could not help feeling -that the long, dangling, yellow harness which hung about each loom -fettered and in some way impeded its motion. The faces of all the -workers were turned from the door and they appeared to be working slowly -and with such strict attention that not one man hesitated, or looked -round, though they must have known that strangers had entered the room. - -In a few minutes Katherine’s curiosity was intense. She wanted to go -close to the looms, and watch the men at what seemed to be difficult -work. However, she had scarcely felt the thrill of this strong desire -ere her father took her hand and they went with Delaney to a loom at the -head of the room. He said “he was going to show them the work of one of -his pupils, who had great abilities for patterns requiring unwavering -attention and great patience; but in fact,” he added, “every weaver in -this room has as much as he can manage, if he keeps his loom going.” - -The man whose work they were going to examine must have heard them -approaching, but he made no sign of such intelligence until they stood -at his side. Then he lifted his head, and as he did so, Katherine cried -out--“Father! Father! It is Harry! It is Harry Bradley! Oh Harry! Harry! -Whatever are you doing here?” And then her voice broke down in a cry -that was full both of laughter and tears. - -Yes, it was really Harry Bradley, and with a wondering happy look he -leaped from his seat, threw off his cap and so in a laughing hurry he -stood before them. Squire Annis was so amazed he forgot that he was no -longer friends with Harry’s father and he gave an honest expression of -his surprise. - -“_Why-a_, Harry! Harry! Whativer is tha up to? Does thy father know the -kind of game thou art playing now, lad?” - -“Squire, dear! It is business, not play, that I am up to. I am happy -beyond words to see you, squire! I have often walked the road you take -to The House, hoping I might do so.” And the young man put out his hand, -and without thinking, the squire took it. Acting on impulse, he could -not help taking it. Harry was too charming, too delightful to resist. He -wore his working apron without any consciousness of it and his handsome -face and joyful voice and manner made those few moments all his own. -The squire was taken captive by a happy surprise and eagerly seconded -Katherine’s desire to see him at such absorbing work as his loom -appeared to require. - -Harry took his seat again without parleying or excuse. He was laughing -as he did so, but as soon as he faced the wonderful design before him, -he appeared to be unconscious of everything else. His watchers were -quickly lost in an all absorbing interest as they saw an exquisite -design of leaves and flowers growing with every motion of the shuttle, -while the different threads of the harness rose and fell as if to some -perfectly measured tune. - -And as he worked his face changed, the boyish, laughing expression -disappeared, and it was a man’s face full of watchful purpose, alert and -carefully bent on one object and one end. The squire noticed the change -and he admired it. He wished secretly that he could see the same manly -look on Dick’s face, forgetting that he had never seen Dick under the -same mental strain. - -But this reflection was only a thread running through his immense -pleasure in the result of Harry’s wonderful manipulation of the forces -at his command and his first impulse was to ask Harry to take dinner -with him and Wade, at the Clarendon. He checked himself as regarded -dinner, but he asked Harry: - -“Where art thou staying, Harry? I shouldn’t think Spitalfields quite the -place for thy health.” - -“I am only here for working hours, squire. I have a good room at the -Yorkshire Club and I have a room when I want it at Mistress Temple’s. I -often stay there when Dick is in London.” - -“My word!” ejaculated the squire. He felt at once that the young man -had no need of his kindness, and his interest in him received a sudden -chill. - -This conversation occurred as Wade and Delaney were walking down -the room together talking about Jacquard looms and their best maker. -Katherine had been hitherto silent as far as words were concerned, but -she had slipped her hand into Harry’s hand when he had finished his -exhibition at the loom. It was her way of praising him and Harry had -held the little hand fast and was still doing so when the squire said: - -“Harry, looms are wonderful creatures--ay, and I’ll call them -‘creatures.’ They hev sense or they know how to use the sense of men -that handle them properly. I hev seen plenty of farm laborers that -didn’t know that much; but those patterns you worked from, they are -beyond my making out.” - -“Well, squire, many designs are very elaborate, requiring from twenty -thousand to sixty thousand cards for a single design. Weaving like that -is a fine art, I think.” - -“Thou art right. Is tha going to stay here any longer to-day or will tha -ride back with us?” - -“Oh, sir, if I only might go back with you! In five minutes, I will be -ready.” - -The squire turned hastily away with three short words, “Make haste, -then.” He was put out by the manner in which Harry had taken his civil -offer. He had only meant to give him a lift back to his club but Harry -appeared to have understood it as an invitation to dinner. He was -wondering how he could get out of the dilemma and so did not notice that -Harry kissed Katherine’s hand as he turned away. Harry had found few -opportunities to address her, none at all for private speech, yet both -Katherine and Harry were satisfied. For every pair of lovers have a code -of their own and no one else has the key to it. - -In a short time Harry reappeared in a very dudish walking suit, but -Wade and Delaney were not ready to separate and the squire was hard set -to hide his irritability. Harry also looked too happy, and too handsome, -for the gentlemen’s dress of A. D. 1833 was manly and becoming, with -its high hat, pointed white vest, frock coat, and long thin cane, always -carried in the left hand. However, conversation even about money comes -to an end and at length Wade was satisfied, and they turned city-ward -in order to leave Wade at his hotel. On arriving there, Annis was again -detained by Wade’s anxieties and fears, but Harry had a five minutes’ -heavenly interlude. He was holding Katherine’s hand and looking into her -eyes and saying little tender, foolish words, which had no more meaning -than a baby’s prattle, but Katherine’s heart was their interpreter and -every syllable was sweet as the dropping of the honey-comb. - -Through all this broken conversation, however, Harry was wondering how -he could manage to leave the coach with Katherine. If he could only see -Lady Jane, he knew she would ask him to remain, but how was he to see -Lady Jane and what excuse could he make for asking to see her? It never -struck the young man that the squire was desirous to get rid of him. He -was only conscious of the fact that he did not particularly desire an -evening with Katherine’s father and mother and that he did wish very -ardently to spend an evening with Katherine and Lady Jane; and the coach -went so quick, and his thoughts were all in confusion, and they were at -the Leyland mansion before he had decided what to say, or do. Then the -affair that seemed so difficult, straightened itself out in a perfectly -natural, commonplace manner. For when Katherine rose, as a matter of -course, Harry also rose; and without effort, or consideration, said-- - -“I will make way for you, squire, or if you wish no further delay, I -will see Katherine into Lady Leyland’s care.” - -“I shall be obliged to you, Harry, if you will do so,” was the answer. -“I am a bit tired and a bit late, and Mistress Annis will be worrying -hersen about me, no doubt. I was just thinking of asking you to do me -this favor.” Then the squire left a message for his eldest daughter and -drove rapidly away, but if he had turned his head for a moment he might -have seen how happily the lovers were slowly climbing the white marble -steps leading them to Lady Leyland’s door. Hand in hand they went, -laughing a little as they talked, because Harry was telling Katherine -how he had been racking his brains for some excuse to leave the coach -with her and how the very words had come at the moment they were wanted. - -At the very same time the squire was telling himself “how cleverly he -had got rid of the young fellow. He would hev bothered Annie above a -bit,” he reflected, “and it was a varry thoughtless thing for me to -do--asking a man to dinner, when I know so well that Annie likes me best -when I am all by mysen. Well, I got out of that silly affair cleverly. -It is a good thing to hev a faculty for readiness and I’m glad to say -that readiness is one thing that Annie thinks Antony Annis hes on call. -Well, well, the lad was glad to leave me and I was enough pleased to get -rid of him.” And if any good fellow should read this last paragraph he -will not require me to tell him how the little incident of “getting rid -of Harry” brightened the squire’s dinner, nor how sweetly Annie told -her husband that he was “the kindest-hearted of men and could do a -disagreeable thing in such an agreeable manner, as no other man, she had -ever met, would think of.” - -Then he told Annie about the Jacquard loom and Harry’s mastery of it, -and when this subject was worn out, Annie told her husband that Jane was -going to introduce Katherine to London society on the following Tuesday -evening. She wanted to make it Wednesday evening, but “Josepha would not -hear of it”--she said, with an air of injury, “and Josepha always gets -what she desires.” - -“Why shouldn’t Josepha get all she desires? When a woman hes a million -pounds to give away beside property worth a fortune the world hes no -more to give her but her awn way. I should think Josepha is one of the -richest women in England.” - -“However did the Admiral get so much money?” - -“All prize money, Annie. Good, honest, prize money! The Admiral’s money -was the price of his courage. He threshed England’s enemies for every -pound of it; and when we were fighting Spain, Spanish galleons, loaded -with Brazilian gold, were varry good paymasters even though Temple was -both just and generous to his crews.” - -“No wonder then, if Josepha be one of the richest women in England. Who -is the richest man, Antony?” - -“I am, Annie! I am! Thou art my wife and there is not gold enough in -England to measure thy worth nor yet to have made me happy if I had -missed thee.” What else could a wise and loving husband say? - -In the meantime Katherine and Harry had been gladly received by Lady -Jane, who at once asked Harry to stay and dine with them. - -“What about my street suit?” asked Harry. - -“We have a family dinner this evening and expect no one to join us. De -Burg may probably call and he may bring his sister with him. However, -Harry, you know your old room on the third floor. I will send Leyland’s -valet there and he will manage to make you presentable.” - -These instructions Harry readily obeyed, and soon as he had left the -room Lady Jane asked--“Where did you pick him up, Kitty? He is quite a -detrimental in father’s opinion, you know.” - -“I picked him up in a weaving room in the locality called Spitalfields. -He was working there on a Jacquard loom.” - -“What nonsense you are talking!” - -“I am telling you facts, Jane. I will explain them later. Now I must go -and dress for dinner, if you are expecting the De Burgs.” - -“They will only pay an evening call, but make yourself as pretty as is -proper for the occasion. If De Burg does not bring his sister you will -not be expected to converse.” - -“Oh, Jane dear! I am not thinking, or caring, about the De Burgs. My -mind was on Harry and of course I shall dress a little for Harry. I have -always done that.” - -“You will take your own way, Kitty, that also you have always done.” - -“Well, then, is there any reason why I should not take my own way now?” - -She asked this question in a pleasant, laughing manner that required no -answer; and with it disappeared not returning to the parlor, until the -dinner hour was imminent. She found Harry and Lady Jane already there, -and she fancied they were talking rather seriously. In fact, Harry had -eagerly seized this opportunity to try and enlist Jane’s sympathy in -his love for Katherine. He had passionately urged their long devotion -to each other and entreated her to give him some opportunities to retain -his hold on her affection. - -Jane had in no way compromised her own position. She was kind-hearted -and she had an old liking for Harry, but she was ambitious, and she was -resolved that Katherine should make an undeniably good alliance. De -Burg was not equal to her expectations but she judged he would be a -good auxiliary to them. “My beautiful sister,” she thought, “must have a -splendid following of lovers and De Burg will make a prominent member of -it.” - -So she was not sorry to see Katherine enter in a pretty, simple frock of -flowered silk, pale blue in color, and further softened by a good deal -of Valenciennes lace and a belt and long sash of white ribbon. Her hair -was dressed in the mode, lifted high and loosely, and confined by an -exquisite comb of carved ivory; the frontal curls were pushed behind the -ears, but fell in bright luxuriance almost to her belt. So fair was she, -so fresh and sweet and lovely, that Leyland--who was both sentimental -and poetic, within practical limits--thought instantly of Ben Jonson’s -exquisite lines, and applied them to his beautiful sister-in-law: - - Have you seen but a bright lily grow - - Before rude hands have touched it? - - Have you marked but the fall of the snow - - Before the soil hath smutched it? - - Have you smelt of the bud of the brier, - - Or the nard in the fire? - - Or tasted the bag of the bee, - - O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! - -And then he felt a decided obligation to his own good judgment, for -inducing him to marry into so handsome a family. - -It was a comfortable mood in which to sit down to dinner and Harry’s -presence also added to his pleasure, for it promised him some -conversation not altogether feminine. Indeed, though the dinner was a -simple family one, it was a very delightful meal. Leyland quoted some -of his shortest and finest lines, Lady Jane merrily recalled childish -episodes in which Harry and herself played the principal rôles, and -Katherine made funny little corrections and additions to her sister’s -picturesque childish adventures; also, being healthily hungry, she ate a -second supply of her favorite pudding and thus made everyone comfortably -sure that for all her charm and loveliness, she was yet a creature - - Not too bright and good, - - For human nature’s daily food. - -They lingered long at the happy table and were still laughing and -cracking nuts round it when De Burg was announced. He was accompanied -by a new member of Parliament from Carlisle and the conversation drifted -quickly to politics. De Burg wanted to know if Leyland was going to The -House. He thought there would be a late sitting and said there was a -tremendous crowd round the parliament buildings, “but,” he added, “my -friend was amazed at the dead silence which pervaded it, and, indeed, -if you compare this voiceless manifestation of popular feeling with the -passionate turbulence of the same crowd, it is very remarkable.” - -“And it is much more dangerous,” answered Ley-land. “The voiceless anger -of an English crowd is very like the deathly politeness of the man who -brings you a challenge. As soon as they become quiet they are ready for -action. We are apt to call them uneducated, but in politics they have -been well taught by their leaders who are generally remarkably clever -men, and it is said also that one man in seventeen among our weavers can -read and perhaps even sign his name.” - -“That one is too many,” replied De Burg. “It makes them dangerous. Yet -men like Lord Brougham are always writing and talking about it being our -duty to educate them.” - -“Why, Sir Brougham formed a society for ‘The Diffusion of Useful -Knowledge’ four or five years ago--an entirely new sort of knowledge for -working men--knowledge relating to this world, personal and municipal. -That is how he actually described his little sixpenny books. Then some -Scotchman called Chambers began to publish a cheap magazine. I take it. -It is not bad at all--but things like these are going to make literature -cheap and common.” - -“And I heard my own clergyman say that he considered secular teaching of -the poor classes to be hostile to Christianity.” - -Then Lady Jane remarked--as if to herself--“How dangerous to good -society the Apostles must have been!” - -Leyland smiled at his wife and answered, “They were. They changed it -altogether.” - -“The outlook is very bad,” continued De Burg. “The tide of democracy -is setting in. It will sweep us all away and break down every barrier -raised by civilization. And we may play at Canute, if we like, but--” - and De Burg shook his head and was silent in that hopeless fashion that -represents circumstances perfectly desperate. - -Leyland took De Burg’s prophetic gloom quite cheerfully. He had a verse -ready for it and he gave it with apparent pleasure-- - - “Yet men will still be ruled by men, - - And talk will have its day, - - And other men will come again - - To chase the rogues away.” - -“That seems to be the way things are ordered, sir.” - -After Leyland’s poetic interval, Lady Jane glanced at her husband and -said: “Let us forget politics awhile. If we go to the drawing-room, -perhaps Miss Annis or Mr. Bradley will give us a song.” - -Everyone gladly accepted the proposal and followed Lady Jane to the -beautiful, light warm room. - -It was so gay with flowers and color, it was so softly lit by wax -candles and the glow of the fire, it was so comfortably warmed by -the little blaze on the white marble hearth, that the spirits of all -experienced a sudden happy uplift. De Burg went at once to the fireside. -“Oh!” he exclaimed, “how good is the fire! How cheerful, how homelike! -Every day in the year, I have fires in some rooms in the castle.” - -“Well, De Burg, how is that?” - -“You know, Leyland, my home is surrounded by mountains and I may say I -am in the clouds most of the time. We are far north from here and I am -so much alone I have made a friend of the fire.” - -“I thought, sir, your mother lived with you.” - -“I am unhappy in her long and frequent absences. My cousin Agatha cannot -bear the climate. She is very delicate and my mother takes her southward -for the winters. They are now in the Isle of Wight but they will be in -London within a week. For a short time they will remain with me then -they return to De Burg Castle until the cold drives them south again.” - -Lady Jane offered some polite sympathies and De Burg from his vantage -ground of the hearth-rug surveyed the room. Its beauty and fitness -delighted him and he at once began to consider how the De Burg -drawing-room would look if arranged after its fashion. He could not help -this method of looking at whatever was beautiful and appropriate; he had -to place the thing, whatever it was, in a position which related itself -either to De Burg, or the De Burg possessions. So when he had placed -the Ley-land drawing-room in the gloomy De Burg Castle, he took into his -consideration Katherine Annis as the mistress of it. - -Katherine was sitting with Harry near the piano and her sister was -standing before her with some music in her hand. “You are now going to -sing for us, Katherine,” she said, “and you will help Katherine, dear -Harry, for you know all her songs.” - -“No, dear lady, I cannot on any account sing tonight.” - -No entreaties could alter Harry’s determination and it was during this -little episode De Burg approached. Hearing the positive refusal, he -offered his services with that air of certain satisfaction which insured -its acceptance. Then the songs he could sing were to be selected, and -this gave him a good opportunity of talking freely with the girl whom he -might possibly choose for the wife of a De Burg and the mistress of -his ancient castle. He found her sweet and obliging and ready to sing -whatever he thought most suitable to the compass and quality of his -voice, and as Lord and Lady Leyland assisted in this choice, Harry was -left alone; but when the singing began Harry was quickly at -Katherine’s side, making the turning of the music sheets his excuse for -interference. It appeared quite proper to De Burg that someone should -turn the leaves for him and he acknowledged the courtesy by a bend of -his head and afterwards thanked Harry for the civility, saying, “it -enabled him to do justice to his own voice and also to the rather -difficult singing of the fair songstress.” He put himself first, because -at the moment he was really feeling that his voice and personality had -been the dominating quality in the two songs they sang together. - -But though De Burg did his best and the Leylands expressed their -pleasure charmingly and Harry bowed and smiled, no one was enthusiastic; -and Ley-land could not find any quotation to cap the presumed pleasure -the music had given them. Then Harry seized the opportunity that came -with the rise of Katherine to offer his arm and lead her to their former -seat on the sofa leaving De Burg to the society of Leyland and his wife. -He had come, however, to the conclusion that Katherine was worthy of -further attentions, but he did not make on her young and tender -heart any fixed or favorable impression. For this man with all his -considerations had not yet learned that the selfish lover never really -succeeds; that the woman he attempts to woo just looks at him and then -turns to something more interesting. - -After all, the music had not united the small gathering, indeed it had -more certainly divided them. Lord Leyland remained at De Burg’s side and -Lady Jane through some natural inclination joined them. For she had -no intention in the matter, it merely pleased her to do it, and it -certainly pleased Katherine and Harry that she had left them at liberty -to please each other. - -Katherine had felt a little hurt by her lover’s refusal to sing but he -had promised to explain his reason for doing so to Jane and herself when -they were alone; and she had accepted this put-off apology in a manner -so sweet and confiding that it would have satisfied even De Burg’s idea -of a wife’s subordination to her husband’s feelings or caprices. - -De Burg did not remain much longer; he made some remark about his duty -being now at The House, as it was likely to be a very late sitting but -he did not forget in taking leave to speak of Katherine’s début on the -following Tuesday and to ask Lady Leyland’s permission to bring with him -his cousin Agatha De Burg if she was fortunate enough to arrive in time; -and this permission being readily granted he made what he told himself -was a very properly timed and elegant exit. This he really accomplished -for he was satisfied with his evening and somehow both his countenance -and manners expressed his content. - -Leyland laughed a little about De Burg’s sense of duty to The House, and -made his usual quotation for the over-zealous--about new brooms sweeping -clean--and Lady Jane praised his fine manner, and his correct singing, -but Katherine and Harry made no remark. Leyland, however, was not -altogether pleased with the self-complacent, faithful member of -parliament. “Jane,” he asked, “what did the man mean by saying, ‘his -political honesty must not be found wanting’?” - -“Oh, I think, Frederick, that was a very honorable feeling!” - -“To be sure, but members of parliament do not usually make their -political honesty an excuse for cutting short a social call. I wish -our good father Antony Annis had heard him. He would have given him a -mouthful of Yorkshire, that he would never have been able to forget. How -does the man reckon himself? I believe he thinks he is honoring _us_ by -his presence. No doubt, he thinks it only fit that you call your social -year after him.” - -“The De Burg Year? Eh, Fred!” - -“Yes, the happy year in which you made the De Burg acquaintance. My -dear, should that acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?” - Then they all laughed merrily, and Leyland asked: “Why did you refuse to -sing, Harry? It was so unlike you that I would not urge your compliance. -I knew you must have a good reason for the refusal.” - -“I had the best of reasons, sir, a solemn promise that I made my father. -I will tell you all about it. We gave our factory hands a dinner and -dance last Christmas and I went with father to give them a Christmas -greeting. A large number were already present and were passing the time -in singing and story-telling until dinner was served. One of the men -asked--‘if Master Harry would give them a song,’--and I did so. -I thought a comic song would be the most suitable and I sang ‘The -Yorkshire Man.’ I had sung it at the Mill Owners’ quarterly dinner, amid -shouts of laughter, and I was sure it was just the thing for the present -occasion. Certainly, I was not disappointed by its reception. Men and -women both went wild over it but I could see that my father was annoyed -and displeased, and after I had finished he hardly spoke until the -dinner was served. Then he only said grace over the food and wished all -a good New Year, and so speedily went away. It wasn’t like father a -bit, and I was troubled about it. As soon as we were outside, I said, -‘Whatever is the matter, father? Who, or what, has vexed you?’ And he -said, ‘Thou, thysen, Harry, hes put me out above a bit. I thought thou -would hev hed more sense than to sing that fool song among t’ weavers. -It was bad enough when tha sung it at t’ Master dinner but it were -a deal worse among t’ crowd we have just left.’ I said I did not -understand and he answered--‘Well, then, lad, I’ll try and make thee -understand. It is just this way--if ta iver means to be a man of weight -in business circles, if ta iver means to be respected and looked up to, -if ta iver thinks of a seat i’ parliament, or of wearing a Lord Mayor’s -gold chain, then don’t thee sing a note when there’s anybody present -but thy awn family. It lets a man down at once to sing outside his awn -house. It does that! If ta iver means to stand a bit above the ordinary, -or to rule men in any capacity, don’t sing to them, or iver try in any -way to amuse them. Praise them, or scold them, advise them, or even -laugh at them, but don’t thee sing to them, or make them laugh. The -moment tha does that, they hev the right to laugh at thee, or mimic -thee, or criticise thee. Tha then loses for a song the respect due thy -family, thy money, or thy real talents. Singing men aren’t money men. -Mind what I say! It is true as can be, dear lad.’ - -“That is the way father spoke to me and I promised him I would never -sing again except for my family and nearest friends. De Burg was not -my friend and I felt at once that if I sang for him I would give him -opportunities to say something unpleasant about me.” - -Leyland laughed very understandingly. “You have given me a powerful -weapon, Harry,” he said. “How did you feel when De Burg sang?” - -“I felt glad. I thought he looked very silly. I wondered if he had -ever practiced before a looking-glass. O Leyland, I felt a great many -scornful and unkind things; and I felt above all how right and proper my -father’s judgment was--that men who condescend to amuse and especially -to provoke laughter or buffoonery will never be the men who rule or -lead other men. Even more strongly than this, I felt that the social -reputation of being a fine singer would add no good thing to my business -reputation.” - -“You are right, Harry. It is not the song singers of England who are -building factories and making railroads and who are seeking and finding -out new ways to make steam their servant. Your father gave you excellent -advice, my own feelings and experience warrant him.” - -“My father is a wise, brave-hearted man,” said Harry proudly, and -Katherine clasped his hand in sweet accord, as he said it. - -That night Harry occupied his little room on the third floor in -Leyland’s house and the happy sleeping place was full of dreams of -Katherine. He awakened from them as we do from fortunate dreams, buoyant -with courage and hope, and sure of love’s and life’s final victory and -happiness: - - Then it does not seem miles, - - Out to the emerald isles, - - Set in the shining smiles, - - Of Love’s blue sea. - -Happy are the good sleepers and dreamers I Say that they spend nearly a -third part of their lives in sleep, their sleeping hours _are not dead -hours_. Their intellects are awake, their unconscious self is busy. In -reality we always dream, but many do not remember their dreams any more -than they remember the thoughts that have passed through their minds -during the day. Real dreams are rare. They come of design. They are -never forgotten. They are always helpful because the incompleteness of -this life asks for a larger theory than the material needs-- - - A deep below the deep, - - And a height beyond the height; - - For our hearing is not hearing, - - And our seeing is not sight. - -Harry had been wonderfully helped by his dreamful sleep. If he had -been at home he would have sung all the time he dressed himself. He -remembered that his father often did so but he did not connect that fact -with one that was equally evident--that his father was a great dreamer. -It is so easy to be forgetful and even ungrateful for favors that -minister to the spiritual rather than the material side of life. - -Yet he went downstairs softly humming to himself some joyous melody, he -knew not what it was. Katherine was in the breakfast room and heard -him coming, timing his footsteps to the music his heart was almost -whispering on his lips. So when he opened the door he saw her standing -expectant of his entrance and he uttered an untranslatable cry of joy. -She was standing by the breakfast table making coffee and she said, -“Good morning, Harry! Jane is not down yet. Shall I serve you until she -comes?” - -“Darling!” he said, “I shall walk all day in the clouds if you serve me. -Nothing could be more delightful.” - -So it fell out that they breakfasted at once, and Love sat down between -them. And all that day, Harry ate, and talked, and walked, and did -his daily work to the happy, happy song in his heart--the song he had -brought back from the Land of Dreams. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--FASHION AND FAMINE - - - “Lord of Light why so much darkness? Bread of Life - - why so much hunger?” - - - “The great fight, the long fight, the fight that must be - - won, without any further delay.” - - - IT is not necessary for me to describe the formal introduction of -Katherine to London society. A large number of my readers may have a -personal experience of that uncertain step, which Longfellow says, -the brook takes into the river, affirming also that it is taken “with -reluctant feet”; but Longfellow must be accepted with reservations. Most -girls have all the pluck and courage necessary for that leap into -the dark and Katherine belonged to this larger class. She felt the -constraints of the upper social life. She was ready for the event and -wished it over. - -The squire also wished it over. He could not help an uneasy regret about -the days and the money spent in preparing for its few hours of -what seemed to him unnecessary entertaining; not even free from the -possibility of being rudely broken up--the illuminated house, the -adjoining streets filled with vehicles, the glimpses of jewelry and -of rich clothing as the guests left their carriages; the sounds -of music--the very odors of cooking from the open windows of the -kitchens--the calls of footmen--all the stir of revelry and all the -paraphernalia of luxury. How would the hungry, angry, starving men -gathering all over London take this spectacle? The squire feared -there would be some demonstration and if it should be made against -his family’s unfeeling extravagance how could he bear it? He knew that -Englishmen usually, - - Through good and evil stand, - - By the laws of their own land. - -But he knew also, that Hunger knows no law, and that men too poor to -have where to lay their heads do not have much care regarding the heads -of more fortunate men. - -Squire Annis was a thoroughly informed man on all historical and -political subjects and he knew well that the English people had not been -so much in earnest since the time of Oliver Cromwell as they then were; -and when he called to remembrance the events between the rejection of -the first Reform Bill and its present struggle, he was really amazed -that people could think or talk of any other thing. Continually he was -arranging in his mind the salient points of moral dispute, as he had -known them, and it may not be amiss for two or three minutes to follow -his thoughts. - -They generally went back to the dramatic rejection of the first Reform -Bill, on the sixteenth of August, A. D. 1831. Parliament met again on -the sixth of December, and on the twelfth of December Lord John Russell -brought in a second Reform Bill. It was slightly changed but in all -important matters the same as the first Bill. On the eighteenth of -December, Parliament adjourned for the Christmas holidays but met again -on January the seventeenth, A. D. 1832. This Parliament passed The Bill -ready for the House of Lords on March the twenty-sixth, just two days -after his own arrival in London. He had made a point of seeing this -ceremony, for a very large attendance of peeresses and strangers of mark -were expected to be present. He found the space allotted to strangers -crowded, but he also found a good standing place and from it saw the -Lord Chancellor Brougham take his seat at the Woolsack and the Deputy -usher of the Black Rod announce--“A message from the Commons.” Then -he saw the doors thrown open and Lord Althorp and Lord John Russell, -bearing the Reform Bill in their hands, appeared at the head of one -hundred members of Parliament, and Russell delivered the Bill to the -Lord Chancellor, saying: - -“My Lords, the House of Commons have passed an act to amend the -representation of England and Wales to which they desire your Lordship’s -concurrence.” - -The great question now was, whether the Lords would concur or not, for -if the populace were ready to back their determination with their lives -the Lords were in the same temper though they knew well enough that -the one stubborn cry of the whole country was “The Bill, The Bill, -and nothing but The Bill.” They knew also that The House of Commons -sympathized with the suffering of the poor and the terrible deeds of the -French Revolution were still green in their memories. Yet they dared to -argue and dispute and put off the men standing in dangerous patience, -waiting, waiting day and night for justice. - -During the past week, also, all thoughtful persons had been conscious of -a change in these waiting men, a change which Lord Grey told The Commons -was “to be regarded as ominous and dangerous.” It was, that the crowds -everywhere had become portentously silent. They no longer discussed the -subject. They had no more to say. They were now full ready to do all -their powerful Political Unions threatened. These unions were prepared -to march to London and bivouac in its squares. The powerful Birmingham -Union declared “two hundred thousand men were ready to leave their -forges and shops, encamp on Hampstead Heath, and if The Bill did not -speedily become a law, compel that event to take place.” - -At this time also, violent expressions had become common in The House. -Members spoke with the utmost freedom about a fighting duke, and a -military government, and the Duke of Wellington was said to have pledged -himself to the King to quiet the country, if necessary, in ten days. It -was also asserted that, at his orders, the Scots Greys had been employed -on a previous Sabbath Day in grinding their swords. - -“As if,” cried the press and the people as with one voice, “as if -Englishmen could be kept from their purpose by swords and bayonets.” - -Throughout this period the King was obstinate and ill-tempered and so -ignorant about the character of the people he had been set to govern, as -to think their sudden quietness predicted their submission; though Lord -Grey had particularly warned the Lords against this false idea. “Truly,” - he virtually said, “we have not heard for a few days the thrilling -outcries of a desperate crowd of angry suffering men but I warn you, my -Lords, to take no comfort on that account.” - -When Englishmen are ready to fight they don’t scream about it but their -weapons are drawn and they are prepared to strike. The great body of -Englishmen did not consider these poor, unlettered men were any less -English men than themselves. They knew them to be of the same class -and kidney, as fought with Cromwell, Drake, and Nelson, and which made -Wellington victorious; they knew that neither the men who wielded the -big hammers at the forges of Birmingham, nor the men who controlled -steam, nor the men that brought up coal from a thousand feet below sight -and light, nor yet the men who plowed the ground would hesitate much -longer to fight for their rights; for there was not now a man in all -England who was not determined to be a recognized citizen of the land he -loved and was always ready to fight for. - -Sentiments like these could not fall from the lips of such men as Grey -and Brougham without having great influence; and in the soul of Antony -Annis they were echoing with potent effect, whatever he did, or wherever -he went. For he was really a man of fine moral and intellectual nature, -who had lived too much in his own easy, simple surroundings, and who had -been suddenly and roughly awakened to great public events. And, oh, how -quickly they were rubbing the rust from his unused talents and feelings! - -He missed his wife’s company much at this time, for when he was in The -House he could not have it and when he got back to the hotel Annie was -seldom there. She was with Jane or Josepha, and her interests at this -period were completely centered on her daughter Katherine. So Annis, -especially during the last week, had felt himself neglected; he could -get his wife to talk of nothing but Katherine, and her dress, and the -preparations Jane was making to honor the beauty’s début. - -Yet, just now he wanted above all other comforts his wife’s company and -on the afternoon of the day before the entertainment was to take -place he was determined to have it, even if he had to go to Jane’s or -Josepha’s house to get what he wished. Greatly to his satisfaction he -found her in the dressing-room of her hotel apartments. She had been -trying on her own new dress for the great occasion and seemed to be much -pleased and in very good spirits; but the squire’s anxious mood quickly -made itself felt and after a few ineffectual trials to raise her -husband’s spirits, she said, with just a touch of irritability: - -“Whatever is the matter with thee, Antony? I suppose it is that -wearisome Bill.” - -“Well, Annie, however wearisome it is we aren’t done with it yet, mebbe -we hev only begun its quarrel. The Whole country is in a bad way and I -do wonder how tha can be so taken up with the thoughts of dressing and -dancing. I will tell thee one thing, I am feared for the sound of music -and merry-making in any house.” - -“I never before knew that Antony Annis was cowardly.” - -“Don’t thee say words like them to me, Annie. I will not hev them. And I -think thou hes treated me varry badly indeed iver since we came here. I -thought I would allays be sure of thy company and loving help and thou -hes disappointed me. Thou hes that. Yet all my worry hes been about thee -and Kitty.” - -“Thou has not shown any care about either of us. Thou has hardly been -at thy home here for ten days; and thou has not asked a question about -Kitty’s plans and dress.” - -“Nay, then, I was thinking of her life and of thy life, too. I was -wondering how these angry, hungry men, filling the streets of London -will like the sight and sounds of music and dancing while they are -starving and fainting in our varry sight. I saw a man fall down through -hunger yesterday, and I saw two men, early this morning, helping one -another to stagger to a bench in the park.” - -“And I’ll warrant thou helped them to a cup of coffee and----” - -“To be sure I did! Does tha think thy husband, Antony Annis, is without -feeling as well as without courage! I am afraid for thee and for all -women who can’t see and feel that the riot and bloodshed that took place -not long ago in Bristol can be started here in London any moment by -some foolish word or act. And I want thee to know if tha doesn’t already -know, that this new disease, that no doctor understands or ever saw -before, hes reached London. It came to Bristol while the city was -burning, it came like a blow from the hand of God, and every physician -is appalled by it. A man goes out and is smitten, and never comes home -again, and--and--oh, Annie! Annie! I cannot bear it! There will be-some -tragedy--and it is for thee and Kitty I fear--not for mysen, oh no!” - And he leaned his elbows on the chimney piece and buried his face in his -hands. - -Then Annie went swiftly to his side, and in low, sweet, cooing words -said, “Oh, my love! My husband! Oh, my dear Antony, if tha hed only told -me thy fears and thy sorrow, I could hev cleared thy mind a bit. Sit -thee down beside me and listen to what thy Annie can tell thee.” Then -she kissed him and took his hands in her hands, and led him to his chair -and drew her own chair close to his side and said-- - -“I knew, my dear one, that thou was bothered in thy mind and that thy -thoughts were on Bristol and other places that hev been fired by the -rioters; and I wanted to tell thee of something that happened more than -a week ago. Dost thou remember a girl called Sarah Sykes?” - -“I do that--a varry big, clumsy lass.” - -“Never mind her looks. When Josepha was at Annis last summer she noticed -how much the girl was neglected and she took her part with her usual -temper, gave her nice clothes, and told her she would find something for -her to do in London. So when we were all very busy and I was tired out, -Josepha sent her a pound and bid her come to us as quick as she could. -Well, the first thing we knew the lass was in Jane’s house and she soon -found out that Joshua Swale was the leader of the crowd that are mostly -about the Crescent where it stands. And it wasn’t long before Sarah -had told Israel all thou hed done and all thou was still doing for thy -weavers; and then a man, who had come from the little place where thou -left a ten-pound note, told of that and of many other of thy kind -deeds, and so we found out that thy name stood very high among all -the Political Unions; and that these Unions have made themselves -well acquainted with the sayings and doings of all the old hand loom -employers; and are watching them closely, as to how they are treating -their men, and if any are in The House, how they are voting.” - -“I wish thou hed told me this when thou first heard it. I wonder thou -didn’t do so.” - -“If I could have managed a quiet talk with thee I would have done that; -but thou has lived in The House of Commons all of the last week, I -think.” - -“And been varry anxious and unhappy, Annie. Let me tell thee that!” - -“Well, then, dearie, happiness is a domestic pleasure. Few people find -her often outside their own home. Do they, Antony?” - -“My duty took me away from thee and my own home. There hev been constant -night sessions for the last week and more.” - -“I know, and it has been close to sun-up when thou tumbled sleepy and -weary into thy bed. And I couldn’t wait until thou got thy senses again. -I hed to go with Josepha about something or other, or I had to help Jane -with her preparations, and so the days went by. Then, also, when I did -get a sight of thee, thou could not frame thysen to talk of anything -but that weary Bill and it made me cross. I thought thou ought to care -a little about Katherine’s affairs, they were as important to her as The -Bill was to thee.” - -“I was caring, Annie. I was full of care and worry about Kitty. I was -that. And I needn’t hev been so miserable if thou hed cared for me.” - -“Well, then, I was cross enough to say to myself, ‘Antony can just tell -his worries to The Bill men and I’ll be bound he does.’ So he got no -chance for a good talk and I didn’t let Sarah Sykes trouble my mind at -all; but I can tell thee that all thy goodness to the Annis weavers -is written down on their hearts, and thou and thine are safe whatever -happens.” - -“I am thankful for thy words. Will tha sit an hour with me?” - -“I’ll not leave thee to-night if thou wants to talk to me.” - -“Oh, my joy! How good thou art! There is not a woman in England to -marrow thee.” - -“Come then to the parlor and we will have a cup of tea and thou will -tell me all thy fears about The Bill and I’ll sit with thee until thou -wants to go back to The House.” - -So he kissed her and told her again how dear she was to him and how much -he relied on her judgment, and they went to the parlor like lovers, or -like something far better. For if they had been only lovers, they could -not have known the sweetness, and strength, and unity of a married love -twenty-six years old. And as they drank their tea, Annis made clear to -his wife the condition of affairs in The Commons, and she quickly became -as much interested in the debate going on as himself. “It hes been going -on now,” he said, “for three nights, and will probably continue all this -night and mebbe longer.” - -“Then will it be settled?” - -“Nothing is settled, Annie, till it is settled right, and if The Commons -settle it right the lords may turn it out altogether again--_if they -dare_. However, thou hes given me a far lighter heart and I’ll mebbe hev -a word or two to say mysen to-night, for the question of workmen’s wages -is coming up and I’d like to give them my opinion on that subject.” - -“It would be a good thing if the government fixed the wages of the -workers. It might put a stop to strikes.” - -“Not it! Workingmen’s wages are as much beyond the control of -government as the fogs of the Atlantic. Who can prevent contractors -from underselling one another? Who can prevent workmen from preferring -starvation wages, rather than no wages at all? The man who labors knows -best what his work is worth and you can’t blame him for demanding what -is just and fair. Right is right in the devil’s teeth. If you talk -forever, you’ll niver get any forrarder than that; but I have always -noticed that when bad becomes bad enough, right returns.” - -“The last time we talked about The Bill, Antony, you said you were -anxious that the Scotch Bill should take exactly the same position that -the English Bill does. Will the Scotch do as you wish them?” - -“It’s hard to get a Scotchman to confess that he is oppressed by anyone, -or by any law. He doesn’t mind admitting a sentimental grievance about -the place that the lion hes on the flag; but he’s far too proud to -allow that anything wrong with the conditions of life is permissible in -Scotland. Yet there are more socialists in Scotland than anywhere else, -which I take as a proof that they are as dissatisfied as any other -workingmen are.” - -“What is it that the socialists are continually talking about?” - -“They are talking about a world that does not exist, Annie, and -that niver did exist, and promising us a world that couldn’t by any -possibility exist. But I’ll tell thee what I hev found out just since -I came here; that is, that if we are going to continue a Protective -Government we’re bound to hev Socialism flourish. Let England stop -running a government to protect rich and noble land owners, let her open -her ports and give us Free Trade, and we’ll hear varry little more of -socialism.” - -“Will you go to The House to-night, Antony?” - -“I wouldn’t miss going for a good deal. Last night’s session did not -close till daylight and I’ll niver forget as long as I live the look of -The House at that time. Grey had been speaking for an hour and a -half, though he is now in his sixty-eighth year; and I could not help -remembering that forty years previously, he had stood in the same place, -pleading for the same Bill, Grey being at that date both its author and -its advocate. My father was in The House then and I hev often heard -him tell how Lord Wharncliffe moved that Grey’s Reform Bill should be -rejected altogether; and how Lord Brougham made one of the grandest -speeches of his life in its favor, ending it with an indescribable -relation of the Sybil’s offer to old Rome. Now, Annie, I want to see -the harvest of that seed sowed by Grey and Brougham forty years ago, and -that harvest may come to-night. Thou wouldn’t want me to miss it, would -thou?” - -“I would be very sorry indeed if thou missed it; but what about the -Sybil?” - -“Why-a! this old Roman prophetess was called up by Brougham to tell -England the price she would hev to pay if her rulers persisted in their -abominable husbandry of sowing injustice and reaping rebellion. ‘Hear -the parable of the Sybil!’ he cried. ‘She is now at your gate, and -she offers you in this Bill wisdom and peace. The price she asks is -reasonable; it is to restore the franchise, which you ought voluntarily -to give. You refuse her terms and she goes away. But soon you find you -cannot do without her wares and you call her back. Again she comes but -with diminished treasures--the leaves of the book are partly torn away -by lawless hands, and in part defaced with characters of blood. But -the prophetic maid has risen in her demands--it is Parliament by the -year--it is vote by the ballot--it is suffrage by the million now. -From this you turn away indignant, and for the second time she departs. -Beware of her third coming, for the treasure you must have, and who -shall tell what price she may demand? It may even be the mace which -rests upon that woolsack. Justice deferred enhances the price you must -pay for peace and safety and you cannot expect any other crop than they -had who went before you and who, in their abominable husbandry, sowed -injustice and reaped rebellion.’” - -Antony was declaiming the last passages of this speech when the door -opened and Mrs. Temple entered. She sat down and waited until her -brother ceased, then she said with enthusiasm: - -“Well done, Antony! If thou must quote from somebody’s fine orations, -Brougham and the Sybil woman were about the best thou could get, if so -be thou did not go to the Scriptures. In that book thou would find all -that it is possible for letters and tongues to say against the men who -oppress the poor, or do them any injustice; and if I wanted to make a -speech that would beat Brougham’s to a disorganized alphabet, I’d take -ivery word of it out of the sacred Scriptures. I would that!” - -“Well, Josepha, I hope I may see The Bill pass the Commons to-night.” - -“Then thou hes more to wish for than to hope for. Does Brougham and -Palmerston iver speak to each other now?” - -“It is as much as they can do to lift their hats. They niver speak, I -think. Why do you ask me?” - -“Because I heard one water man say to another, as I was taking a boat at -my awn water house-- - - “‘If the Devil hes a son, - - Then his name is Palmerston.’” - -“Such rhymes against a man do him a deal of harm, Josepha. The rhyme -sticks and fastens, whether it be true or false, but there is nothing -beats a mocking, scornful story for cutting nation wide and living for -centuries after it. That rhyme about Palmerston will not outlive him in -any popular sense, but the mocking scornful story through which Canon -Sydney Smith of St. Paul’s derided the imbecility of The Lords will live -as long as English history lives.” - -“I do not remember that story, Antony. Do you, Josepha?” - -“Ay, I remember it; but I’ll let Antony tell it to thee and then thou -will be sure to store it up as something worth keeping. What I tell thee -hes not the same power of sticking.” - -“It may be that you are right, Josepha. Men do speak with more authority -than women do. What did Canon Sydney Smith say, Antony?” - -“He said the attempt of the Lords to stop Reform reminded him of the -great storm at Sidmouth and of the conduct of Mrs. Partington on that -occasion. Six or seven winters ago there was a great storm upon that -town, the tide rose to an incredible height, and the waves rushed in -upon the beach, and in the midst of this terrible storm she was seen at -the door of her house with her dress pinned up, and her highest pattens -on her feet, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea water, and -vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic Ocean was -roused. Mrs. Partington’s spirit was up, but I need not tell you the -contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. You see, -Annie, the Canon really compared the Lords to a silly old woman and all -England that were not in the House of Lords screamed with laughter. In -that day, The House of Lords lost more of its dignity and prestige than -it has yet regained; and Mrs. Partington did far more for Reform than -all the fine speeches that were made.” - -“Annie,” said Josepha, “we may as well take notice that it was a woman -who went, or was sent, to the old Roman world with the laws of justice -and peace; and Sydney Smith knew enough about Reform to be aware it -would be best forwarded by putting his parable in the pluck and spirit -of Dame Partington. It seems, then, that both in the old and the present -world, there were men well aware of womanly influence in politics.” - -“Well, dear women, I must away. I want to be in at the finish.” - -“Nothing will finish to-night. And thou will lose thy sleep.” - -“I lost it last night. The day was breaking when I left The House. The -candles had been renewed just before daylight and were blazing on after -the sunshine came in at the high windows, making a varry singular effect -on their crimson draperies and on the dusky tapestries on the wall. -I may be as late home to-morrow morning. Good night!” and he bent and -kissed both ladies, and then hurried away, anxious and eager. - -And the women were silent a moment watching him out of sight in the -twilight and then softly praising his beauty, manliness, and his loving -nature. On this subject Annie and Josepha usually agreed, though at last -Josepha said with a sigh--“It is a pity, however, that his purse strings -are so loose. He spends a lot of money.” And Annie replied: “Perhaps so, -but he is such a good man I had forgotten that he had a fault.” - -“And as a politician it is very eccentric--not to say foolish--for him -to vote for justice and principle, not to speak of feelings, instead of -party.” - -“If those things in any shape are faults, I am glad he has them. I could -not yet live with a perfect man.” - -“I don’t suppose thou could. It would be a bit beyond thee. Is all ready -for to-morrow?” - -“Yes, but I have lost heart on the subject. Are you going to Jane’s -now?” - -“I may do that. I heard that Agatha De Burg was home and I would like to -warn Katherine to take care of every word she says in Agatha’s presence. -She tells all she hears to that cousin of hers.” - -“Have you seen De Burg lately?” - -“Two or three times at Jane’s house. He seems quite at home there now. -He is very handsome, and graceful, and has such fine manners.” - -“Then I hev no more to say and it is too late for me to take the water -way home. Will tha order me a carriage?” - -Annie’s readiness to fulfill this request did not please Josepha and she -stood at the window and was nearly silent until she saw a carriage stop -at the hotel door. Then she said, “I think I’ll go and see if Jane hes -anything like a welcome to offer me. Good-by to thee, Annie.” - -“We shall see you early to-morrow, I hope, Josepha.” - -“Nay, then, thou hopes for nothing of that kind but I’ll be at Jane’s -sometime before I am wanted.” - -“You should not say such unkind words, Josepha. You are always welcome -wherever you go. In some way I have lost myself the last ten minutes. I -do not feel all here.” - -“Then thou hed better try and find thysen. Thou wilt need all there is -of thee to bother with Antony about t’ House of Commons, and to answer -civilly the crowd of strangers that will come to see thy daughter -to-morrow.” - -“It is neither the Bill nor the strangers that trouble me. My vexations -lie nearer home.” - -“I must say that thou ought to hev learned how to manage them by this -time. It is all of twenty-seven years since Antony married thee.” - -“It is not Antony. Antony has not a fault. Not one!” - -“I am glad thou hes found that out at last. Well, the carriage is -waiting and I’ll bid thee good-bye; and I hope thou may get thysen all -together before to-morrow at this time.” - -With these words Josepha went and Annie threw herself into her chair -with a sense of relief. “I know she intended to stay for dinner,” she -mentally complained, “and I could not bear her to-night. She is too -overflowing--she is too much every way. I bless myself for my patience -for twenty-seven years. Is it really twenty-seven years?” And with this -last suggestion she lost all consciousness of the present hour. - -In the meantime Josepha was not thinking any flattering things of her -sister-in-law. “She wanted me to go away! What a selfish, cross woman -she is! Poor Antony! I wonder how he bears her,” and in a mood of such -complaining, Josepha with all her kindly gossiping hopes dashed, went -almost tearfully home. - -Annie, however, was not cross. She was feeling with her husband the -gravity of public affairs and was full of anxious speculation concerning -Katherine. A change had come over the simple, beautiful girl. Without -being in the least disobedient or disrespectful, she had shown in late -days a thoroughly natural and full grown Annis temper. No girl ever knew -better just what she wanted and no girl ever more effectually arranged -matters in such wise as would best secure her all she wanted. About -Harry Bradley she had not given way one hair’s breadth, and yet -evidently her father was as far as ever from bearing the thought of -Harry as a son-in-law. His kindness to him in the weaving shop was -founded initially on his appreciation of good work and of a clever -business tactic and he was also taken by surprise, and so easily gave -in to the old trick of liking the lad. But he was angry at himself for -having been so weak and he felt that in some way Harry had bested him, -and compelled him to break the promises he had made to himself regarding -both the young man and his father. - -For a couple of hours these subjects occupied her completely, then she -rose and went to her room and put away her new gown. It was a perfectly -plain one of fawn-colored brocade with which she intended to wear her -beautiful old English laces. As she was performing this duty she thought -about her own youth. It had been a very commonplace one, full of small -economies. She had never had a formal “coming out,” and being the -eldest of five girls she had helped her mother to manage a household, -constantly living a little above its income. Yet she had many sweet, -loving thoughts over this life; and before she was aware her cheeks were -wet with tears, uncalled, but not unwelcome. - -“My dear mother,” she whispered, “in what land of God art thou now -resting? Surely thou art thinking of me! We are near to each other, -though far, far apart. Now, then, I will do as thou used to advise, ‘let -worries alone, and don’t worry over them.’ Some household angel will -come and put everything right. Oh, mother of many sorrows, pray for me. -Thou art nearer to God than I am.” This good thought slipped through her -tears like a soft strain of music, or a glint of sunshine, and she was -strengthened and comforted. Then she washed her face and put on her -evening cap and went to the parlor and ordered dinner. - -Just as she sat down to her lonely meal the door was hastily opened, and -Dick Annis and Harry Bradley entered. And oh! how glad she was to see -them, to seat them at the table, and to plentifully feed the two hungry -young men who had been traveling all day. - -“Dick, wherever have you been, my dear lad? I hevn’t had a letter from -you since you were in Edinburgh.” - -“I wrote you lots of letters, mother, but I had no way of posting them -to you. After leaving Edinburgh we sailed northward to Lerwick and there -I mailed you a long letter. It will be here in a few days, no doubt, -but their mail boat only carries mail ‘weather permitting,’ and after -we left Lerwick, all the way to Aberdeen we had a roaring wind in our -teeth. I don’t think it was weather the ill-tempered Pentland Firth -would permit mail to be carried over it. How is father?” - -“As well as he will be until the Reform Bill is passed. You are just in -time for Katherine’s party.” - -“I thought I might be so, for father told me he was sure dress and -mantua-makers would not have you ready for company in two weeks.” - -“Father was right. We may get people to weave the cloth by steam but -when it comes to sewing the cloth into clothes, there is nothing but -fingers and needles and some woman’s will.” - -Then they talked of the preparations made and the guests that were -expected, and the evening passed so pleasantly that it was near midnight -when the youths went away. And before that time the squire had sent -a note to his wife telling her he would not leave The House until the -sitting broke up. This note was brought by a Commons Messenger, for the -telegraph was yet a generation away. - -So Mistress Annis slept well, and the next day broke in blue skies and -sunshine. After breakfast was over she went to the Leyland Mansion to -see if her help was required in any way. Not that she expected it, for -she knew that Jane was far too good an organizer to be unready in any -department. Indeed she found her leisurely drinking coffee and reading -_The Court Circular_. Its news also had been gratifying, for she said to -her mother as she laid down the paper, “All is very satisfactory. There -are no entertainments to-night that will interfere with mine.” - -Katherine was equally prepared but much more excited and that pleased -her mother. She wished Katherine to keep her girlish enthusiasms and -extravagant expectations as long as possible; Jane’s composure and -apparent indifference seemed to her unnatural and later she reflected -that “Jane used to flurry and worry more than enough. Why!” she mentally -exclaimed, “I have not forgot how she routed us all out of our beds -at five o’clock on the morning of her wedding day, and was so nervous -herself that she made the whole house restless as a whirlpool. But she -says it is now fashionable to be serenely unaffected by any event, and -whatever is the fashionable insanity, Jane is sure to be one of the -first to catch it.” - -On this occasion her whole household had been schooled to the same calm -spirit, and while it had a decided air of festivity, there was also -one of order, and of everything going on as it ought to do. No hurrying -servants or belated confectionery vans impeded the guests’ arrival. The -rooms were in perfect order. The dinner would be served at the minute -specified, and the host and hostess were waiting to perform every -hospitable duty with amiable precision. - -Katherine did not enter the reception parlors until the dinner guests -had arrived and expectation was at a pleasant point of excitement. Then -the principal door was thrown open with obvious intent and Squire -Annis and his family were very plainly announced. Katherine was walking -between her father and mother, and Mrs. Josepha Temple, leaning on the -arm of her favorite nephew Dick, was a few steps behind them. - -There was a sudden silence, a quick assurance of the coming of -Katherine, and immediately the lovely girl made a triumphant entry into -their eyes and consciousness. She was dressed in white radiant gauze, * -dotted with small silver stars. It fell from her belt to her feet -without any break of its beauty by ruffle or frill. The waist slightly -covered the shoulders, the sleeves were full and gathered into a band -above the elbows. Both waist and sleeves were trimmed with lace traced -out with silver thread, and edged with a thin silver cord. Her sandals -were of white kid embroidered with silver stars, her gloves matched -them. She was without jewelry of any kind, unless the wonderfully carved -silver combs for the hair which Admiral Temple had brought from India -can be so called. Thus clothed, all the mystery and beauty of the flesh -was accentuated. Her fine eyes were soft and shining, with that happy -surprise in them that belongs only to the young enthusiast, and yet her -eyes were hardly more lambent than the rest of her face, for at this -happy hour all the ancient ecstasy of Love and Youth transfigured her -and she looked as if she had been born with a smile. - - * An almost transparent material first made in Gaza, - Palestine, from which it derived its name. - -Without intent Katherine’s association with her father and mother -greatly added to the impression she made. The squire was handsomely -attired in a fashionable suit of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with -large gilt buttons, a white satin vest, and a neck piece of soft mull -and English lace. And not less becoming to Katherine as a set off was -her mother’s plain, dark, emphatic costume. Yes, even the rather showy -extravagance of the aunt as a background was an advantage, and could -hardly have been better considered, for Madam Temple on this occasion -had discarded her usual black garments and wore a purple velvet dress -and all her wonderful diamonds. Consistent with this luxury, her laces -were of old Venice _point de rose_, arranged back and front in a Vandyke -collar with cuffs of the same lace, high as the elbows, giving a cachet -to her whole attire, which did not seem to be out of place on a woman so -erect and so dignified that she never touched the back of a chair, and -with a temper so buoyant, so high-spirited, and so invincible. - -When dinner was served, Katherine noticed that neither De Burg nor Harry -Bradley were at the table and after the meal she questioned her -sister with some feeling about this omission. “I do not mind De Burg’s -absence,” she said, “he is as well away as not, but poor Harry, what has -he done!” - -“Harry is all right, Kitty, but we have to care for father’s feelings -first of all and you know he has no desire to break bread with Harry -Bradley. _Why!_ he considers ‘by bread and salt’ almost a sacred -obligation, and if he eats with Harry, he must give him his hand, his -good will, and his help, when the occasion asks for it. Father would -have felt it hard to forgive me if I had forced such an obligation on -him.” - -“And De Burg? Is he also beyond the bread and salt limit?” - -“I believe father might think so, but that is not the reason in his -case. He sent an excuse for dinner but promised to join the dancers at -ten o’clock and to bring his cousin Agatha with him.” - -“How interesting! We shall all be on the _qui-vive_ for her début.” - -“Don’t be foolish, Kitty. And do not speak French, until you can speak -it with a proper accent.” - -“I have no doubt it is good enough for her.” - -“As for her début, it occurred six or seven years ago. Agatha had the -run of society when you were in short frocks. Come, let us go to the -ballroom. Your father is sure to be prompt.” - -When they reached the ballroom, they found Lord Leyland looking for -Katherine. “Father is waiting,” he said, “and we have the quadrilles -nearly set,” and while Leyland was yet speaking, Squire Annis bowed to -his daughter and she laid her hand in his with a smile, and they took -the place Leyland indicated. At the same moment, Dick led his mother to -a position facing them and there was not a young man or a young woman in -the room who might not have learned something of grace and dignity from -the dancing of the elderly handsome couple. - -After opening the ball the squire went to his place in The House of -Commons and Madam went to the card room and sat down to a game of whist, -having for her partner Alexander Macready, a prominent London banker. -His son had been in the opening quadrille with Katherine and in a moment -had fallen in love with her. Moreover, it was a real passion, timid yet -full of ardor, sincere, or else foolishly talkative, and Katherine felt -him to be a great encumbrance. Wearily listening to his platitudes of -admiration, she saw Harry Bradley and De Burg and his cousin enter. -Harry was really foremost, but courtesy compelled him for the lady’s -sake to give precedence to De Burg and his cousin; consequently they -reached Katherine’s side first. But Katherine’s eyes, full of love’s -happy expectation, looked beyond them, and Miss De Burg saw in their -expression Katherine’s preference for the man behind her brother. - -“Stephen need not think himself first,” she instantly decided, “this new -girl was watching for the man Stephen put back. A handsome man! He’ll -get ahead yet! He’s made that way.” - -Then Lady Leyland joined them and De Burg detained her as long as -possible, delighting himself with the thought of Harry’s impatience. -When they moved forward he explained his motive and laughed a little -over it; but Agatha quickly damped his self-congratulation. - -“Stephen,” she said, “the young man waiting was not at all -uncomfortable. I saw Miss Annis give him her hand and also a look that -some men would gladly wait a day for.” - -“Why, Gath, I saw nothing of the kind. You are mistaken.” - -“You were too much occupied in reciting to her the little speech you -had composed for the occasion. You know! I heard you saying it over and -over, as you walked about your room last night.” - -“What a woman you are! You hear and see everything.” - -“That I am not wanted to hear and see, eh?” - -“In this house I want you to see and hear all you can. What do you think -of the young lady?” - -“Why should I think of her at all?” - -“For my sake.” - -“That plea is worn out.” She smiled as she spoke and then some exigency -of the ball separated them. - -Miss De Burg was not a pretty woman and yet people generally looked -twice at her. She had a cold, washed-out face, a great deal of very pale -brown hair and her hair, eyebrows, and eyes were all the same color. -There was usually _no look_ in her eyes and her mouth told nothing. It -was a firm and silent mouth and if her face had any expression it was -one of reserve or endurance. And Katherine in the very flush of her own -happy excitement divined some tragedy below this speechless face, and -she held Agatha’s hand and looked into her eyes with that sympathy which -is one of youth’s kindest moods. This feeling hesitated a moment between -the two women; then Agatha surrendered, and took it into her heart and -memory. - -Now balls are so common and so natural an expression of humanity that -they possess both its sameness and its variability. They are all alike -and all different, all alike in action, all different in the actors; -and the only importance of this ball to Katherine Annis was that it -introduced her to the mere physical happiness that flows from fresh and -happy youth. In this respect it was perhaps the high tide of her life. -The beautiful room, the mellow transfiguring light of wax candles, the -gayly gowned company, the intoxicating strains of music, and the delight -of her motion to it, the sense of her loveliness, and of the admiration -it brought, made her heart beat high and joyfully, and gave to her light -steps a living grace no artist ever yet copied. She was queen of that -company and took out what lovers she wished with a pretty despotism -impossible to describe; but - - Joy’s the shyest bird, - - Mortals ever heard. - -And ere anyone had asked “What time is it?” daylight was stealing into -the candle light and then there was only the cheerful hurry of cloaking -and parting left, and the long-looked-for happiness was over. Yet after -all it was a day by itself and the dower of To-morrow can never be -weighed by the gauge of Yesterday. - -_“Right! There is a battle cry in the word. You feel as if you had drawn -a sword. A royal word, a conquering word, which if the weakest speak, -they straight grow strong.”_ - - - - -CHAPTER VII--IN THE FOURTH WATCH - - - LADY LEYLAND had ordered breakfast at ten o’clock and at that hour her -guests were ready for it. Mistress Temple and Katherine showed no signs -of weariness, but Lord Ley-land looked bored and Mistress Annis was -silent concerning the squire and his manner of passing the night. Then -Leyland said: - -“By George! Madam, you are very right to be anxious. The company of -ladies always makes me anxious. I will go to my club and read the -papers. I feel that delay is no longer possible.” - -“Your breakfast, Fred,” cried Katherine, but Fred was as one that heard -not, and with a smile and a good-by which included all present, Leyland -disappeared, and as his wife smilingly endorsed his - - “Love puts out all other cares.” - -and anxious but soon voiced her trouble in a wish forget everything else -but now if I can be excused apologies, no one made the slightest attempt -to detain him. Certainly Mistress Annis looked curiously at her daughter -and, when the door was closed, said: - -“I wonder at you, Jane--Leyland had not drank his first cup of coffee -and as to his breakfast it is still on his plate. It is not good for a -man to go to politics fasting.” - -“O mother! you need not worry about Fred’s breakfast. He will order one -exactly to his mind as soon as he reaches his club and he will be ten -times happier with the newspapers than with us.” - -Just at this point the squire and his son entered the room together and -instantly the social temperature of the place rose. - -“I met Leyland running away from you women,” said the squire. “Whatever -hev you been doing to him?” - -“He wanted to see the papers, father,” said Katherine. - -“It was a bit of bad behavior,” said Madam Temple. - -“Oh, dear, no,” Jane replied. “Fred is incapable of anything so vulgar. -Is he not, father?” - -“To be sure he is. No doubt it was a bit of fine feeling for the women -present that sent him off. He knew you would want to discuss the affair -of last night and also the people mixed up in it and he felt he would -be in everybody’s way, and so he was good-natured enough to leave you -to the pleasure of describing one another. It was varry agreeable and -polite for Fred to do so. I hedn’t sense enough to do the same.” - -“Nay, nay, Antony, that isn’t the way to put it. Dick, my dear lad, say -a word for me.” - -“I could not say a word worthy of you, mother, and now I came to bid you -good-by. I am off as quick as possible for Annis. Father had a letter -from Mr. Foster this morning. It is best that either father or I go -there for a few days and, as father cannot leave London at this crisis, -I am going in his place.” - -“What is the matter now, Dick?” - -“Some trouble with the weavers, I believe.” - -“Of course! and more money needed, I suppose.” - -“To be sure,” answered the squire, with a shade of temper; “and if -needed, Dick will look after it, eh, Dick?” - -“Of course Dick will look after it!” added Madam Temple, but her “of -course” intimated a very different meaning from her sister-in-law’s. -They were two words of hearty sympathy and she emphasized them by -pushing a heavy purse across the table. “Take my purse as well as thy -father’s, Dick; and if more is wanted, thou can hev it, and welcome. -I am Annis mysen and I was born and brought up with the men and women -suffering there.” - -She spoke with such feeling that her words appeared to warm the room and -the squire answered: “Thy word and deed, Josepha, is just like thee, my -dear sister!” He clasped her hand as he spoke, and their hands met over -the purse lying on the table and both noticed the fact and smiled and -nodded their understanding of it. Then the squire with a happy face -handed the purse to Dick, telling him to “kiss his mother,” and be off -as soon as possible. “Dick,” he said in a voice full of tears--“Dick, my -lad, it is hard for hungry men to wait.” - -“I will waste no time, father, not a minute,” and with these words he -clasped his father’s hand, leaned over and kissed his mother, and with a -general good-by he went swiftly on his errand of mercy. - -Then Jane said: “Let us go to the parlor. We were an hour later than -usual this morning and must make it up if we can.” - -“To be sure, Jane,” answered Mistress Temple. “We can talk as well in -one room as another. Houses must be kept regular or we shall get into -the same muddle as old Sarum--we shall be candidates for dinner and no -dinner for us.” - -“Well, then, you will all excuse me an hour while I give some orders -about household affairs.” The excuse was readily admitted and the -squire, his wife, sister and daughter, took up the question which would -intrude into every other question whether they wished it or not. - -The parlor to which they went looked precisely as if it was glad to see -them; it was so bright and cheerful, so warm and sunny, so everything -that the English mean by the good word “comfortable.” And as soon as -they were seated, Annie asked: “What about The Bill, Antony?” - -“Well, dearie, The Bill passed its third reading at seven o’clock this -morning.” - -“Thou saw it pass, eh, Antony?” - -“That I did! _Why-a!_ I wouldn’t hev missed Lord Grey’s final speech -for anything. He began it at five o’clock and spoke for an hour and a -half--which considering his great age and the long night’s strain was an -astonishing thing to do. I was feeling a bit tired mysen.” - -“But surely the people took its passing very coldly, Antony.” - -“The people aren’t going to shout till they are sure they hev something -to shout for. Nobody knows what changes the lords may make in it. They -may even throw it out again altogether.” - -“_They dare not! They dare not for their lives_ try any more such -foolishness,” said Josepha Temple with a passion she hardly restrained. -“Just let them try it! The people will not allow that step any more! -Let them try it! They will quickly see and feel what will come of such -folly.” - -“Well, Josepha, what will come of it? What can the people do?” - -“Iverything they want to do! Iverything they ought to do! One thing is -sure--they will send the foreigners back to where they belong. The very -kith and kin of the people now demanding their rights founded, not -many generations ago, a glorious Republic of their own, and they gave -themsens all the rights they wanted and allays put the man of their -choice at the head of it. Do you think our people don’t know what their -fathers hev done before them? They know it well. They see for themsens -that varry common men can outrank noble men when it comes to intellect -and courage. What was it that Scotch plowboy said:-- - - “A king can mak’ a belted knight, - - A marquis, duke and a’ that, - - But an honest man’s aboon his might-- - -and a God’s mercy it is, for if he tried it, he would waste and spoil -the best of materials in the making.” - -“All such talk is sheer nonsense, Josepha.” - -“It is nothing of the kind. Josepha has seen how such sheer nonsense -turns out. I should think thou could remember what happened fifty years -ago. People laughed then at the sheer nonsense of thirteen little -colonies in the wilds of America trying to make England give them -exactly what Englishmen are this very day ready to fight for-- -representation in parliament. And you need not forget this fact also, -that the majority of Englishmen at that day, both in parliament and out -of it, backed with all the power they hed these thirteen little -colonies. Why, the poor button makers of Sheffield refused to make -buttons for the soldiers’ coats, lest these soldiers should be sent to -fight Englishmen. It was then all they could do but their children are -now two hundred thousand strong, and king and parliament _hev_ to -consider them. They _hev to do it_ or to take the consequences, Antony -Annis! Your father was hand and purse with that crowd and I knew you -would see things as they are sooner or later. For our stock came from a -poor, brave villager, who followed King Richard to the Crusades, and won -the Annis lands for his courage and fidelity. That is why there is -allays a Richard in an Annis household.” - -“I believe all you say, Josepha, and our people, the rich and the poor, -both believe it. They hev given the government ivery blessed chance to -do fairly by them. Now, if it does so, well and good. If it does not do -so, the people are full ready to make them do it. I can tell you that.” - -“I am so tired of it all,” said Annie wearily. “Why do poor, uneducated -men want to meddle with elections for parliament? I can understand and -feel with them in their fight about their looms--it means their daily -bread; but why should they care about the men who make our laws and that -sort of business?” - -“I’ll tell thee why. They hev to do it or else go on being poor and -ignorant and of no account among men. Our laws are made to please the -men who have a vote or a say-so in any election. The laboring men of -England hev no vote at all. They can’t say a word about their rights in -the country for through the course of centuries the nobles and the rich -men hev got all the votes in their awn pockets.” - -“Maybe there is something right in that arrangement, Antony. They are -better educated.” - -“Suppose that argument stood, Annie; still a poor man might like one -rich man better than another, and he ought to be able to hev his chance -for electing his choice; but that, however, is only the tag-end of the -question.” - -“Then what is the main end?” - -“This:--In the course of centuries, places once of some account hev -disappeared, as really as Babylon or Nineveh, and little villages hev -grown to be big cities. There is no town of Sarum now, not a vestige, -but the Chatham family represent it in parliament to-day or they sell -the position or give it away. The member for the borough of Ludgershall -is himself the only voter in the borough and he is now in parliament -on his _awn_ nomination. Another place has two members and only seven -voters; and what do you think a foreigner visiting England would say -when told that a green mound without a house on it sent two members to -Parliament, or that a certain green park without an inhabitant also -sent two members to Parliament? Then suppose him taken to Manchester, -Bradford, Sheffield, and other great manufacturing cities, and told -they had _no_ representative in Parliament; what do you suppose he would -think and say?” - -“He would advise them to get a few paper caps among their coronets,” - said Josepha. - -“And so it goes all over England,” said the squire. “Really, my dears, -two-thirds of the House of Commons are composed of the nominees of the -nobles and the great landowners. What comes of the poor man’s rights -under such circumstances? He hes been robbed of them for centuries; -doesn’t tha think, Annie, it is about time he looked after them?” - -“I should think it was full time,” Josepha said hotly. - -“It is a difficult question,” replied Annie. “It must have many sides -that require examination.” - -“Whatever is right needs no examination, Annie.” - -“Listen, women, I have but told you one-half of the condition. There is -another side of it, for if some places hev been growing less and less -during the past centuries, other places, once hardly known, have become -great cities, like Birmingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Sheffield, and so -forth, and have no representation at all. What do you think of that? Not -a soul in parliament to speak for them. Now if men hev to pay taxes they -like to know a little bit about their whys and wherefores, eh, women?” - -“Did they always want to know, father?” asked Katherine. - -“I should say so. It would only be natural, Kitty, but at any rate since -the days of King John; and I don’t believe but what the ways of men and -the wants of men hev been about the same iver since God made men. They -hev allays wanted a king and they hev allays been varry particular about -hev-ing some ways and means of making a king do what they want him to -do.” - -“Suppose the lords pass The Bill but alter it so much that it is _not -The Bill_, what then, father?” - -“Well, Kitty, they could do that thing but as your aunt said, they had -better not. Nothing but the whole Bill will now satisfy. No! they dare -not alter it. Now you can talk over what I hev told you. I must go about -my awn business and the first thing I hev to do is to take my wife home. -Come, Annie, I am needing thee.” - -Annie rose with a happy alacrity. She was glad to go. To be alone with -her husband after the past days of society’s patented pleasures was an -unspeakable rest and refreshment. They drove to the Clarendon in silent -contentment, holding each other’s hand and putting off speech until they -could talk without restraint of any kind. And if anyone learned in the -expression of the flesh had noticed their hands they would have seen -that Annie’s thumb in the clasp was generally the uppermost, a sure sign -that she had the strongest will and was made to govern. The corollary -of this fact is, that if the clasping thumb in both parties is the right -thumb, then complications are most likely to frequently occur. - -Indeed Annie did not speak until she had thrown aside her bonnet and -cloak and was comfortably seated in the large soft chair she liked best; -then she said with an air of perfect satisfaction, “O Antony! It was so -kind and thoughtful of thee to come for me. I was afraid there might -be some unpleasant to-do before I got away. Josepha was ready for one, -longing for one, and Jane hed to make that excuse about getting dinner -ready, in order to avoid it. Jane, you know, supports the whole House -of Lords, and she goes on about ‘The Constitution of the British -Government’ as if it was an inspired document.” - -“Well tha knows, Leyland is a Tory from his head to his feet. I doan’t -think his mind hes much to do with his opinions. He inherited them from -his father, just as he inherited his father’s face and size and money. -And a woman hes to think as her husband thinks--if she claims to be a -good wife.” - -“That idea is an antiquated lie, Antony. A good wife, Antony, thinks not -only for herself, she thinks also for her husband.” - -“I niver noticed thee making thysen contrary. As I think, thou thinks. -Allays that is so.” - -“Nay, it is not. There is many a thing different in my mind to what is -in thy mind, and thou knows it, too; and there are subjects we neither -of us want to talk of because we cannot agree about them. I often thank -thee for thy kind self-denial in this matter.” - -“I’m sure I doan’t know what thou art so precious civil about. I think -of varry little now but the Reform Bill and the poor weavers; and thou -thinks with me on both of them subjects. Eh, Joy?” - -“To be sure I do--with some sub-differences.” - -“I doan’t meddle with what thou calls thy ‘subdifferences.’ I’ll warrant -they are innocent as thysen and thy son Dick is a good son and he -thinks just as I think on ivery subject. That’s enough, Annie, on -sub-differences. Let us hev a bit of a comfortable lunch. Jane’s -breakfast was cold and made up of fancy dishes like oysters and chicken -minced with mushrooms, and muffins and such miscarriages of eatable -dishes. I want some sensible eating at one o’clock and I feel as if it -was varry near one now.” - -“What shall I order for you?” - -“Some kidney soup and cold roast beef and a good pudding, or some Christ -Church tartlets, the best vegetables they hev and a bottle of Bass’ best -ale or porter, but thou can-hev a cup of sloppy tea if tha fancies it.” - -“I think no better of sloppy things than thou does, Antony. I’ll hev a -glass of good, pale sherry wine, and the same would be better for thee -than anything Bass brews. Bass makes a man stout, and thou art now just -the right weight; an ounce more flesh would spoil thy figure and take -the spring out of thy step and put more color in thy face and take -the music out of thy voice; but please thy dear self about thy eating; -perhaps I am a bit selfish about thy good looks, but when a woman gets -used to showing herself off with a handsome man she can’t bear to give -up that bit of pride.” - -“Well, then, Annie dear, whativer pleases thee, pleases me. Send for -number five, and order what thou thinks best.” - -“Nay, Antony, thou shalt have thy own wish. It is little enough to give -thee.” - -“It is full and plenty, if thou puts thy wish with it.” - -Then Annie happily ordered the kidney soup and cold roast and the -particular tarts he liked and the sherry instead of the beer, and the -fare pleased both, and they ate it with that smiling cheerfulness which -is of all thanksgiving the most acceptable to the Bountiful Giver of -all good things. And as they ate they talked of Katherine’s beauty and -loving heart and of Dick’s ready obedience and manly respect for his -father, and food so seasoned and so cheerfully eaten is the very best -banquet that mortals can ever hope to taste in this life. - -In the meantime, Dick, urged both by his father’s desire and his own -wistful longing to see Faith Foster, lost no time in reaching his home -village. He was shocked by its loneliness and silence. He did not meet -or see a single man. The women were shut up in their cottages. Their -trouble had passed all desire for company and all hope of any immediate -assistance. Talking only enervated them and they all had the same -miserable tale to tell. It might have been a deserted village but for -the musical chime of the church clock and the sight of a few little -children sitting listlessly on the doorsteps of the cottages. Hunger had -killed in them the instinct of play. “It hurts us to play. It makes the -pain come,” said one little lad, as he looked with large suffering eyes -into Dick’s face; but never asked from him either pity or help. Yet his -very silence was eloquence. No words could have moved to sympathy so -strongly as the voiceless appeal of his sad suffering eyes, his thin -face, and the patient helplessness of his hopeless quiet. Dick could not -bear it. He gave the child some money, and it began to cry softly and to -whimper “Mammy! Mammy!” and Dick hurried homeward, rather ashamed of his -own emotion, yet full of the tenderest pity. - -He found Britton pottering about the stable and his wife Sarah trying -with clumsy fingers to fashion a child’s frock. “Oh, Master Dick!” she -cried. “Why did tha come back to this unhappy place? I think there is -pining and famishing in ivery house and sickness hard following it.” - -“I have come, Sarah, to see what can be done to help the trouble.” - -“A God’s mercy, sir! We be hard set in Annis village this day.” - -“Have you a room ready for me, Sarah? I may be here for a few days.” - -“It would be a varry queer thing if I hedn’t a room ready for any of the -family, coming in a hurry like. Your awn room is spick and span, sir. -And I’ll hev a bit of fire there in ten minutes or thereby, but tha -surely will hev summat to eat first.” - -“Nothing to eat just yet, Sarah. I shall want a little dinner about five -o’clock if you will have it ready.” - -“All right, sir. We hev no beef or mutton in t’ house, sir, but I will -kill a chicken and make a rice pudding, if that will do.” - -“That is all I want.” - -Then Dick went to the stables and interviewed Britton, and spoke to -every horse in it, and asked Britton to turn them into the paddock for -a couple of hours. “They are needing fresh air and a little liberty, -Britton,” he said, and as Britton loosened their halters and opened the -door that led into the paddock they went out prancing and neighing their -gratitude for the favor. - -“That little gray mare, sir,” said Britton, “she hes as much sense as -a human. She knew first of all of them what was coming, and she knew -it was your doing, sir, that’s the reason she nudged up against you and -fairly laid her face against yours.” - -“Yes, she knew me, Britton. Lucy and I have had many a happy day -together.” Then he asked Britton about the cattle and the poultry, and -especially about the bulbs and the garden flowers, which had always had -more or less the care of Mistress Annis. - -These things attended to, he went to his room and dressed himself with -what seemed to be some unnecessary care. Dick, however, did not think -so. He was going to see Mr. Foster and he might see Faith, and he could -not think of himself as wearing clothing travel-soiled in her presence. -In an hour, however, he was ready to go to the village, fittingly -dressed from head to feet, handsome as handsome Youth can be, and the -gleam and glow of a true love in his heart. “It may be--it may be!” he -told himself as he walked speedily down the nearest way to the village. - -When about half-way there, he met the preacher. “I heard you were here, -Mr. Annis,” he said. “Betty Bews told me she saw you pass her cottage.” - -“I came in answer to your letter, sir. The Bill is at a great crisis, -and my father’s vote on the right side is needed. And I was glad to -come, if I can do good in any way.” - -“Oh, yes, sir, there are things to do, and words to say that I cannot do -or say--and the need is urgent.” - -“Then let us go forward. I was shocked by the village as I passed -through it. I did not meet a single man. I saw only a few sickly looking -women, and some piteous children.” - -“The men have gone somewhere four days ago. I suppose they were called -by their society. They did not tell me where they were going and I -thought it was better not to ask any questions. The women are all sick -and despairing, the children suffer all they can bear and live. That is -one phase of the trouble; but there is another coming that I thought you -would like to be made acquainted with.” - -“Not the cholera, I hope? It has reached London, you know, and the -doctors are paralyzed by their ignorance of its nature and can find no -remedy for it.” - -“Our people think it a judgment of God. I am told it broke out in -Bristol while the city was burning and outrages of all kinds rampant.” - -“You know, sir, that Bristol is one of our largest seaports. It is -more likely to have been brought here by some traveler from a strange -country. I heard a medical man who has been in India with our troops say -that it was a common sickness in the West Indies.” - -“It was never seen nor heard of in England before. Now it is going up -the east coast of Britain as far north as the Shetland Isles. These -coast people are nearly all fishermen, very good, pious men, and they -positively declare that they saw a gigantic figure of a woman, shadowy -and gray, with a face of malignant vengeance, passing through the land.” - -“God has sent such messengers many times--ministers of His Vengeance. -His Word is full of such instances.” - -“But a woman with a malignant face! Oh, no!” - -“Whatever is evil, must look evil--but here we are at Jonathan -Hartley’s. Will you go in?” - -“He is coming to us. I will give him my father’s letter. That will be -sufficient.” - -But Jonathan had much to say and he seemed troubled beyond outside -affairs to move him, and the preacher asked--“What is personally out of -the right way with you, Jonathan?” - -“Well, sir, my mother is down at the ford; she may cross any hour--she’s -only waiting for the guide--and my eldest girl had a son last night--the -little lad was born half-starved. We doan’t know yet whether either of -them can be saved--or not. So I’ll not say ‘Come in,’ but if you’ll sit -down with me on the garden bench, I’ll be glad of a few minutes fresh -air.” He opened the little wicket gate as he spoke and they sat down on -a bench under a cherry tree full dressed in perfumed white for Easter -tide. - -As soon as they were seated the young squire delivered his father’s -letter and then they talked of the sudden disappearance of the men of -the village. “What does it mean, Jonathan?” asked Dick, and Jonathan -said-- - -“Well, sir, I hevn’t been much among the lads for a week now. My mother -hes been lying at the gate of the grave and I couldn’t leave her long at -a time. They were all loitering about the village when I saw them last. -Suddenly they all disappeared, and the old woman at the post office told -me ivery one of them hed received a letter four mornings ago, from the -same Working Man’s Society. I hed one mysen, for that matter, and that -afternoon they all left together for somewhere.” - -“But,” asked Dick, “where did they get the money necessary for a -journey?” - -“Philip Sugden got the money from Sugbury Bank. He hed an order for it, -that was cashed quick enough. What do you make of that, sir?” - -“I think there may be fighting to do if parliament fails the people this -time.” - -“And in the very crisis of this trouble,” said Dick, “I hear from Mr. -Foster that a man has been here wanting to build a mill. Who is he, -Jonathan? And what can be his motive?” - -“His name is Jonas Boocock. He comes from Shipley. His motive is to mak’ -money. He thinks this is the varry place to do it. He talked constantly -about its fine water power, and its cheap land, and thought Providence -hed fairly laid it out for factories and power-looms; for he said -there’s talk of a branch of railway from Bradley’s place, past Annis, to -join the main track going to Leeds. He considered it a varry grand idea. -Mebbe it is, sir.” - -“My father would not like the plan at all. It must be prevented, if -possible. What do you think, Jonathan?” - -“I think, sir, if it would be a grand thing for Jonas Boocock, it might -happen be a good thing for Squire Antony Annis. The world is moving -for-rard, sir, and we must step with it, or be dragged behind it. Old as -I am, I would rayther step for-rard with it. Gentlemen, I must now go to -my mother.” - -“Is she worse, Jonathan?” - -“She is quite worn out, worn out to the varry marrow. I would be -thankful, sir, if tha would call and bid her good-by.” - -“I will. I will come about seven o’clock.” - -“That will be right. I’ll hev all the household present, sir.” - -Then they turned away from Jonathan’s house and went to look at the land -Boocock hankered for. The land itself was a spur descending from -the wold, and was heathery and not fit for cultivation; but it was -splendidly watered and lay along the river bank. “Boocock was right,” - said Mr. Foster. “It is a bit of land just about perfect for a factory -site. Does the squire own it, sir?” - -“I cannot say. I was trying to fix its position as well as I could, and -I will write to my father tonight. I am sorry Jonathan did not know more -about the man Boocock and his plans.” - -“Jonathan’s mother is a very old woman. While she lives, he will stay at -her side. You must remember her?” - -“I do. She was exceedingly tall and walked quite erect and was so white -when I met her last that she looked like a ghost floating slowly along -the road.” - -“She had always a sense of being injured by being here at all--wondered -why she had been sent to this world, and though a grand character was -never really happy. Jonathan did not learn to read until he was over -forty years of age; she was then eighty, and she helped him to remember -his letters, and took the greatest pride in his progress. There ought to -be schools for these people, there are splendid men and women mentally -among them. Here we are at home. Come in, sir, and have a cup of tea -with us before you climb the brow.” - -Dick was very glad to accept the invitation and the preacher opened the -door and said: “Come in, sir, and welcome!” and they went into a small -parlor plainly furnished, but in perfect order, and Dick heard someone -singing softly not far away. Before the preacher had more than given his -guest a chair the door opened and Faith entered the room. If he had not -been already in love with her he would have fallen fathoms deep in the -divine tide that moment, for his soul knew her and loved her, and was -longing to claim its own. What personal charm she had he knew not, -he cared not, he had been drawn to her by some deep irresistible -attraction, and he succumbed absolutely to its influence. At this moment -he cast away all fears and doubts and gave himself without reservation -to the wonderful experience. - -Faith had answered her father’s call so rapidly, that Dick was not -seated when she entered the room. She brought with her into the room an -atmosphere of light and peace, through which her loveliness shone with -a soft, steady glow. There was something unknown and unseen in her very -simplicity. All that was sweet and wise, shone in her heavenly eyes, and -their light lifted her higher than all his thoughts; they were so soft -and deep and compelling. Very singularly their influence seemed to be -intensified by the simple dress she wore. It was of merino and of the -exact shade of her eyes, and it appeared in some way to increase their -mystical power by the prolongation of the same color. There was nothing -of intention in this arrangement. It was one of those coincidences that -are perhaps suggested or induced by the angel that guards our life and -destiny. For there are angels round all of us. Earth is no strange land -to them. The dainty neatness of her clothing delighted Dick. After a -season of ruffles and flounces and extravagant trimming, its soft folds -falling plainly and unbrokenly to her feet, charmed him. Something -of white lace, very narrow and unpretentious, was around the neck and -sleeves which were gathered into a band above the elbows. Her hair, -parted in the center of the forehead, lay in soft curls which fell no -lower than the tip of the ears and at the back was coiled loosely on -the crown of the head, where it was fastened by a pretty shell comb. -The purity and peace of a fervent transparent soul was the first and the -last impression she made, and these qualities revealed themselves in a -certain homely sweetness, that drew everyone’s affection and trust like -a charm. - -She had in her hands a clean tablecloth and some napkins, but when she -saw Dick, she laid them down, and went to meet him. He took her hand and -looked into her eyes, and a rush of color came into her face and gave -splendor to her smile and her beauty. She hastened to question him about -his mother and Katherine, but even as they talked of others, she knew -he was telling her that he loved her, and longed for her to love him in -return. - -“Faith, my dear,” said Mr. Foster, “our friend, Mr. Annis, will have a -cup of tea with us before he goes up the brow,” and she looked at Dick -and smiled, and began to lay the round table that stood in the center -of the room. Dick watched her beautiful white arms and hands among the -white china and linen and a very handsome silver tea service, with a -pleasure that made him almost faint. Oh, if he should lose this lovely -girl! How could he bear it? He felt that he might as well lose life -itself. - -For though Dick had loved her for some months, love not converted into -action, becomes indolent and unbelieving. So he had misgivings he could -not control and amid the distractions of London, his love, instead of -giving a new meaning to his life, had infected him rather with a sense -of dreamland. But in this hour, true honest love illumined life, he -saw things as they were, he really fell in love and that is a wonderful -experience, a deep, elemental thing, beyond all reasoning with. In this -experience he had found at last the Key to Life, and he understood in a -moment, as it were, that this Key is in the Heart, and not in the Brain. -He had been very wise and prudent about Faith and one smile from her -had shattered all his reasoning, and the love-light now in his eyes, and -shining in his face, was heart-work and not brain work. For love is -a state of the soul; anger, grief and other passions can change their -mental states; but love? No! Love absorbs the whole man, and if not -satisfied, causes a state of great suffering. So in that hour Love was -Destiny and fashioned his life beyond the power of any other passion to -change. - -In the meantime Faith brought in tea and some fresh bread and butter, -and a dish of broiled trout. “Mr. Braithwaite was trout fishing among -the fells to-day,” she said, “and as he came home, he left half a dozen -for father. He is one of the Chapel Trustees and very fond of line -fishing. Sometimes father goes with him. You know,” she added with a -smile, “fishing is apostolical. Even a Methodist preacher may fish.” - -For a short time they talked of the reel and line, and its caprices, -but conversation quickly drifted to the condition of the country and of -Annis particularly, and in this conversation an hour drifted speedily -away. Then Faith rose and brought in a bowl of hot water, washed the -china and silver and put them away in a little corner cupboard. - -“That silver is very beautiful,” said Dick. - -“Take it in your hand, Mr. Annis, and read what is engraved on the tea -pot.” So Dick took it in his hand and read that the whole service had -been given by the Wesleyans of Thirsk to Reverend Mr. Foster, as a proof -of their gratitude to him as their spiritual teacher and comforter. Then -Dick noticed the china and said his mother had a set exactly like it and -Mr. Foster answered--“I think, Mr. Annis, every family in England has -one, rich and poor. Whoever hit upon this plain white china, with its -broad gold band round all edges, hit on something that fitted the -English taste universally. It will be a wedding gift, and a standard tea -set, for many generations yet; unless it deteriorates in style and -quality--but I must not forget that I am due at Hartley’s at seven -o’clock, so I hope you will excuse me, Mr. Annis.” - -“May I ask your permission to remain with Miss Foster until your return, -sir? I have a great deal to tell her about Katherine and many messages -from my sister to deliver.” - -For a moment Mr. Foster hesitated, then he answered frankly, “I will be -glad if you stay with Faith until I return.” Then Faith helped him on -with his top coat and gave him his hat and gloves and walking stick and -both Dick and Faith stood at the open door, and watched him go down the -street a little way. But this was Dick’s opportunity and he would not -lose it. - -“Come into the parlor, dear, dear Faith! I have something to tell you, -something I must tell you!” And all he said in the parlor was something -he had never dared to say before, except in dreams. - -Faith knew what he wished to say. He had wooed her silently for months, -but she had not suffered him to pass beyond the horizon of her thoughts. -Yet she knew well, that though they were in many things dissimilar as -two notes of music, they were made for each other. She told herself that -he knew this fact as well as she did and that at the appointed hour he -would come to her. Until that hour she would not provoke Destiny by -her impatience. A change so great for her would doubtless involve other -changes and perhaps their incidentals were not yet ready. So she never -doubted but that Dick would tell her he loved her, as soon as he thought -the right hour had come. - -And now the hour had come, and Dick did tell her how he loved her with a -passionate eloquence that astonished himself. She did not try to resist -its influence. It was to her heart all that cold water would be to -parching thirst; it was the coming together of two strong, but different -temperaments, and from the contact the flashing forth of love like -fire. His words went to her head like wine, her eyes grew soft, tender, -luminous, her form was half mystical, half sensuous. Dick was creating -a new world for them, all their own. Though her eyes lifted but an -instant, her soul sought his soul, gradually they leaned closer to each -other in visible sweetness and affection and then it was no effort, but -a supreme joy, to ask her to be his wife, to love and counsel and guide -him, as his mother had loved and guided his father; and in the sweet, -trembling patois of love, she gave him the promise that taught him what -real happiness means. And her warm, sweet kisses sealed it. He felt they -did so and was rapturously happy. Is there anything more to be said on -this subject? No, the words are not yet invented which could continue -it. Yet Faith wrote in her Diary that night--“To-day I was born into the -world of Love. That is the world God loves best.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--LOVE’S TENDER PHANTASY - - - “No mortal thing can bear so high a price, - - But that with mortal thing it may be bought; - - No pearls, no gold, no gems, no corn, no spice, - - No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price. - - Divine is Love and scorneth worldly pelf, - - And can be bought with nothing but itself.” - - - A MAN in love sees miracles, as well as expects them. Outsiders are apt -to think him an absurd creature, he himself knows that he is seeking the -only love that can complete and crown his life. Dick was quite sure of -his own wisdom. Whenever he thought of Faith, of her innocence, her high -hopes, her pure eyes, and flowerlike beauty, he felt that his feet were -on a rock and his soul went after her and everything was changed in his -life. - -It was not until great London was on his horizon, that any fear touched -his naturally high spirit. His father’s good will, he was sure, could -be relied on. He himself had made what his father called “a varry -inconsiderate marriage,” but it had proved to be both a very wise and -a very happy union, so Dick expected his father would understand and -sympathize with his love for Faith Foster. - -About the women of his family he felt more uncertain, his mother and -sister and aunt would doubtless be harder to please. Yet they must see -that Faith was everyway exceptional. Was she not the very flower and -pearl of womanhood? He could not understand how they could find any -fault with his wonderfully fortunate choice. Yet he kindly considered -the small frailties of the ordinary woman and made some allowances for -their jealousies and for the other interferences likely to spring from -family and social conditions. - -But Dick was no coward and he was determined to speak of his engagement -to Faith as soon as he had rid his mind of the business which had sent -him to Annis. Nor had he any love-lorn looks or attitudes; he appeared -to be an exceedingly happy man, when he opened the parlor door of his -father’s apartments in the Clarendon. Breakfast was on the table and -the squire and his wife were calmly enjoying it. They cried out joyfully -when they saw him. The squire hastily stood up with outstretched hands, -while Dick’s mother cried out, “O Dick! Dick! how good it is to see -thee!” - -Dick was soon seated between them and as he ate he told the news he had -brought from the home village. It was all interesting and important to -them--from the change in its politics--which Dick said had become nearly -Radical--to the death of Jonathan Hartley’s mother, who had been for -many years a great favorite of Mistress Annis. - -Dick was a little astonished to find that his father pooh-pooh’d -Boocock’s design of building a mill in Annis. “He can’t build ef he -can’t get land and water,” he answered with a scornful laugh; “and -Antony Annis will not let him hev either. He is just another of those -once decent weavers, who hev been turned into arrant fools by making -brass too easy and too quick. I hev heard them talk. They are allays -going to build another mill somewhere, they are going to mak’ a bid for -all Yorkshire and mebbe tak’ Lancashire into their plans. Boocock does -not trouble me. And if Squire Annis puts him in Cold Shoulder Lane, -there will not be a man in t’ neighborhood poor and mean enough to even -touch his cap to him. This is all I hev to say about Boocock at the -present time and I don’t want him mentioned again. Mind that!” - -“I think, then, father, that you will have to get rid of Jonathan -Hartley.” - -“Rid of Jonathan! Whativer is tha talking about? I could spare him as -little as my right hand.” - -“Jonathan told me to tell you that you had better build a mill yourself, -than let Boocock, or some other stranger, in among Annis folk. He said -the world was stepping onward and that we had better step with the -world, than be dragged behind it. He said that was his feeling.” - -“Well, he hes a right to his feeling, but he need not send it to me. -Let him go. I see how it is. I am getting a bit older than I was and -men that are younger five or ten years are deserting me. They fear to -be seen with an old fogy, like Squire Annis. God help me, but--I’m not -downed yet. If they can do without me, I can jolly well do without them. -_Why-a!_ Thy mother is worth iverybody else to me and she’ll love and -cherish me if I add fifty years more to my present fifty-five.” - -“I want no other love, Antony, than yours. It is good enough for -life--and thereafter.” - -“Dear, dear Annie! And don’t fear! When I am sure it is time to move, -I’ll move. I’ll outstrip them all yet. By George, I’ll keep them panting -after me! How is it, Dick? Wilt thou stand with thy father? If so, -put thy hand in thy father’s and we will beat them all at their awn -game”--and Dick put his hand in his father’s hand and answered, “I am -your loving and obedient son. Your will is my pleasure, sir.” - -“Good, dear lad! Then we two will do as we want to do, we’ll do it in -our awn time, and in our awn way, and we hev sense enough, between -us, to tak’ our awn advice, whativer it be. For first of all, we’ll -do whativer is best for the village, and then for oursens, without -anybody’s advice but our awn. Just as soon as The Bill is off my mind we -will hev a talk on this subject. Annis Hall and Annis land and water is -our property--mine and thine--and we will do whativer is right, both to -the land and oursens.” - -And Dick’s loving face, and the little sympathizing nod of his head, -was all the squire needed. Then he stood up, lifting himself to his full -height, and added, “Boocock and his mill will have to wait on my say-so, -and I haven’t room in my mind at present to consider him; so we will -say no more on that subject, until he comes and asks me for the land and -water he wants. What is tha going to do with thysen now?” - -“That depends upon your wish, father. Are you going to--The House?” - -“The House! Hes tha forgotten that the English Government must hev its -usual Easter recreation whativer comes or goes? I told thee--I told thee -in my first letter to Annis, that parliament hed given themsens three -weeks’ holiday. They feel a good bit tired. The Bill hed them all worn -out.” - -“I remember! I had forgotten The Bill!” - -“Whativer hes tha been thinking of to forget that?” - -“Where then are you going to-day, father?” - -“I doan’t just know yet, Dick, but----” - -“Well, I know where I am going,” said Mistress Annis. “I have an -engagement with Jane and Katherine at eleven and I shall have to hurry -if I am to keep it.” - -“Somewhere to go, or something to do. Which is it, Annie?” - -“It is both, Antony. We are going to Exeter Hall, to a very aristocratic -meeting, to make plans for the uplifting of the working man. Lord -Brougham is to be chairman. He says very few can read and hardly any -write their names. Shocking! Lord Brougham says we ought to be ashamed -of such a condition and do something immediately to alter it.” - -“Brougham does not know what he is talking about. He thinks a man’s -salvation is in a spelling book and an inkhorn. There is going to be a -deal of trouble made by fools, who want to uplift the world, before the -world is ready to be uplifted. They can’t uplift starving men. It is -bread, not books, they want; and I hev allays seen that when a man gets -bare enough bread to keep body and soul together, the soul, or the mind, -gets the worst of it.” - -“I cannot help that,” said Mistress Annis. “Lord Brougham will prove -to us, that body and mind must be equally cared for or the man is not -developed.” - -“Well, then, run away to thy developing work. It is a new kind of job -for thee; and I doan’t think it will suit thee--not a bit of it. I would -go with thee but developing working men is a step or two out of my way. -And I’ll tell thee something, the working men--and women, too--will -develop theirsens if we only give them the time and the means, and -the brass to do it. But go thy ways and if thou art any wiser after -Brougham’s talk I’ll be glad to know what he said.” - -“I shall stay and dine with Jane and thou hed better join us. We may go -to the opera afterwards.” - -“Nay, then, I’ll not join thee. I wouldn’t go to another opera for -anything--not even for the great pleasure of thy company. If I hev to -listen to folk singing, I want them to sing in the English language. It -is good enough, and far too good, for any of the rubbishy words I iver -heard in any opera. What time shall I come to Jane’s for thee?” - -“About eleven o’clock, or soon after.” - -“That’s a nice time for a respectable squire’s wife to be driving about -London streets. I wish I hed thee safe at Annis Hall.” - -With a laugh Annie closed the door and hurried away and Dick turned to -his father. - -“I want to talk with you, sir,” he said, “on a subject which I want your -help and sympathy in, before I name it to anyone else. Suppose we sit -still here. The room is quiet and comfortable and we are not likely to -be disturbed.” - -“Why then, Dick! Hes tha got a new sweetheart?” - -“Yes, sir, and she is the dearest and loneliest woman that ever lived. I -want you to stand by me in any opposition likely to rise.” - -“What is her name? Who is she?” asked the squire not very cordially. - -“Her name is Faith Foster. You know her, father?” - -“Yes, I know her. She is a good beautiful girl.” - -“I felt sure you would say that, sir. You make me very happy.” - -“A man cannot lie about any woman. Faith Foster is good and beautiful.” - -“And she has promised to be my wife. Father, I am so happy! So happy! -And your satisfaction with Faith doubles my pleasure. I have been in -love with her for nearly a year but I was afraid to lose all by asking -all; and I never found courage or opportunity to speak before this to -her.” - -“That is all buff and bounce. Thou can drop the word ‘courage,’ and -opportunity will do for a reason. I niver knew Dick Annis to be afraid -of a girl but if thou art really afraid of this girl--let her go. It is -the life of a dog to live with a woman that you fear.” - -“Father, you have seen Faith often. Do you fear her in the way your -words seem to imply?” - -“Me! Does tha think I fear any woman? What’s up with thee to ask such a -question as that?” - -“I thought from your kind manner with Faith and your admiring words both -to her and about her that you would have congratulated me on my success -in winning her love.” - -“I doan’t know as thou deserves much congratulation on that score. -I think it is mebbe, to me mysen, and to thy mother thou art mainly -indebted for what success there is in winning Miss Foster’s favor. We -gave thee thy handsome face and fine form, thy bright smile and that -coaxing way thou hes--a way that would win any lass thou choose to -favor--it is just the awful way young men hev, of choosing the wrong -time to marry even if they happen to choose the right woman.” - -“Was that your way, father?” - -“Ay, was it! I chose the right time, but the girl was wrong enough in -some ways.” - -“My mother wrong! Oh, no, father!” - -“My father thought she was not rich enough for me. He was a good bit -disappointed by my choice but I knew what I was doing.” - -“Father, I also know what I am doing. I suppose you object to Faith’s -want of fortune.” - -“Mebbe I do, and I wouldn’t be to blame if I did, but as it happens -I think a man is better without his wife’s money. A wife’s money is a -quarrelsome bit of either land or gold.” - -“I consider Faith’s goodness a fortune far beyond any amount of either -gold or land.” - -“Doan’t thee say anything against either land or gold. When thou hes -lived as long as I hev thou wilt know better than do that.” - -“Wisdom is better than riches. I have heard you say that often.” - -“It was in Solomon’s time. I doan’t know that it is in Victoria’s. The -wise men of this day would be a deal wiser if they hed a bit of gold to -carry out all the machines and railroads and canals they are planning; -and what would the final outcome be, if they hed it? Money, money, and -still more money. This last year, Dick, I hev got some new light both on -poverty and riches and I have seen one thing plainly, it is that money -is a varry good, respectable thing, and a thing that goes well with -lovemaking; but poverty is the least romantic of all misfortunes. A man -may hide, or cure, or forget any other kind of trouble, but, my lad, -there is no Sanctuary for Poverty.” - -“All you say is right, father, but if Faith’s want of fortune is no -great objection, is there any other reason why I should not marry her? -We might as well speak plainly now, as afterwards.” - -“That is my way. I hate any backstair work, especially about marrying. -Well, then, one thing is that Faith’s people are all Chapel folk. The -Squire of Annis is a landed gentleman of England, and the men who own -England’s land hev an obligation to worship in England’s Church.” - -“You know, father, that wives have a duty laid on them to make their -husbands’ church their church. Faith will worship where I worship and -that is in Annis Parish Church.” - -“What does tha know of Faith’s father and mother?” - -“Her grandfather was a joiner and carpenter and a first class workman. -He died of a fever just before the birth of Faith’s mother. Her -grandmother was a fine lace maker, and supported herself and her child -by making lace for eight years. Then she died and the girl, having no -kindred and no friends willing to care for her, was taken to the Poor -House.” - -“Oh, Dick! Dick! that is bad--very bad indeed!” - -“Listen, father. At the Poor House Sunday school she learned to read, -and later was taught how to spin, and weave, and to sew and knit. She -was a silent child, but had fine health and a wonderfully ambitious -nature. At eleven years of age she took her living into her own hands. -She went into a woolen mill and made enough to pay her way in the family -of Samuel Broadbent, whose sons now own the great Broadbent mill with -its six hundred power-looms. When she was fifteen she could manage two -looms, and was earning more than a pound a week. Every shilling nearly -of this money went for books. She bought, she borrowed, she read every -volume she could reach; and in the meantime attended the Bradford Night -School of the Methodist Church. At seventeen years of age she was a very -good scholar and had such a remarkable knowledge of current literature -and authors that she was made the second clerk in the Public Library. -Soon after, she joined the Methodist Church, and her abilities were -quickly recognized by the Preacher, and she finally went to live with -his family, teaching his boys and girls, and being taught and protected -by their mother. One day Mr. Foster came as the second preacher in that -circuit and he fell in love with her and they married. Faith is their -child, and she has inherited not only her mother’s beauty and intellect, -but her father’s fervent piety and humanity. Since her mother’s death -she has been her father’s companion and helped in all his good works, as -you know.” - -“Yes, I know--hes her mother been long dead? - -“About six years. She left to the young girls who have to work for -their living several valuable text-books to assist them in educating -themselves, a very highly prized volume of religious experiences and a -still more popular book of exquisite poems. Is there anything in this -record to be called objectionable or not honorable?” - -“_Ask thy mother_ that question, Dick.” - -“Nay, father, I want your help and sympathy. I expect nothing favorable -from mother. You must stand by me in this strait. If you accept Faith -my mother will accept her. Show her the way. Do, father! Always you -have been right-hearted with me. You have been through this hard trial -yourself, father. You know what it is.” - -“To be sure I do; and I managed it in a way that thou must not think of, -or I will niver forgive thee. I knew my father and mother would neither -be to coax nor to reason with, and just got quietly wedded and went off -to France with my bride. I didn’t want any browbeating from my father -and I niver could hev borne my mother’s scorn and silence, so I thought -it best to come to some sort of terms with a few hundred miles between -us--but mind what I say, Dick! I was niver again happy with them. They -felt that I hed not trusted their love and they niver more trusted my -love. There was a gulf between us that no love could bridge. Father died -with a hurt feeling in his heart. Mother left my house and went back -to her awn home as soon as he was buried. All that thy mother could do -niver won her more than mere tolerance. Now, Dick, my dear lad, I -hev raked up this old grief of mine for thy sake. If tha can win thy -mother’s promise to accept Faith as a daughter, and the future mistress -of Annis Hall, I’ll put no stone in thy way. Hes tha said anything on -this subject to Mr. Foster? If so, what answer did he give thee?” - -“He said the marriage would be a great pleasure to him if you and mother -were equally pleased; but not otherwise.” - -“That was right, it was just what I expected from him.” - -“But, father, until our engagement was fully recognized by you and -mother, he forbid us to meet, or even to write to each other. I can’t -bear that. I really can not.” - -“Well, I doan’t believe Faith will help thee to break such a command. -Not her! She will keep ivery letter of it.” - -“Then I shall die. I could not endure such cruelty! I will--I will----” - -“Whativer thou shall, could, or will, do try and not make a fool -of thysen. _Drat it, man!_ Let me see thee in this thy first trial -_right-side-out_. Furthermore, I’ll not hev thee going about Annis -village with that look on thy face as if ivery thing was on the perish. -There isn’t a man there, who wouldn’t know the meaning of it and -they would wink at one another and say ‘poor beggar! it’s the Methody -preacher’s little lass!’ There it is! and thou knows it, as well as I -do.” - -“Let them mock if they want to. I’ll thrash every man that names her.” - -“Be quiet! I’ll hev none of thy tempers, so just bid thy Yorkshire devil -to get behind thee. I hev made thee a promise and I’ll keep it, if tha -does thy part fairly.” - -“What is my part?” - -“It is to win over thy mother.” - -“You, sir, have far more influence over mother than I have. If I cannot -win mother, will you try, sir?” - -“No, I will not. Now, Dick, doan’t let me see thee wilt in thy first -fight. Pluck up courage and win or fail with a high heart. And if tha -should fail, just take the knockdown with a smile, and say, - - “If she is not fair for me, - - What care I how fair she be! - -That was the young men’s song in my youth. Now we will drop the subject -and what dost tha say to a ride in the Park?” - -“All right, sir.” - -The ride was not much to speak of. One man was too happy, and the other -was too unhappy and eventually the squire put a stop to it. “Dick,” he -said, “tha hed better go to thy room at The Yorkshire Club and sleep -thysen into a more respectable temper.” And Dick answered, “Thank you, -sir. I will take your advice”--and so raising his hand to his hat he -rapidly disappeared. - -“Poor lad!” muttered his father; “he hes some hard days before him but -it would niver do to give him what he wants and there is no ither way -to put things right”--and with this reflection the squire’s good spirits -fell even below his son’s melancholy. Then he resolved to go back to -the Clarendon. “Annie may come back there to dress before her dinner -and opera,” he reflected--“but if she does I’ll not tell her a word -of Dick’s trouble. No, indeed! Dick must carry his awn bad news. I hev -often told her unpleasant things and usually I got the brunt o’ them -mysen. So if Annie comes home to dress--and she does do so varry often -lately--I’ll not mention Dick’s affair to her. I hev noticed that she -dresses hersen varry smart now and, by George, it suits her well! In her -way she looks as handsome as either of her daughters. I did not quite -refuse to dine at Jane’s, I think she will come to the Clarendon to -dress and to beg me to go with her and I might as well go--here she -comes! I know her step, bless her!” - -When Dick left his father he went to his sister’s residence. He knew -that Jane and his mother were at the lecture but he did not think that -Katherine would be with them and he felt sure of Katherine’s sympathy. -He was told that she had just gone to Madam Temple’s and he at once -followed her there and found her writing a letter and quite alone. - -“Kitty! Kitty!” he cried in a lachrymose tone. “I am in great trouble.” - -“Whatever is wrong, Dick? Are you wanting money?” - -“I am not thinking or caring anything about money. I want Faith and her -father will not let me see her or write to her unless father and mother -are ready to welcome her as a daughter. They ought to do so and father -is not very unwilling; but I know mother will make a stir about it and -father will not move in the matter for me.” - -“Move?” - -“Yes, I want him to go to mother and make her do the kind and the right -thing and he will not do it for me, though he knows that mother always -gives in to what he thinks best.” - -“She keeps her own side, Dick, and goes as far as she can, but it is -seldom she gets far enough without father’s consent. Father always keeps -the decisive word for himself.” - -“That is what I say. Then father could--if he would--say the decisive -word and so make mother agree to my marriage with Faith.” - -“Well you see, Dick, mother is father’s love affair and why should -he have a dispute with his wife to make you and your intended wife -comfortable and happy? Mother has always been in favor of Harry Bradley -and she does not prevent us seeing or writing each other, when it is -possible, but she will not hear of our engagement being made public, -because it would hurt father’s feelings and she is half-right anyway. A -wife ought to regard her husband’s feelings. You would expect that, if -you were married.” - -“Oh, Kitty, I am so miserable. Will you sound mother’s feelings about -Faith for me? Then I would have a better idea how to approach her on the -subject.” - -“Certainly, I will.” - -“How soon?” - -“To-morrow, if possible.” - -“Thank you, dearie! I love Faith so truly that I have forgotten all -the other women I ever knew. Their very names tire me now. I wonder at -myself for ever thinking them at all pretty. I could hardly be civil to -any of them if we met. I shall never care for any woman again, if I miss -Faith.” - -“You know, Dick, that you must marry someone. The family must be kept -up. Is the trouble Faith’s lack of money?” - -“No. It is her father and mother.” - -“Her father is a scholar and fine preacher.” - -“Yes, but her mother was a working girl, really a mill hand,” and then -Dick told the story of Faith’s mother with enthusiasm. Kitty listened -with interest, but answered, “I do not see what you are going to do, -Dick. Not only mother, but Jane will storm at the degradation you intend -to inflict upon the house of Annis.” - -“There are two things I can do. I will marry Faith, and be happier than -words can tell; or I will leave England forever.” - -“Dick, you never can do that. Everything good forbids it--and there. -Jane’s carriage is coming.” - -“Then good-by. When can I see you tomorrow?” - -“In the afternoon, perhaps. I may speak to mother before three o’clock.” - -Then Dick went away and a servant entered with a letter. It was from -Lady Jane, bidding Katherine return home immediately or she would not -be dressed in time for dinner. On her way home she passed Dick walking -slowly with his head cast down and carrying himself in a very dejected -manner. Katherine stopped the carriage and offered to give him a lift as -far as his club. - -“No, thank you, Kitty,” he answered. “You may interview mother for me if -you like. I was coming to a resolution to take the bull by the horns, -or at least in some manner find a way that is satisfactory in the -meantime.” - -“That is right. There is nothing like patient watching and waiting. -Every ball finally comes to the hand held out for it.” - -Then with a nod and a half-smile, Dick lifted his hat and went forward. -While he was in the act of speaking to Katherine an illuminating thought -had flashed through his consciousness and he walked with a purposeful -stride towards his club. Immediately he sat down and began to write a -letter, and the rapid scratching of the goose quill on the fine glazed -paper indicated there was no lack of feeling in what he was writing. -The firm, strong, small letters, the wide open long letters, the rapid -fluency and haste of the tell-tale quill, all indicated great emotion, -and it was without hesitation or consideration he boldly signed his name -to the following letter:-- - -To the Rev. John Foster. - -Dear Sir: - -You have made me the most wretched of men. You have made Faith the -most unhappy of women. Faith never wronged you in all her life. Do you -imagine she would do for me what she has never before done? I never -wronged you by one thought. Can you not trust my word and my honor? I -throw myself and Faith on your mercy. You are punishing us before we -have done anything worthy of punishment. Is that procedure just and -right? If so, it is very unlike you. Let me write to Faith once every -week and permit her to answer my letter. I have given you my word; my -word is my honor. I cannot break it without your permission, and until -you grant my prayer, I am bound by a cruel obligation to lead a life, -that being beyond Love and Hope, is a living death. And the terrible -aching torture of this ordeal is that Faith must suffer it with me. Sir, -I pray your mercy for both of us. - -Your sincere suppliant, - -Richard Haveling Annis. - -Dick posted this letter as soon as it was written and the following day -it was in the hands of the preacher. He received it as he was going -home to his tea, about half past five, and he read it, and then turned -towards the open country, and read it again and again. He had been in -the house of mourning all day. His heart was tender, his thoughts sadly -tuned to the sorrows and broken affections of life, and at the top of -the Brow he sat down on a large granite boulder and let his heart lead -him. - -“Richard Annis is right,” he said. “I have acted as if I could not -trust. Oh, how could I so wrong my good, sweet daughter I I have almost -insulted her, to her lover. Why did I do this evil thing? Self! Self! -Only for Self! I was determined to serve myself first. I did not -consider others as I ought to have done--and Pride! Yes, Pride! John -Foster! You have been far out of the way of the Master whom you serve. -Go quickly, and put the wrong right.” And he rose at the spiritual order -and walked quickly home. As he passed through the Green he saw Faith -come to the door and look up and down the street. “She is uneasy about -my delay,” he thought, “how careful and loving she is about me! How -anxious, if I am a little late! The dear one! How I wronged her!” - -“I have been detained, Faith,” he said, as she met him at the door. -“There are four deaths from cholera this afternoon, and they talk of -forbidding me to visit the sick, till this strange sickness disappears.” - During the meal, Foster said nothing of the letter he had received, but -as Faith rose, he also rose, and laying his hand upon her shoulder said: -“Faith, here is a letter that I received this afternoon from Richard -Annis.” - -“Oh, father, I am so sorry! I thought Richard would keep his word. He -promised me--” and her voice sunk almost to a whisper. - -“Richard has not broken a letter of his promise. The letter was sent to -me. It is my letter. I want you to read it, and to answer it for me, -and you might write to him once a week, without infringing on the time -necessary for your duties here. I wish to tell you also, that I think -Annis is right. I have put both of you under restraints not needful, -not supposable, even from my knowledge of both of you. Answer the letter -according to your loyal, loving heart. Annis will understand by my -utterly revoking the charge I gave you both, that I see my fault, and am -sorry for it.” - -Then Faith’s head was on her father’s shoulder, and she was clasped to -his heart, and he kissed the silent happy tears from off her cheeks and -went to the chapel with a heart at peace. - -Two days afterward the squire went to call upon his son and he found him -in his usual buoyant temper. “Mother was anxious about thee, Dick. She -says she has not seen thee for four or five days.” - -“I have been under the weather for a week, but I am all right now. Tell -her I will come and dine with her to-night. What are you going to do -with yourself to-day?” - -“Well, I’ll tell thee--Russell and Grey hev asked me to go to Hyde Park -Gate and talk to the people, and keep them quiet, till parliament can -fashion to get back to its place.” - -“Are not the Easter holidays over yet?” - -“The taking of holidays at this time was both a sin and a shame. The -streets are full of men who are only wanting a leader and they would -give king and lords and commons a long, long holiday. Earl Russell -says I am the best man to manage them, and he hes asked by proclamation -Yorkshire and Lancashire men to meet me, and talk over our program with -me.” - -“Can I go with you?” - -“If tha wants to.” - -“There may be quarreling and danger. I will not let you go alone. I must -be at your side.” - -“Nay, then, there is no ‘must be.’ I can manage Yorkshire lads without -anybody’s help.” - -“What time do you speak?” - -“About seven o’clock.” - -“All right. Tell mother I’ll have my dinner with her and you at the -Clarendon, and then we will go to interview the mob afterward.” - -“They are not a mob. Doan’t thee call them names. They are ivery one -Englishmen, holding themsens with sinews of steel, from becoming mobs; -but if they should, by any evil chance, become a mob, then, bless thee, -lad, it would be well for thee and me to keep out of their way!” - -“The trouble lies here,” the squire continued,--“these gatherings of men -waiting to see The Bill passed that shall give them their rights, have -been well taught by Earl Grey, Lord Russell, and Lord Brougham, but -only fitfully, at times and seasons; but by day and night ivery day and -Sunday, there hev been and there are chartists and socialist lecturers -among them, putting bitter thoughts against their awn country into their -hearts. And they’re a soft lot. They believe all they are told, if t’ -speaker but claim to be educated. Such precious nonsense!” - -“Well, then, father, a good many really educated people go to lectures -about what they call science and they, too, believe all that they are -told.” - -“I’ll warrant them, Dick. Yet our Rector, when he paid us a visit last -summer, told me emphatically, that science was a new kind of sin--a new -kind of sin, that, and nothing more, or better! And I’ll be bound thy -mother will varry soon find it out and I’m glad she hed the sense to -keep Kitty away from such teachers. Just look at Brougham. He is making -a perfect fool of himsen about tunneling under the Thames River and -lighting cities with the gas we see sputtering out of our coal fires -and carrying men in comfortable coaches thirty, ay, even forty, miles an -hour by steam. Why Bingley told me, that he heard Brougham say he hoped -to live to see men heving their homes in Norfolk or Suffolk villages, -running up or down to London ivery day to do their business. Did tha -iver hear such nonsense, Dick? And when men who publish books and sit on -the government benches talk it, what can you expect from men who don’t -know their alphabet?” - -“You have an easier fight than I have, sir. Love and one woman, can be -harder to win, than a thousand men for freedom.” - -“Tha knows nothing about it, if that is thy opinion,” and the squire -straightened himself, and stood up, and with a great deal of passion -recited three fine lines from Byron, the favorite men’s poet of that -day:-- - - “For Freedom’s battle once begun, - - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, - - Though baffled oft, is always won!” - -“Those lines sound grandly in your mouth, dad,” said Dick, as he looked -with admiring love into his father’s face. - -“Ay, I think they do. I hev been reciting them a good deal lately. They -allays bring what t’ Methodists call ‘the Amen’ from the audience. I -don’t care whether it is made up of rich men, or poor men, they fetch a -ringing Amen from every heart.” - -“I should think that climax would carry any meeting. - -“No, it won’t. The men I am going to address to-night doan’t read; but -they do think, and when a man hes drawn his conclusions from what he hes -seen, and what he hes felt or experienced, they hev a bulldog grip on -him. I will tell thee now, and keep mind of what I say--when tha hes -to talk to fools, tha needs ivery bit of all the senses tha happens to -hev.” - -“Well, father, can I be of any use to you to-night?” - -“Tha can not. Not a bit, not a word. Dick, thou belongs to the coming -generation and they would see it and make thee feel it. Thy up-to-date -dress would offend them. I shall go to t’ meeting in my leather -breeches, and laced-up Blucher shoes, my hunting coat and waistcoat with -dog head buttons, and my Madras red neckerchief. They will understand -that dress. It will explain my connection with the land that we all of -us belong to. Now be off with thee and I am glad to see thou hes got -over thy last sweet-hearting so soon, and so easy. I thought thou wert -surely in for a head-over-ears attack.” - -“Good-by, dad I and do not forget the three lines of poetry.” - -“I’m not likely to forget them. No one loves a bit of poetry better than -a Yorkshire weaver. Tha sees they were mostly brought up on Wesley’s -Hymn Book,” and he was just going to recite the three lines again, but -he saw Dick had turned towards the door and he let him go. “Ah, well!” - he muttered, “it is easy to make Youth see, but you can’t make it -believe.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX--LOVERS QUARREL AND THE SQUIRE MAKES A SPEECH - - - “There are no little events with the Heart.” - - “The more we judge, the less we Love.” - - “Kindred is kindred, and Love is Love.” - - “The look that leaves no doubt, that the last - - Glimmer of the light of Love has gone out.” - - - WHEN Dick left his father he hardly knew what to do with himself. -He was not prepared to speak to his mother, nor did he think it quite -honorable to do so, until he had informed his father of Mr. Foster’s -change of heart, with regard to Faith and himself. His father had been -his first confidant, and in this first confidence, there had been an -implied promise, that his engagement to Faith was not yet to be made -public. - -“Dick!” the squire had said: “Thou must for a little while do as most -men hev to do; that is, keep thy happiness to thysen till there comes -a wiser hour to talk about it. People scarcely sleep, or eat, the whole -country is full of trouble and fearfulness; and mother and Jane are -worried about Katherine and her sweethearts. She hes a new one, a varry -likely man, indeed, the nephew of an earl and a member of a very rich -banking firm. And Kitty is awkward and disobedient, and won’t notice -him.” - -“I think Kitty ought to have her own way, father. She has set her heart -on Harry Bradley and no one can say a word against Harry.” - -“Perhaps not, from thy point of view. Dick, it is a bit hard on a father -and mother, when their children, tenderly loved and cared for, turn -their backs on such love and go and choose love for themsens, even out -of the house of their father’s enemies. I feel it badly, Dick. I do -that!” And the squire looked so hopeless and sorrowful, Dick could not -bear it. He threw his arm across his father’s shoulder, and their hands -met, and a few words were softly said, that brought back the ever ready -smile to the squire’s face. - -“It is only thy mother,” continued the squire, “that I am anxious about. -Kitty and Harry are in the same box as thysen; they will mebbe help thee -to talk thy love hunger away. But I wouldn’t say a word to thy aunt. -However she takes it she will be apt to overdo hersen. It is only -waiting till the Bill is passed and that will soon happen. Then we shall -go home, and mother will be too busy getting her home in order, to make -as big a worry of Faith, as she would do here, where Jane and thy aunt -would do all they could to make the trouble bigger.” - -Then Dick went to look for Harry. He could not find him. A clerk at the -Club told him he “believed Mr. Bradley had gone to Downham Market in -Norfolk,” and Dick fretfully wondered what had taken Harry to Norfolk? -And to Downham Market, of all the dull, little towns in that country. -Finally, he concluded to go and see Kitty. “She is a wise little soul,” - he thought, “and she may have added up mother by this time.” So he went -to Lady Leyland’s house and found Kitty and Harry Bradley taking lunch -together. - -“Mother and Jane are out with Aunt Josepha,” she said, “and Harry has -just got back from Norfolk. I was sitting down to my lonely lunch when -he came in, so he joined me. It is not much of a lunch. Jane asked me -if a mutton patty-pie, and some sweet stuff would do, and I told her she -could leave out the mutton pie, if she liked, but she said, ‘Nonsense! -someone might come in, who could not live on love and sugar.’ So the -pies luckily came up, piping hot, for Harry. Some good little household -angel always arranges things, if we trust to them.” - -“What took you to Norfolk, Harry? Bird game on the Fens, I suppose?” - -“Business, only, took me there. We heard of a man who had some Jacquard -looms to sell. I went to see them.” - -“I missed you very much. I am in a lot of trouble. Faith and I are -engaged, you know.” - -“No! I did not know that things had got that far.” - -“Yes, they have, and Mr. Foster behaved to us very unkindly at first, -but he has seen his fault, and repented. And father was more set and -obdurate than I thought he could be, under any circumstances; and I -wanted your advice, Harry, and could not find you anywhere.” - -“Was it about Faith you wanted me?” - -“Of course, I wanted to know what you would do if in my circumstances.” - -“Why, Dick, Kitty and I are in a similar case and we have done nothing -at all. We are just waiting, until Destiny does for us what we should -only do badly, if we tried to move in the matter before the proper time. -I should personally think this particular time would not be a fortunate -hour for seeking recognition for a marriage regarded as undesirable on -either, or both sides. I am sorry you troubled your father just at this -time, for I fear he has already a great trouble to face.” - -“My father a great trouble to face! What do you mean, Harry? Have you -heard anything? Is mother all right? Kitty, what is it?” - -“I had heard of nothing wrong when mother and Jane went out to-day. -Harry is not ten minutes in the house. We had hardly finished saying -good afternoon to each other.” - -“I did not intend to say anything to Kitty, as I judged it to be a -trouble the squire must bear alone.” - -“Oh, no! The squire’s wife and children will bear it with him. Speak -out, Harry. Whatever the trouble is, it cannot be beyond our bearing and -curing.” - -“Well, you see, Dick, the new scheme of boroughs decided on by the -Reform Bill will deprive the squire of his seat in Parliament, as -Annis borough has been united with Bradley borough, which also takes -in Thaxton village. Now if the Bill passes, there will be a general -election, and there is a decided move, in that case, to elect my father -as representative for the united seats.” - -“That is nothing to worry about,” answered Dick with a nonchalant tone -and manner. “My dad has represented them for thirty years. I believe -grandfather sat for them, even longer. I dare be bound dad will be glad -to give his seat to anybody that hes the time to bother with it; it is -nothing but trouble and expense.” - -“Is that so? I thought it represented both honor and profit,” said -Harry. - -“Oh, it may do! I do not think father cares a button about what honor -and profit it possesses. However, I am going to look after father now, -and, Kitty, if the circumstances should in the least be a trouble to -father, I shall expect you to stand loyally by your father and the -family.” With these words he went away, without further courtesies, -unless a proud upward toss of his handsome head could be construed into -a parting salute. - -A few moments of intense silence followed. Katherine’s cheeks were -flushed and her eyes cast down. Harry looked anxiously at her. He -expected some word, either of self-dependence, or of loyalty to -her pledge of a supreme love for himself; but she made neither, and -was--Harry considered--altogether unsatisfactory. At this moment he -expected words of loving constancy, or at least some assurance of the -stability of her affection. On the contrary, her silence and her cold -manner, gave him a heart shock. “Kitty! My darling Kitty! did you hear, -did you understand, what Dick said, what he meant?” - -“Yes, I both heard and understood.” - -“Well then, what was it?” - -“He meant, that if my father was hurt, or offended by his removal from -his seat in The House, he would make father’s quarrel his own and expect -me to do the same.” - -“But you would not do such a thing as that?” - -“I do not see how I could help it. I love my father. It is beyond words -to say how dear he is to me. It would be an impossibility for me to -avoid sympathizing with him. Mother and Dick would do the same. Aunt -Josepha and even Jane and Ley-land, would make father’s wrong their -own; and you must know how Yorkshire families stand together even if the -member of it in trouble is unworthy of the least consideration. Remember -the Traffords! They were all made poor by Jack, and Jack’s wife, but -they would not listen to a word against them. That is _our_ way, you -know it. To every Yorkshire man and woman Kindred is Kin, and Love is -Love.” - -“But they put love before kindred.” - -“Perhaps they do, and perhaps they do not. I have never seen anyone put -strangers before kindred. I would despise anyone who did such a thing. -Yes, indeed, I would!” - -“Your father knows how devotedly we love each other, even from our -childhood.” - -“Well, then, he has always treated our love as a very childish affair. -He looks upon me yet, as far too young to even think of marrying. He has -been expecting me during this season in London, to meet someone or -other by whom I could judge whether my love for you was not a childish -imagination. You have known this, Harry, all the time we have been -sweethearts. When I was nine, and you were twelve, both father and -mother used to laugh at our childish love-making.” - -“I wonder if I understand you, Kitty! Are you beginning to break your -promise to me?” - -“If I wished to break my promise to you, I should not do so in any -underhand kind of way. Half-a-dozen clear, strong words would do. I -should not understand any other way.” - -“I am very miserable. Your look and your attitude frighten me.” - -“Harry, I never before saw you act so imprudently and unkindly. No one -likes the bringer of ill news. I was expecting a happy hour with you and -Dick; and you scarcely allowed Dick to bid me a good afternoon, until -you out with your bad news--and there was a real tone of triumph in your -voice. I’m sure I don’t wonder that Dick felt angry and astonished.” - -“Really, Kitty, I thought it the best opportunity possible to tell you -about the proposed new borough. I felt sure, both you and Dick would -remember my uncertain, and uncomfortable position, and give me your -assurance of my claim. It is a very hard position for me to be in, and I -am in no way responsible for it.” - -“I do not think your position is any harder than mine and I am as -innocent--perhaps a great deal more innocent--of aiding on the situation -as you can be.” - -“Do you intend to give me up if your father and Dick tell you to do so?” - -“That is not the question. I say distinctly, that I consider your hurry -to tells the news of your father’s possible substitution in the squire’s -parliamentary seat, was impolite and unnecessary just yet, and that your -voice and manner were in some unhappy way offensive. I felt them to be -so, and I do not take offense without reason.” - -“Let me explain.” - -“No. I do not wish to hear any more on the subject at present. And -I will remind you that the supplanting of Squire Annis is as yet -problematic. Was there any necessity for you to rush news which -is dependent on the passing of a Bill, that has been loitering in -parliament for forty years, and before a general election was certain? -It was this hurry and your uncontrollable air of satisfaction, which -angered Dick--and myself:”--and with these words, said with a great deal -of quiet dignity, she bid Harry “good afternoon” and left the room. - -And Harry was dumb with sorrow and amazement. He made no effort to -detain her, and when she reached the next floor, she heard the clash -of the main door follow his hurrying footsteps. “It is all over! All -over!!” she said and then tried to comfort herself, with a hearty fit of -crying. - -Harry went to his club and thought the circumstance over, but he hastily -followed a suggestion, which was actually the most foolish move he -could have made--he resolved to go and tell Madam Temple the whole -circumstance. He believed that she had a real liking for him and would -be glad to put his side of the trouble in its proper light. She had -always sympathized with his love for Katherine and he believed that she -would see nothing wrong in his gossip about the squire’s position. So he -went to Madam at once and found her in her office with her confidential -lawyer. - -“Well, then?” she asked, in her most authoritative manner, “what brings -thee here, in the middle of the day’s business? Hes thou no business in -hand? No sweetheart to see? No book or paper to read?” - -“I came to you, Madam, for advice; but I see that you are too busy to -care for my perplexities.” - -“Go into the small parlor and I will come to thee in ten minutes.” - -Her voice and manner admitted of no dispute, and Harry--inwardly chafing -at his own obedience--went to the small parlor and waited. As yet he -could not see any reason for Dick’s and Katherine’s unkind treatment of -him. He felt sure Madam Temple would espouse his side of the question, -and also persuade Katherine that Dick had been unjustly offended. But -his spirits fell the moment she entered the room. The atmosphere -of money and the market-place was still around her and she asked -sharply--“Whativer is the matter with thee, Harry Bradley? Tell me -quickly. I am more than busy to-day, and I hev no time for nonsense.” - -“It is more than nonsense, Madam, or I would not trouble you. I only -want a little of your good sense to help me out of a mess I have got -into with----” - -“With Katherine, I suppose?” - -“With Dick also.” - -“To be sure. If you offended one, you would naturally offend the other. -Make as few words as thou can of the affair.” This order dashed Harry at -the beginning of the interview, and Madam’s impassive and finally -angry face gave him no help in detailing his grievance. Throughout his -complaint she made no remark, no excuse, neither did she offer a word -of sympathy. Finally he could no longer continue his tale of wrong, its -monotony grew intolerable, even to himself, and he said passionately-- - -“I see that you have neither sympathy nor counsel to give me, Madam. I -am sorry I troubled you.” - -“Ay, thou ought to be ashamed as well as sorry. Thou that reckons to -know so much and yet cannot see that tha hes been guilty of an almost -unpardonable family crime. Thou hed no right to say a word that would -offend anyone in the Annis family. The report might be right, or it -might be wrong, I know not which; but it was all wrong for thee to clap -thy tongue on it. The squire has said nothing to me about thy father -taking his place in the House of Commons, and I wouldn’t listen to -anyone else, not even thysen. I think the young squire and Katherine -treated thee a deal better than thou deserved. After a bit of behavior -like thine, it wasn’t likely they would eat another mouthful with thee.” - -“The truth, Madam, is----” - -“Even if it hed been ten times the truth, it should hev been a lie to -thee. Thou ought to hev felled it, even on the lips speaking it. I think -nothing of love and friendship that won’t threep for a friend, right or -wrong, for or against, true or untrue. I am varry much disappointed in -thee, Mr. Harry Bradley, and the sooner thou leaves me, the better I’ll -be pleased.” - -“Oh, Madam, you utterly confound me.” - -“Thou ought to be confounded and I would be a deal harder on thee if I -did not remember that thou hes no family behind thee whose honor----” - -“Madam, I have my father behind me, and a nobler man does not exist. He -is any man’s peer. I know no other man fit to liken him to.” - -“That’s right. Stand by thy father. And remember that the Annis family -hes to stand up for a few centuries of Annis fathers. Go to thy father -and bide with him. His advice will suit thee better than mine.” - -“I think Dick might have understood me.” - -“Dick understood thee well enough. Dick was heart hurt by thy evident -pleasure with the news that was like a hot coal in thy mouth. It pleased -thee so well thou couldn’t keep it for a fitting hour. Not thou! Thy -vanity will make a heart ache for my niece, no doubt she will be worried -beyond all by thy behavior, but I’ll warrant she will not go outside her -own kith and kin for advice or comfort.” - -“Madam, forgive my ignorance. I ask you that much.” - -“Well, that is a different thing. I can forgive thee, where I couldn’t -help thee--not for my life. But thou ought to suffer for such a bit of -falsity, and I hope thou wilt suffer. I do that! Now I can’t stay -with thee any longer, but I do wish thou hed proved thysen more -right-hearted, and less set up with a probability. In plain truth, -that is so. And I’ll tell the one sure thing--if thou hopes to live -in Yorkshire, stand by Yorkshire ways, and be leal and loyal to thy -friends, rich or poor.” - -“I hope, Madam, to be leal and loyal to all men.” - -“That is just a bit of general overdoing. It was a sharp wisdom in -Jesus Christ, when he told us not to love all humanity, but to love our -neighbor. He knew that was about all we could manage. It is above what I -can manage this afternoon, so I’ll take my leave of thee.” - -Harry left the house almost stupefied by the storm of anger his vanity -and his pride in his father’s probable honor, had caused him. But when -he reached his room in The Yorkshire Club and had closed the door on -all outside influences, a clear revelation came to him, and he audibly -expressed it as he walked angrily about the floor:-- - -“I hate that pompous old squire! He never really liked me--thought I was -not good enough for his daughter--and I’ll be glad if he hes to sit a -bit lower--and I’m right glad father is going a bit higher. Father is -full fit for it. So he is! but oh, Katherine! Oh, Kitty! Kitty! What -shall I do without you?” - -In the meantime, Dick had decided that he would say nothing about the -squire’s probable rival for the new borough, until the speech to be made -that evening had been delivered. It might cause him to say something -premature and unadvised. When he came to this conclusion he was suddenly -aware that he had left his lunch almost untouched on his sister’s table, -and that he was naturally hungry. - -“No wonder I feel out of sorts!” he thought. “I will go to The Yorkshire -and have a decent lunch. Kitty might have known better than offer me -anything out of a patty-pan. I’ll go and get some proper eating and then -I’ll maybe have some sensible thinking.” - -He put this purpose into action at once by going to The Yorkshire Club -and ordering a beefsteak with fresh shalots, a glass of port wine, and -bread and cheese, and having eaten a satisfying meal, he went to his -room and wrote a long letter to Faith, illustrating it with his own -suspicions and reflections. This letter he felt to be a very clever -move. He told himself that Faith would relate the story to her father -and that Mr. Foster would say and do the proper thing much more wisely -and effectively than anyone else could. - -He did not know the exact hour at which his father was to meet some of -the weavers and workers of Annis locality, but he thought if he reached -the rendezvous about nine o’clock he would be in time to hear any -discussion there might be, and walk to the Clarendon with his father -after it. This surmise proved correct, for as he reached the designated -place, he saw the crowd, and heard his father speaking to it. Another -voice appeared to be interrupting him. - -Dick listened a moment, and then ejaculated, “Yes! Yes! That is father -sure enough! He is bound to have a threep with somebody.” Then he walked -quicker, and soon came in sight of the crowd of men surrounding the -speaker, who stood well above them, on the highest step of a granite -stairway leading into a large building. - -Now Dick knew well that his father was a very handsome man, but he -thought he had never before noticed it so clearly, for at this hour -Antony Annis was something more than a handsome man--he was an inspired -orator. His large, beautiful countenance was beaming and glowing with -life and intellect; but it was also firm as steel, for he had a clear -purpose before him, and he looked like a drawn sword. The faces of -the crowd were lifted to him--roughly-sketched, powerful faces, with -well-lifted foreheads, and thick brown hair, crowned in nearly every -case with labor’s square, uncompromising, upright paper cap. - -The squire had turned a little to the right, and was addressing an Annis -weaver called Jonas Shuttleworth. “Jonas Shuttleworth!” he cried, “does -tha know what thou art saying? How dare tha talk in this nineteenth -century of Englishmen fighting Englishmen? They can only do that thing -at the instigation of the devil. _Why-a!_ thou might as well talk of -fighting thy father and mother! As for going back to old ways, and old -times, none of us can do it, and if we could do it, we should be far -from suited with the result. You hev all of you now seen the power loom -at work; would you really like the old cumbrous hand-loom in your homes -again? You know well you wouldn’t stand it. A time is close at hand when -we shall all of us hev to cut loose from our base. I know that. I shall -hev to do it. You will hev to do it. Ivery man that hes any _forthput_ -in him will hev to do it. Those who won’t do it must be left behind, -sticking in the mud made by the general stir up.” - -“That would be hard lines, squire.” - -“Not if you all take it like ‘Mr. Content’ at your new loom. For I -tell you the even down truth, when I say--You, and your ways, and your -likings, will all hev to be _born over again!_ Most of you here are -Methodists and you know what that means. The things you like best you’ll -hev to give them up and learn to be glad and to fashion yoursens to -ways and works, which just now you put under your feet and out of your -consideration.” - -“Your straight meaning, squire? We want to understand thee.” - -“Well and good! I mean this--You hev allays been ‘slow and sure’; in the -new times just here, you’ll hev to be ‘up and doing,’ for you will find -it a big hurry-push to keep step with your new work-fellows, steam and -machinery.” - -“That is more than a man can do, squire.” - -“No, it is not! A man can do anything he thinks it worth his while to -do.” - -“The _London Times_, sir, said yesterday that it would take all of -another generation.” - -“It will do nothing of the kind, Sam Yates. What-iver has thou to do -with the newspapers? Newspapers! Don’t thee mind them! Their advice is -meant to be read, not taken.” - -“Labor, squire, hes its rights----” - -“To be sure, labor also hes its duties. It isn’t much we hear about the -latter.” - -“Rights and duties, squire. The Reform Bill happens to be both. When is -The Bill to be settled?” - -“Nothing is settled, Sam, until it is settled right.” - -“Lord Brougham, in a speech at Manchester, told us he would see it -settled this session.” - -“Lord Brougham thinks in impossibilities. He would make a contract with -Parliament to govern England, or even Ireland. Let me tell thee all -government is a thing of necessity, not of choice. England will not for -any Bill dig under her foundations. Like Time, she destroys even great -wrongs slowly. Her improvements hev to grow and sometimes they take a -good while about it. You hev been crying for this Bill for forty -years, you were not ready for it then. Few of you at that time hed any -education. Now, many of your men can read and a lesser number write. -Such men as Grey, Russell, Brougham and others hev led and taught you, -and there’s no denying that you hev been varry apt scholars. Take your -improvements easily, Sam. You won’t make any real progress by going over -precipices.” - -“Well, sir, we at least hev truth on our side.” - -“Truth can only be on one side, Sam, I’m well pleased if you hev it.” - -“All right, squire, but I can tell you this--if Parliament doesn’t help -us varry soon now we will help oursens.” - -“That is what you ought to be doing right now. Get agate, men! Go to -your new loom, and make yersens masters of it. I will promise you in -that case, that your new life will be, on the whole, better than the old -one. As for going back to the old life, you can’t do it. Not for your -immortal souls! Time never runs back to fetch any age of gold; and as -for making a living in the old way and with the old hand loom, you may -as well sow corn in the sea, and hope to reap it.” - -“Squire, I want to get out of a country where its rulers can stop -minding its desperate poverty, and can forget that it is on the edge of -rebellion, and in the grip of some death they call cholera, and go home -for their Easter holiday, quite satisfied with themsens. We want another -Oliver Cromwell.” - -“No, we don’t either. The world won’t be ready for another Cromwell, not -for a thousand years maybe. Such men are only born at the rate of one in -a millennium.” - -“What’s a millennium, squire?” - -“A thousand years, lad.” - -“There wer’ men of the right kind in Cromwell’s day to stand by him.” - -“Our fathers were neither better nor worse than oursens, Sam, just about -thy measure, and my measure.” - -“I doan’t know, sir. They fought King and Parliament, and got all they -wanted. Then they went over seas and founded a big republic, and all hes -gone well with them--and we could do the same.” - -“Well, then, you hev been doing something like the same thing iver since -Cromwell lived. Your people are busy at the same trade now. The English -army is made up of working men. They are usually thrown in ivery part of -the world, taking a sea port, or a state, or a few fertile islands that -are lying loose and uncivilized in the southern seas. They do this for -the glory and profit of England and in such ways they hev made pagans -live like Christians, and taught people to obey the just laws of -England, that hed niver before obeyed a decent law of any kind.” - -“They don’t get for their work what Cromwell’s men got.” - -“They don’t deserve it. Your mark can’t touch Cromwell’s mark; it was -far above your reach. Your object is mainly a selfish one. You want -more money, more power, and you want to do less work than you iver -did. Cromwell’s men wanted one thing first and chiefly--the liberty to -worship God according to their conscience. They got what they wanted for -their day and generation, and before they settled in America, they made -a broad path ready for John Wesley. Yes, indeed, Oliver Cromwell made -John Wesley possible. Now, when you go to the wonderful new loom that -hes been invented for you, and work it cheerfully, you’ll get your Bill, -and all other things reasonable that you want.” - -“The Parliament men are so everlastingly slow, squire,” said an old man -sitting almost at the squire’s feet. - -“That is God’s truth, friend. They _are_ slow. It is the English way. -You are slow yoursens. So be patient and keep busy learning your -trade in a newer and cleverer way. I am going to bide in London till -Parliament says, _Yes or No_. Afterwards I’ll go back to Annis, and -learn a new life.” Then some man on the edge of the crowd put up his -hand, and the squire asked: - -“Whose cap is speaking now?” - -“Israel Kinsman’s, sir. Thou knaws me, squire.” - -“To be sure I do. What does tha want to say? And when did tha get home -from America?” - -“A matter of a year ago. I hev left the army and gone back to my loom. -Now I want to ask thee, if thou are against men when they are oppressed -fighting for their rights and their freedom?” - -“Not I! Men, even under divine guidance, hev taken that sharp road many -times. The God who made iron knew men would make swords of it--just as -He also knew they would make plowshares. Making war is sometimes the -only way to make peace. If the cause is a just one the Lord calls -himself the God of battles. He knows, and we know, that - - “Peace is no peace, if it lets the ill grow stronger, - - Only cheating destiny a very little longer; - - War with its agonies, its horrors, and its crimes, - - Is cheaper if discounted, and taken up betimes. - - Foolish, indeed, are many other teachers; - - Cannons are God’s preachers, when the time is ripe for - - war. - -“Now, men, there is no use in discussing a situation not likely to -trouble England in this nineteenth century. I believe the world is -growing better constantly, and that eventually all men will do, or cause -to be done, whatever is square, straight and upright, as the caps on -your heads. I believe it, because the good men will soon be so immensely -in excess that bad men will _hev_ to do right, and until that day comes, -we will go on fighting for freedom in ivery good shape it can come; -knowing surely and certainly, that - - “Freedom’s battle once begun, - - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, - - Though baffled oft, is always won. - -“That is a truth, men, you may all of you cap to,” and as the squire -lifted his riding cap high above his head, more than two hundred paper -caps followed it, accompanied by a long, joyful shout for the good time -promised, and certainly coming. - -“Now, men,” said the squire, “let us see what ‘cap money’ we can collect -for those who are poor and helpless. Israel Naylor and John Moorby will -collect it. It will go for the spreading of the children’s table in -Leeds and Israel will see it gets safely there.” - -“We’ll hev thy cap, squire,” said Israel. “The man who proposes a cap -collection salts his awn cap with his awn money first.” And the squire -laughed good-humoredly, lifted his cap, and in their sight dropped five -gold sovereigns into it. Then Dick offered his hat to his father, saying -he had his opera hat in his pocket and the two happy men went away -together, just as some musical genius had fitted Byron’s three lines to -a Methodist long-metre, so they were followed by little groups straying -off in different directions, and all singing, - - “For Freedom’s battle once begun, - - Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, - - Though baffled oft, is always won! - - Is always won! Is always won!” - -Dick did not enter the Clarendon with his father. He knew that he might -be a little superfluous. The squire had a certain childlike egotism -which delighted in praising himself, and in telling his own story; and -Annie was audience sufficient. If she approved, there was no more to be -desired, the third person was often in the way. In addition to this wish -to give the squire the full measure of his success, Dick was longing -passionately to be with his love and his hopes. The squire would not -speak of Faith, and Dick wanted to talk about her. Her name beat upon -his lips, and oh, how he longed to see her! To draw her to his side, to -touch her hair, her eyes, her lips! He told himself that the promise of -silence until the Bill was passed, or thrown out was a great wrong, -that he never ought to have made it, that his father never ought to have -asked for it. He wondered how he was to get the time over; the gayeties -of London had disappeared, the Leylands thought it prudent to live -quietly, his mother and Katherine were tired of the city, and longed -to be at home; and Harry, whose sympathy he had always relied on, was -somewhere in Norfolk, and had not even taken the trouble to write and -tell him the reason for his visit, to such a tame, bucolic county. - -Yet with the hope of frequent letters, and his own cheerful optimistic -temper, he managed to reach the thirtieth of May. On that morning he -took breakfast with his parents, and the squire said in a positive voice -that he was “sure the Bill would pass the House of Lords before May -became June; and if you remember the events since the seventh of April, -Dick, you will also be sure.” - -“But I do not remember much about public affairs during that time, -father. I was in Annis, and here and there, and in every place it was -confusion and anger and threats. I really do not remember them.” - -“Then thou ought to, and thou may as well sit still, and let me tell -thee some things thou should niver forget.” But as the squire’s method -was discursive, and often interrupted by questions and asides from -Mistress Annis and Dick, facts so necessary may be told without such -delay, and also they will be more easily remembered by the reader. - -Keeping in mind then that Parliament adjourned at seven o’clock in the -morning, on April fourteenth until the seventh of May, it is first to -be noted that during this three weeks’ vacation there was an incessant -agitation, far more formidable than fire, rioting, and the destruction -of property. Petitions from every populous place to King William -entreated him to create a sufficient number of peers to pass the Bill -_in spite of the old peers_. The Press, nearly a unit, urged as the most -vital and necessary thing the immediate passage of the Bill, predicting -a United Rebellion of England, Scotland and Ireland, if longer delayed. -On the seventh of May, the day Parliament reassembled, there was the -largest public meeting that had ever been held in Great Britain, and -with heads uncovered, and faces lifted to heaven, the crowd took the -following oath:-- - -“_With unbroken faith through every peril and privation, we here devote -ourselves and our children to our country’s cause!_” - -This great public meeting included all the large political unions, and -its solemn enthusiasm was remarkable for the same fervor and zeal of -the old Puritan councils. Its solemn oath was taken while Parliament -was reassembling in its two Houses. On that afternoon the House of Lords -took up first the disfranchising of the boroughs, and a week of -such intense excitement followed, as England had not seen since the -Revolution of 1688. - -On the eighth of May, Parliament asked the King to sanction a large -creation of new peers. The king angrily refused his assent. The -ministers then tendered their resignation. It was accepted. On the -evening of the ninth, their resignation was announced to the Lords and -Commons. On the eleventh Lord Ebrington moved that “the House should -express to the King their deep distress at a change of ministers, and -entreat him only to call to his councils such persons as would carry -through _The Bill_ with all its demands unchanged and unimpaired.” - -This motion was carried, and then for one week the nation was left to -its conjectures, to its fears, and to its anger at the attitude of the -government. Indeed for this period England was without a government. The -Cabinet had resigned, leaving not a single officer who would join the -cabinet which the king had asked the Duke of Wellington to form. In -every city and town there were great meetings that sent petitions to the -House of Commons, praying that it would grant no supplies of any kind to -the government until the Bill was passed without change or mutilation. -A petition was signed in Manchester by twenty-three thousand persons in -three hours, and the deputy who brought it informed the Commons that -the whole north of England was in a state of indignation impossible to -describe. Asked if the people would fight, he answered, “They will first -of all demand that Parliament stop all government supplies--the tax -gatherer will not be able to collect a penny. All civil tribunals will -be defied, public credit shaken, property insecure, the whole frame of -society will hasten to dissolution, and great numbers of our wealthiest -families will transfer their homes to America.” - -Lord Wellington utterly failed in all his attempts to form a ministry, -Sir Robert Peel refused to make an effort to do so, and on the fifteenth -of May it was announced in both Houses, that “the ministers had resumed -their communication with his majesty.” On the eighteenth Lord Grey -said in the House of Lords that “he expected to carry the Reform Bill -unimpaired and immediately.” Yet on the day before this statement, -Brougham and Grey had an interview with the King, in which his majesty -exhibited both rudeness and ill-temper. He kept the two peers standing -during the whole interview, a discourtesy contrary to usage. Both Grey -and Brougham told the King that they would not return to office unless -he promised to create the necessary number of peers to insure the -passage of the Reform Bill just as it stood; and the King consented so -reluctantly that Brougham asked for his permission in writing. - -The discussion of these facts occupied the whole morning and after an -early lunch the squire prepared to go to The House; then Dick noticed -that even after he was hatted and coated for his visit, he kept delaying -about very trivial things. So he resolved to carry out his part of their -secret arrangement, and remove himself from all temptation to tell his -mother he was going to marry Faith Foster. His father understood the -lad so like himself, and Dick knew what his father feared. So he bid -his mother good-by, and accompanied his father to the street. There the -latter said plainly, “Thou did wisely, Dick. If I hed left thee alone -with thy mother, thou would hev told her all that thou knew, and -thought, and believed, and hoped, and expected from Faith. Thou couldn’t -hev helped it--and I wouldn’t hev blamed thee.” - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE GREAT BILL PASSES - - -_“In relation to what is to be, all Work is sacred because it is the -work given us to do.”_ - -_“Their cause had been won, but the victory brought with it a new -situation and a new struggle.”_ - -_“Take heed to your work, your name is graven on it.”_ - - - ALTHOUGH Dick pretended an utter disbelief in Grey’s prophecy, it -really came true; and the Reform Bill passed the House of Lords on the -last day of May. Then the Annis family were in haste to return home. The -feeling of being on a pleasure visit was all past and gone, and the bare -certainties and perplexities of life confronted them. For the first -time in all his days, the squire felt anxious about money matters, -and actually realized that he was going to be scrimped in coin for his -household expenses. This fact shocked him, he could hardly believe it. -Annie, however, knew nothing of this dilemma and when her husband spoke -of an immediate return home, said: - -“I am glad we are going home. To-morrow, I will see my dressmaker and -finish my shopping;” and the squire looked at her with such anxious eyes -that she immediately added--“unless, Antony, thou would like me to pack -my trunks at once.” - -“I would like that, Annie. It would help me above a bit.” - -“All right. Kitty is ready to start at any hour. She wants to go home.” - -“What is the matter with Kitty? She isn’t like hersen lately? Is she -sick?” - -“I think there is a little falling out between Harry and her. That is -common enough in all love affairs.” - -Here a servant entered with a letter and gave it to the squire. He -looked at it a moment and then said to his wife--“It is from Josepha. -She wants to see me varry particular, and hopes I will come to her at -once. She thinks I had better drop in for dinner and says she will wait -for me until half-past five.” - -“That is just like her unreasonableness. If she knows the Bill is -passed, she must know also that we are packing, and as busy as we can -be.” - -“Perhaps she does not know that the great event has happened.” - -“That is nonsense. Half a dozen people would send her word, or run with -the news themselves.” - -“Well, Annie, she is my only sister, and she is varry like my mother. I -must give her an hour. I could not be happy if I did not;” and there was -something in the tone of his voice which Annie knew she need not try to -alter. So she wisely acquiesced in his resolve, pitying him the while -for having the claims of three women to satisfy. But the squire went -cheerfully enough to his sister. The claims of kindred were near and -dear to him and a very sincere affection existed between him and his -sister Jo-sepha. She was waiting for him. She was resolved to have a -talk with him about the Bradleys, and she had a proposal to make, a -proposal on which she had set her heart. - -So she met him at the open door, and said--with a tight clasp of his big -hand--“I am right glad to see thee, brother. Come in here,” and she led -him to a small parlor used exclusively by herself. - -“I cannot stop to dinner, Josey,” he said kindly, but he kept her hand -in his hand, until he reached the chair his sister pointed out. Then she -sat down beside him and said, “Antony, my dear brother, thou must answer -me a few questions. If thou went home and left me in doubt, I should be -a varry unhappy woman.” - -“Whativer art thou bothering thysen about?” - -“About thee. I’ll speak out plain and thou must answer me in the same -fashion. What is tha going to do about thy living? Thou hes no business -left, and I know well thou hes spent lavishly iver since thou came here -with thy wife and daughter.” - -“To be sure I hev. And they are varry welcome to ivery penny of the -outlay. And I must say, Josey, thou has been more extravagant about both -Annie and Kitty than I hev been.” - -“Well then Kitty is such a darling--thou knows.” - -“Ay, she is that.” - -“And Annie is more tolerant with me than she iver was before.” - -“To be sure. Iveryone gets more kindly as he grows older. And she knaws -thee better, which is a great deal. Annie is good from the beginning to -the end.” - -“Nobody will say different, but that is not what I am wanting to talk to -thee about. Listen to me now, my dear lad! What art thou going to do? I -am in earnest anxiety. Tell me, my brother.” - -The squire was silent and looked steadily down on the table for a few -minutes. Josepha did not by the slightest movement interfere but her -steady, kindly gaze was fixed upon the silent man. Perhaps he felt, -though he did not see, the love that shone upon him, for he lifted his -face with a broad smile, and answered-- - -“My dear lass, I don’t know.” - -“I shouldn’t wonder. Now speak straight words to me as plain as thou -spoke to the Annis weavers last week.” - -“My dear sister, I shall do right, and let come what will.” - -“And what does tha call doing right?” - -“I think of two ways and both seem right to me.” - -“What are they? Perhaps I can help thee to decide that one is better -than the other. Dear lad, I want to help thee to do the best thing -possible for thysen, and thy children.” - -There was no resisting the persuasion in her face, voice and manner, -and the squire could not resist its influence. “Josey,” he said, as -he covered her small plump hand with his own in a very masterful -way--“Josey! Josey! I am in the thick of a big fight with mysen. I did -really promise a crowd of Annis weavers that if the Reform Bill passed I -would build a mill and give them all work, and that would let them come -home again. Tha sees, they all own, or partly own, their cottages, and -if I can’t find them work, they will hev to give up their homes mebbe, -to a varry great disadvantage.” - -“To be plain with thee, thou could in such a case, buy them all back for -a song.” - -“Does tha really think thou hes an up and down blackguard for thy -brother? I’m not thinking of buying poor men’s houses for a song--nor -yet of buying them at any price.” - -“A perfectly fair price, eh?” - -“No. There could not be a fair price under such conditions. The poor -would be bound to get the worst of the bargain, unless I ruined mysen -to be square and just. I doan’t want to sit in hell, trying to count up -what I hed made by buying poor men’s homes at a bargain.” - -“Hes tha any plan that will help thee to build a mill and give thy old -weavers a chance?” - -“The government will loan to old employers money to help them build a -mill, and so give work and bread.” - -“The government is not lending money, except with some excellent -security.” - -“Land, I have plenty. I could spare some land.” - -“No. Thou could not spare the government one acre.” - -“Then I cannot build a mill and furnish it with looms and all -necessary.” - -“Yes, thou can easily do it--if thou wilt take a partner.” - -“Does tha know anyone suitable?” - -“I do.” - -“Do I know the person?” - -“Varry well. It is mysen. It is Josepha Temple.” The squire fairly -started. He looked straight into Josepha’s eyes and she continued, “Take -me for thy partner, Antony. I will build thee the biggest, and most -completely finished mill in the West Riding--or anywhere else--cotton or -wool--whichiver thou likes. Bradley’s is mainly cotton, thou hed better -stick to wool. Thou hes two hundred sheep of thy awn, on thy awn fells, -and wold. Stick to the wool, dear lad.” - -“Art thou in very earnest, Josepha?” - -“Sure as life and death! I am in earnest. Say the word, and I’ll build, -and fit the mill, just as tha wants it.” - -“And thy share in it will be----” - -“We will divide equally--half and half. I want to buy a partnership with -my money. ‘_Annis and Temple_’ will suit me well. I will find all the -wherewithal required--money for building, looms, engines, wool or cotton -yarns, just as thou wishes. Thou must give the land, and the varry best -bit of land for the purpose, that thou hes on thy estate in Annis, or -elsewhere.” - -“Dost tha knaw how much money tha will hev to spend for what thou -proposes?” - -“I should think I do and it will every farthing of it be Annis money. -I hev speculated, and dealt wisely with the money the good Admiral left -me. I hev made, made mysen, more money than we shall require for the -mill and all its necessary furniture, and if it was not enough, I could -double it and not feel a pound poorer. The outlay is mine, all of it; -the land, and the management is thy affair. It is only by my name, which -is well known among monied men, that I shall appear in the business.” - -“Josepha! Thou art my good angel!” - -“I am thy sister. We are both Annis folk. We were both rooted in the -soil of this bit of England. We had the same good father and mother, -the same church, and the same dear old home. God forbid we should iver -forget that! No, we can not! These memories run with our blood, and -throb in our hearts. All that is mine is thine. Thou art dear to me as -my awn life. Thy son and daughter are my son and daughter. My money is -thy money, to its last penny. Now, wilt thou hev me for thy partner?” - The squire had buried his face in his hands, and Josepha knew he was -hiding his feelings from everyone but God, and she stepped to the window -and drew up the shade, and let the sunshine flood the room. As she did -so, the squire called to himself--“Be of good courage, Antony!” And he -rose quickly, and so met his sister coming back to her chair, and took -her in his arms, and kissed her and said: “Josey, dear, there was a load -on my heart I was hardly able to bear; thou hes lifted it, and I love -and thank thee! We will work together, and we will show Yorkshire that -landed gentlefolk can do a bit of business, above all their ideas, and -above all thou can imagine it pleases me, that I may then redeem my -promises to the men that hev worked so long, and so faithfully for me.” - -And then it was Josepha that had to dry her eyes as she said: “Thy -kiss, Antony, was worth all I hev promised. It was the signing of our -contract.” - -“I felt, Josey, when I entered this house, that my life had come to an -end, and that I could only write ‘defeated’ over it.” - -“Thy real life begins at this hour. Thy really fine business faculties, -corroded with rust and dust of inaction, will yet shine like new silver. -There is no defeat, except from within. And the glad way in which thou -can look forward, and take up a life so different to that thou hes known -for more than fifty years, shows plainly that you can, and will, redeem -every fault of the old life. As thou art so busy and bothered to-night, -come to-morrow and I will hev my lawyer, and banker, also a first rate -factory architect, here to meet thee.” - -“At what hour?” - -“From ten o’clock to half-past twelve are my business hours. If that -time is too short, we will lengthen it a bit. Dick has asked me to tell -thee something thou ought to know, but which he cannot talk to thee -about.” - -“Is it about Faith Foster?” - -“Not it! Varry different.” - -“What, or who, then?” - -“John Thomas Bradley.” - -“Then don’t thee say a word about the man. Thy words hev been so good, -so wonderfully good, that I will not hev meaner ones mixed up with them. -They may come to-morrow after law and money talk, but not after thy -loving, heartening promises. No! No!” - -“Well, then, go home and tell Annie, and let that weary Reform Bill -business drop out of thy mind.” - -“Reform was a great need. It was a good thing to see it come, and Grey -and Brougham hev proved themsens to be great men.” - -“I don’t deny it, and it is allays so ordered, that in all times, great -men can do great things.” - -With a light heart and a quick step the squire hurried back to the -Clarendon. He had been given to drink of the elixir of life, the joy of -work, the pleasure of doing great good to many others, the feeling that -he was going to redeem his lost years. He had not walked with such a -light purposeful step for twenty years, and Annie was amazed when -she heard it. She was still more amazed when she heard him greet some -acquaintance whom he met in the corridor. Now Annie had resolved to be -rather cool and silent with her husband. He had overstayed his own -time nearly two hours, and she thought he ought to be made to feel the -enormity of such a delinquency; especially, when he was hurrying their -departure, though she had yet a great many little things to attend to. - -She quickly changed her intentions. She only needed one glance at her -husband to make her rise to her feet, and go to meet him with a face -full of wonder. “Why! Antony! Antony, whativer hes come to thee? Thou -looks--thou looks----” - -“How, Annie? How do I look?” - -“Why! Like thou looked--on thy wedding day! Whativer is it, dear?” - -“Annie! Annie! I feel varry like I did that day. Oh, Annie, I hev got -my life given back to me! I am going to begin it again from this varry -hour! I am going to work, to be a big man of business, Annie. I’m going -to build a factory for a thousand power looms. Oh, my wife! My wife! I’m -so proud, so happy, I seem to hev been dead and just come back to life -again.” - -“I am so glad for thee, dear. Who, or what, hes brought thee this -wonderful good?” - -“Sit thee down beside me, and let me hold thy hand, or I’ll mebbe think -I am dreaming. Am I awake? Am I in my right mind? Or is it all a dream, -Annie? Tell me the truth.” - -“Tell thy wife what hes happened, then I can tell thee the truth.” - -“_Why-a!_ thy husband, the squire of Annis, is going to build the -biggest and handsomest factory in the whole West Riding--going to fill -it with steam power looms--going to manufacture woolen goods for the -whole of England--if England will hev the sense to buy them; for they -will be well made, and of tip-top quality. Annis village is going to be -a big spinning and weaving town! O Annie! Annie! I see the vision. I -saw it as I came through Piccadilly. The little village seemed to be in -midair, and as I looked, it changed, and I saw it full of big buildings, -and high chimneys, and hurrying men and women, and I knew that I was -looking at what, please God, I shall live to see in reality. Annie, I -hev begun to live this varry day. I have been in a sweet, sweet sleep -for more than fifty years, but I hev been awakened, and now I am going -to work for the new Annis, and redeem all the years I hev loitered away -through the old.” - -“I am glad for thee, Antony. Glad for thee! How is tha going to manage -it? I am sorry Kitty and I hev made thee spend so much good gold on our -foolishness!” - -“Nay, nay, I am glad you both hed all you wanted. This morning I was -feeling down in the depths. I hedn’t but just money enough to take us -home, and I was wondering how iver I was to make buckle and belt meet. -Then tha knows I got a letter from Jo-sepha, and I went to see her, and -she told me she was going to build the biggest factory in the West -Riding. She told me that she hed _made_ money enough to do this: that it -was Annis money, ivery farthing of it, and it was coming to Annis, and -Annis only. Then she told me what her big plans were, bigger than I -could fairly swallow at first, and oh, dear lass, she asked me to be her -partner. I hev to give the land and my time. She does all the rest.” - -“Thy sister hes a great heart. I found that out this winter.” - -“Ay, and she found out that thou were a deal sweeter than she thought -before, and she opened her heart to thee, and Dick, and Kitty.” - -“Will she live in Annis?” - -“Not she! No one could get her away from London, and the house her -Admiral built for her. She will come down to our regular meeting once a -quarter. She won’t bother thee.” - -“No, indeed, she won’t! After this wonderful kindness to thee, she can’t -bother me. She is welcome to iverything that is mine, even to my warmest -and truest love. The best room at Annis Hall is hers, and we will both -love and honor her all the days of our lives.” - -“Now, then, I am quite happy, as happy as God and His gift can make a -man; and if I was a Methodist, I would go to their chapel at once and -tell them all what a good and great thing God hed done for them, as well -as mysen. Thou sees they were thought of, no doubt, when I was thought -of, for God knew I’d do right by His poor men and women and little -childer.” - -“I hope, though, thou wilt stand by thy awn church. It hes stood by -thee, and all thy family for centuries. I wouldn’t like thee to desert -the mother church of England.” - -“Howiver can thou speak to me in such a half-and-half way. My prayer -book is next to my Bible. _Why-a!_ it is my soul’s mother. I hev my -collect for ivery day, and I say it. On the mornings I went hunting, -sometimes I was a bit hurried, but as I stood in my bare feet, I allays -said it, and I allays did my best to mean ivery word I said.” - -“I know, my love--but thou hes lately seemed to hev a sneaking respect -for Mr. Foster, and Jonathan Hartley, and Methodists in general.” - -“Well, that is true. I hev a varry great respect for them. They do -their duty, and in the main they trusted in God through these past black -years, and behaved themsens like men. But I should as soon think of -deserting thee as of deserting my Mother Church.” - -“I believe thee, yet we do hev varry poor sermons, and in that way Mr. -Foster is a great temptation.” - -“I niver minded the sermon. I hed the blessed Book of Common Prayer. And -if the church is my soul’s mother, then the Book of Common Prayer is -mother’s milk; that it is, and I wonder that thou hes niver noticed how -faithfully I manage to say my collect. My mother taught me to say one -ivery morning. I promised her I would. I am a man of my word, Annie, -even to the living, and I would be feared to break a promise to the -dead. I can’t think of anything much worse a man could do.” - -“My dear one! This day God hes chosen thee to take care of his poor. We -must get back to Annis as quickly as possible, and give them this hope.” - -“So we must, but I hev a meeting to-morrow at ten o’clock with Josepha’s -banker, business adviser, her lawyer, and her architect. I may be most -of the day with his crowd. This is Monday, could tha be ready to start -home on Thursday, by early mail coach?” - -“Easily.” - -“That will do. Now then, Annie, I hed a varry good dinner, but I want a -cup of tea--I am all a quiver yet.” - -Later in the evening Dick came in, and joined them at the supper table. -He looked at his father and mother and wondered. He saw and felt that -something good had happened, and in a few minutes the squire told him -all. His enthusiasm set the conversation to a still happier tone, though -Dick was for a moment dashed and silenced by his father’s reply to his -question as to what he was to look after in this new arrangement of -their lives. - -“Why, Dick,” answered the squire, “thy aunt did not name thee, and -when I did, she said: ‘We’ll find something for Dick when the time is -fitting.’ She said also that my time would be so taken up with watching -the builders at work, that Dick would hev to look after his mother and -the household affairs, till they got used to being alone all day long. -Tha sees, Dick, we hev spoiled our women folk, and we can’t stop waiting -on them, all at once.” - -Dick took the position assigned him very pleasantly, and then remarked -that Kitty ought to have been informed. “The dear one,” he continued, -“hes been worried above a bit about the money we were all spending. She -said her father looked as if he had a heartache, below all his smiles.” - -Then Dick thought of the political climax that Harry had spoken of, and -asked himself if he should now speak of it. No, he could not. He could -not do it at this happy hour. Nothing could be hindered, or helped, by -the introduction of this painful subject, and he told himself that he -would not be the person to fling a shadow over such a happy and hopeful -transition in the squire’s life. For Dick also was happy in a change -which would bring him so much nearer to his beautiful and beloved Faith. - -Indeed it was a very charming return home. The squire seemed to have -regained his youth. He felt as if indeed such a marvelous change had -actually taken place, nor was there much marvel in it. His life had been -almost quiescent. He had been lulled by the long rust of his actually -fine business talents. Quite frequently he had had a few days of -restlessness when some fine railway offer presented itself, but any -offer would have implied a curtailment, which would not result in -bettering his weavers’ condition, and he hesitated until the opportunity -was gone. For opportunities do not wait, they are always on the wing. -Their offer is “take or leave me,” and so it is only the alert who bid -quick enough. - -After a pleasant, though fatiguing drive, they reached Annis village. -Their carriage was waiting at the coach office for them, and everyone -lifted his cap with a joyful air as they appeared. The squire was glad -to see that the caps were nearly all paper caps. It was likely then -that many of his old weavers were waiting on what he had promised in his -speech to them. And it filled his heart with joy that he could now keep -that promise, on a large and generous scale. He saw among the little -crowd watching the coach, Israel Naylor, and he called him in a loud, -cheerful voice, that was in itself a promise of good, and said: “Israel, -run and tell Jonathan Hartley to come up to the Hall, and see me as soon -as iver he can and thou come with him, if tha likes to, I hev nothing -but good news for the men. Tell them that. And tell thysen the same.” - -In an hour the squire and his family and his trunks and valises and -carpet bags were all at home again. Weary they certainly were, but oh, -so happy, and Dick perhaps happiest of all, for he had seen Mr. Foster -at his door, and as he drove past him, had lifted his hat; and in that -silent, smiling movement, sent a message that he knew would make Faith -as happy as himself. - -I need not tell any woman how happy Mistress Annis and her daughter were -to be home again. London was now far from their thoughts. It was the new -Annis that concerned them--the great, busy town they were to build up -for the future. Like the squire, they all showed new and extraordinary -energy and spirit, and as for the squire he could hardly wait with -patience for the arrival of Jonathan Hartley and Israel. - -Actually more than twenty of the old weavers came with Jonathan, and -Annie found herself a little bothered to get sittings for them, until -the squire bethought him of the ballroom. Thither he led the way with -his final cup of tea still in his hand, as in loud cheerful words he bid -them be seated. Annie had caused the chairs to be placed so as to form -a half circle and the squire’s own chair was placed centrally within -it. And as he took it every man lifted his paper cap above his head, -and gave him a hearty cheer, and no man in England was happier at that -moment than Antony Annis, Squire of Annis and Deeping Hollow. - -“My friends!” he cried, with all the enthusiasm of a man who has -recaptured his youth. “I am going to build the biggest and handsomest -factory in Yorkshire--or in any other place. I am going to fill it with -the best power looms that can be bought--a thousand of them. I am going -to begin it to-morrow morning. To-night, right here and now, I am going -to ask Jonathan to be my adviser and helper and general overseer. For -this work I am offering him now, one hundred and fifty pounds the -first year, or while the building is in progress. When we get to -actual weaving two hundred pounds a year, with increase as the work and -responsibility increases. Now, Jonathan, if this offer suits thee, I -shall want thee at eight o’clock in the morning. Wilt tha be ready, eh?” - -Jonathan was almost too amazed to speak, but in a moment or two he -almost shouted-- - -“Thou fairly caps me, squire. Whativer can I say to thee? I am -dumbfounded with joy! God bless thee, squire!” - -“I am glad to be His messenger of comfort to you all. These are the -plans for all who choose to take them, my old men having the preference -wheriver it can be given. To-morrow, Jonathan and I will go over my -land lying round Annis village within three miles, and we will pick -the finest six acres there is in that area for the mill. We will begin -digging for the foundation Monday morning, if only with the few men we -can get round our awn village. Jonathan will go to all the places near -by, to get others, and there will be hundreds of men coming from London -and elsewhere, builders, mechanics, and such like. The architect is -hiring them, and will come here with them. Men, these fresh mouths will -all be to fill, and I think you, that awn your awn cottages, can get -your wives to cook and wash for them, and so do their part, until we get -a place put up for the main lot to eat and sleep in. Jonathan will help -to arrange that business; and you may tell your women, Antony Annis will -be surety for what-iver is just money for their work. Bit by bit, we -will soon get all into good working order, and I am promised a fine -factory ready for work and business in one year. What do you think of -that, men?” Then up went every paper cap with a happy shout, and the -squire smiled and continued: - -“You need not fear about the brass for all I am going to do, being -either short or scrimpit. My partner has money enough to build two -mills, aye, and more than that. And my partner is Annis born, and loves -this bit of Yorkshire, and is bound to see Annis village keep step with -all the other manufacturing places in England; and when I tell you that -my partner is well known to most of you, and that her name is Josepha -Annis, you’ll hev no fear about the outcome.” - -“No! No! Squire,” said Jonathan, speaking for all. “We all know -the Admiral’s widow. In one way or other we hev all felt her loving -kindness; and we hev often heard about her heving no end of money, and -they know thy word, added to her good heart, makes us all happy and -satisfied. Squire, thou hes kept thy promise thou hes done far more than -keep it. God must hev helped thee! Glory be to God!” - -“To be sure I hev kept my promise. I allays keep my promise to the poor -man, just as fully as to the rich man. Tell your women that my partner -and I are going to put in order all your cottages--we are going to -put wells or running water in all of them, and re-roof and paint and -whitewash and mend where mending is needed. And you men during your -time of trouble, hev let your little gardens go to the bad. Get agate -quickly, and make them up to mark. You knaw you can’t do rough work with -your hands, you that reckon to weave fine broadcloth; but there will be -work of some kind or other, and it will be all planned out, while the -building goes on, as fast as men and money can make it go.” - -“Squire,” said Jonathan in a voice so alive with feeling, so strong and -happy, that it might almost have been seen, as well as heard, “Squire, -I’ll be here at eight in the morning, happy to answer thy wish and -word.” - -“Well, then, lads, I hev said enough for to-night. Go and make your -families and friends as happy as yoursens. I haven’t said all I wanted -to say, but I shall be right here with you, and I will see that not one -of my people suffer in any way. There is just another promise I make -you for my partner. She is planning a school--a good day school for -the children, and a hospital for the sick, and you’ll get them, sure -enough.” - -“Squire, we thank thee with all our hearts, and we will now go and ring -t’ chapel bell, and get the people together, and tell them all thou hes -said would come to pass.” - -“Too late to-night.” - -“Not a bit too late. Even if we stop there till midnight, God loves -the midnight prayer. Oh, Squire Annis, thou hes done big things for -workingmen in London, and----” - -“Ay, I did! I wouldn’t come home till I saw the workingmen got their -rights. And I shall see that my men get all, and more, than I hev -promised them. My word is my bond.” - -Then the men with hearty good-bys, which is really the abbreviation of -“_God be with you!_” went quickly down the hill and in half-an-hour -the chapel bells were ringing and the squire stood at his open door and -listened with a glad heart to them. His wife and daughter watched him, -and then smiled at each other. They hardly knew what to say, for he was -the same man, and yet far beyond the same. His child-likeness, and his -pleasant bits of egotism, were, as usual, quite evident; and Annie -was delighted to see and hear the expressions of his simple -self-appreciation, but in other respects he was not unlike one who had -just attained unto his majority. To have had his breakfast and be ready -for a day’s tramp at eight o’clock in the morning was a wonderful thing -for Antony Annis to promise. Yet he faithfully kept it, and had -been away more than an hour when his wife and daughter came down to -breakfast. - -Dick soon joined them, and he was not only in high spirits, but also -dressed with great care and taste. His mother regarded him critically, -and then became silent. She had almost instantly divined the reason of -his careful dressing. She looked inquisitively at Katherine, who dropped -her eyes and began a hurried and irrelative conversation about the most -trifling of subjects. Dick looked from one to the other, and said with a -shrug of his shoulders, “I see I have spoiled a private conversation. I -beg pardon. I will be away in a few minutes.” - -“Where are you going so early, Dick?” - -“I am going to Mr. Foster’s. I have a message to him from father, and I -have a very important message to Faith Foster from myself.” He made -the last remark with decision, drank off his coffee, and rose from the -table. - -“Dick, listen to your mother. Do not be in a hurry about some trivial -affair, at this most important period of your father’s--of all our -lives. Nothing can be lost, everything is to be gained by a little -self-denial on the part of all, who fear they are being neglected. -Father has the right of way at this crisis.” - -“I acknowledge that as unselfishly as you do, mother. I intend to help -father all I can. I could not, would not, do otherwise. Father wants to -see Mr. Foster, and I want to see Miss Foster. Is there anything I can -do for yourself or Kitty when I am in the village?” - -“Nothing. Nothing at all.” - -“Then good-by,” and with a rapid glance at his sister, Dick left the -room. Neither mother nor sister answered his words. Mistress Annis took -rapid spoonfuls of coffee; Katherine broke the shell of her egg with -quite superfluous noise and rapidity. For a few moments there was -silence, full of intense emotion, and Katherine felt no inclination to -break it. She knew that Dick expected her at this very hour to make his -way easy, and his intentions clear to his mother. She had promised to -do so, and she did not see how she was to escape, or delay this action. -However, she instantly resolved to allow her mother to open the subject, -and stand as long as possible on the defensive. - -Mistress Annis made exactly the same resolve. Her lips quivered, her -dropped eyes did not hide their trouble and she nervously began -to prepare herself a fresh cup of coffee. Katherine glanced at her -movements, and finally said, with an hysterical little laugh, “Dear -mammy, you have already put four pieces of sugar in your cup,” and she -laid her hand on her mother’s hand, and so compelled her to lift her -eyes and answer, “Oh, Kitty! Kitty! don’t you see, dearie? Dick has gone -through the wood to get a stick, and taken a crooked one at the last. -You know what I mean. Oh, dear me! Dear me!” - -“You fear Dick is going to marry Faith Foster. Some months ago I told -you he would do so.” - -“I could not take into my consciousness such a calamity.” - -“Why do you say ‘calamity’?” - -“A Methodist preacher’s daughter is far enough outside the pale of the -landed aristocracy.” - -“She is as good as her father and every landed gentleman, in or near -this part of England, loves and respects, Mr. Foster. They ask his -advice on public and local matters, and he by himself has settled -disputes between masters and men in a way that satisfied both parties.” - -“That is quite a different thing. Politics puts men on a sort of -equality, the rules of society keep women in the state in which it has -pleased God to put them.” - -“Unless some man out of pure love lifts them up to his own rank by -marriage. I don’t think any man could lift up Faith. I do not know a man -that is able to stand equal to her.” - -“Your awn brother, I think, ought to be in your estimation far----” - -“Dick is far below her in every way, and Dick knows it. I think, mother -dear, it is a good sign for Dick’s future, to find him choosing for a -wife a woman who will help him to become nobler and better every year of -his life.” - -“I hev brought up my son to a noble standard. Dick is now too good, or -at least good enough, for any woman that iver lived. I don’t care who, -or what she was, or is. I want no woman to improve Dick. Dick hes no -fault but the one of liking women below him, and inferior to him, and -unworthy of him:--women, indeed, that he will hev to educate in -ivery way, up to his own standard. That fault comes his father’s way -exactly--his father likes to feel free and easy with women, and he can’t -do it with the women of his awn rank--for tha knaws well, the women -of ivery station in life are a good bit above and beyond the men, and -so----” - -“Dear mammy, do you think?--oh, you know you cannot think, father -married with that idea in his mind. You were his equal by birth, and yet -I have never seen father give up a point, even to you, that he didn’t -want to give up. I think father holds his awn side with everyone, and -holds it well. And if man or woman said anything different, I would not -envy them the words they would get from you.” - -“Well, of course, I could only expect that you would stand by Dick in -any infatuation he had; the way girls and young men spoil their lives, -and ruin their prospects, by foolish, unfortunate marriage is a miracle -that hes confounded their elders iver since their creation. Adam fell -that way. Poor Adam!” - -“But, mammy dear, according to your belief, the woman in any class is -always superior to the man.” - -“There was no society, and no social class in that time, and you know -varry well what came of Adam’s obedience to the woman. She must hev been -weaker than her husband. Satan niver thought it worth his while to try -his schemes with Adam.” - -“I wonder if Adam scolded and ill-treated Eve for her foolishness!” - -“He ought to have done so. He ought to hev scolded her well and hard, -all her life long.” - -“Then, of course, John Tetley, who killed his wife with his persistent -brutality, did quite right; for his excuse was that she coaxed him to -buy railway shares that proved actual ruin to him.” - -“Well, I am tired of arguing with people who can only see one way. Your -sister Jane, who is just like me, and who always took my advice, hes -done well to hersen, and honored her awn kin, and----” - -“Mother, do you really think Jane’s marriage an honor to her family?” - -“Leyland is a peer, and a member of The House of Lords, and considered a -clever man.” - -“A peer of three generations, a member of a House in which he dare not -open his mouth, for his cleverness is all quotation, not a line of it is -the breed of his own brain.” - -“Of course, he is not made after the image and likeness of Harry -Bradley.” - -“Mother, Harry is not our question now. I ask you to give Dick some good -advice and sympathy. If he will listen to anyone, you are the person -that can influence him. You must remember that Faith is very lovely, and -beauty goes wherever it chooses, and does what it wants to do.” - -“And both Dick and you must remember that you can’t choose a wife, or -a husband, by his handsome looks. You might just as wisely choose your -shoes by the same rule. Sooner or later, generally sooner, they would -begin to pinch you. How long hev you known of this clandestine affair?” - -“It was not clandestine, mother. I told you Dick was really in love with -Faith before we went to London.” - -“Faith! Such a Methodist name.” - -“Faith is not her baptismal name. She came to her father and mother as a -blessing in a time of great trouble, and they called her _Consola_ from -the word Consolation. You may think of her as Consola. She will have to -be married by that name. Her father wished for some private reason of -his own to call her Faith. He never told her why.” - -“The one name is as disagreeable as the other, and the whole subject is -disagreeable; and, in plain truth, I don’t care to talk any more about -it.” - -“Can I help you in anything this morning, mother?” - -“No.” - -“Then I will go to my room, and put away all the lovely things you -bought me in London.” - -“You had better do so. Your father is now possessed by one idea, and he -will be wanting every pound to further it.” - -“I think, too, mother, we have had our share.” - -“Have you really nothing to tell me about Harry and yourself?” - -“I could not talk of Harry this morning, mother. I think you may hear -something from father tonight, that will make you understand.” - -“Very well. That will be soon enough, if it is more trouble,” and though -she spoke wearily, there was a tone of both pity and anxiety in her -voice. - -Indeed, it was only the fact of the late busy days of travel and change, -and the atmosphere of a great reconstruction of their whole life and -household, that had prevented Mistress Annis noticing, as she otherwise -would have done, the pallor and sorrow in her daughter’s appearance. -Not even the good fortune that had come to her father, could dispel the -sickheartedness which had caused her to maintain a stubborn silence -to all Harry’s pleas for excuse and pardon. Dick was his sister’s only -confidant and adviser in this matter, and Dick’s anger had increased -steadily. He was now almost certain that Harry deserved all the -resentment honest love could feel and show towards those who had -deceived and betrayed it. And the calamity that is not sure, is almost -beyond healing. The soul has not forseen, or tried to prevent it. It has -come in a hurry without credentials, and holds the hope of a “perhaps” - in its hands; it may not perhaps be as bad as it appears; it may not -perhaps be true. There may possibly be many mitigating circumstances yet -not known. Poor Kitty! She had but this one sad circumstance to think -about, she turned it a hundred ways, but it was always the same. -However, as she trailed slowly up the long stairway, she said to -herself-- - -“Mother was talking in the dark, but patience, one more day! Either -father or Dick will bring the truth home with them.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI--AUNT JOSEPHA INTERFERES - - -_“Nothing seems to have happened so long ago as an affair of Love.”_ - -_“To offend any person is the next foolish thing to being offended.”_ - -_“When you can talk of a new lover, you have forgotten the old one.”_ - - - LIFE is full of issues. Nothing happens just as we expect or prepare -for it, and when the squire returned home late in the afternoon, weary -but full of enthusiasm, he was yet ignorant concerning the likely -nomination of Bradley for the united boroughs of Annis and Bradley. He -had walked all of fourteen miles, and he told his wife proudly, that -“Jonathan was more weary with the exercise than he was.” - -“All the same, Annie,” he added, as he kissed her fondly, “I was glad to -see Britton with the horse and gig at the foot of the hill. That was a -bit of thy thoughtfulness. God bless thee, dearie!” - -“Yes, it was. I knew thou hed not walked as much as tha ought to hev -done while we were in London. I don’t want thy fine figure spoiled, but -I thought thou would be tired enough when thou got to the foot of the -hill.” - -“So I was, and Jonathan was fairly limping, but we hev settled on t’ -mill site--there’s nothing can lick Clitheroe Moor side, just where it -touches the river. My land covers twenty acres of it, and on its south -edge it is almost within touch of the new railway going to Leeds. -Jonathan fairly shouted, as soon as we stood on it. ‘Squire,’ he said, -‘here’s a mill site in ten thousand. There cannot be a finer one -found in England, and it is the varry bit of land that man Boocock -wanted--_and didn’t get as tha knows?_’ Now I must write to Josepha, and -tell her to come quickly and see it. She must bring with her also her -business adviser.” - -“Does tha reckon to be under thy sister?” - -“Keep words like those behind thy lips, and set thy teeth for a barrier -they cannot pass. We are equal partners, equal in power and profit, -equal in loss or gain.” Then he was silent, and Annie understood -that she had gone far enough. Yet out of pure womanly wilfulness, she -answered-- - -“I shall not presume to speak another word about thy partner,” and -Antony Annis looked at her over the rim of his tea cup, and the ready -answer was on his lips, but he could not say it. Her personal beauty -smote the reproving words back, her handsome air of defiance conquered -his momentary flash of anger. She had her husband at her feet. She knew -it, and her steady, radiant smile completed her victory. Then she leaned -towards him, and he put down his cup and kissed her fondly. He had -intended to say “O confound it, Annie! What’s up with thee? Can’t thou -take a great kindness with anything but bitter biting words?” And what -he really said was--“Oh, Annie! Annie! sweet, dear Annie!” And lo! there -came no harm from this troubling of a man’s feelings, because Annie knew -just how far it was safe for her to go. - -This little breeze cleared the room that had been filled with unrestful -and unfair suspicions all the day long. The squire suddenly found out it -was too warm, and rose and opened the window. Then he asked--like a man -who has just recovered himself from some mental neglect--“Wheriver hev -Dick and Kitty gone to? I hevn’t seen nor heard them since I came home.” - -“They went to the village before two o’clock. They went to the Methodist -preacher’s house, I hev no doubt. Antony, what is to come of this -foolishness? I tell thee Dick acts as never before.” - -“About Faith?” - -“Yes.” - -“What hes he said to thee about Faith? How does he act?” asked the -squire. - -“He hes not said so much to me as he usually does about the girl he is -carrying-on-with, but he really believes himself in love with her for -iver and iver.” - -“I’ll be bound, he thinks that very thing. Dick is far gone. But the -girl is fair and good. He might do worse.” - -“I don’t like her, far from it.” - -“She is always busy in some kind of work.” - -“Busy to a fault.” - -“I’ll tell thee what, my Joy. We shall hev to make the best we can of -this affair. If Dick is bound to marry her, some day their wedding will -come off. So there is no good in worrying about it. But I am sure in the -long run, all will be well.” - -“My mind runs on this thing, and it troubles me. Thou ought to speak -sharp and firm to Dick. I am sure Josepha hes other plans for him.” - -“I’ll break no squares with my lad, about any woman.” - -“The girls all make a dead set for Dick.” - -“Not they! It hes allays been the other way about. We wanted him to -marry pretty Polly Raeburn, and as soon as he found that out, he gave -her up. That is Dick’s awful way. Tell him he ought to marry Faith, and -he will make easy shift to do without her. That is the short and -the long of this matter. Now, Annie, thou must not trouble me about -childish, foolish love affairs. I hev work for two men as strong as -mysen to do, and I am going to put my shoulder to the collar and do it. -Take thy awn way with Dick. I must say I hev a fellow feeling with the -lad. Thou knows I suffered a deal, before I came to the point of running -away with thee.” - -“What we did, is neither here nor there, the circumstances were -different. I think I shall let things take their chance.” - -“Ay, I would. Many a ship comes bravely into harbor, that hes no pilot -on board.” - -“Did tha hear any political news? It would be a strange thing if -Jonathan could talk all day with thee, and the both of you keep off -politics.” - -“Well, tha sees, we were out on business and business means ivery -faculty a man hes. I did speak once of Josepha, and Jonathan said, ‘She -is good for any sum.’” - -“Antony, hes thou ever thought about the House of Commons since thou -came home? What is tha going to do about thy business there?” - -“I hevn’t thought on that subject. I am going to see Wetherall about it. -I cannot be in two places at one time, and I am going to stick to Annis -Mill.” - -“Will it be any loss to thee to give up thy seat?” - -“Loss or gain, I am going to stand firmly by the mill. I don’t think it -will be any money loss. I’ll tell Wetherall to sell the seat to any -man that is of my opinions, and will be bound to vote for the Liberal -party.” - -“I would see Wetherall soon, if I was thee.” - -“What’s the hurry? Parliament is still sitting. Grey told me it could -not get through its present business until August or later.” - -“It will not be later. September guns and rods will call ivery man to -the hills or the waters.” - -“That’s varry likely, and if so, they won’t go back to London until -December. So there’s no need for thee to worry thysen about December. -It’s only June yet, tha knows.” - -“Will tha lose money by selling thy seat?” - -“Not I! I rayther think I’ll make money. And I’ll save a bag of -sovereigns. London expenses hes been the varry item that hes kept us -poor,--that is, poorer than we ought to be. There now! That will do -about London. I am a bit tired of London. I hear Dick and Kitty’s -voices, and there’s music in them. O God, what a grand thing it is to be -young!” - -“I must order fresh tea for them, they are sure to be hungry.” - -“Not they! There’s no complaining in their voices. Listen how gayly Dick -laughs. And I know Kitty is snuggling up to him, and saying some loving -thing or ither. Bless the children! It would be a dull house wanting -them.” - -“Antony!” - -“So it would, Annie, and thou knows it. Hev some fresh food brought for -them. Here they are!” And the squire rose to meet them, taking Kitty -within his arm, and giving his hand to Dick. - -“Runaways!” he said. “Whativer kept you from your eating? Mother hes -ordered some fresh victuals. They’ll be here anon.” - -“We have had our tea, mother--such a merry meal!” - -“Wheriver then? - -“At Mr. Foster’s,” said Dick promptly. “Mr. Foster came in while Kitty -and I were sitting with Faith, and he said ‘it was late, and he was -hungry, and we had better get tea ready.’ And ‘so full of fun and -pleasure we all four went to work. Mr. Foster and I set the table, and -Faith and Kitty cut the bread and butter, and all of us together brought -on cold meat and Christ-Church patties, and it was all done in such a -joyous mood, that you would have thought we were children playing at -having a picnic. Oh! it was such a happy hour! Was it not, Kitty?” - -“Indeed it was. I shall never forget it.” - -But who can prolong a joy when it is over? Both Kitty and Dick tried to -do so, but the squire soon turned thoughtful, and Mistress Annis, though -she said only nice words, put no sympathy into them; and they were only -words, and so fell to the ground lifeless. The squire was far too genial -a soul, not to feel this condition, and he said suddenly--“Dick, come -with me. I hev a letter to write to thy aunt, and thou can do it for me. -I’ll be glad of thy help.” - -“I will come gladly, father. I wish you would let me do all the writing -about business there is to be done. Just take me for your secretary.” - -“That is a clever idea. We will talk it out a bit later. Come thy ways -with me, now. No doubt thy mother and sister hev their awn things to -talk over. Women hev often queer views of what seems to men folk varry -reasonable outcomes.” - -So the two men went out very confidingly together, and Kitty remained -with her mother, who sat silently looking into the darkening garden. - -Neither spoke for a few minutes, then Kitty lifted her cape and bonnet -and said, “I am tired, mother. I think I will go to my room.” - -“Varry well, but answer me a few questions first. What do you now think -of Dick’s fancy for Faith?” - -“It is not a fancy, mother. It is a love that will never fade or grow -old. He will marry Faith or he will never marry.” - -“Such sentimentality! It is absurd!” - -“Dick thinks his love for Faith Foster the great fact of his life. He -will never give her up. Her ways are his ways. He thinks as she thinks. -He would do anything she asked him to do. Dear mammy, try and make the -best of it. You cannot alter it. It is Destiny, and I heard Mr. Foster -say, that no person, nor yet any nation, could fight Destiny unless God -was on their side. I think it is Dick’s destiny to marry Faith.” - -“Think as you like, Katherine, but be so kind as to omit quoting Mr. -Foster’s opinions in my presence.” - -“Very well, mother.” - -“And I do wish you would make up your quarrel with Harry Bradley; it is -very unpleasant to have you go mourning about the house and darkening -the only bit of good fortune that has ever come to your father. Indeed, -I think it is very selfish and cruel. I do that!” - -“I am sorry. I try to forget, but--” and she wearily lifted her cape and -left the room. And her mother listened to her slow, lifeless steps on -the stairway, and sorrowfully wondered what she ought to do. Suddenly -she remembered that her husband had asked her not to trouble him about -foolish love affairs and Dick was sure to take Katherine’s view of the -matter, whatever the trouble was; and, indeed, she was quite aware that -the squire himself leaned to the side of the lovers, and there was no -one else she could speak to. It was all a mixed up anxiety, holding -apparently no hope of relief from outside help. - -Yes, there was Aunt Josepha, and as soon as she stepped into the -difficulty, Katherine’s mother felt there would be some explanation or -help. It was only waiting a week, and Madam Temple would be in Annis, -and with this reflection she tried to dismiss the subject. - -Indeed, everyone in Annis Hall was now looking forward to the visit of -Josepha. But more than a fortnight elapsed before she arrived, bringing -with her experts and advisers of various kinds. The latter were -pleasantly located in the village inn, and Josepha was delighted with -the beautiful and comfortable arrangements her sister-in-law had made -for her. She came into their life with overflowing good humor and -spirits, and was soon as busily interested in the great building work as -her happy brother. - -She had to ride all through the village to reach the mill site, and she -did not think herself a day too old to come down to breakfast in her -riding habit and accompany her brother. It was not long, however, before -the pair separated. Soon after her arrival, the village women, one by -one, renewed their acquaintance with her, and every woman looked to Miss -Josepha for relief, or advice about their special tribulations. Many of -them were women of her own age. They remembered her as Miss Josepha, -and prided themselves on the superiority of their claim. To the younger -women she was Madam, just Madam, and indeed it was a queer little -incident that quite naturally, and without any word of explanation, -made all, both old and young, avoid any other name than Miss Josepha. -“Yorkshire is for its awn folk, we doan’t take to strange people and -strange names,” said Israel Naylor, when questioned by some of the -business experts Josepha had brought down with her; “and,” he explained, -“Temple is a Beverley name, or I mistake, and Annis folk know nothing -about Beverley names.” So Madam Temple was almost universally Miss -Josepha, to the villagers, and she liked the name, and people who used -it won her favor. - -In a few weeks she had to hire a room in Naylor’s house, and go there at -a fixed hour to see any of the people who wanted her. All classes came -to this room, from the Episcopal curate and the Methodist preacher, to -the poor widow of a weaver, who had gone to Bradford for work, and died -of cholera there. “Oh, Miss Josepha!” she cried, “Jonathan Hartley told -me to come to thee, and he said, he did say, that thou hed both wisdom -and money in plenty, and that thou would help me.” - -“What is thy trouble, Nancy?” - -“My man died in Bradford, and he left me nothing but four helpless -childer, and I hev a sister in Bradford who will take care of them while -I go back to my old place as pastry cook at the Black Swan Hotel.” - -“That would be a good plan, Nancy.” - -“For sure it would, Miss Josepha, but we awned our cottage, and our bee -skeps, and two dozen poultry, and our old loom. I can’t turn them into -brass again, and so I’m most clemmed with it all.” - -“How much do you want for the ‘all you awn’?” - -“I would count mysen in luck, if I got one hundred and fifty pounds.” - -“Is that sum its honest worth, not a penny too much, or a penny too -little?” - -“It is just what it cost us; ivery penny, and not a penny over, or -less.” - -“Then I’ll buy it, if all is as thou says. I’ll hev my lawyer look it -over, and I’ll see what the squire says, and if thou hes been straight -with me, thou can go home, and pack what tha wants to take with thee.” - -This incident was the initial purchase of many other cottages sold for -similar reasons, and when Josepha went back to London, she took with -her the title deeds of a large share of Annis village property. “But, -Antony,” she said, “I hev paid the full value of ivery deed I hold, ay, -in some cases more than their present value, but I do not doubt I shall -get all that is mine when the time is ripe for more, and more, and more -mills.” - -“Was this thy plan, when thou took that room in the Inn?” - -“Not it! I took it for a meeting place. I know most of the women -here, and I saw plainly Annie would not be able to stand the constant -visitations that were certain to follow. It made trouble in the kitchen, -and the voice of the kitchen soon troubles the whole house. Annie must -be considered, and the comfort of the home. That is the great right. -Then I hev other business with Annis women, not to be mixed up with thy -affairs. We are going to plan such an elementary school as Annis needs -for its children, with classes at night for the women who doan’t want -their boys and girls to be ashamed of them. And there must be a small -but perfectly fitted up hospital for the workers who turn sick or get -injured in the mill. And the Reverend Mr. Bentley and the Reverend Mr. -Foster come to me with their cases of sorrow and sickness, and I can -tell thee a room for all these considerations was one of the necessities -of our plans.” - -“I hevn’t a bit of doubt of it. But it is too much for thee to manage. -Thou art wearying soul and body.” - -“Far from it. It is as good and as great a thing to save a soul as it is -to make it. I am varry happy in my work, and as Mr. Foster would put it, -I feel a good deal nearer God, than I did counting up interest money in -London.” - -In the meantime the home life at Annis Hall was not only changed but -constantly changing. There was always some stranger--some expert of one -kind or another--a guest in its rooms, and their servants or assistants -kept the kitchen in a racket of cooking, and eating, and unusual -excitement. Mistress Annis sometimes felt that it would be impossible to -continue the life, but every day the squire came home so tired, and -so happy, that all discomforts fled before his cheery “Hello!” and his -boyish delight in the rapidly growing edifice. Dick had become his paid -secretary, and in the meantime was studying bookkeeping, and learning -from Jonathan all that could be known, concerning long and short staple -wools. - -Katherine was her mother’s right hand all the long day, but often, -towards closing time, she went down to the village on her pony, and then -the squire, or Dick, or both, rode home with her. Poor Kitty! Harry no -longer wrote to her, and Josepha said she had heard that he had gone to -America on a business speculation, “and it is a varry likely thing,” - she said, “for Harry knew a penny from a pound, before he learned how to -count. I wouldn’t fret about him, dearie.” - -“I am not fretting, aunt, but how would you feel, if you had shut the -door of your heart, and your love lay dead on its threshold. Nothing is -left to me now, but the having loved.” - -“Well, dearie, when we hevn’t what we love, we must love what we hev. -Thou isn’t a bit like thy sen.” - -“I have never felt young since Harry left me.” - -“That is a little thing to alter thee so much.” - -“No trouble that touches the heart is a little thing.” - -“Niver mind the past, dearie. Love can work miracles. If Harry really -loved thee he will come back to thee. Love is the old heartache of the -world, and then all in a minute some day, he is the Healing Love and The -Comforter. I hev a good mind to tell thee something, that I niver told -to any ither mortal sinner.” - -“If it would help me to bear more cheerfully my great loss, I would be -glad to hear anything of that kind.” - -Then Josepha sat down and spread her large capable hands one over each -knee and looking Kitty full in the eyes said--“I was at thy age as far -gone in love, with as handsome a youth as your Harry is. One morning -we hed a few words about the value of good birth, and out of pure -contradiction I set it up far beyond what I really thought of it; though -I’ll confess I am yet a bit weak about my awn ancestors. Now my lover -was on this subject varry touchy, for his family hed money, more than -enough, but hed no landed gentry, and no coat of arms, in fact, no -family. And I hed just hed a few words with mother, and Antony hedn’t -stood up for me. Besides, I wasn’t dressed fit to be seen, or I thought -I wasn’t, and I was out with mother, and out with Antony, well then, I -was out with mysen, and all the world beside; and I asked varry crossly: -‘Whativer brings thee here at this time of day? I should hev thought -thou knew enough to tell thysen, a girl hes no liking for a lover that -comes in the morning. He’s nothing but in her way.’” - -“Oh, auntie, how could you?” - -“Well, then, there was a varry boisterous wind blowing, and they do say, -the devil is allays busy in a high wind. I suppose he came my road -that morning, and instead of saying ‘be off with thee’ I made him so -comfortable in my hot temper, he just bided at my side, and egged me on, -to snap out ivery kind of provoking thing.” - -“I am very much astonished, aunt. The fair word that turneth away wrath -is more like you.” - -“For sure it is, or else there hes been a great change for t’ better -since that time. Well, that day it was thus, and so; and I hev often -wondered as to the why and wherefore of that morning’s foolishness.” - -“Did he go away forever that morning?” - -“He did not come for a week, and during that week, Admiral Temple came -to see father, and he stayed until he took with him my promise to be his -wife early in the spring.” - -“Were you very miserable, auntie?” - -“Oh, my dear, I was sick in love, as I could be.” - -“Why didn’t you make it up with him?” - -“I hed several reasons for not doing so. My father hed sailed with -Admiral Temple, and they were friends closer than brothers, for they hed -saved each other’s lives--that was one reason. I was angry at my -lover staying away a whole week. That was reason number two. Ten years -afterwards I learned, quite accidentally, that his coming was prevented -by circumstances it was impossible for him to control. Then my mother -hed bragged all her fine words over the country-side, about the great -marriage I was to make. That was another reason;--and I am a bit ashamed -to say, the splendid jewels and the rich silks and Indian goods my new -lover sent me seemed to make a break with him impossible. At any rate, -I felt this, and mother and father niver spoke of the Admiral that they -did not add another rivet to the bond between us. So at last I married -my sailor, and I thank God I did so!” - -“Did your lover break his heart?” - -“Not a bit of it! He married soon after I was married.” - -“Whom did he marry?” - -“Sophia Ratcliffe, a varry pretty girl from the old town of -Boroughbridge. I niver saw her. I went with the Admiral, by permission, -to various ports, remaining at some convenient town, while he sailed far -and wide after well-loaded ships of England’s enemies, and picking up as -he sailed, any bit of land flying no civilized flag. I did not come back -to Annis for five years. My father was then dead, my mother hed gone -back to her awn folks, and my brother Antony was Squire of Annis.” - -“Then did you meet your old lover?” - -“One day, I was walking with Antony through the village, and we met the -very loveliest child I iver saw in all my life. He was riding a Shetland -pony, and a gentleman walked by his side, and watched him carefully, and -I found out at once by his air of authority that he was the boy’s tutor. -I asked the little fellow for a kiss, and he bent his lovely face and -smilingly let me take what I wanted. Then they passed on and Antony -said, ‘His mother died three months ago, and he nearly broke his heart -for her.’ ‘Poor little chap,’ I said, and my eyes followed the little -fellow down the long empty street. ‘His father,’ continued Antony, ‘was -just as brokenhearted. All Annis village was sorry for him.’ -‘Do I know him?’ I asked. ‘I should think so!’ answered thy father with -a look of surprise, and then someone called, ‘Squire,’ and we waited, -and spoke to the man about his taxes. After his complaint had been -attended to we went forward, and I remembered the child, and asked, -‘What is the name of that lovely child?’ And Antony said, -“‘His name is Harry Bradley. His father is John Thomas Bradley. Hes thou -forgotten him?’ - -“Then I turned and looked after the boy, but the little fellow was -nearly out of sight. I only got a last glimpse of some golden curls -lying loose over his white linen suit and black ribbons.” - -Then Josepha ceased speaking and silently took the weeping girl in her -arms. She kissed her, and held her close, until the storm of sorrow was -over, then she said softly: - -“There it is, Lovey! The lot of women is on thee. Bear it bravely for -thy father’s sake. He hes a lot to manage now, and he ought not to see -anything but happy people, or hear anything but loving words. Wash thy -face, and put on thy dairymaid’s linen bonnet and we will take a -breath of fresh air in the lower meadow. Its hedges are all full of -the Shepherd’s rose, and their delicious perfume gives my soul a fainty -feeling, and makes me wonder in what heavenly paradise I had caught that -perfume before.” - -“I will, aunt. You have done me good, it would be a help to many girls -to have heard your story. We have so many ideas that, if examined, -would not look as we imagine them to be. Agatha De Burg used to say that -‘unfaithfulness to our first love was treason to our soul.’” - -“I doan’t wonder, if that was her notion. She stuck through thick and -thin to that scoundrel De Burg, and she was afraid De Burg was thinking -of thee, and afraid thou would marry him. When girls first go into -society they are in a bit of a hurry to get married; if they only wait a -year or two, it does not seem such a pressing matter. Thou knows De -Burg was Agatha’s first love, and she hes not realized yet, that it is a -God’s mercy De Burg hes not kep the promises he made her.” - -“The course of true love never yet ran smooth,” and Katherine sighed as -she poured out some water and prepared to wash her face. - -“Kitty,” said her aunt, “the way my life hes been ordered for me, -shows that God, and only God, orders the three great events of ivery -life--birth, marriage and death; that is, if we will let Him do so. -Think a moment, if I hed married John Thomas Bradley, I would hev spent -all my best days in a lonely Yorkshire hamlet, in the midst of worrying -efforts to make work pay, that was too out-of-date to struggle along. -Until I was getting to be an old woman, I would hev known nothing but -care and worry, and how John Thomas would hev treated me, nobody but God -knew. I hated poverty, and I would hev been poor. I wanted to see Life -and Society and to travel, and I would hardly hev gone beyond Annis -Village. Well, now, see how things came about. I mysen out of pure bad -temper made a quarrel with my lover, and then perversely I wouldn’t make -it up, and then the Admiral steps into my life, gives me ivery longing -I hed, and leaves me richer than all my dreams. I hev seen Life and -Society, and the whole civilized world, and found out just what it -is worth, and I hev made money, and am now giving mysen the wonderful -pleasure of helping others to be happy. Sit thee quiet. If Harry is -thine, he will come to thee sure as death! If he does not come of his -awn free will, doan’t thee move a finger to bring him. Thou wilt mebbe -bring nothing but trouble to thysen. There was that young banker thou -met at Jane’s house, he loved thee purely and sincerely. Thou might -easily hev done far worse than marry him. Whativer hed thou against -him?” - -“His hair.” - -“What was wrong with the lad’s hair?” - -“Why, aunt, Jane called it ‘sandy’ but I felt sure it was turning -towards red.” - -“Stuff and nonsense! It will niver turn anything but white, and it -won’t turn white till thy awn is doing the same thing. And tha knaws -it doesn’t make much matter what color a man’s hair is. Englishmen are -varry seldom without a hat of one kind or another. I doan’t believe I -would hev known the Admiral without his naval hat, or in his last years, -his garden hat. Does tha remember an old lady called Mrs. Sam Sagar? She -used to come and see thy mother, when thou was only a little lass about -eight years old, remember her, she was a queer old lady.” - -“Queer, but Yorkshire; queer, but varry sensible. Her husband, like the -majority of Yorkshiremen, niver took off his hat, unless to put on his -nightcap, or if he was going inside a church, or hed to listen to the -singing of ‘God Save the King.’ When he died, his wife hed his favorite -hat trimmed with black crape, and it hung on its usual peg of the hat -stand, just as long as she lived. You see his hat was the bit of his -personality that she remembered best of all. Well, what I wanted to show -thee was, the importance of the hat to a man, and then what matters the -color of his hair.” - -By this time they were in the thick green grass of the meadow, and -Kitty laughed at her aunt’s illustration of the Yorkshire man’s habit -of covering his head, and they chatted about it, as they gathered great -handfuls of shepherd’s roses. And after this, Josepha spoke only of her -plans for the village, and of Faith’s interest in them. She felt she -had said plenty about love, and she hoped the seed she had sown that -afternoon had fallen on good ground. Surely it is a great thing to know -_how and when to let go._ - - - - -CHAPTER XII--THE SQUIRE MAKES GOOD - - -_“Busy, happy, loving people; talking, eating, singing, sewing, living -through every sense they have at the same time.”_ - -_“People who are happy, do not write down their happiness.”_ - - - THE summer went quickly away, but during it the whole life of Annis -Hall and Annis Village changed. The orderly, beautiful home was tossed -up by constant visitors, either on business, or on simple social -regulations; and the village was full of strange men, who had small -respect for what they considered such an old-fashioned place. But in -spite of all opinions and speculations, the work for which all this -change was permitted went on with unceasing energy. The squire’s -interest in it constantly increased, and Dick’s enthusiasm and ability -developed with every day’s exigencies. Then Josepha was constantly -bringing the village affairs into the house affairs, and poor women -with easy, independent manners, were very troublesome to Britton and -his wife. They were amazed at the tolerance with which Mistress Annis -permitted their frequent visits and they reluctantly admitted such -excuses as she made for them. - -“You must remember, Betsy,” she frequently explained, “that few of them -have ever been in any home but their father’s and their own. They have -been as much mistress in their own home, as I have been in my home. -Their ideas of what is fit and respectful, come from their heart and are -not in any degree habits of social agreement. If they like or respect a -person, they are not merely civil or respectful, they are kind and free, -and speak just as they feel.” - -“They do that, Madam--a good bit too free.” - -“Well, Betsy, they are Mistress Temple’s business at present. Thou need -not mind them.” - -“I doan’t, not in the least.” - -“They are finding out for her, things she wants to know about the -village, the number of children that will be to teach--the number of men -and women that know how to read and write.” - -“Few of that kind, Madam, if any at all.” - -“You know she is now making plans for a school, and she wants, of -course, to have some idea as to the number likely to go there, and other -similar questions. Everyone ought to know how to read and write.” - -“Well, Madam, Britton and mysen hev found our good common senses all we -needed. They were made and given to us by God, when we was born. He gave -us senses enough to help us to do our duty in that state of life it had -pleased Him to call us to. These eddicated lads are fit for nothing. -Britton won’t be bothered with them. He says neither dogs nor horses -like them. They understand Yorkshire speech and ways, but when a lad -gets book knowledge, they doan’t understand his speech, and his ways -of pronouncing his words; and they just think scorn of his -perliteness--they kick up their heels at it, and Britton says they do -right. _Why-a!_ We all know what school teachers are! The varry childher -feel suspicious o’ them, and no wonder! They all hev a rod or a strap -somewhere about them, and they fairly seem to enjoy using it. I niver -hed a lick from anybody in my life. I wouldn’t hev stood it, except from -dad, and his five senses were just as God made them; and if dad gave -any o’ the lads a licking, they deserved it, and they didn’t mind taking -it.” - -“If they got one from a schoolmaster, I dare say they would deserve it.” - -“No, Madam, begging your pardon, I know instances on the contrary. My -sister-in-law’s cousin’s little lad was sent to a school by Colonel -Broadbent, because he thought the child was clever beyond the usual run -of lads, and he got such a cruel basting as niver was, just because -he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, learn something they called parts of -speech--hard, long names, no meaning in them.” - -“That was too bad. Did he try to learn them?” - -“He tried himsen sick, and Britton he tried to help him. Britton learned -one word, called in-ter-jec-tions. He tried that word on both dogs and -horses----” - -“Well, what followed?” - -“Nothing, Madam. He wanted the horses to go on, and they stood stock -still. The dogs just looked up at him, as if they thought he hed lost -his senses. And Britton, he said then and there, ‘the Quality can hev -all my share of grammar, and they are varry welcome to it.’ Our folk, -young and old, learn greedily to read. Writing hes equal favor with -them, arithmatic goes varry well with their natural senses, but grammar! -What’s the use of grammar? They talk better when they know nothing about -it.” - -So it must be confessed, Miss Josepha did not meet with the eager -gratitude she expected. She was indeed sometimes tempted to give up her -plans, but to give up was to Josepha so difficult and so hateful that -she would not give the thought a moment’s consideration. “I hev been -taking the wrong way about the thing,” she said to Annie. “I will go and -talk to them, mysen.” - -“Then you will make them delighted to do all your will. Put on your bib -and tucker, and ask Mr. Foster’s permission to use the meeting room of -the Methodist Chapel. That will give your plans the sacred touch women -approve when the subject concerns themselves.” This advice was followed, -and two days afterward, Josepha dressed herself for a chapel interview -with the mothers of Annis. The special invitation pleased them, and they -went to the tryst with their usual up-head carriage, and free and easy -manner, decidely accentuated. - -Josepha was promptly at the rendezvous appointed, and precisely as -the clock struck three, she stepped from the vestry door to the little -platform used by the officials of the church in all their secular -meetings. She smiled and bowed her head and then cried--“Mothers of -Annis, good afternoon to every one of you!” And they rose in a body, and -made her a courtesy, and then softly clapped their hands, and as soon as -there was silence, Jonathan Hartley’s daughter welcomed her. There was -nothing wanting in this welcome, it was brimful of honest pleasure. -Josepha was Annis. She was the sister of their squire, she was a very -handsome woman, and she had thought it worth while to dress herself -handsomely to meet them. She was known to every woman in the village, -but she had never become commonplace or indifferent. There was no other -woman just like her in their vicinity, and she had always been a ready -helper in all the times of their want and trouble. - -As she stood up before them, she drew every eye to her. She wore or -this occasion, her very handsomest, deepest, mourning garments. Her long -nun-like crêpe veil would have fallen below her knees had it not been -thrown backward, and within her bonnet there was a Maria Stuart border -of the richest white crêpe. Her thick wavy hair was untouched by Time, -and her stately figure, richly clothed in long garments of silk poplin, -was improved, and not injured, by a slight _embonpoint_ that gave her a -look of stability and strength. Her face, both handsome and benign, had -a rather austere expression, natural and approved,-though none in that -audience understood that it was the result of a strong will, tenaciously -living out its most difficult designs. - -Without a moment’s delay she went straight to her point, and with -vigorous Yorkshire idioms soon carried every woman in the place with -her; and she knew so well the mental temperature of her audience, that -she promptly declined their vote. “I shall take your word, women,” she -said in a confident tone, “and I shall expect ivery one of you to keep -it.” - -Amid loud and happy exclamations, she left the chapel and when she -reached the street, saw that her coachman was slowly walking the ponies -in an opposite direction, in order to soothe their restlessness. She -also was too restless to stand still and wait their leisurely pace and -she walked in the same direction, knowing that they must very soon meet -each other. Almost immediately someone passed her, then turned back and -met face to face. - -It was a handsome man of about the squire’s age, and he put out his -hand, and said with a charming, kindly manner:-- - -“_Why-a, Josepha! Josepha!_ At last we hev met again.” - -For just a moment Josepha hesitated, then she gave the apparent stranger -her hand, and they stood laughing and chatting together, until the -ponies were at hand, and had to be taken away for another calming -exercise. - -“I hevn’t seen you, Josepha, for twenty-four years and five months and -four days. I was counting the space that divided us yesterday, when -somebody told me about this meeting of Annis women, and I thought, ‘I -will just go to Annis, and hang round till I get a glimpse of her.’” - -“Well, John Thomas,” she answered, “it is mainly thy awn fault. Thou hed -no business to quarrel with Antony.” - -“It was Antony’s fault.” - -“No, it was not.” - -“Well, then, it was all my fault.” - -“Ay, thou must stick to that side of the quarrel, or I’ll not hev to -know thee,” and both laughed and shook hands again. Then she stepped -into her carriage, and Bradley said: - -“But I shall see thee again, surely?” - -“It might so happen,” she answered with a pretty wave of her hand. And -all the way home she was wandering what good or evil Fate had brought -John Thomas Bradley into her life again. - -When she got back to the Hall, she noticed that her sister-in-law was -worried, and she asked, “What is bothering thee now, Annie?” - -“Well, Josepha, Antony hed a visit from Lawyer Wetherall and he told -Antony Annis that he hes not a particle of right to the seat in The -House of Commons, as matters stand now. He says the new borough will -be contested, and that Colonel Frobisher of Annis is spoken of for -the Liberals, and Sir John Conyers or John Thomas Bradley are likely -candidates for the Tory side of affairs. They hed a long talk and it -wasn’t altogether a pleasant one, and Wetherall went away in a huff, and -Antony came to me in one of his still passions, and I hev been heving -a varry disagreeable hour or two; and I do think Antony’s ignorance -on this matter quite shameful. He ought to hev known, on what right or -title he held such an honor. I am humiliated by the circumstance.” - -“Well, then, thou needn’t be so touchy. A great many lords and earls and -men of high degree hev been as ignorant as Antony. Thy husband stands in -varry good company. Antony isn’t a bit to blame. Not he! Antony held his -right from the people of Annis--his awn people--he did not even buy it, -as some did. It had been his, with this authenticity, for centuries. -Thou shared with him all of the honor and profit it brought, and if -there was any wrong in the way it came, thou sanctioned and shared it. -And if I was Antony I would send Wetherall to the North Pole in his -trust or esteem. If he knew different he ought to hev told Antony -different long ago. I shall take ivery bit of business I hev given -Wetherall out of his hands to-morrow morning. And if he charges me a -penny-piece too much I’ll give him trouble enough to keep on the fret -all the rest of his life. I will that!” - -“I hev no doubt of it.” - -“Where is Antony now?” - -“Wheriver that weary mill is building, I suppose.” - -“Well, thou ought to be a bit beyond ‘supposing.’ Thou ought to _know_. -It is thy place to know, and if he is in trouble, to be helping him to -bear it.” - -“Josepha, there is no use in you badgering and blaming me. What would -you hev done if Wetherall hed said such and such things, in your -presence, as he did in mine?” - -“I would hev told him he was a fool, as well as a rascal, to tell at the -end what he ought to hev told at the beginning. If Antony hed no right -to the seat, why did he take money, year after year, for doing business -connected with the seat; and niver open his false mouth? I shall get -mysen clear of him early to-morrow morning.” - -“Don’t go away now, Josepha. I will send someone to look for the -squire.” - -“I will go mysen, Annie. Thank you!” - -She found the squire in a very troubled, despondent mood. “Josepha,” he -cried, “to think that I hev been filling a position on sufferance that I -thought was my lawful right!” - -“And that rascal, Wetherall, niver said a word to thee?” - -“It is my awn fault. I aught to hev inquired into the matter long ago.” - -“Then so ought the rest of the legislators. Custom becomes right, -through length of years, and thou art not to blame, not in the least. -Now, however, I would give it up to the people, who gave it to thee. Not -to Wetherall! Put him out of the affair. _Entirely!_ There is to be a -meeting on the village green to-night. Go to it, and then and there say -the words that will give thy heart satisfaction.” - -“Ay, I intend to go, but Annie is vexed, and she makes me feel as if I -hed done something that reflects on our honor and respectability.” - -“Thou hes done nothing of the kind. No man in all England or Scotland -will say such a thing. Doan’t thee take blame from anyone. If women hed -to judge men’s political character, ivery one would be wrong but their -awn men folk.” - -“Annie thinks I hev been wrong.” - -“Annie is peculiar. There are allays exceptions to ivery proposition. -Annie is an exception. Dress thysen in thy handsomest field suit, and -take thy short dog whip in thy hands; it will speed thy words more than -thou could believe, and a crack with it will send an epithet straight -to where it should go.” The squire laughed and leaped to his feet. “God -bless thee, Josepha! I’ll do just what tha says.” - -“Then thou’ll do right.” - -This promise was not an easy one to keep, in the face of Annie’s air -of reproach and suffering; but, nevertheless, it was kept, and when the -squire came in sight of the Green he saw a very large gathering of -men already standing round a rude rostrum, on which sat or stood -half-a-dozen gentlemen. Annis put his horse in the care of his servant, -and stood on the edge of the crowd. Wetherall was talking to the newly -made citizens, and explaining their new political status and duties to -them, and at the close of his speech said, “he had been instructed to -propose John Thomas Bradley for the Protective or Tory government,” and -this proposal was immediately seconded by a wealthy resident of Bradley -village. - -The squire set his teeth firmly, his lips were drawn straight and tight, -and his eyes snapped and shone with an angry light. Then there was a -movement among the men on the platform, and Bradley walked to the front. -The clear soft twilight of an English summer fell all over him. It -seemed to Annis that his old friend had never before appeared so -handsome and so lovable. He looked at him until some unbidden tears -quenched the angry flame in his eyes, and he felt almost inclined to -mount and ride away. - -He was, however, arrested immediately by Bradley’s words.--“Gentlemen,” - he said with prompt decision--“I cannot, and will not, accept your -flattering invitation. Do any of you think that I would accept a -position, that puts me in antagonism to my old and well-loved friend, -Antony Annis? Not for all the honor, or power, or gold in England! Annis -is your proper and legitimate representative. Can any of you count the -generations through which the Annis family hes been your friends and -helpers? You know all that the present Squire Antony hes done, without -me saying a word about it: and I could not, and I would not, try to -stand in his shoes for anything king or country could give me. This, on -my honor, is a definite and positive refusal of your intended mark of -respect. I accept the respect which prompted the honor gratefully; the -honor itself, I positively decline. If I hev anything more to say, it -is this--send your old representative, Antony Annis, to watch over, and -speak outright, for your interests. He is the best man you can get in -all England, and be true to him, and proud of him!” - -A prolonged cheering followed this speech, and during it Squire Antony -made his way through the crowd, and reached the platform. He went -straight to Bradley with outstretched hands--“John Thomas!” he said, in -a voice full of emotion, “My dear, dear friend! I heard ivery word!” and -the two men clasped hands, and stood a moment looking into each other’s -love-wet eyes; and knew that every unkind thought, and word, had been -forever forgiven. - -Then Annis stepped forward, and was met with the heartiest welcome. -Never had he looked so handsome and gracious. He appeared to have thrown -off all the late sorrowful years, and something of the glory of that -authority which springs from love, lent a singular charm to this -picturesque appearance. - -He stood at the side of Bradley, and still held his hand. “My friends -and fellow citizens!” he cried joyfully, giving the last two words such -an enthusiastic emphasis, as brought an instant shout of joyful triumph. -“My friends and fellow citizens! If anything could make it possible for -me to go back to the House of Commons, it would be the plea of the man -whose hand I have just clasped. As you all know, I hev pledged my word -to the men and women of Annis to give them the finest power-loom factory -in the West Riding. If I stick to my promise faithfully, I cannot take -on any other work or business. You hev hed my promise for some months. -I will put nothing before it--or with it. Men of Annis, you are my -helpers, do you really think I would go to London, and break my promise? -Not you! Not one of you! I shall stay right here, until Annis mill is -weaving the varry best broadcloths and woolen goods that can be made. -Ask Colonel Frobisher to go to London, and stand for Annis and her wool -weavers. He hes little else to do, we all know and love him, and he -will be varry glad to go for you. Antony Annis hes been a talking man -hitherto, henceforward he will be a working man, but there is a bit of -advice I’ll give you now and probably niver again. First of all, take -care how you vote, and for whom you vote. If your candidate proves -unworthy of the confidence you gave him, mebbe you are not quite -innocent. Niver sell your vote for any price, nor for any reason. -Remember voting is a religious act.” - -“Nay, nay, squire!” someone in the crowd called out, with a dissenting -laugh. “There’s nothing but jobbery, and robbery, and drinking and -quarreling in it. There is no religion about it, squire, that I can -see.” - -“Well, then, Tommy Raikes, thou doesn’t see much beyond thysen.” - -“And, squire, I heard that the Methodist preacher prayed last Sunday in -the varry pulpit about the election. Folks doan’t like to go to chapel -to pray about elections. It isn’t right. Mr. Foster oughtn’t to do such -things. It hurts people’s feelings.” - -“Speak for thysen, Tommy; I’ll be bound the people were all of Mr. -Foster’s opinion. It is a varry important election, the varry first, -that a great many of the people iver took a part in. And I do say, -that I hev no doubt all of them were thankful for the prayer. There is -nothing wrong in praying about elections. It is a religious rite, just -the same as saying grace before your food, and thanking God when you hev -eaten it. Just the same as putting _Dei gratia_ on our money, or taking -oaths in court, or when assuming important positions. Tommy, such simple -religious services proclaim the sacredness of our daily life; and so the -vote at an election, if given conscientiously, is a religious act.” - -There was much hearty approval of the squire’s opinion, and Tommy Raikes -was plainly advised in various forms of speech to reserve his own. -During the altercation the squire turned his happy face to John Thomas -Bradley, and they said a few words to each other, which ended in a -mutual smile as the squire faced his audience and continued: - -“The best thing I hev to say to you this night is, in the days of -prosperity fast coming to Annis, stick to your religion. Doan’t lose -yoursens in the hurry and flurry of the busy life before you all. Any -nation to become great must be a religious nation; for nationality is -a product of the soul. It is something for which ivery straight-hearted -man would die. There are many good things for which a good man would not -die, but a good man would willingly die for the good of his country. His -hopes for her will not tolerate a probability. They hev to be realized, -or he’ll die for them. - -“If you are good Church of England men you are all right. She is your -spiritual mother, do what she tells you to do, and you can’t do wrong. -If you are a Dissenter from her, then keep a bit of Methodism in your -souls. It is kind and personal, and if it gets hold of a man, it does a -lot for him. It sits in the center. I am sorry to say there are a great -many atheists among weavers. Atheists do nothing. A man steeped in -Methodism can do anything! Its love and its honesty lift up them that -are cast down; it gives no quarter to the devil, and it hes a heart as -big as God’s mercy. If you hev your share of this kind of Methodist, you -will be kind, or at least civil to strangers. You knaw how you usually -treat them. The ither day I was watching the men budding, and a stranger -passed, and one of the bricklayers said to another near him, ‘Who’s -that?’ and the other looked up and answered, ‘I doan’t know. He’s a -stranger.’ And the advice promptly given was, ‘throw a brick at him!’” - This incident was so common and so natural, that it was greeted with a -roar of laughter, and the squire nodded and laughed also, and so in the -midst of the pleasant racket, went away with John Thomas Bradley at his -side. - -“It’s a fine night,” said Annis to Bradley. “Walk up the hill and hev -a bite of supper with me.” The invitation was almost an oath of renewed -friendship, and Bradley could on no account refuse it. Then the squire -sent his man ahead to notify the household, and the two men took the -hill at each other’s side, talking eagerly of the election and its -probabilities. As they neared the Hall, Bradley was silent and a little -troubled. “Antony,” he said, “how about the women-folk?” - -“I am by thy side. As they treat me they will treat thee. Josepha was -allays thy friend. Mistress Annis hed a kind side for thee, so hed my -little Kitty. For awhile, they hev been under the influence of a lie set -going by thy awn son.” - -“By Harry?” - -“To be sure. But Harry was misinformed, by that mean little lawyer that -lives in Bradley. I hev forgotten the whole story, and I won’t hev it -brought up again. It was a lie out of the whole cloth, and was varry -warmly taken up by Dick, and you know how our women are--they stand by -ivery word their men say.” - -The men entered together. Josepha was not the least astonished. In fact, -she was sure this very circumstance would happen. Had she not advised -and directed John Thomas that very afternoon what to do, and had he not -been only too ready and delighted to follow her advice? When the door -opened she rose, and with some enthusiasm met John Thomas, and while she -was welcoming him the squire had said the few words that were sufficient -to insure Annie’s welcome. An act of oblivion was passed without a word, -and just where the friendship had been dropped, it was taken up again. -Kitty excused herself, giving a headache as her reason, and Dick was -in Liverpool with Hartley, looking over a large importation of South -American wool. - -The event following this rearrangement of life was the return of Josepha -to her London home. She said a combination of country life and November -fogs was beyond her power of cheerful endurance; and then she begged -Katherine to go back to London with her. Katherine was delighted to do -so. Harry’s absence no longer troubled her. She did not even wish to see -him and the home circumstances had become stale and wearisome. The -coming and going of many strangers and the restlessness and uncertainty -of daily life was a great trial to a family that had lived so many years -strictly after its own ideals of reposeful, regular rule and order. -Annie, very excusably, was in a highly nervous condition, the squire was -silent and thoughtful, and in the evenings too tired to talk. Katherine -was eager for more company of her own kind, and just a little weary of -Dick’s and Faith’s devotion to each other. “I wish aunt would go to -London and take me with her,” she said to herself one morning, as she -was rather indifferently dressing her own hair. - -And so it happened that Josepha that very day found the longing for her -own home and life so insistent that she resolved to indulge it. “What am -I staying here for?” she asked herself with some impatience. “I am not -needed about the business yet to be, and Antony is looking after the -preparations for it beyond all I expected. I’m bothering Annie, and -varry soon John Thomas will begin bothering me; and poor Kitty hes no -lover now, and is a bit tired of Faith’s perfections. As for Dick, poor -lad! he is kept running between the mill’s business, and the preacher’s -daughter. And Antony himsen says things to me, nobody else hes a right -to say. I see people iverywhere whom no one can suit, and who can’t suit -themsens. I’ll be off to London in two days--and I’ll take Kitty with -me.” - -Josepha’s private complaint was not without truth and her resolve was -both kind and wise. A good, plain household undertaking was lacking; -every room was full of domestic malaria, and the best-hearted person -in the world, can neither manage nor yet control this insidious unhappy -element. It is then surely the part of prudence, where combat is -impossible, to run away. - -So Josepha ran away, and she took her niece with her. They reached -London in time to see the reopening of Parliament, and Mrs. Temple’s -cards for dinner were in the hands of her favorites within two weeks -afterwards. Katherine was delighted to be the secretary for such -writing, and she entered heartily into her aunt’s plans for a busy, -social winter. They chose the parties to carry out their pleasant ideas -together, and as Kitty was her aunt’s secretary, it soon became evident -to both that the name of Edward Selby was never omitted. One or other of -the ladies always suggested it, and the proposal was readily accepted. - -“He is a fine young man,” said Josepha, “and their bank hes a sound -enviable reputation. I intend, for the future, to deposit largely there, -and it is mebbe a good plan to keep in social touch with your banker.” - -“And he is very pleasant to dance with,” added Kitty, “he keeps step -with you, and a girl looks her best with him; and then he is not always -paying you absurd compliments.” - -“A varry sensible partner.” - -“I think so.” - -And during the long pleasant winter this satisfaction with Selby grew -to a very sweet and even intense affection. The previous winter Harry -Bradley had stood in his way, but the path of love now ran straight and -smooth, and no one had any power to trouble it. Selby was so handsome, -so deeply in love, so desirable in every way, that Katherine knew -herself to be the most fortunate of women. She was now also in love, -really in love. Her affection for her child lover had faded even out of -her memory. Compared with her passion for Selby, it was indeed a child -love, just a sentimental dream, nursed by contiguity, and the tolerance -and talk of elder people. Nothing deceives the young like the idea of -first love--a conquering idea if a true one, a pretty dangerous mirage, -if it is not true. - -While this affair was progressing delightfully in London things were not -standing still in Annis. The weather had been singularly propitious, and -the great, many-windowed building was beginning to show the length and -breadth of its intentions. Meanwhile Squire Annis was the busiest and -happiest man in all Yorkshire, and Annie was rejoicing in the restored -peace and order of her household. It did not seem that there could now -have been any cause of anxiety in the old Annis home. But there was a -little. Dick longed to have a more decided understanding concerning his -own marriage, but the squire urged him not to think of marriage until -the mill was opened and at work and Dick was a loyal son, as well as -a true lover. He knew also that in many important ways he had become -a great help to his father, and that if he took the long journey he -intended to take with his bride, his absence would be both a trial and -a positive loss in more ways than one. The situation was trying to all -concerned, but both Faith and her father made it pleasant and hopeful, -so that generally speaking his soul walked in a straight way. Sometimes -he asked his father with one inquiring look, “How long, father, how -long now?” And the squire had hitherto always under’ stood the look, and -answered promptly, “Not just yet, dear lad, not just yet!” - -Josepha and Katherine had returned from London. So continually the -days grew longer, and brighter, and warmer, and the roses came and -sent perfume through the whole house, as the small group of women made -beautiful garments, and talked and wondered, and speculated; and the -squire and Dick grew more and more reticent about the mill and its -progress, until one night, early in July, they came home together, and -the very sound of their footsteps held a happy story. Josepha understood -it. She threw down the piece of muslin in her hand and stood up -listening. The next moment the squire and his son entered the room -together. “What is it, Antony?” she cried eagerly. “_The mill?_” - -“The mill is finished! The mill is perfect! We can start work to-morrow -morning if we wish. It is thy doing!” Then he turned to his wife, and -opened his arms, and whispered his joy to her, and Annie’s cheeks were -wet when they both turned to Katherine. - -And that day the women did not sew another stitch. - -The next morning Annis village heard a startling new sound. It was the -factory bell calling labor to its duty. And everyone listened to its -fateful reverberations traveling over the surrounding hills and telling -the villages in their solitary places, “Your day also is coming.” - The squire sat up in his bed to listen, and his heart swelled to the -impetuous summons and he whispered in no careless manner, “_Thank God!_” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--MARRIAGE BELLS AND GOOD-BY TO ANNIS - - - “All will be well, though how or where - - Or when it will we need not care. - - We cannot see, and can’t declare: - - ‘Tis not in vain and not for nought, - - The wind it blows, the ship it goes, - - Though where, or whither, no one knows.” - - - IMMEDIATELY after this event preparations for Katherine’s marriage were -revived with eager haste and diligence, and the ceremony was celebrated -in Annis Parish Church. She went there on her father’s arm, and -surrounded by a great company of the rich and noble relatives of the -Annis and Selby families. It was a glorious summer day and the gardens -from the Hall to the end of the village were full of flowers. It seemed -as if all nature rejoiced with her, as if her good angel loved her so -that she had conniv’d with everything to give her love and pleasure. -There had been some anxiety about her dress, but it turned out to be a -marvel of exquisite beauty. It was, of course, a frock of the richest -white satin, but its tunic and train and veil were of marvelously fine -Spanish lace. There were orange blooms in her hair and myrtle in -her hands, and her sweetness, beauty and happiness made everyone -instinctively bless her. - -Dick’s marriage to Faith Foster was much longer delayed; not because his -love had lost any of its sweetness and freshness, but because Faith had -taught him to cheerfully put himself in his father’s place. So without -any complaining, or any explanation, he remained at his father’s side. -Then the Conference of the Methodist Church removed Mr. Foster from -Annis to Bradford, and the imperative question was then whether Faith -would go with her father or remain in Annis as Dick’s wife. Dick was -never asked this question. The squire heard the news first and he went -directly to his son:-- - -“Dick, my good son, thou must now get ready to marry Faith, or else thou -might lose her. I met Mr. Foster ten minutes ago, and he told me that -the Methodist Conference had removed him from Annis to Bradford.” - -“Whatever have they done that for? The people here asked him to remain, -and he wrote the Conference he wished to do so.” - -“It is just their awful way of doing ‘according to rule,’ whether the -rule fits or not. But that is neither here nor there. Put on thy hat and -go and ask Faith how soon she can be ready to marry thee.” - -“Gladly will I do that, father; but where are we to live? Faith would -not like to go to the Hall.” - -“Don’t ask her to do such a thing. Sir John Pomfret wants to go to -southern France for two or three years to get rid of rheumatism, and his -place is for rent. It is a pretty place, and not a mile from the mill. -Now get married as quick as iver thou can, and take Faith for a month’s -holiday to London and Paris and before you get home again I will hev the -Pomfret place ready for you to occupy. It is handsomely furnished, and -Faith will delight her-sen in keeping it in fine order.” - -“What will mother say to that?” - -“Just what I say. Not a look or word different. She knows thou hes stood -faithful and helpful by hersen and by me. Thou hes earned all we can -both do for thee.” - -These were grand words to carry to his love, and Dick went gladly to her -with them. A couple of hours later the squire called on Mr. Foster and -had a long and pleasant chat with him. He said he had gone at once to -see Sir John Pomfret and found him not only willing, but greatly pleased -to rent his house to Mr. Richard Annis and his bride. “I hev made a good -bargain,” he continued, “and if Dick and Faith like the place, I doan’t -see why they should not then buy it. Surely if they winter and summer a -house for three years, they ought to know whether it is worth its price -or not.” - -In this conversation it seemed quite easy for the two men to arrange -a simple, quiet marriage to take place in a week or ten days, but when -Faith and Mrs. Annis were taken into the consultation, the simple, quiet -marriage became a rather difficult problem. Faith said that she would -not leave her father until she had packed her father’s books and seen -all their personal property comfortably arranged in the preacher’s house -in Bradford. Then some allusion was made to her wardrobe, and the men -remembered the wedding dress and other incidentals. Mistress Annis found -it hard to believe that the squire really expected such a wedding as he -and Mr. Foster actually planned. - -“_Why-a, Antony!_” she said, “the dear girl must have a lot to do both -for her father and hersen. A marriage within two or three months is -quite impossible. Of course she must see Mr. Foster settled in his new -home and also find a proper person to look after his comfort. And after -that is done, she will have her wedding dress to order and doubtless -many other garments. And where will the wedding ceremony take place?” - -“In Bradford, I suppose. Usually the bridegroom goes to his bride’s home -for her. I suppose Dick will want to do so.” - -“He cannot do so in this case. The future squire of Annis must be -married in Annis church.” - -“Perhaps Mr. Foster might----” - -“Antony Annis! What you are going to say is impossible! Methodist -preachers cannot marry anyone legally. I have known that for years.” - -“I think that law has been abrogated. There was a law spoken of that was -to repeal all the disqualifications of Dissenters.” - -“We cannot have any uncertainties about our son’s marriage. Thou knows -that well. And as for any hole-in-a-corner ceremony, it is impossible. -We gave our daughter Katherine a proper, public wedding; we must do the -same for Dick.” - -It is easy under these circumstances to see how two loving, anxious -women could impose on themselves extra responsibilities and thus -lengthen out the interval of separation for nearly three months. For -Faith, when the decision was finally left to her, refused positively -to be married from the Hall. Thanking the squire and his wife for their -kind and generous intentions, she said without a moment’s hesitation, -that “she could not be married to anyone except from her father’s home.” - -“It would be a most unkind slight to the best of fathers,” she said. “It -would be an insult to the most wise and tender affection any daughter -ever received. I am not the least ashamed of my simple home and simple -living, and neither father nor myself look on marriage as an occasion -for mirth and feasting and social visiting.” - -“How then do you regard it?” asked Mistress Annis, “as a time of -solemnity and fear?” - -“We regard it as we do other religious rites. We think it a condition -to be assumed with religious thought and gravity. Madam Temple is of our -opinion. She said dressing and dancing and feasting over a bridal always -reminded her of the ancient sacrificial festivals and its garlanded -victim.” - -The squire gave a hearty assent to Faith’s opinion. He said it was not -only right but humane that most young fellows hated the show, and fuss, -and wastry over the usual wedding festival, and would be grateful to -escape it. “And I don’t mind saying,” he added, “that Annie and I -did escape it; and I am sure our married life has been as near to a -perfectly happy life as mortals can hope for in this world.” - -“Dick also thinks as we do,” said Faith. - -“_That_, of course,” replied Mistress Annis, just a little offended at -the non-acceptance of her social plans. - -However, Faith carried out her own wishes in a strict but sweetly -considerate way. Towards the end of November, Mr. Foster had been -comfortably settled in his new home at Bradford. She had arranged his -study and put his books in the alphabetical order he liked, and every -part of the small dwelling was in spotless order and comfort. - -In the meantime Annie was preparing with much love and care the Pomfret -house for Dick and Dick’s wife. It was a work she delighted herself in -and she grudged neither money nor yet personal attention to make it a -House Beautiful. - -She did not, however, go to the wedding. It was November, dripping and -dark and cold, and she knew she had done all she could, and that it -would be the greatest kindness, at this time, to retire. But she kissed -Dick and sent him away with love and good hopes and valuable gifts of -lace and gems for his bride. The squire accompanied him to Bradford, and -they went together to The Black Swan Inn. A great political meeting was -to occur that night in the Town Hall, and the squire went there, while -Dick spent a few hours with his bride and her father. As was likely -to happen, the squire was immediately recognized by every wool-dealer -present and he was hailed with hearty cheers, escorted to the platform, -and made what he always considered the finest speech of his life. He was -asked to talk of the Reform Bill and he said: - -“_Not I_! That child was born to England after a hard labor and will -hev to go through the natural growth of England, which we all know is a -tremendously slow one. But it will go on! It will go on steadily, till -it comes of full age. Varry few, if any of us, now present will be in -this world at that time; but I am sure wherever we are, the news will -find us out and will gladden our hearts even in the happiness of a -better world than this, though I’ll take it on me to say that this world -is a varry good world if we only do our duty in it and to it, and -love mercy and show kindness.” Then he spoke grandly for labor and the -laboring man and woman. He pointed out their fine, though uncultivated -intellectual abilities, told of his own weavers, learning to read after -they were forty years old, of their unlearning an old trade and learning -a new one with so much ease and rapidity, and of their great natural -skill in oratory, both as regarded religion and politics. “Working men -and working women are _the hands_ of the whole world,” he said. “With -such men as Cartwright and Stevenson among them, I wouldn’t dare to say -a word lessening the power of their mental abilities. Mebbe it was as -great a thing to invent the power loom or conceive of a railroad as to -run a newspaper or write a book.” - -He was vehemently applauded. Some time afterwards, Faith said the -Yorkshire roar of approval was many streets away, and that her father -went to find out what had caused it. “He was told by the man at the -door, ‘it’s nobbut one o’ them Yorkshire squires who hev turned into -factory men. A great pity, sir!’ he added. ‘Old England used to pin her -faith on her landed gentry, and now they hev all gone into the money -market.’ My father then said that they might be just as useful there, -and the man answered warmly: ‘And thou art the new Methodist preacher, -I suppose! I’m ashamed of thee--I am that!’ When father tried to explain -his meaning, the man said: ‘Nay-a! I’m not caring what _tha means_. A -man should stand by what he _says_. Folks hevn’t time to find out his -meanings. I’ve about done wi’ thee!’ Father told him he had not done -with him and would see him again in a few days.” And then she smiled and -added, “Father saw him later, and they are now the best of friends.” The -wedding morning was gray and sunless, but its gloom only intensified the -white loveliness of the bride. Her perfectly plain, straight skirt of -rich, white satin and its high girlish waist looked etherially white in -the November gloom. A wonderful cloak of Russian sable which was Aunt -Josepha’s gift, covered her when she stepped into the carriage with her -father, and then drove with the little wedding party to Bradford parish -church. There was no delay of any kind. The service was read by a solemn -and gracious clergyman, the records were signed in the vestry, and in -less than an hour the party was back at Mr. Foster’s house. A simple -breakfast for the eight guests present followed, and then Faith, having -changed her wedding gown for one of light gray broadcloth of such fine -texture that it looked like satin, came into the parlor on her father’s -arm. He took her straight to Dick, and once more gave her to him. The -tender little resignation was made with smiles and with those uncalled -tears which bless and consecrate happiness that is too great for words. - -After Dick’s marriage, affairs at Annis went on with the steady -regularity of the life they had invited and welcomed. The old church -bells still chimed away the hours, but few of the dwellers in Annis paid -any attention to their call. The factory bell now measured out the days -and the majority lived by its orders. To a few it was good to think of -Christmas being so nearly at hand; they hoped that a flavor of the old -life might come with Christmas. At Annis Hall they expected a visit from -Madam Temple, and it might be that Dick and Faith would remember this -great home festival, and come back to join in it. Yet the family were -so scattered that such a hope hardly looked for realization. Selby and -Katherine were in Naples, and Dick and Faith in Paris and Aunt Josepha -in her London home where she hastily went one morning to escape the -impertinent clang of the factory bell. At least that was her excuse for -a sudden homesickness for her London house. Annie, however, confided -to the squire her belief that the rather too serious attentions of John -Thomas Bradley were the predisposing grievances, rather than the factory -bell. So the days slipped by and the squire and Jonathan Hartley were in -full charge of the mill. - -It did exceedingly well under their care, but soon after Christmas the -squire began to look very weary, and Annie wished heartily that Dick -would return, and so allow his father to take a little change or rest. -For Annie did not know that Dick’s father had been constantly adding -to Dick’s honeymoon holiday. “Take another week, Dick! We can do a bit -longer without thee,” had been his regular postscript, and the young -people, a little thoughtlessly, had just taken another week. - -However, towards the end of January, Dick and his wife returned and took -possession of their own home in the Pomfret place. The squire had made -its tenure secure for three years, and Annie had spared no effort to -render it beautiful and full of comfort, and it was in its large sunny -parlor she had the welcome home meal spread. It was Annie that met and -kissed them on the threshold, but the squire stood beaming at her side, -and the evening was not long enough to hear and to tell of all that -happened during the weeks in which they had been separated. - -Of course they had paid a little visit to Mr. and Mistress Selby and had -found them preparing to return by a loitering route to London. “But,” - said Dick, “they are too happy to hurry themselves. Life is yet a -delicious dream; they do not wish to awaken just yet.” - -“They cannot be ‘homed’ near a factory,” said Annie with a little laugh. -“Josepha found it intolerable. It made her run home very quickly.” - -“I thought she liked it. She said to me that it affected her like the -marching call of a trumpet, and seemed to say to her, ‘Awake, Josepha! -There is a charge for thy soul to-day!’” - -Hours full of happy desultory conversation passed the joyful evening -of reunion, but during them Dick noted the irrepressible evidences -of mental weariness in his father’s usually alert mind, and as he was -bidding him good night, he said as he stood hand-clasped with him: -“Father, you must be off to London in two days, and not later. -Parliament opens on the twenty-ninth, and you must see the opening of -the First Reformed Parliament.” - -“_Why-a_, Dick! To be sure! I would like to be present. I would like -nothing better. The noise of the mill hes got lately on my nerves. I -niver knew before I hed nerves. It bothered me above a bit, when that -young doctor we hev for our hands told me I was ‘intensely nervous.’ I -hed niver before thought about men and women heving nerves. I told him -it was the noise of the machinery and he said it was my nerves. I was -almost ashamed to tell thy mother such a tale.” - -And Annie laughed and answered, “Of course it was the noise, Dick, and I -told thy father not to mind anything that young fellow said. The idea of -Squire Annis heving what they call ‘nerves.’ I hev heard weakly, sickly -women talk of their nerves, but it would be a queer thing if thy father -should find any nerves about himsen. Not he! It is just the noise,” and -she gave Dick’s hand a pressure that he thoroughly understood. - -“Go to London, father, and see what sort of a job these new men make of -a parliamentary opening.” - -“I suppose Jonathan and thysen could manage for a week without me?” - -“We would do our best. Nothing could go far wrong in a week. This is the -twenty-fifth of January, father. Parliament opens on the twenty-ninth. -London was getting crowded with the new fellows as Faith and I came -through it. They were crowding the hotels, and showing themselves off -as the ‘Reformed Parliament.’ I would have enjoyed hearing thee set them -down a peg or two.” - -Then the old fire blazed in the squire’s eyes, and he said, “I’ll be off -to-morrow afternoon, Dick. I’m glad thou told me. If there’s anything -I hev a contempt for it is a conceited upstart. I’ll turn any of that -crowd down to the bottom of their class;” and the squire who left the -Pomfret house that night was a very different man from the squire who -entered it that afternoon. - -Two days afterwards the squire was off to London. He went first to the -Clarendon and sent word to his sister of his arrival. She answered -his note in person within an hour. “My dear, dear lad!” she cried. “My -carriage is at the door and we will go straight home.” - -“No, we won’t, Josepha. I want a bit of freedom. I want to go and come -as I like. I want to stay in the House of Commons all night long, if -the new members are passing compliments on each other’s records and -abilities. I hev come up to London to feel what it’s like to do as I -please, and above all, not to be watched and cared for.” - -“I know, Antony! I know! Some men are too happily married. In my -opinion, it is the next thing to being varry---” - -“I mean nothing wrong, Josepha. I only want to be let alone a bit until -I find mysen.” - -“Find thysen?” - -“To be sure. Here’s our medical man at the mill telling me ‘I hev what -he calls nerves.’ I hevn’t! Not I! I’m a bit tired of the days being -all alike. I’d enjoy a bit of a scolding from Annie now for lying in bed -half the morning, and as sure as I hev a varry important engagement at -the mill, I hear the hounds, and the _view, holloa!_ and it is as -much as I can do to hold mysen in my chair. It is _that_ thou doesn’t -understand, I suppose.” - -“I do understand. I hev the same feeling often. I want to do things I -would do if I was only a man. Do exactly as thou feels to do, Antony, -while the mill is out of sight and hearing.” - -“Ay, I will.” - -“How is our mill doing?” - -“If tha calls making money doing well, then the Temple and Annis mill -can’t be beat, so far.” - -“I am glad to hear it. Wheniver the notion takes thee, come and see me. -I hev a bit of private business that I want to speak to thee about.” - -“To be sure I’ll come and see thee--often.” - -“Then I’ll leave thee to thysen” - -“I’ll be obliged to thee, Josepha. Thou allays hed more sense than the -average woman, who never seems to understand that average men like now -and then to be left to their awn will and way.” - -“I’ll go back with thee to Annis and we can do all our talking there.” - -“That’s sensible. We will take the early coach two weeks from to-day. -I’ll call for thee at eleven o’clock, and we’ll stay over at the old inn -at Market Harborough.” - -“That is right. I’ll go my ways now. Take care of thysen and behave -thysen as well as tha can,” and then she clasped his hand and went -good-naturedly away. But as she rode home, she said to herself--“Poor -lad! I’ll forgive and help him, whativer he does. I hope Annie will be -as loving. I wonder why God made women so varry good. He knew what kind -of men they would mebbe hev to live with. Poor Antony! I hope he’ll hev -a real good time--I do that!” and she smiled and shrugged her shoulders -and kept the rest of her speculations to herself. - -The two weeks the squire had specified went its daily way, and Josepha -received no letter from her brother, but at the time appointed he -knocked at her door promptly and decidedly. Josepha had trusted him. She -met him in warm traveling clothes, and they went away with a smile and -a perfect trust in each other. Josepha knew better than to ask a man -questions. She let him talk of what he had seen and heard, she made -no inquiries as to what he had _done_, and when they were at Market -Harborough he told her he had slept every hour away except those he -spent in The House. “I felt as if I niver, niver, could sleep enough, -Josepha. It was fair wonderful, and as it happened there were no night -sessions I missed nothing I wanted to see or hear. But tha knows I’ll -hev to tell Annie and mebbe others about The House, so I’ll keep that to -mysen till we get all together. It wouldn’t bear two talks over. Would -it now?” - -“It would be better stuff than usual if it did, Antony. Thou wilt be -much missed when it comes to debating.” - -“I think I shall. I hev my word ready when it is the right time to say -it, that is, generally speaking.” - -Josepha’s visit was unexpected but Annie took it with apparent -enthusiasm, and the two women together made such a fuss over the -improvement in the squire’s appearance that Josepha could not help -remembering the plaintive remarks of her brother about being too much -cared for. However, nothing could really dampen the honest joy in the -squire’s return, and when the evening meal had been placed upon the -table and the fire stirred to a cheering blaze, the room was full of a -delightful sense of happiness. A little incident put the finishing touch -to Annie’s charming preparation. A servant stirred the fire with no -apparent effect. Annie then tried to get blaze with no better result. -Then the squire with one of his heartiest laughs took the apparently -ineffectual poker. - -“See here, women!” he cried. “You do iverything about a house better -than a man except stirring a fire. Why? Because a woman allays stirs a -fire from the top. That’s against all reason.” Then with a very decided -hand he attacked the lower strata of coals and they broke up with -something like a big laugh, crackling and sputtering flame and sparks, -and filling the room with a joyful illumination. And in this happy -atmosphere they sat down to eat and to talk together. - -Josepha had found a few minutes to wash her face and put her hair -straight, the squire had been pottering about his wife and the luggage -and the fire and was still in his fine broadcloth traveling suit, which -with its big silver buttons, its smart breeches and top boots, its -line of scarlet waistcoat and plentiful show of white cambric round the -throat, made him an exceedingly handsome figure. And if the husbands -who may chance to read of this figure will believe it, this good man, -so carefully dressed, had thought as he put on every garment, of the -darling wife he wished still to please above all others. - -The first thing the squire noticed was the absence of Dick and Faith. - -“Where are they?” he asked in a disappointed tone. - -“Well, Antony,” said Josepha, “Annie was just telling me that Dick hed -gone to Bradford to buy a lot of woolen yarns; if so be he found they -were worth the asking price, and as Faith’s father is now in Bradford, -it was only natural she should wish to go with him.” - -“Varry natural, but was it wise? I niver could abide a woman traipsing -after me when I hed any business on hand.” - -“There’s where you made a mistake, Antony. If Annie hed been a business -woman, you would hev built yoursen a mill twenty years ago.” - -“Ay, I would, if Annie hed asked me. Not without. When is Dick to be -home?” - -“Some time to-morrow,” answered Annie. “He is anxious to see thee. He -isn’t on any loitering business.” - -“Well, Josepha, there is no time for loitering. All England is spinning -like a whipped top at full speed. In Manchester and Preston the wheels -of the looms go merrily round. Oh, there is so much I want to do!” - -They had nearly finished a very happy meal when there was a sound of -men’s voices coming nearer and nearer and the silver and china stopped -their tinkling and the happy trio were still a moment as they listened. -“It will be Jonathan and a few of the men to get the news from me,” said -the squire. - -“Well, Antony, I thought of that and there is a roaring fire in the -ballroom and the chairs are set out, and thou can talk to them from the -orchestra.” And the look of love that followed this information made -Annie’s heart feel far too big for everyday comfort. - -There were about fifty men to seat. Jonathan was their leader and -spokesman, and he went to the orchestra with the squire and stood by -the squire’s chair, and when ordinary courtesies had been exchanged, -Jonathan said, “Squire, we want thee to tell us about the Reform -Parliament. The _Yorkshire Post_ says thou were present, and we felt -that we might ask thee to tell us about it.” - -“For sure I will. I was there as soon as the House was opened, and John -O’Connell went in with me. He was one of the ‘Dan O’Connell household -brigade,’ which consists of old Dan, his three sons, and two -sons-in-law. They were inclined to quarrel with everyone, and impudently -took their seats on the front benches as if to awe the Ministerial Whigs -who were exactly opposite them. William Cobbett was the most conspicuous -man among them. He was poorly dressed in a suit of pepper and salt -cloth, made partly like a Quaker’s and partly like a farmer’s suit, and -he hed a white hat on. * His head was thrown backward so as to give the -fullest view of his shrewd face and his keen, cold eyes. Cobbett had no -respect for anyone, and in his first speech a bitter word niver failed -him if he was speaking of the landed gentry whom he called ‘unfeeling -tyrants’ and the lords of the loom he called ‘rich ruffians.’ Even -the men pleading for schools for the poor man’s children were -‘education-cantors’ to him, and he told them plainly that nothing would -be good for the working man that did not increase his victuals, his -drink and his clothing. - - * A white hat was the sign of an extreme Radical. - -“Is that so, men?” asked the squire. He was answered by a “_No!_” whose -style of affirmation was too emphatic to be represented by written -words. - -“But the Reform Bill, squire? What was said about the Reform Bill and -the many good things it promised us?” - -“I niver heard it named, men. And I may as well tell you now that you -need expect nothing in a hurry. All that really has been given you is -an opportunity to help yoursens. Listen to me. The Reform Bill has taken -from sixty boroughs both their members, and forty-seven boroughs hev -been reduced to one member. These changes will add at least half a -million voters to the list, and this half-million will all come from the -sturdy and generally just, great middle class of England. It will mebbe -take another generation to include the working class, and a bit longer -to hev the laboring class educated sufficiently to vote. That is -England’s slow, sure way. It doan’t say it is the best way, but it is -_our_ way, and none of us can hinder or hasten it. ** - - ** In 1867, during Lord Derby’s administration, it was made - to include the artizans and mechanics, and in Gladstone’s - administration, A. D. 1884, the Reform Bill was made to - include agricultural and all day laborers. - -“In the meantime you have received from your own class of famous -inventors a loom that can make every man a master. Power-loom weaving is -the most healthy, the best paid, and the pleasantest of all occupations. -With the exception of the noise of the machinery, it has nothing -disagreeable about it. You that already own your houses take care of -them. Every inch of your ground will soon be worth gold. I wouldn’t -wonder to see you, yoursens, build your awn mills upon it. Oh, there -is nothing difficult in that to a man who trusts in God and believes in -himsen. - -“And men, when you hev grown to be rich men, doan’t forget your God and -your Country. Stick to your awn dear country. Make your money in it. Be -Englishmen until God gives you a better country, Which won’t be in this -world. But whether you go abroad, or whether you stay at home, niver -forget the mother that bore you. She’ll niver forget you. And if a man -hes God and his mother to plead for him, he is well off, both for this -world and the next.” - -“That is true, squire.” - -“God has put us all in the varry place he thought best for the day’s -work He wanted from us. It is more than a bit for’ardson in us telling -Him we know better than He does, and go marching off to Australia or New -Zealand or Canada. It takes a queer sort of a chap to manage life in a -strange country full of a contrary sort of human beings. Yorkshire men -are _all_ Yorkshire. They hevn’t room in their shape and make-up for -new-fangled ways and ideas. You hev a deal to be proud of in England -that wouldn’t be worth a half-penny anywhere else. It’s a varry -difficult thing to be an Englishman and a Yorkshireman, which is the -best kind of an Englishman, as far as I know, and not brag a bit about -it. There’s no harm in a bit of honest bragging about being himsen a -Roman citizen and I do hope a straight for-ard Englishman may do what -St. Paul did--brag a bit about his citizenship. And as I hev just said, -I say once more, don’t leave England unless you hev a clear call to do -so; but if you do, then make up your minds to be a bit more civil to the -strange people than you usually are to strangers. It is a common saying -in France and Italy that Englishmen will eat no beef but English beef, -nor be civil to any God but their awn God. I doan’t say try to please -iverybody, just do your duty, and do it pleasantly. That’s about all we -can any of us manage, eh, Jonathan?” - -“We are told, sir, to do to others as we would like them to do to us.” - -“For sure! But a great many Yorkshire people translate that precept into -this--‘Tak’ care of Number One.’ Let strangers’ religion and politics -alone. Most--I might as well say _all_--of you men here, take your -politics as seriously as you take your religion, and that is saying a -great deal. I couldn’t put it stronger, could I, Jonathan?” - -“No, sir! I doan’t think you could. It is a varry true comparison. It is -surely.” - -“Now, lads, in the future, it is to be work and pray, and do the varry -best you can with your new looms. It may so happen that in the course -of years some nation that hes lost the grip of all its good and prudent -senses, will try to invade England. It isn’t likely, but it might be. -Then I say to each man of you, without an hour’s delay, do as I’ve often -heard you sing-- - - “ ‘Off with your labor cap! rush to the van! - - The sword is your tool, and the height of your plan - - Is to turn yoursen into a fighting man.’ - -“Lads, I niver was much on poetry but when I was a varry young man, -I learned eleven lines that hev helped me in many hours of trial and -temptation to remember that I was an English gentleman, and so bound by -birth and honor to behave like one.” - -“Will tha say them eleven lines to us, squire? Happen they might help us -a bit, too.” - -“I am sure of it, Jonathan.” With these words, the kind-hearted, -scrupulously honorable gentleman lifted his hat, and as he did so, fifty -paper caps were lifted as if by one hand and the men who wore them rose -as one man. - -“You may keep your standing, lads, the eleven lines are worthy of that -honor; and then in a proud, glad enthusiasm, the squire repeated them -with such a tone of love and such a grandeur of diction and expression -as no words can represent:-- - - “This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, - - This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, - - This other Eden, demi-Paradise; - - This fortress built by Nature for herself, - - Against infection, and the hand of war, - - This happy breed of men, this little world, - - This precious stone set in the silver sea, - - Which serves it in the office of a wall-- - - Or as a moat defensive to a house-- - - Against the envy of less happier lands. - - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England!” - -And the orator and his audience were all nearer crying than they knew, -for it was pride and love that made their hearts beat so high and their -eyes overflow with happy tears. The room felt as if it was on fire, -and every man that hour knew that Patriotism is one of the holiest -sentiments of the soul. With lifted caps, they went away in the -stillness of that happiness, which the language of earth has not one -word to represent. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--A RECALL - - - AFTER this event I never saw Squire Antony Annis any more. Within a -week, I had left the place, and I was not there again until the year A. -D. 1884, a period of fifty-one years. Yet the lovely village was clear -enough in my memory. I approached it by one of the railroads boring -their way through the hills and valleys surrounding the place, and as I -did so, I recalled vividly its pretty primitive cottages--each one set -in its own garden of herbs and flowers. I could hear the clattering of -the looms in the loom sheds attached to most of these dwellings. I could -see the handsome women with their large, rosy families, and the burly -men standing in groups discussing some recent sermon, or horse race, -or walking with their sweethearts; and perhaps singing “The Lily of the -Valley,” or “There is a Land of Pure Delight!” I could hear or see -the children laughing or quarreling, or busy with their bobbins at the -spinning wheel, and I could even follow every note of the melody the old -church chimes were flinging into the clear, sweet atmosphere above me. - -In reality, I had no hopes of seeing or hearing any of these things -again, and the nearer I approached Annis Railroad Station, the more -surely I was aware that my expectation of disappointment was a certain -presage. I found the once lovely village a large town, noisy and dirty -and full of red mills. There were whole streets of them, their lofty -walls pierced with more windows than there are days in a year, and their -enormously high chimneys shutting out the horizon as with a wall. The -street that had once overlooked the clear fast-running river was jammed -with mills, the river had become foul and black with the refuse of -dyeing materials and other necessities of mill labor. - -The village had totally disappeared. In whatever direction I looked -there was nothing but high brick mills, with enormously lofty chimneys -lifted up into the smoky atmosphere. However, as my visit was in the -winter, I had many opportunities of seeing these hundreds and thousands -of mill windows lit up in the early mornings and in the twilight of the -autumn evenings. It was a marvelous and unforget-able sight. Nothing -could make commonplace this sudden, silent, swift appearance of light -from the myriad of windows, up the hills, and down the hills, through -the valleys, and following the river, and lighting up the wolds, -every morning and every evening, just for the interval of dawning -and twilight. As a spectacle it is indescribable; there is no human -vocabulary has a word worthy of it. - -The operatives were as much changed as the place. All traces of that -feudal loyalty which had existed between Squire Annis and his weavers, -had gone forever, with home and hand-labor, and individual bargaining. -The power-loom weaver was even then the most independent of all workers. -And men, women and children were well educated, for among the first -bills passed by Parliament after the Reform Bill was one founding -National schools over the length and breadth of England; and the third -generation since was then entering them. “Now that you have given the -people the vote,” said Lord Brougham, “you must educate them. The men -who say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to England’s national problems must be able to -read all about them.” So National Schools followed The Bill, and I found -in Annis a large Public Library, young men’s Debating Societies, and -courses of lectures, literary and scientific. - -On the following Sunday night, I went to the Methodist chapel. The old -one had disappeared, but a large handsome building stood on its site. -The moment I entered it, I was met by the cheerful Methodist welcome and -because I was a stranger I was taken to the Preacher’s pew. Someone was -playing a voluntary, on an exceptionally fine organ, and in the midst of -a pathetic minor passage--which made me feel as if I had just lost Eden -over again--there was a movement, and with transfigured faces the whole -congregation rose to its feet and began to sing. The voluntary had -slipped into the grand psalm tune called “_Olivet_” and a thousand men -and women, a thousand West Riding voices, married the grand old Psalm -tune to words equally grand-- - - “Lo! He comes with clouds descending, - - Once for favored sinners slain; - - Thousand, thousand saints attending, - - Swell the triumph of his train. - - Halleluiah! - - God appears on the earth to reign. - - “Yea, Amen! let all adore thee, - - High on Thy eternal throne; - - Savior, take the power and glory! - - Claim the kingdom for Thine own. - - Halleluiah! - - Everlasting God come down!” - -And at this hour I am right glad, because my memory recalls that -wonderful congregational singing; even as I write the words, I hear it. -It was not Emotionalism. No, indeed! It was a good habit of the soul. - -The next morning I took an early train to the cathedral city of Ripon, -and every street I passed through on my way to the North-Western Station -was full of mills. You could not escape the rattle of their machinery, -nor the plunging of the greasy piston rods at every window. It was not -yet eight o’clock, but the station was crowded with men carrying samples -of every kind of wool or cotton. They were neighbors, and often friends, -but they took no notice of each other. They were on business, and their -hands were full of bundles. So full that I saw several men who could not -manage their railway ticket, and let the conductor take it from their -teeth. - -Now when I travel, I like to talk with my company, but as I looked -around, I could not persuade myself that any of these business-saturated -men would condescend to converse with an inquisitive woman. However, a -little further on, a very complete clergyman came into my compartment. -He looked at me inquiringly, and I felt sure he was speculating about -my social position. So I hastened to put him at ease, by some inquiries -about the Annis family. - -“O dear me!” he replied. “So you remember the old Squire Antony! How -Time does fly! The Annis people still love and obey Squire Antony. I -suppose he is the only person they do love and obey. How long is it -since you were here?” - -“Over fifty years. I saw the great Reform Bill passed, just before I -left Annis in 1833.” - -“You mean the first part of it?” - -“Well, then, sir, had it more than one part?” - -“I should say so. It seemed to need a deal of altering and repairing. -The Bill you saw pass was Grey’s bill. It cleaned up the Lords and -Commons, and landed gentlemen of England. Thirty-five years later, Derby -and Disraeli’s Reform Bill gave the Franchise to the great middle class, -mechanics and artizan classes, and this very year Gladstone extended the -Bill to take in more than two millions of agricultural and day laborers. -It has made a deal of difference with all classes.” - -“I think it is quite a coincidence that I should be here at the finish -of this long struggle. I have seen the beginning and the end of it. -Really quite a coincidence,” and I laughed a little foolish laugh, -for the clergyman did not laugh with me. On the contrary he said -thoughtfully: “Coincidences come from higher intelligences than -ourselves. We cannot control them, but they are generally fortunate.” - -“Higher intelligences than ourselves?” I asked. “Yes. This world is both -the workfield and the battlefield of those sent to minister unto souls -who are to be heirs of salvation, and who perhaps, in their turn, -become comforting and helpful spirits to the children of men. Yes. A -coincidence is generally a fortunate circumstance. Someone higher than -ourselves, has to do with it. Are you an American?” - -“I have lived in America for half-a-century.” - -“In what part of America?” - -“In many parts, north and south and west. My life has been full of -changes.” - -“Change is good fortune. Yes, it is. To change is to live, and to have -changed often, is to have had a perfect life.” - -“Do you think the weavers of Annis much improved by all the changes that -steam and machinery have brought to them?” - -“No. Machinery confers neither moral nor physical perfection, and steam -and iron and electricity do not in any way affect the moral nature. Men -lived and died before these things were known. They could do so again.” - -Here the guard came and unlocked our carriage, and my companion gathered -his magazines and newspapers together and the train began to slow up. -He turned to me with a smile and said, “Good-by, friend. Go on having -changes, and fear not.” - -“But if I _do_ fear?” - -“Look up, and say: - - “O Thou who changest not! Abide with me!” - -With these words he went away forever. I had not even asked his name, -nor had he asked mine. We were just two wayfarers passing each other -on life’s highway. He had brought me a message, and then departed. But -there are other worlds beyond this. We had perhaps been introduced for -this future. For I do believe that no one touches our life here, who has -not some business or right to do so. For our lives before this life and -our lives yet to be are all one, separated only by the little sleep we -call death. - -I reached Ripon just at nightfall, and the quiet of the cathedral city, -its closed houses, and peaceful atmosphere, did not please me. After the -stress and rush of the West Riding, I thought the place must be asleep. -On the third morning I asked myself, “What are you doing here? What -has the past to give you? To-day is perhaps yours--Yesterday is as -unattainable as To-morrow.” Then the thought of New York stirred me, and -I hastened and took the fastest train for Liverpool, and in eight days I -had crossed the sea, and was in New York and happily and busily at work -again. - -But I did not dismiss Annis from my memory and when the first mutterings -of the present war was heard, I remembered Squire Antony, and his charge -to the weavers of Annis--“It may so happen,” he said, “that in the -course of years, some nation, that has lost the grip of all its good -senses, will try to invade England. It isn’t likely, but it might be -so. Then I say to each of you, and every man of you, without one hour’s -delay, do as I have often heard you sing, and say you would do:-- - - “ ‘Off with your Labor Cap! rush to the van! - - The sword for your tool, and the height of your plan - - To turn yoursen into a fighting man_! - -Would they do so? - -As I repeated the squire’s order, I fell naturally into the Yorkshire -form of speech and it warmed my heart and set it beating high and fast. - -Would the ‘Yorkshires’ still honor the charge Squire Annis had given -them? Oh, how could I doubt it! England had been in some war or other, -nearly ever since the squire’s charge, and the ‘Yorkshires’ had always -been soon and solid in rushing to her help. It was not likely that in -this tremendous struggle, they would either be too slow, or too cold. -Not they! Not they! They were early at the van, and doubly welcome; and -they are helping at this hour to fight a good fight for all humanity; -and learning the while, how to become of the highest type of manhood -that can be fashioned in this world. Not by alphabets and books, but by -the crucial living experiences that spring only from the courses of -Life and Death--divine monitions, high hopes and plans, that enlarge the -judgment, and the sympathies, the heart and the intellect, and that with -such swift and mysterious perfection, as can only be imparted while the -mortal stands on the very verge of Immortality. - -Very soon, now, they will come home bringing a perfect peace with them, -_then!_ how good will be their quiet, simple lives, and their daily -labor, and their Paper Cap! - -THE END - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/50089-0.zip b/old/50089-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9446bed..0000000 --- a/old/50089-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50089-8.txt b/old/50089-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 04dc106..0000000 --- a/old/50089-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9542 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. Barr - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Paper Cap - A Story of Love and Labor - -Author: Amelia E. Barr - -Illustrator: Stockton Mulford - -Release Date: September 30, 2015 [EBook #50089] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PAPER CAP *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE PAPER CAP - -A Story Of Love And Labor - -By Amelia E. Barr - -Author Of "An Orkney Maid," "Christine," Etc. - - "A king may wear a golden crown, - - A Paper Cap is lighter; - - And when the crown comes tumbling down - - The Paper Cap sits tighter - -Frontispiece By Stockton Mulford - -D. Appleton And Company New York - -Copyright, 1918. - - -[Illustration: 0008] - - -[Illustration: 0009] - - - -TO SAMUEL GOMPERS - -THE WORKER'S FRIEND THIS STORY OF LABOR'S FORTY YEARS' STRUGGLE FOR THE -RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED - - This is the Gospel of Labor, - - Ring it, ye bells of the Kirk, - - The Lord of Love came down from above - - To live with the people who work. - - --Henry Van Dyke - - The headdress of nationalities, and of public and private societies, -has been in all ages a remarkable point of interest. Religion, Poetry, -Politics, superstitions, and so forth, have all found expression by the -way they dressed or covered their heads. Priests, soldiers, sailors, -lawyers, traders, professions of all kinds are known by some peculiar -covering of the head which they assume. None of these symbols are -without interest, and most of them typify the character or intents of -their wearers. - -The Paper Cap has added to its evident story a certain amount of -mystery, favorable in so far as it permits us to exercise our ingenuity -in devising a probable reason for its selection as the symbol of Labor. -A very industrious search has not yet positively revealed it. No public -or private collection of old prints of the seventeenth century that I -have seen or heard from has any representation of an English working man -wearing a Paper Cap. There is nothing of the kind in any _Hone's_ four -large volumes of curious matters; nor does _Notes and Queries_ mention -it. Not until the agitation and the political disturbance attending the -Reform Bill, is it seen or mentioned. Then it may be found in the rude -woodcuts and chap books of the time while in every town and village it -soon became as familiar as the men who wore it. - -Now, if the working man was looking for a symbol, there are many reasons -why the Paper Cap would appeal to him. It is square, straight, upright; -it has no brim. It permits the wearer to have full sight for whatever he -is doing. It adds five inches or more to his height. It is cool, light -and clean, and it is made of a small square of brown paper, and costs -nothing. Every man makes his own paper cap, generally while he smokes -his first morning pipe. It was also capable of assuming all the -expressions of more pretentious head coverings--worn straight over the -brows, it imparted a steady, business-like appearance. Tilted to one -side, it showed the wearer to be interested in his own appearance. If it -was pushed backward he was worried or uncertain about his work. On the -heads of large masterful men it had a very "hands off" look. Employers -readily understood its language. - -I do not remember ever seeing anyone but working men wear a Paper Cap -and they generally wore it with an "air" no pretender could assume. In -the days of the Reform Bill a large company of Paper-Capped men were a -company to be respected. - -The man whose clever fingers first folded into such admirable shape -a piece of brown paper seems to be unknown. I was once told he was a -Guiseley man, again he was located at Burnley, or Idle. No one pretended -to know his name. It was perhaps some tired weaver or carpenter whose -head was throbbing in the sultry room and who feared to expose it to -the full draught from some open window near his loom or bench. No other -affiliation ever assumed or copied this cap in any way and for a century -it has stood bravely out as the symbol of Labor; and has been respected -and recognized as the badge of a courageous and intelligent class. - -Now, if we do not positively know the facts about a certain matter, we -can consider the circumstances surrounding it and deduct from them a -likelihood of the truth; and I cannot avoid a strong belief that the -Paper Cap was invented early in the agitation for the Reform Bill of A. -D. 1832 and very likely directly after the immense public meeting at New -Hall, where thousands of English working men took bareheaded and with -a Puritan solemnity, a solemn oath to stand by the Reform Bill until it -was passed. It was not fully passed until 1884, and during that interval -the Paper Cap was everywhere in evidence. Might it not be the symbol of -that oath and a quiet recognition of brotherhood and comradeship in the -wearing of it? - -It is certain that after this date, 1884, its use gradually declined, -yet it is very far from being abandoned. In Nova Scotia and Canada it is -still common, and we all know how slowly any personal or household habit -dies in England. I am very sure that if I went to-morrow to any weaving -town in the West Riding, I would see plenty of Paper Caps round the -great centers of Industry. Last week only, I received half-a-dozen from -a large building firm in Bradford. - -As a symbol of a sacred obligation between men, it is fitting and -unique. It has never been imitated or copied, and if the habit of making -a clean one every day is observed, then whatever it promises will be -kept clean and clear in the memory. Long live the Paper Cap! - -My theory that the Paper Cap is associated with the Reform Bill, may, -or may not be correct, but the union seems to be a very natural one--the -Bill deserved the friendship and long adherence of the Cap, and the Cap -deserved the freedom and strength of the Bill. - - - - -THE PAPER CAP - - - - -CHAPTER I--THE SQUIRE OF ANNIS - - - "The turning point in life arrives for all of us. - - A land of just and old renown, - - Where Freedom slowly broadens down - - From precedent to precedent." - - NEARLY ninety years ago, there was among the hills and wolds of the -West Riding of Yorkshire a lovely village called Annis. It had grown -slowly around the lords of the manor of Annis and consisted at the -beginning of the nineteenth century of men and women whose time was -employed in spinning and weaving. The looms were among their household -treasures. They had a special apartment in every home, and were worthily -and cheerfully worked by their owners. There were no mills in Annis -then, and no masters, and no Trade Unions. They made their own -work-hours and the Leeds Cloth Hall settled the worth of their work. - -Squire Antony Annis owned the greater part of the village. The pretty -white stone cottages, each in its own finely cared-for garden, were, -generally speaking, parts of his estate and he took a fatherly, masterly -care of them. It was the squire who bought their work, and who had to -settle with the Leeds Cloth Hall. It was the squire who found the wool -for the women to spin and who supplied the men with the necessary yarns. - -He lived close to them. His own ancient Hall stood on a high hill just -outside the village!--a many-gabled building that had existed for nearly -three hundred years. On this same hilly plateau was the church of Annis, -still more ancient, and also the Rectory, a handsome residence that -had once been a monastery. Both were in fine preservation and both were -influential in the village life, though the ancient church looked down -with grave disapproval on the big plain Wesleyan Chapel that had stolen -from it the lawful allegiance it had claimed for nearly five centuries. -Yet its melodious chimes still called at all canonical hours to worship, -and its grand old clock struck in clarion tones the hours of their labor -and their rest. - -They were handsome men in this locality, strong and powerful, with a -passion for horses and racing that not even Methodism could control. -Their women were worthy of them, tall and fine-looking, with splendid -coloring, abundant hair, and not unfrequently eyes like their Lancashire -neighbors; gray and large, with long dark lashes, and that "look" in -them which the English language has not yet been able to find a word -for. They were busy wives, they spun the wool for their husbands' looms -and they reared large families of good sons and daughters. - -The majority of the people were Methodists--after their kind. The -shepherds on the mountains around took as naturally to Methodism as a -babe to its mother's milk. They lived with their flocks of Merino sheep -half their lives in the night and its arial mysteries. The doctrine -of "Assurance" was their own spiritual confidence, and John Wesley's -Communion with the other world they certified by their own experience. -As to the weavers, they approved of a religion that was between God and -themselves only. They had a kind of feudal respect for Squire Annis. -He made their pleasant independent lives possible and they would take a -word or two of advice or reproof from him; and also the squire knew what -it was to take a glass of strong ale when he had been to a race and seen -the horse he had backed, win it--but the curate! The curate knew nothing -about horses. - -If they saw the curate approaching them they got out of his way; if they -saw the squire coming they waited for him. He might call them idle -lads, but he would walk to their looms with them and frankly admire the -excellence of their work, and perhaps say: "I wonder at a fine lad like -thee leaving a bit of work like that. If I could do it I would keep at -it daylight through." - -And the weaver would look him bravely in the face and answer--"Not thou, -squire! It wouldn't be a bit like thee. I see thee on t' grandstand, -at ivery race I go to. I like a race mysen, it is a varry democratic -meeting." - -Then the squire would give the child at the spinning wheel a shilling -and go off with a laugh. He knew that in any verbal contest with Jimmy -Riggs, he would not be the victor. - -Also if the squire met any mother of the village he would touch his -hat and listen to what she wished to say. And if one of her lads was in -trouble for "catching a rabbit on the common"--though he suspected the -animal was far more likely from his own woods--he always promised to -help him and he always did so. - -"Our women have such compelling eyes," he would remark in excuse, "and -when they would look at you through a mist of tears a man that can say -'no' to them isn't much of a man." - -Naturally proud, the squire was nevertheless broadly affable. He could -not resist the lifted paper cap of the humblest man and his lofty -stature and dignified carriage won everyone's notice. His face was -handsome, and generally wore a kind thoughtful expression, constantly -breaking into broad smiles. And all these advantages were seconded and -emphasized by his scrupulous dress, always fit and proper for every -occasion. - -He was riding slowly through the village one morning when he met a -neighbor with whom he had once been on intimate friendly terms. It was -John Thomas Bradley, who had just built a large mill within three miles -of Annis village and under the protecting power of the government had -filled it with the latest power-looms and spinning jennies. - -"Good morning, Annis!" he said cheerfully. "How dost tha do?" - -"I do none the better for thy late doings. I can tell thee that!" - -"Is tha meaning my new building?" - -"Is tha ashamed to speak its proper name? It's a factory, call it that. -And I wouldn't wonder, if tha hes been all through Annis, trying to get -some o' my men to help thee run it." - -"Nay, then. I wouldn't hev a man that hes been in thy employ, unless it -were maybe Jonathan Hartley. They are all petted and spoiled to death." - -"Ask Jonathan to come to thy machine shop. He wouldn't listen to thee." - -"Well, then, I wouldn't listen to his Chartist talk. I would want to -cut the tongue out o' his head. I would that! O Annis, we two hev been -friends for forty years, and our fathers were hand and glove before us." - -"I know, Bradley, I know! But now thou art putting bricks and iron -before old friendship and before all humanity; for our workers are men, -first-rate men, too--and thou knows it." - -"Suppose they are, what by that?" - -"Just this; thou can't drive men by machines of iron tethered to steam! -It is an awful mastership, that it is! It is the drive of the devil. The -slaves we are going to set free in the West Indies are better off, far -better off than factory slaves. They hed at any rate human masters, that -like as not, hev a heart somewhere about them. Machines hev no heart, -and no sympathy and no weakness of any make. They are regular, untiring, -inexorable, and----" - -"They do more work and better work than men can do." - -"Mebbe they do, and so men to keep up wi' them, hev to work longer, and -harder, and wi' constantly increasing peril o' their lives. Yes, for the -iron master, the man must work, work, work, till he falls dead at its -iron feet. It is a cruel bad do! A bad do! Bradley, how can thou fashion -to do such things? Oh, it isn't fair and right, and thou knows it!" - -"Well, Annis, thou may come to see things a good deal different and tha -knows well I can't quarrel wi' thee. Does ta think I can iver forget -March 21, 1823, when thou saved me and mine, from ruin?" - -"Let that pass, Bradley. It went into God's memory--into God's memory -only. Good morning to thee!" And the men parted with a feeling of -kindness between them, though neither were able to put it into words. - -Still the interview made the squire unhappy and he instantly thought of -going home and telling his wife about it. "I can talk the fret away with -Annie," he thought, and he turned Annisward. - -At this time Madam Annis was sitting in the morning sunshine, with her -finest set of English laces in her hand. She was going carefully over -them, lifting a stitch here and there, but frequently letting them fall -to her lap while she rested her eyes upon the wealth of spring flowers -in the garden which at this point came close up to the windows. - -Madam Annis was fifty years old but still a beautiful woman, full of -life, and of all life's sweetest and bravest sympathies. She wore an -Indian calico--for Manchester's printed calicoes were then far from -the perfection they have since arrived at--and its bizarre pattern, and -wonderfully brilliant colors, suited well her fine proportions and regal -manner. A small black silk apron with lace pockets and trimmings of -lace, and black silk bows of ribbon--a silver chatelaine, and a little -lace cap with scarlet ribbons on it, were the most noticeable items -of her dress though it would hardly do to omit the scarlet morocco -slippers, sandaled and trimmed with scarlet ribbon and a small silver -buckle on the instep. - -Suddenly she heard rapid footsteps descending the great stairway, and -in the same moment she erected her position, and looked with kind but -steady eyes at the door. It opened with a swift noiseless motion and a -girl of eighteen years entered; a girl tall and slender, with masses of -bright brown hair, a beautiful mouth and star-like eyes. - -"Mother," she said, "how am I to go to London this spring?" - -"I am not yet in thy father's intentions about the journey, Katherine. -He promised to take thee when he went up to the House. If he forswears -his promise, why then, child, I know not. Ask him when he is going." - -"I did so this morning and he said I must excuse him at present." - -"Then he will take thee, later." - -"That's a bit different, mother; and it isn't what he promised me. It is -my wish to go now." - -"There is no way for thee to go now. Let London wait for its proper -time." - -"Alura Percival, and Lady Capel, and Agatha Wickham, are already on -their way there. Captain Chandos told me so an hour ago." - -"Indeed! Has he learned how to speak the truth?" - -"Like other people, he speaks as much of it as is profitable to him. If -father is not going just yet cannot you go, dear mother? You know Jane -will expect us to keep our promise." - -"Jane knows enough of the times to understand why people are now often -prevented from keeping their promises. Is Jane going much out?" - -"A great deal and she says Lord Leyland wishes her to keep open house -for the rest of the season. Of course, I ought to be with her." - -"I see no 'ought' in the matter." - -"She is my sister and can introduce me to noblemen and distinguished -people. She desires me to come at once. I have just had a letter from -her. And what about my frocks, mother? If father is not ready to go -you could go with me, dear mother! That would be just as well, perhaps -better!" And she said these flattering words from the very summit of her -splendid eyes. - -"There are people here in Annis who are wanting bread and----" - -"It is their own fault, mother, and you know it. The Annis weavers are a -lot of stubborn old fogies." - -"They have only taken this world as they found it. Isn't that right?" - -"No. It is all wrong. Every generation ought to make it better. You said -that to father last night, I heard you." - -"I doan't always talk to thy father as I do to thee. It wouldn't be a -bit suitable. Whatever were thou talking to Captain Chandos for--if he -is a captain--I doubt it." - -"His uncle bought him a commission in The Scotch Greys. His mother is -Scotch. I suppose he has as much right there, as the rest of the Hanover -fools." - -"And if thou are going to indulge thyself in describing people in the -army and the court thou wilt get thy father into trouble." - -"I saw father talking to Squire Bradley for a long time this morning." - -"In what mood? I hope they were not--quarreling." - -"They were disputing rather earnestly, father looked troubled, and so -did Bradley." - -"They were talking of the perishing poor and the dreadful state of. -England no doubt. It's enough to trouble anybody, I'm sure of that." - -"So it is, but then father has a bad way of making things look worse -than they are. And he isn't friendly with Bradley now. That seems wrong, -mother, after being friends all their live-long lives." - -"It is wrong. It is a bit of silent treason to each other. It is that! -And how did thou happen to see them talking this morning?" - -"They met on the village green. I think Bradley spoke first." - -"I'll warrant it. Bradley is varry good-natured, and he thought a deal -o' thy father. How did thou happen to be on the green so early in the -day?" - -"I was sitting with Faith Foster, and her parlor window faces the -Green." - -"Faith Foster! And pray what took thee to her house?" - -"I was helping her to sew for a lot of Annis babies that are nearly -naked, and perishing with cold." - -"That was a varry queer thing for thee to do." - -"I thought so myself even while I was doing it--but Faith works as she -likes with everyone. You can't say 'No' to anything she wants." - -"Such nonsense! I'm fairly astonished at thee." - -"Have you ever seen Faith, mother?" - -"Not I! It is none o' my place to visit a Methodist preacher's -daughter." - -"Everybody visits her--rich and poor. If you once meet her she can bring -you back to her as often as she wishes." - -"Such women are very dangerous people to know. I'd give her a wide -border. Keep thyself to thyself." - -"I am going to London. Maybe, mother, I ought to tell you that our Dick -is in love with Faith Foster. I am sure he is. I do not see how he can -help it." - -"Dick and his father will hev that matter to settle, and there is enough -on hand at present--what with mills, and steam, and working men, not to -speak of rebellion, and hunger, and sore poverty. Dick's love affairs -can wait awhile. He hes been in love with one and twenty perfect -beauties already. Some of them were suitable fine girls, of good family, -and Lucy Todd and Amy Schofield hed a bit of money of their awn. Father -and I would hev been satisfied with either o' them, but Dick shied off -from both and went silly about that French governess that was teaching -the Saville girls." - -"I do not think Dick will shy off from Faith Foster. I am sure that he -has never yet dared to say a word of love to her." - -"Dared! What nonsense! Dick wasn't born in Yorkshire to take a dare from -any man or woman living." - -"Well, mother, I have made you wise about Faith Foster. A word is all -you want." - -"I the girl pretty?" - -"Pretty She is adorable." - -"You mean that she is a fine looking girl?" - -"I mean that she is a little angel. You think of violets if she comes -where you are. Her presence is above a charm and every door flies open -to her. She is very small. Mary Saville, speaking after her French -governess, calls her _petite_. She is, however, beautifully fashioned -and has heavenly blue, deep eyes." - -"Tell me nothing more about her. I should never get along with such a -daughter-in-law. How could thou imagine it?" - -"Now, mother, I have told you all my news, what have you to say to me -about London?" - -"I will speak to thy father some time to-day. I shall hev to choose both -a proper way and a proper time; thou knows that. Get thy frocks ready -and I will see what can be done." - -"If father will not take me, I shall write to Aunt Josepha." - -"Thou will do nothing of that kind. Thy Aunt Josepha is a very peculiar -woman. We heard from the Wilsons that she hed fairly joined the radicals -and was heart and soul with the Cobden set. In her rough, broad way she -said to Mrs. Wilson, that steam and iron and red brick had come to take -possession of England and that men and women who could not see that -were blind fools and that a pinch of hunger would do them good. She -even scolded father in her letter two weeks ago, and father her _eldest -brother_. Think of that! I was shocked, and father felt it far more than -I can tell thee. _Why!_--he wouldn't hev a mouthful of lunch, and that -day we were heving hare soup; and him so fond of hare soup." - -"I remember. Did father answer that letter?" - -"I should think he did. He told Josepha Temple a little of her duty; he -reminded her, in clear strong words, that he stood in the place of her -father, and the head of the Annis family, and that he had a right to her -respect and sympathy." - -"What did Aunt Josepha say to that?" - -"She wrote a laughable, foolish letter back and said: 'As she was two -years older than Antony Annis she could not frame her mouth to 'father' -him, but that she was, and always would be, his loving sister.' You see -Josepha Temple was the eldest child of the late squire, your father came -two years after her." - -"Did you know that Dick had been staying with her for a week?" - -"Yes. Dick wrote us while there. Father is troubled about it. He says -Dick will come home with a factory on his brain." - -"You must stand by Dick, mother. We are getting so pinched for money you -know, and Lydia Wilson told me that everyone was saying: 'Father was -paying the men's shortage out of his estate.' They were sorry for -father, and I don't like people being sorry for him." - -"And pray what has Lydia Wilson to do with thy father's money and -business? Thou ought to have asked her that question. Whether thou -understands thy father or not, whatever he does ought to be right in thy -eyes. Men don't like explaining their affairs to anyone; especially to -women, and I doan't believe they iver tell the bottom facts, even to -themselves." - -"Mother, if things come to the worst, would it do for me to ask Jane for -money?" - -"I wonder at thee. Jane niver gives or lends anything to anybody, but to -Jane." - -"She says she is going to entertain many great people this winter and -she wishes me to meet them so I think she might help me to make a good -appearance." - -"I wouldn't wonder if she asked thy father to pay her for introducing -thee into the titled set. She writes about them and talks about them and -I dare warrant dreams about them." - -"Oh, mother!" - -"Does she ever forget that she has managed to become Lady Leyland? She -thinks that two syllables before her name makes her better than her own -family. _Chut!_ Katherine! Leyland is only the third of the line. It -was an official favor, too--what merit there is in it has not yet been -discovered. We have lived in this old house three hundred years, and -three hundred before that in old Britain." - -"Old Britain?" - -"To be sure--in Glamorganshire, I believe. Ask thy father. He knows his -genealogy by heart. I see him coming. Go and meet him." - -"Yes, mother, but I think I will write a short note to Aunt Josepha. I -will not name business, nor money, nor even my desire to make a visit to -London." - -"Write such a letter if thou wishes but take the result--whatever it -is--in a good humor. Remember that thy aunt's temper, and her words -also, are entirely without frill." - -"That, of course. It is the Annis temper." - -"It is the English temper." - -"Well, mother, things seem to be ordered in a very unhappy fashion but -I suppose we might as well take to them at once. Indeed, we shall be -compelled to do it, if so be, it pleases them above." - -"Just so," answered Madam. "But, Katherine, The Hands of Compulsion -generally turn out to be The Hands of Compassion." - -Katherine smiled happily, the door opened, and the next moment she gave -the smile in a kiss to her father, as he clasped her fondly in his arms, -crying, "Eh, my joy! I am glad to see thee!" Then the two women made -that charming fuss over his "tired look," which is so consoling to men -fresh from the slings and arrows of an outrageous world that will not do -as they want it to do. - -In his family life the squire still retained many old-fashioned customs, -and his dinner at one o'clock was a settled ceremony. This day, in the -very middle of it, Katherine said, "I saw you, father, this morning when -you were talking to Mr. Bradley on the Green--about ten o'clock." - -"And I saw thee trailing through the low meadows with Bradley's son." - -"Yes, he came home last night." - -"And went out t' varry next morning, to meet thee in t' low meadow." - -"If you say, he happened to meet me in the low meadow, it would be -better." - -"Whativer hed the lad to do in my meadow so early in the morning?" - -"Do you call half-past ten early, dad?" - -"I call it too early for thee to be traipsing through t' wet grass with -Henry Bradley." - -"Let us keep to facts, dear father. The grass was quite dry--too dry. -Joel was wishing for rain; he said, 'Master so pampered his cattle, that -they perfectly thought scorn of half-cured grass.'" - -"Thou art trying to slip by my question and I'm not going to let thee -do it. What was John Henry Bradley doing wi' thee in the low meadow this -morning?" - -"He brought me a letter from my brother Dick. Dick and Harry have been -in London together, and they stayed four days with Aunt Josepha. They -liked her very much. They took her to the opera and the play and she -snubbed O'Connell and some other famous men and told them to let her -alone, that she had two innocent lads in her care--and so on. You know." - -"Was he making love to thee?" - -"You should not ask me a question of that kind, dad." - -"Thou need not tell me, what I should, or should not do. I hed learned -all that, before thou wer born. And I'll tell thee plainly that I will -not hev any lovemaking between thee and Harry Bradley." - -"Very well, father. If you are going to the stable will you tell someone -to have my saddle horse at the door in half-an-hour?" - -"To be sure, I will. If tha wants a ride and will go to Yoden Bridge, -I'll go with thee." - -"I would like that but I promised to help Faith Foster, who is making -clothing for the naked, shivering babies in Annis village. When Oddy's -little girl died a week ago, there wasn't a night-gown in the house -to bury it in. Its mother tore a breadth out of her one petticoat and -folded her baby in it." - -"Oh, Katherine Annis! Surely that tale is not true!" cried Madam. - -"Alas, it is too true! The baby's one little gown was not fit even for -the grave." - -The Squire sat down and covered his face with his hands and when -Katherine left the room he looked up pitifully at his wife. And she -stooped and kissed him and as she did so comforted him with broken -words of affection and assurances that it was not his fault--"thou hast -pinched us all a bit to keep the cottage looms busy," she said, "thou -couldn't do more than that, could thou, Antony?" - -"I thought I was doing right. Is there any other way?" - -"Thou could build--like the rest." - -He did not answer the remark but stood up hurriedly, saying, "I must go -and order Katherine's mount and she will expect me to put her up. After -that I may go to Yoden Bridge." - -Madam sighed and turned hopelessly away. "When will he listen to -reason?" she whispered, but there was no answer. - - - - -CHAPTER II--THE PROSPECT OF LONDON LIFE - - - "Men who their duties know, - - But know their rights, and knowing dare maintain." - - - "The blind mole casts - - Copp'd hills toward heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd - - By man's oppression and the poor worm doth die for't." - - - IT is during the hungry years of the thirties and forties of the -nineteenth century that the great body of Englishmen and Englishwomen -reveal themselves most nobly and clearly in their national character. -They were years of hunger and strife but it is good to see with what -ceaseless, persistent bravery they fought for their ideals year after -year, generation after generation, never losing hope or courage but -steadily working and waiting for the passage of that great Reform Bill, -which would open the door for their recognition at least as members of -the body politic. - -Yet this Reform Bill terrified the aristocracy and great land holders -and they were sure that its passage would sweep away both the monarchy -and the House of Lords. What else could be looked for if the franchise -was given to the laborer and the mechanic? The Bill had been well -received by the House of Commons, but rejected by the House of Lords -on the twentieth day of the previous October; and the condition of the -country was truly alarming. - -Madam Annis reminded her daughter of this fact but Katherine was not to -be frightened. "Your father," she said, "has just told us about the riot -and outrages at Derby and the burning of Nottingham Castle by a frantic -mob and the press says--'the people in London are restless and full -of passion.' Still more to be wondered at is the letter which Thomas -Attwood, the great banker, has just sent to the Duke of Wellington. In -this letter he dared to threaten the government, to tell them he would -march on London with a hundred thousand men, in order to inquire why the -Reform Bill was hindered and delayed. This morning's paper comments -on this threat and says, The Duke of Wellington is not afraid of this -visit, but would rather it was not paid.' All the way up to London there -is rioting. It is not a fit journey for thee to take. Mind what I say." - -"Oh, mother, only think! I might have been in the Ladies' Gallery, -in the House. I might have heard Mr. Macaulay's answer to the Lord's -denial, with his grand question to the Commons, 'Ought we to abandon the -Reform Bill because the Lords have rejected it? No! We must respect the -lawful privileges of their House, but we ought also to assert our own.' -No wonder the Commons cheered, and cheered, and cheered him. Oh, how -gladly I would have helped them!" - -"You are going too far and too fast, Katherine." - -"Father ought to have been in the House on the third of February and it -is now the seventh of March: Is that right?" - -"A great many landed men will not go to this session. The Reform Bill, -re-written by Lord Russell, is to come up again and father does not want -to vote either for, or against it." - -"Why?" - -"He hes his reasons. I doan't know that his reasons are any business of -thine." - -"Harry Bradley was explaining things to me this morning, and I am for -the Reform Bill. I am sure the people are right." - -"I wouldn't say as much on thy opinion. Wisdom wasn't born wi' thee and -I doan't expect she will die wi' thee. I think if thou went to London -this spring thou would make more enemies than thou could manage. Father -is following my advice in staying home, and London isn't a fit place for -a young girl like thee and the way there is full of rioters. Thy father -is a landed man and he doesn't believe in giving every weaver and hedger -and ditcher a voice in the government of England." - -"Harry Bradley says, some of their leaders and speakers are very clever -eloquent men." - -"I wouldn't talk nonsense after Harry Bradley. Who's Harry Bradley?" - -"He is my friend, mother. We have been friends nearly twenty years." - -"Not you! It is not yet eighteen years since thou showed thy face in -this world." - -"I was speaking generally, mother." - -"Eh, but there's something wrong in that way! A lot o' bother can come -out of it. I wouldn't mind anything Harry Bradley says, thy father won't -hev any nonsense about him. I can tell thee that!" - -"Father is so set in his own way. No one suits him lately. We met -Captain Chandos last Monday, and he would hardly notice him." - -"Well, then, there are plenty of folk no one can suit, and varry often -they can't suit themselves." - -"Oh, I don't care about Chandos, mother; but I feel angry when Harry is -slighted. You see, mother, I might come to marry Harry Bradley." - -"I do hope thou won't be so far left to thysen, as that would mean." - -"Then you would be wise to let me go to London. A girl must have a -lover, or she feels out in the cold, and Harry is the best specimen of a -man round about Annis." - -"All right. Let me tell thee that I hev noticed that the girls who never -throw a line into the sea of marriage, do a deal better than them that -are allays fishing." - -"Perhaps so, but then there is the pleasure of throwing the line." - -"And perhaps the pleasure of being caught by some varry undesireable -fisherman for tha needn't think that women are the only fishers. The men -go reg'lar about that business and they will soon find out that thou -hes a bit o' money o' thy awn and are well worth catching. See if they -doan't." - -"Mother, I want to go to London and see the passing of the great Reform -Bill. I am in love with those brave men Earl Grey and Lord Russell and -Mr. Macaulay, who dared to speak up for the poor, before all England." - -"I rather think they are all married men, Katherine, and marrying for -love is an unwise and generally an unprofitable bit of business." - -"Business and Love have nothing to do with each other." - -"Eh, but they hev!" - -"I shall marry for love." - -"Well, then, marry for love, but love wisely." - -"Money is only one thing, mother." - -"To be sure, but it is a rayther important thing." - -"You might persuade father that he had better take me to London out of -Harry's way. Dear mammy, do this for your little girl, won't you? You -can always get round father in some way or other." - -"I will ask thy father again but I shall take no roundabout way. -Straightforrard is the best. And I am above a bit astonished at thee, a -Yorkshire lass, thinking of any crooked road to what thou wants! If tha -can't get thy way openly and fairly make up thy mind any other way isn't -worth while, for it will be full of ups and downs, and lonely bits, and -stony bits, and all sorts and kinds of botherations. Keep these words in -thy mind." - -"I will." - -"Then I'll ask thy father again, to take thee with him to London--if he -goes himsen--if he does not go at all, then----" - -"I must find out some other way, and really the most straightforward way -would be to marry Harry Bradley, and go to London with him as a wedding -trip." - -"Thou must stop talking nonsense or else it will stop my talking one -word for thy wish." - -"I was just joking, mother." - -"Always keep everything straight between thysen and thy mother. The -first deception between me and thee opens the gates of Danger." - -"I will never forget that, mother. And if I should go away I ask you to -take my place with Faith Foster, who is making clothing for the poor in -the village." - -"Well, Katherine, what with one thing and what with another, I doan't -know what tha wants. Does tha know thysen?" - -"Well, I think it would look better if the Hall should trouble itself -a little about the suffering in the village. Faith Foster is the only -person doing anything. I was helping her, but----" - -"I should think thou would have told thysen that it was varry forrard in -a young person putting herself in my place without even a word to me -on the matter. She ought to hev come and told me what was needed and -offered her help to me. Thy father is Lord of the Manor of Annis, and it -is his business to see the naked clothed. I wonder at thee letting any -one take my place and then asking me to help and do service for them. -That is a bit beyond civility, I think." - -"It was very thoughtless. I am sorry I did it. I was so touched by -Faith's description of the hunger and nakedness in Abram Oddy's family, -that I thought of nothing but how to relieve it." - -"Well, well! It is all right, someway or other. I see father coming -towards the house. I wonder what he is wanting." - -"And he is walking so rapidly and looks so happy, something must have -pleased him. I will go away, mother. This may be a good hour for our -request." - -"Why _our?_" - -Katherine had disappeared. She left the room by one door as the squire -entered by the other. Madam rose to meet him but before she could speak -the squire had kissed her and was saying in glad eager tones, "I hev -hurried a bit, my Joy, to tell thee that both thysen and Katherine can -go wi' me to London. I had a lump of good fortune this afternoon. Mark -Clitheroe sent me the thousand pounds he owed, when he broke up five -years ago. He told me he wouldn't die till he had paid it; and I -believed him. The money came to-day and it came with a letter that does -us both credit." - -"However has Clitheroe made a thousand pounds to spare since his -smash-up? Thou said, it wer a varry complete ruin." - -"It was all of that, yet he tells me, he will be able to pay the last -farthing he owes to anyone, during this year some time." - -"It caps me! How hes he made the money?" - -"Why, Annie, his father built a factory for him and filled it with the -finest power-looms and he says he hes been doing a grand business. Old -Clitheroe hed allays told him he was wasting time and good brass in hand -weaving but Mark would hev his awn way, and somehow his awn way took him -to ruin in three years. I was his main creditor. Well, well! I am both -astonished and pleased, I am that! Now get thysen and Katherine ready -for London." - -"I doan't really want to go, Antony." - -"But I cannot do without thee. Thou wilt hev to go, and there is -Katherine, too! Ten to one, she will need a bit of looking after." - -"When art thou going to start?" - -"Not for a month. I must see to the sowing of the land--the land feeds -us. I thought, though, it would be right to give thee the bit o' change -and pleasure to think about and talk about." - -"Where does thou intend to stay while in London?" - -"I am thinking of the Clarendon Hotel for thee and mysen. I suppose -Katherine can be comfortable and welcome at her sister's." - -"Certainly she can. Jane isn't anything but kind at heart. It is just -her _you-shallness_ that makes her one-sided to live with. But Katherine -can hold her own side, without help, she can that! And if thou art bound -for London, then London is the place where my heart will be and we will -go together." - -"Thou art a good wife to me, Annie." - -"Well, then, I promised thee to be a good wife, and I'm Yorkshire -enough to keep a promise--good or bad. I am glad thou art going to -the Clarendon. It is a pleasant house but thy sister Josepha is a bit -overbearing, isn't she, Antony?" - -"She does not overbear me. I am her eldest brother. I make her remember -that. Howiver, I shall hev to listen to such a lot o' strong language -in the House that I must hev only thee about me when I can get away from -committees, and divisions, taking of votes, and the like." - -By this time the squire had filled his pipe, and seated himself in -his favorite corner on that side of the hearth, that had no draughts -whichever way the wind blew. Then Madam said: "I'll leave thee a few -minutes, Antony. I am going to tell Katherine that thou art going to -take her to London." - -"Varry well. I'll give thee five minutes, then thou must come back here, -for I hev something important to tell thee." - -"Katherine will want to come back here with me. She will be impatient to -thank thee for thy goodness and to coax some sovereigns in advance for -a new dress and the few traveling things women need when they are on the -road." - -"Then thou hed better advise her to wait until supper time. When the -day's work is all done I can stand a bit of cuddling and petting and I -doan't mind waring a few sovereigns for things necessary. Of course, -I know the little wench will be happy and full o' what she is going to -see, and to do, and to hear. Yet, Annie, I hev some important thoughts -in my mind now and I want thy help in coming to their settlement." - -"Antony Annis! I _am_ astonished at thee, I am that! When did thou ever -need or take advice about thy awn business? Thou hes sense for all that -can be put up against thy opinion, without asking advice from man or -woman--'specially woman." - -"That may be so, Annie, perhaps it _is_ so, but thou art different. -Thou art like mysen and it's only prudent and kind to talk changes over -together. For thou hes to share the good or the bad o' them, so it is -only right thou should hev time to prepare for whatever they promise. -Sit thee down beside me. Now, then, this is what happened just as soon -as I hed gotten my money--and I can assure thee, that a thousand pounds -in a man's pocket is a big set up--I felt all my six feet four inches -and a bit more, too--well, as I was going past the Green to hev a talk -wi' Jonathan Hartley, I saw Mr. Foster come to his door and stand there. -As he was bare-headed, I knew he was waiting to speak to me. I hev liked -the man's face and ways iver since he came to the village, and when he -offered his hand and asked me to come in I couldn't resist the kindness -and goodness of it." - -"Thou went into the preacher's house?" - -"I surely did, and I am glad of it. I think a deal o' good may come from -the visit." - -"Did thou see his daughter?" - -"I did and I tell thee she is summat to see." - -"Then she is really beautiful?" - -"Yes, and more than that. She was sitting sewing in a plain, small -parlor but she seemed to be sitting in a circle of wonderful peace. -All round her the air looked clearer than in the rest of the room and -something sweet and still and heavenly happy came into my soul. Then -she told me all about the misery in the cottages and said it had now got -beyond individual help and she was sure if thou knew it, and the curate -knew it, some proper general relief could be carried out. She had began, -she said, 'with the chapel people,' but even they were now beyond her -care; and she hoped thou would organize some society and guide all with -thy long and intimate knowledge of the people." - -"What did thou say to this?" - -"I said I knew thou would do iverything that it was possible to do. And -I promised that thou would send her word when to come and talk the ways -and means over with thee and a few others." - -"That was right." - -"I knew it would be right wi' thee." - -"Katherine says that our Dick is in love wi' the preacher's daughter." - -"I wouldn't wonder, and if a man hedn't already got the only perfect -woman in the world for his awn you could not blame him. No, you could -not blame him!" - -"Thou must hev stayed awhile there for it is swinging close to five -o'clock." - -"Ay, but I wasn't at the preacher's long. I went from his house to -Jonathan Hartley's, and I smoked a pipe with him, and we hed a long talk -on the situation of our weavers. Many o' them are speaking of giving-in, -and going to Bradley's factory, and I felt badly, and I said to -Jonathan, 'I suppose thou is thinking of t' same thing.' And he looked -at me, Annie, and I was hot wi' shame, and I was going to tell him so, -but he looked at me again, and said: - -"'Nay, nay, squire, thou didn't mean them words, and we'll say nothing -about them'; so we nodded to each other, and I wouldn't be sure whether -or not we wer' not both nearer tears than we'd show. Anyway, he went on -as if nothing had happened, telling me about the failing spirit of -the workers and saying a deal to excuse them. 'Ezra Dixon's eldest and -youngest child died yesterday and they are gathering a bit of money -among the chapel folk to bury them.' Then I said: 'Wait a minute, -Jonathan,' and I took out of my purse a five pound note and made him go -with it to the mother and so put her heart at ease on that score. You -know our poor think a parish funeral a pitiful disgrace." - -"Well, Antony, if that was what kept thee, thou wert well kept. Faith -Foster is right. I ought to be told of such sorrow." - -"To be sure we both ought to know, but tha sees, Annie, my dearie, we -hev been so much better off than the rest of weaving villages that the -workers hev not suffered as long and as much as others. But what's -the use of making excuses? I am going to a big meeting of weavers on -Saturday night. It is to be held in t' Methodist Chapel." - -"Antony! Whatever art thou saying? What will the curate say? What will -all thy old friends say?" - -"Annie, I hev got to a place where I don't care a button what they say. -I hev some privileges, I hope, and taking my awn way is one o' them. The -curate hes been asked to lend his sanction to the meeting, and the men -are betting as to whether he'll do so or not. If I was a betting man I -would say 'No'!" - -"Why?" - -"His bishop. The bishops to a man were against the Reform Bill. Only one -is said to have signed for it. That is not sure." - -"Then do you blame him?" - -"Nay, I'm sorry for any man, that hesn't the gumption to please his awn -conscience, and take his awn way. However, his career is in the bishop's -hand, and he's varry much in love with Lucy Landborde." - -"Lucy Landborde! That handsome girl! How can he fashion himself to make -up to Lucy?" - -"She thinks he is dying of love for her, so she pities him. Women are a -soft lot!" - -"It is mebbe a good thing for men that women are a soft lot. Go on with -thy story. It's fair wonderful." - -"Mr. Foster will preside, and they'll ask the curate to record -proceedings. St. George Norris and Squire Charington and the Vicar of -Harrowgate will be on the platform, I hear. The vicar is going to marry -Geraldine Norris next week to a captain in the Guards." - -"I declare, Antony, thou finds out iverything going on." - -"To be sure. That is part o' my business as Lord of the Manor. Well tha -sees now, that it is going to be a big meeting, especially when they add -to it a Member of Parliament, a Magistrate, and a Yorkshire Squire." - -"Who art thou talking about now?" - -"Mysen! Antony Annis! Member of Parliament, Squire of Annis and Deeping -Wold, and Magistrate of the same district." - -"Upon my word, I had forgotten I was such a big lady. And I am to go to -London with thee. I am as set up about that as a child would be. I think -I ought to go and tell Katherine." - -"Mebbe it would be the kind thing. Sharing a pleasure doubles it;" and -as the squire uttered the words, Katherine rather impetuously opened the -parlor door. - -"O daddy!" she cried as she pulled a chair to his side. "What are you -talking about? I know it is about London; are you going to take me there -with you? Say yes. Say it surely." - -"Give me a kiss and I will take both thee and thy mother there with me." - -"How soon, daddy? How soon?" - -"As soon as possible. We must look after the poor and the land and then -we can go with a good heart." - -"Let us talk it all over. Where are you going to stay?" - -"Nay, my dear lass. I am talking to thy mother now and she is on a -different level to thee. Run away to thy room and make up thy mind about -thy new dress and the other little tricks thou wants." - -"Such as a necklace and a full set of amber combs for my hair." - -"Nay, nay! I hev no money for jewelry, while little childer and women -all round us are wanting bread. Thou wouldn't suit it and it wouldn't be -lucky to thee. Run away now, I'll talk all thou wants to-morrow." - -"Verry well, dear daddy. Thy word is enough to build on. I can sit quiet -and arrange my London plans, for a promise from thee is as sure as the -thing itself." - -Then the squire laughed and took a letter out of his pocketbook. "It -is good for a thousand pounds, honey," he said, "and that is a bit of -security for my promise, isn't it?" - -"Not a penny's worth. Thy promise needs no security. It stands alone as -it ought to do." - -She rose as she spoke and the squire rose and opened the door for her -and then stood and watched her mount the darkening stairway. At the -first reach, she turned and bent her lovely face and form towards him. -The joyful anticipations in her heart transfigured her. She was radiant. -Her face shone and smiled; her white throat, and her white shoulders, -and her exquisite arms, and her firm quick feet seemed to have some new -sense given them. You would have said that her body thought and that her -very voice had a caress in it as she bridged the space between them with -a "Thank you, dear, dear daddy! You are the very kindest father in all -the world!" - -"And thou art his pet and his darling!" With these words he went back to -his wife. "She is justtip-on-top," he said. "There's no girl I know like -her. She sits in the sunlight of my heart. Why, Annie, she ought to make -a better marriage than Jane, and Jane did middling well." - -"Would thou think Harry Bradley a good match?" - -"I wouldn't put him even in a passing thought with Katherine. Harry -Bradley, indeed! I am fairly astonished at thee naming the middle class -fellow!" - -"Katherine thinks him all a man should be." - -"She will change her mind in London." - -"I doubt that." - -"Thou lets her hev opinions and ideas of her awn. Thou shouldn't do it. -Jane will alter that. Jane will tell her how to rate men and women. Jane -is varry clever." - -"Jane is no match for Katherine. Dost thou think Antony Annis will be?" - -"I wouldn't doubt it." - -"Then don't try conclusions with her about Harry Bradley, and happen -then thou may keep thy illusion. Katherine's fault is a grave one, -though it often looks like a virtue." - -"I doan't see what thou means. Faults are faults, and virtues are -virtues. I hev niver seen a fault of any kind in her, unless it be -wanting more guineas than I can spare her just now, but that is the -original sin o' women as far as I can make out. Whativer is this fault -that can look like a virtue?" - -"She overdoes everything. She says too little, or too much; she does too -little, or too much; she gives too little, or too much. In everything -she exceeds. If she likes anyone, she is unreasonable about them; if she -dislikes them, she is unjust." - -"I doan't call that much of a fault--if thou knew anything about farming -thou would make little of it. Thou would know that it is the richest -land that hes the most weeds in its crop. The plow and the harrow will -clear it of weeds and the experience of life will teach Katherine to be -less generous with both her feelings and her opinions. Let her overdo, -it is a fault that will cure itself." - -"And in the meantime it makes her too positive and insisting. She -thinks she is right and she wants others to be right. She is even a bit -forceable----" - -"And I can tell thee that women as well as men need some force of -character, if they mean to do anything with their lives. _Why-a!_ Force -is in daily life all that powder is to shot. If our weavers' wives hed -more force in their characters, they wouldn't watch their children dying -of hunger upon their knees and their hearths, they would make their -stubborn men go to any kind of a loom. They wouldn't be bothering -themselves about any Bill in Parliament, they would be crying out for -bread for their children. We must see about the women and children -to-morrow or we shall not be ready for Faith Foster's visit." - -"To be sure, but we need not think of it to-night. I'm heart weary, -Antony. Nobody can give sympathy long unless they turn kind words into -kind actions." - -"Then just call Katherine and order a bit of supper in. And I'd like a -tankard of home-brewed, and a slice or two of cold mutton. My word, but -the mutton bred in our rich meadows is worth eating! Such a fine color, -so tender and juicy and full of rich red gravy." - -"I think thou would be better without the tankard. Our ale is four years -old, and tha knows what it is at that age. It will give thee a rattling -headache. The cask on now is very strong." - -"To be sure it is. A man could look a lion in the face after a couple of -glasses of it." - -"I advise thee to take a glass of water, with thy mutton to-night." - -"No, I won't. I'll hev a glass of sherry wine, and thou can be my -butler. And tell Katherine not to talk about London to-night. I hevn't -got my intentions ready. I'd be making promises it would not be right to -keep. Tha knows----!" - -"Yes, I know." - -Katherine had not yet been promoted to a seat at the late supper table, -and only came to it when specially asked. So Madam found her ungowned, -and with loosened hair, in a dressing-sacque of blue flannel. She was -writing a letter to a school friend, but she understood her mother's -visit and asked with a smile-- - -"Am I to come to supper, mother? Oh, I am so glad." - -"Then, dearie, do not speak of London, nor the poor children, nor the -selfish weavers." - -"Not selfish, mother. They believe they are fighting for their rights. -You know that." - -"I doan't know it. I doan't believe it. Their wives and children ought -to be more to them than their awn way which is what they really want. -Doan't say a word about them." - -"I will not. I am going to tell father about the Arkroyds, who owned -Scar Top House so long." - -"Father will like to hear anything good about Colonel Arkroyd. He is the -last of a fine Yorkshire family. Who told thee anything about him?" - -"Before I came to my room I went to give Polly some sugar I had in my -pocket for her, and I met Britton, who had just come from the stable. -He turned and went with me and he was full of the story and so I had to -listen to it." - -"Well, then, we will listen to it when thou comes down. Father is -hungry, so don't keep him waiting, or he will be put out of his way." - -"I will be down in five minutes, and father is never cross with me." - -Indeed, when Madam went back to the parlor, a servant was bringing in -the cold mutton and Madam had the bottle of sherry in her hand. A few -minutes later Katherine had joined her parents, and they were sitting -cozily round a small table, set in the very warmth and light of the -hearthstone. Then Madam, fearing some unlucky word or allusion, said as -quickly as possible-- - -"Whatever was it thou heard about Colonel Ark-royd, Katherine?" - -"Ay! Ay! Colonel Arkroyd! Who has anything to say about him?" asked the -squire. "One of the finest men alive to-day." - -"I heard a strange thing about his old house, an hour ago." - -"But he sold Scar Top House, and went to live in Kendal. A man from -Bradford bought it, eh?" - -"Yes, a man with a factory and six hundred looms, they say. Father, -have you noticed how crowded our rookery is with the birds' nests this -spring?" - -"I doan't know that I hev noticed the number of the nests, but nobody -can help hearing their noisy chattering all over Annis." - -"Do you remember the rookery at Scar Top?" - -"Yes. I often hed a friendly threep with Ark-royd about it. He would -insist, that his rookery hed the largest congregation. I let him think -so--he's twenty years older than I am--and I did hear that the Bradford -man had bought the place because of the rookery." - -"So he did. And now, father, every bird has left it. There was not one -nest built there this spring. Not one!" - -"I never heard the like. Whoever told thee such a story?" - -"The whole village knows it. One morning very early every rook in Scar -Top went away. They went altogether, just before daybreak. They went to -Saville Court and settled in a long row of elm trees in the home meadow. -They are building there now and the Bradford man----" - -"Give him his name. It is John Denby. He was born in Annis--in my -manor--and he worked for the colonel, near twenty years." - -"Very well. John Denby and Colonel Arkroyd have quarreled about the -birds, and there is likely to be a law suit over them." - -"Upon my word! That will be a varry interesting quarrel. What could -make birds act in such a queer way? I niver knew them to do such a thing -before." - -"Well, father, rooks are very aristocratic birds. Denby could not get a -_caw_ out of the whole flock. They would not notice Denby, and they used -to talk to Arkroyd, whenever he came out of the house. Denby used to -work for Colonel Arkroyd, and the rooks knew it. They did not consider -him a gentleman, and they would not accept his hospitality." - -"That is going a bit too far, Katherine." - -"Oh, no! Old Britton told me so, and the Yorkshire bird does not live -who has not told Britton all about itself. He said further, that rooks -are very vain and particularly so about their feathers. He declared they -would go far out of their way in order to face the wind and so prevent -ruffling their feathers." - -"Rooks are at least a very human bird," said Madam; "our rooks make -quite a distinction between thee and myself. I can easily notice it. The -male birds are in a flutter when thou walks through the rookery, they -moderate their satisfaction when I pay them a call and it is the female -birds who do the honors then." - -"That reminds me, mother, that Britton told me rooks intermarried -generation after generation, and that if a rook brought home a strange -bride, he was forced to build in a tree the community selected, at -some distance from the rookery. If he did not do this, his nest was -relentlessly torn down." - -"Well, my Joy, I am glad to learn so much from thee. How do the rooks -treat thee?" - -"With but moderate notice, father, unless I am at Britton's side. Then -they 'caw' respectfully, as I take my way through their colony. Britton -taught me to lift my hat now and then, as father does." The squire -laughed, and was a bit confused. "Nay, nay!" he said. "Britton hes been -making up that story, though I vow, I would rayther take off my hat to -gentlemanly rooks than to some humans I know; I would that! There is one -thing I can tell thee about rooks, Britton seems to have forgot; they -can't make a bit of sunshine for themselves. If t' weather is rainy, no -bird in the world is more miserable. They sit with puffed out feathers -in uncontrollable melancholy, and they hevn't a caw for anybody. Yet I -hev a great respect for rooks." - -"And I hev a great liking for rook pies," said Madam. "There is not a -pie in all the records of cookery, to come near it. _Par excellence_ is -its name. I shall miss my rook pies, if we go away this summer." - -"But we shall have something better in their place, dear mother." - -"Who can tell? In the meantime, sleep will be the best thing for all. -To-morrow is a new day. Sleep will make us ready for it." - - - - -CHAPTER III--THE REALIZATION OF TROUBLE - - - "Beneath this starry arch, - - Naught resteth, or is still; - - And all things have their march, - - As if by one great will. - - Move on! Move all! - - Hark to the footfall! - - On, on! forever!" - - - THE next morning Katherine came to her mother full of enthusiasm. She -had some letters in her hand and she said: "I have written these letters -all alike, mother, and they are ready to send away, if you will give me -the names of the ladies you wish them to go to." - -"How many letters hast thou written?" - -"Seven. I can write as many as you wish." - -"Thou hes written too many already." - -"Too many!" - -"Yes, tha must not forget, that this famine and distress is over all -Yorkshire--over all England. Every town and village hes its awn sick and -starving, and hes all it can do to look after them. Thy father told me -last night he hed been giving to all the villages round us for a year -back but until Mr. Foster told him yesterday he hed no idea that there -was any serious trouble in Annis. Tha knows, dearie, that Yorkshire and -Lancashire folk won't beg. No, not if they die for want of begging. The -preacher found out their need first and he told father at once. Then -Jonathan Hartley admitted they were all suffering and that something -must be done to help. That is the reason for the meeting this -afternoon." - -"Oh, dear me!" - -"Jonathan hes been preparing for it for a week but he did not tell -father until yesterday. I will give thee the names of four ladies -that may assist in the way of sending food--there is Mrs. Benson, the -doctor's wife--her husband is giving his time to the sick and if she -hedn't a bit of money of her awn, Benson's family would be badly off, I -fear. She may hev the heart to _do_ as well as to pinch and suffer, but -if she hesn't, we can't find her to blame. Send her an invitation. -Send another to Mistress Craven. Colonel Craven is with his regiment -somewhere, but she is wealthy, and for anything I know, good-hearted. -Give her an opportunity. Lady Brierley can be counted on in some way -or other and perhaps Mrs. Courtney. I can think of no others because -everyone is likely to be looking for assistance just as we are. What day -hev you named for the meeting?" - -"Monday. Is that too soon?" - -"About a week too soon. None of these ladies will treat the invitation -as a desirable one. They doubtless hev many engagements already -made. Say, next Saturday. It is not reasonable to expect them to drop -iverything else and hurry to Annis, to sew for the hungry and naked." - -"O mother! Little children! Who would not hurry to them with food and -clothing?" - -"Hes thou been with Faith Foster to see any children hungry and naked?" - -"No, mother; but I do not need to _see_ in order to _feel_. And I have -certainly noticed how few children are on the street lately." - -"Well, Katherine, girls of eighteen shouldn't need to _see_ in order to -feel. Thank God for thy fresh young feelings and keep them fresh as long -as thou can. It will be a pity when thou begins to reason about them. -Send letters to Mrs. Benson, Mrs. Craven, Lady Brierley, and Mrs. -Courtney, and then we shall see what comes from them. After all, we are -mere mortals!" - -"But you are friendly with all these four ladies?" - -"Good friends to come and go upon. By rights they ought to stand by -Annis--but 'ought' stands for nothing." - -"Why _ought_, mother?" - -"Thy father hes done ivery one o' them a good turn of one kind or -the other but it isn't his way to speak of the same. Now send off thy -letters and let things slide until we see what road they are going to -take. I'm afraid I'll hev to put mysen about more than I like to in this -matter." - -"That goes without saying but you don't mind it, do you, mother?" - -"Well, your father took me on a sudden. I hedn't time to think before I -spoke and when my heart gets busy, good-by to my head." - -"Mrs. Courtney has not been here for a long time." - -"She is a good deal away but I saw her in London last year every now and -then. She is a careless woman; she goes it blind about everything, and -yet she wants to be at the bottom of all county affairs." - -"Mother, could we not do a little shopping today?" - -"At the fag end of the week? What are you talking about? Certainly not. -Besides, thy father is worried about the meeting this afternoon. He says -more may come of it than we can dream of." - -"How is that?" - -"Why, Katherine, it might end in a factory here, or it might end in the -weavers heving to leave Annis and go elsewhere." - -"Cannot they get work of some other kind, in, or near by Annis?" - -"Nay, tha surely knows, that a weaver hes to keep his fingers soft, and -his hands supple. Hard manual work would spoil his hands forever for -the loom, and our men are born weavers. They doan't fashion to any other -work, and to be sure England hes to hev her weavers." - -"Mother, would it not be far better to have a factory? Lately, when I -have taken a walk with father he always goes to the wold and looks all -round considering just like a man who was wondering about a site for a -building. It would be a good thing for us, mother, would it not?" - -"It seems so, but father does not want it. He says it will turn Annis -into a rough village, full of strangers, with bad ways, and also that it -will spoil the whole country-side with its smoke and dirt." - -"But if it makes money?" - -"Money isn't iverything." - -"The want of it is dreadful." - -"Thy father got a thousand pounds this morning. If he does not put most -of it into a factory, he will put it into bread, which will be eaten -to-day and wanted again to-morrow. That would make short work of a -thousand pounds." - -"Have you reminded father of that?" - -"I doan't need to. Father seems an easy-going man but he thinks of -iverything; and when he _hes_ to act no one strikes the iron quicker -and harder. If thou saw him in London, if thou heard him in the House, -brow-beating the Whigs and standing up for Peel and Wellington and -others, thou would wonder however thou dared to tease, and contradict, -and coax him in Annis. Thou would that! Now I am going to the lower -summer house for an hour. Send away thy letters, and let me alone a -bit." - -"I know. I saw father going down the garden. He is going to the summer -house also; he intends to tell you, mother, what he is going to say -to-night. He always reads, or recites his speeches to you. I have heard -him sometimes." - -"Then thou ought to be ashamed to speak of it! I am astonished at thy -want of honor! If by chance, thou found out some reserved way of thy -father it should have been held by thee as a sacred, inviolable secret. -Not even to me, should thou have dared to speak of it. I am sorry, -indeed, to hev to teach thee this point of childhood's honor. I thought -it would be natural to the daughter of Antony and Annie Annis!" - -"Mother! Forgive me! I am ashamed and sorry and oh, do not, for my sake, -tell father! My dear, dear father! You have made it look like mocking -him--I never thought how shameful it could look--oh, I never thought -about it! I never spoke of it before! I never did!" - -"Well, then, see thou never again listens to what was not intended for -thee to hear. It would be a pretty state of things, if thy father hed -to go somewhere out of the way of listeners to get a bit of private talk -with me." - -"Mother, don't be so cruel to me." - -"Was thou trying to compliment me or was thou scorning a bit about thy -father's ways? If thou thought I would feel complimented by being set -above him that thought was as far wrong as it could possibly get." - -"Mother! Mother! You will break my heart! You never before spoke this -way to me--_Oh, dear! Oh, dear!_" - -For a few minutes Madam let her weep, then she bent over the crouching, -sobbing girl, and said, "There now! There now!" - -"I am so sorry! So sorry!" - -"Well, dearie, sorrow is good for sin. It is the only thing sorrow is -good for. Dry thy eyes, and we will niver name the miserable subject -again." - -"Was it really a sin, mother?" - -"Hes thou forgotten the fifth commandment? That little laugh at thy -father's saying his speeches to me first was more than a bit scornful. -It was far enough from the commandment 'Honor thy father and thy -mother.' It wasn't honoring either of us." - -"I can never forgive myself." - -"Nay! nay! Give me a kiss and go and look after thy letters; also tell -Yates dinner must be on the table at one o'clock no matter what his -watch says." Then Katherine walked silently away and Madam went to the -lower summer house, and the dinner was on the table at one o'clock. It -was an exceedingly quiet meal, and immediately after it, the squire's -horse was brought to the door. - -"So thou art going to ride, Antony!" said Mistress Annis, and the squire -answered, "Ay, I hev a purpose in riding, Annie." - -"Thou art quite right," was the reply, for she thought she divined his -purpose and the shadow of a smile passed between them. Then he looked at -his watch, mounted his horse and rode swiftly away. His wife watched him -out of sight and, as she turned into the house, she told herself with -a proud and happy smile, "He is the best and the handsomest man in the -West Riding, and the horse suits him! He rides to perfection! God bless -him!" - -It was a point with the squire to be rigidly punctual. He was never -either too soon, or too late. He knew that one fault was as bad as the -other, though he considered the early mistake as the worst. It began -to strike two as he reached the door of the Methodist Chapel, and saw -Jonathan Hartley waiting there for him; and they walked at once to -a rude platform that had been prepared for the speakers. There were -several gentlemen standing there in a group, and the Chapel was crowded -with anxious hungry-looking men. - -It was the first time that Squire Annis had ever stepped inside a -Methodist Chapel. The thought was like the crack of a whip in his -conscience but at that moment he would not listen to any claim or -reproof; for either through liking or disliking, he was sensitive at -once to Bradley's tall, burly predominance; and could not have said, -whether it was pleasant or unpleasant to him. However, the moment he -appeared, there was loud handclapping, and cries of "Squire Annis! -Squire Annis! Put him in the chair! He's our man!" - -Then into the squire's heart his good angel put a good thought, and he -walked to the front of the platform and said, "My men, and my friends, -I'll do something better for you. I'll put the Reverend Samuel Foster in -the chair. God's servant stands above all others, and Mr. Foster knows -all about your poverty and affliction. I am a bit ashamed to say, I do -not." This personal accusation was cut short by cries of "No! No! No! -Thou hes done a great deal," and then a cheer, that had in it all the -Yorkshire spirit, though not its strength. The men were actually weak -with hunger. - -Mr. Foster took the chair to which the squire led him without any -affectations of demur, and he was gladly welcomed. Indeed there were few -things that would have pleased the audience more. They were nearly all -Methodists, and their preacher alone had searched out their misery, and -helped them to bear it with patience and with hope. He now stretched out -his hands to them and said--"Friends, just give us four lines, and we -will go at once to business"; and in a sweet, ringing voice, he began -Newman's exquisite hymn-- - - "Leave God to order all thy ways, - - And hope in Him whate'er betide, - - Thoul't find Him in the evil days, - - An all sufficient Strength and Guide." - -The words came fresh and wet with tears from every heart, and it was a -five minutes' interlude of that complete surrender, which God loves and -accepts. - -After a moment of intense silence, the preacher said, "We are met to-day -to try and find out if hand-loom weaving must go, or if both hand-loom -weaving and power-loom weaving have a chance for the weaver in them. -There are many hand-loom weavers here present. They know all its good -points and all points wherein it fails but they do not know either the -good or bad points of power-loom weaving, and Mr. John Thomas Bradley -has come to tell you something about this tremendous rival of your -household loom. I will now introduce Mr. John." He got no further in -his introduction, for Bradley stepped forward, and with a buoyant -good-nature said, "No need, sir, of any fine mastering or mistering -between the Annis lads and mysen. We hev thrashed each ither at -football, and chated each ither in all kinds of swapping odds too often, -to hev forgotten what names were given us at our christening. There's -Israel Swale, he hes a bigger mill than I hev now-a-days, but he's owing -me three pence half-penny and eleven marbles, yet whenever I ask him for -my brass and my marbles he says--'I'll pay thee, John Thomas, when we -play our next game.' Now listen, lads, next Whitsunday holidays I'll -ask him to come and see me, and I'll propose before a house full of -company--and all ready for a bit of fun--that we hev our game of marbles -in the bowling alley, and I'll get Jonathan Hartley to give you all an -invitation to come and see fair play between us. Will you come?" - -Noisy laughing acceptances followed and one big Guisely weaver said, -"He'd come too, and see that Israel played a straight game for once in -his life." - -"I'm obliged to thee, Guisely," answered Bradley, "I hope thou'lt come. -Now then, lads, I hev to speak to you about business, and if you think -what I say is right, go and do what I say, do it boldly; and if you -aren't sure, then let it alone:--till you are driven to it. I am told -that varry few of the men here present iver saw a power loom. And yet -you mostly think ill o' it. That isn't a bit Yorkshire. You treat a man -as you find him, you ought to do the same to a machine, that is almost -a man in intelligence--that is the most perfect bit of beauty and -contrivance that man iver made since man himsen was fitted wi' fingers -and thumbs by the Great Machinist of heaven and earth." - -"What is it fashioned like, Bradley?" - -"It is an exceedingly compact machine and takes up little room. It is -easily worked and it performs every weaving operation with neatness -and perfection. It makes one hundred and seventy picks a minute or six -pieces of goods in a week--you know it was full work and hard work to -make one piece a week with the home loom, even for a strong man. It is -made mostly of shining metal, and it is a perfect darling. _Why-a!_ -the lads and lassies in Bradley mill call their looms after their -sweethearts, or husbands, or wives, and I wouldn't wonder if they said -many a sweet or snappy word to the looms that would niver be ventured on -with the real Bessie or the real Joe. - -"Think of your old cumbersome wooden looms, so hard and heavy and dreary -to work, that it wasn't fit or right to put a woman down to one. Then go -and try a power loom, and when you hev done a day's work on it, praise -God and be thankful! I tell you God saw the millions coming whom -Yorkshire and Lancashire would hev to clothe, and He gave His servant -the grave, gentle, middle-aged preacher Edmund Cartwright, the model of -a loom fit for God's working men and women to use. I tell you men the -power loom is one of God's latest Gospels. We are spelling yet, with -some difficulty, its first good news, but the whole world will yet thank -God for the power loom!" - -Here the preacher on the platform said a fervent "Thank God!" But the -audience was not yet sure enough for what they were to thank God, and -the few echoes to the preacher's invitation were strangely uncertain for -a Yorkshire congregation. A few of the Annis weavers compromised on a -solemn "Amen!" All, however, noticed that the squire remained silent, -and they were "not going"--as Lot Clarke said afterwards--"to push -themsens before t' squire." - -Then Jonathan Hartley stepped into the interval, and addressing Bradley -said, "Tha calls this wonderful loom a power-loom. I'll warrant the -power comes from a steam engine." - -"Thou art right, Jonathan. I wish tha could see the wonderful engine at -Dalby's Mill in Pine Hollow. The marvelous creature stands in its big -stone stable like a huge image of Destiny. It is never still, but never -restless, nothing rough; calm and steady like the waves of the full sea -at Scarboro'. It is the nervous center, the life, I might say, of all -going on in that big building above it. It moves all the machinery, it -gives life to the devil, * and speeds every shuttle in every loom." - - * The devil, a machine containing a revolving cylinder armed - with knives or spikes for tearing, cutting, or opening raw - materials. - -"It isn't looms and engines we are worrying about, Bradley," said a man -pallid and fretful with hunger. "It is flesh and blood, that can't stand -hunger much longer. It's our lile lads and lasses, and the babies at the -mother's breast, where there isn't a drop o' milk for their thin, white -lips! O God! And you talk o' looms and engines"--and the man sat down -with a sob, unable to say another word. - -Squire Annis could hardly sit still, but the preacher looked at him and -he obeyed the silent wish, as in the meantime Jonathan Hartley had asked -Bradley a question, to partly answer the request made. - -"If you want to know about the workers, all their rooms are large and -cheerful, with plenty of fresh air in them. The weaving rooms are as -light and airy as a bird cage. The looms are mostly managed by women, -from seventeen to thirty, wi' a sprinkling o' married men and women. A -solid trade principle governs t' weaving room--so much work, for so much -money--but I hev girls of eighteen in my mill, who are fit and able -to thread the shuttles, and manage two looms, keeping up the pieces to -mark, without oversight or help." - -Here he was interrupted by a man with long hair parted in the middle -of the forehead, and dressed in a suit of fashionable cut, but cheap -tailoring. "I hev come to this meeting," he cried out, "to ask your -parliamentary representative if he intends to vote for the Reform Bill, -and to urge the better education of the lower classes." - -"Who bid thee come to this meeting?" asked Jonathan Hartley. "Thou -has no business here. Not thou. And we weren't born in Yorkshire to be -fooled by thee." - -"I was told by friends of the people, that your member would likely vote -against Reform." - -"Put him out! Put him out!" resounded from every quarter of the -building, and for the first time since the meeting opened, there was a -touch of enthusiasm. Then the squire stepped with great dignity to the -front of the platform. - -"Young men," he said with an air of reproof, "this is not a political -meeting. It is not even a public meeting. It is a gathering of friends -to consider how best to relieve the poverty and idleness for which our -weavers are not to blame--and we do not wish to be interrupted." - -"The blame is all wi' you rich landowners," he answered; "ivery one o' -you stand by a government that robs the poor man and protects the rich. -I am a representative of the Bradford Socialists." - -"Git out! Git out! Will tha? If tha doesn't, I'll fling thee out like -any other rubbish;" and as the man made no attempt to obey the -command given, Hartley took him by the shoulder, and in spite of his -protestations--received with general jeers and contempt--put him -outside the chapel. - -Squire Annis heartily approved the word, act and manner of Hartley's -little speech. The temperature of his blood rose to fighting heat, -and he wanted to shout with the men in the body of the chapel. Yet his -countenance was calm and placid, for Antony Annis was _Master at Home_, -and could instantly silence or subdue whatever his Inner Man prompted -that was improper or inconvenient. - -He thought, however, that it was now a fit time-for him to withdraw, and -he was going to say the few words he had so well considered, when a very -old man rose, and leaning on his staff, called out, "Squire Annis, my -friend, I want thee to let me speak five minutes. It will varry likely -be t' last time I'll hev the chance to say a word to so many lads -altogether in this life." And the squire smiled pleasantly as he -replied, "Speak, Matthew, we shall all be glad to listen to you." - -"Ill be ninety-five years old next month, Squire, and I hev been busy -wi' spinning and weaving eighty-eight o' them. I was winding bobbins -when I was seven years old, and I was carding, or combing, or working -among wool until I was twenty. Then I got married, and bought from t' -squire, on easy terms, my cottage and garden plot, and I kept a pig and -some chickens, and a hutch full o' rabbits, which I fed on the waste -vegetables from my garden. I also had three or four bee skeps, that gave -us honey for our bread, with a few pounds over to sell; t' squire allays -bought the overbit, and so I was well paid for a pretty bed of flowers -round about the house. I was early at my loom, but when I was tired I -went into my garden, and I smoked a pipe and talked to the bees, who -knew me well enough, ivery one o' them. If it was raining, I went into -t' kitchen, and smoked and hed a chat wi' Polly about our awn concerns. -I hev had four handsome lassies, and four good, steady lads. Two o' -the lads went to America, to a place called Lowell, but they are now -well-to-do men, wi' big families. My daughters live near me, and they -keep my cottage as bright as their mother kept it for over fifty years. -I worked more or less till I was ninety years old, and then Squire Annis -persuaded me to stop my loom, and just potter about among my bees and -flowers. Now then, lads, thousands hev done for years and years as much, -even more than I hev done and I hev never met but varry few Home-loom -weavers who were dissatisfied. They all o' them made their awn hours and -if there was a good race anywhere near-by they shut off and went to it. -Then they did extra work the next day to put their 'piece' straight for -Saturday. If their 'piece' was right, the rest was nobody's business." - -"Well, Matthew," said the squire, "for many a year you seldom missed a -race." - -"Not if t' horses were good, and well matched. I knew the names then of -a' the racers that wer' worth going to see. I love a fine horse yet. I -do that! And the Yorkshire roar when the victor came to mark! You could -hear it a mile away! O squire, I can hear it yet! - -"Well, lads, I hev hed a happy, busy life, and I hev been a good -Methodist iver sin' I was converted, when I was twelve years old. And I -bear testimony this day to the goodness and the faithfulness of God. He -hes niver broken a promise He made me. Niver one! - -"Thousands of Home-loom spinners can live, and have lived, as I did and -they know all about t' life. I know nothing about power-loom weaving. -I dare say a man can make good or bad o' it, just as he feels inclined; -but I will say, it brings men down to a level God Almighty niver -intended. It is like this--when a man works in his awn home, and makes -his awn hours, all the world, if he be good and honest, calls him _A -Man_; when he works in a factory he's nobbut '_one o' the hands_.'" - -At these words Matthew sat down amid a little subdued inexpressible -mixture of tense feeling and the squire said--"In three weeks or less, -men, I am going to London, and I give you my word, that I shall always -be found on the side of Reform and Free Trade. When I return you will -surely have made up your minds and formed some sort of decision; then I -will try and forward your plans to my last shilling." With these words -he bowed to the gentlemen on the platform, and the audience before -him, and went rapidly away. His servant was at the Chapel door with his -horse; he sprang into the saddle, and before anyone could interrupt his -exit, he was beyond detention. - -A great disturbance was in his soul. He could not define it. The -condition of his people, the changing character of his workers and -weavers, the very village seemed altered, and then the presence of -Bradley! He had found it impossible to satisfy both his offense with -the man and his still vital affection for him. He had often told himself -that "Bradley was dead and buried as far as he was concerned"; but -some affections are buried alive, and have a distressing habit of being -restless in their coffins. It was with the feeling of a fugitive flying -for a place of rest that he went home. But, oh, how refreshing was -his wife's welcome! What comfort in her happy smile! What music in her -tender words! He leaped to the ground like a young man and, clasping her -hand, went gratefully with her to his own fireside. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--LONDON AND AUNT JOSEPHA - - - "Still in Immortal Youth we dream of Love." - - - London--"Together let us beat this ample field - - Try what the open and the covert yield." - - - KATHERINE'S letters bore little fruit. Lady Brierley sent fifty pounds -to buy food, but said "she was going to Bourmouth for the spring months, -being unable to bear the winds of the Yorkshire wolds at that time." -Mrs. Craven and Mrs. Courtney were on their way to London, and Mrs. -Benson said her own large family required every hour of her time, -especially as she was now only able to keep one servant. So the village -troubles were confided to the charge of Faith Foster and her father. The -squire put a liberal sum of money with the preacher, and its application -was left entirely to his judgment. - -Nor did Annis now feel himself able to delay his journey until April. -He was urged constantly by the leaders of the Reform Bill to hasten his -visit to the House. Letters from Lord Russell, Sir James Grahame and -Lord Grey told him that among the landlords of the West Riding his -example would have a great influence, and that at this "important crisis -they looked with anxiety, yet certainty, for his support." - -He could not withhold it. After his enlightenment by Mr. Foster, he -hardly needed any further appeal. His heart and his conscience gave him -no rest, and in ten days he had made suitable arrangements, both for the -care of his estate, and the relief of the village. In this business -he had been greatly hurried and pressed, and the Hall was also full of -unrest and confusion, for all Madam's domestic treasures were to pack -away and to put in strict and competent care. For, then, there really -were women who enjoyed household rackets and homes turned up and over -from top to bottom. It was their relief from the hysteria of monotony -and the temper that usually attends monotony. They knew nothing of the -constant changes and pleasures of the women of today--of little chatty -lunches and theater parties; of their endless societies and games, and -clubs of every description; of fantastic dressing and undressing from -every age and nation; beside the appropriation of all the habits and -pursuits and pleasures of men that seemed good in their eyes, or their -imaginations. - -So to the woman of one hundred years ago--and of much less time--a -thorough house-cleaning, or a putting away of things for a visit or a -journey was an exciting event. There was even a kind of pleasure in the -discomfort and disorder it caused. The unhappy looks of the men of the -house were rather agreeable to them. For a few days they had legitimate -authority to make everyone miserable, and in doing so experienced a very -actual nervous relief. - -Madam Annis was in some measure influenced by similar conditions, for it -takes a strong and powerfully constituted woman to resist the spirit and -influence of the time and locality in which she lives. So the Hall was -full of unrest, and the peaceful routine of life was all broken up. -Ladies' hide-covered trunks--such little baby trunks to those of the -present day--and leather bags and portmanteaus littered the halls; and -the very furniture had the neglected plaintive look of whatever is to be -left behind. - -At length, however, on the twenty-third of March, all was ready for -the journey, and the squire was impatient to begin it. He was also -continually worrying about his son. "Whereiver is Dick, I wonder? He -ought to be here helping us, ought he not, mother?" he asked Madam -reproachfully, as if he held her responsible for Dick's absence and -Madam answered sharply--"Indeed, Antony, thou ought to know best. Thou -told Dick to stay in London and watch the ways of that wearisome Reform -Bill and send thee daily word about its carryings on. The lad can't be -in two places at once, can he?" - -"I hed forgotten mysen, Annie. How near art thou and Katherine ready to -start?" - -"Katherine and I are now waiting on your will and readiness." - -"Nay, then, Annie, if ta hes got to thy London English already, I'll be -quiet, I will." - -"I doan't like thee to be unjust to Dick. He is doing, and doing well, -just what thou told him to do. I should think thou couldn't ask more -than that--if thou was in thy right mind." - -"Dick is the best lad in Yorkshire, he is all that! Doan't thee care if -I seem a bit cross, Annie. I've been that worrited all morning as niver -was. Doan't mind it!" - -"I doan't, not in the least, Antony." - -"Well, then, can thou start to-morrow morning?" - -"I can start, with an hour's notice, any time." - -"I wouldn't be too good, Annie. I'm not worth it." - -"Thou art worth all I can do for thee." - -"Varry good, dearie! Then we'll start at seven to-morrow morning. We -will drive to Leeds, and then tak t' mail-coach for London there. If t' -roads don't happen to be varry bad we may hev time enough in Leeds to go -to the Queen's Hotel and hev a plate o' soup and a chop. I hev a bit o' -business at the bank there but it won't keep me ten minutes. I hope we -may hev a fairish journey, but the preacher tells me the whole country -is in a varry alarming condition." - -"Antony, I am a little tired of the preacher's alarm bell. He is always -prophesying evil. Doan't thee let him get too much influence over thee. -Before thou knows what thou art doing thou wilt be going to a class -meeting. What does the curate say? He has been fifty miles south, if not -more." - -"He told me the roads were full of hungry, angry men, who were varry -disrespectful to any of the Quality they met." - -Here Katherine entered the room. "Mother dear," she said in an excited -voice, "mother dear! My new traveling dress came home a little while -ago, and I have put it on, to let you admire it. Is it not pretty? Is it -not stylish? Is it not everything a girl would like? O Daddy! I didn't -see you." - -"I couldn't expect thee to see me when tha hed a new dress on. I'll tell -thee, howiver, I doan't like it as well as I liked thy last suit." - -"The little shepherd plaid? Oh, that has become quite common! This is -the thing now. What do you say, mother?" - -"I think it is all right. Put it on in the morning. We leave at seven -o'clock." - -"Oh, delightful! I am so glad! Life is all in a mess here and I hate a -tossed-up house." - -At this point the Reverend Mr. Yates entered. He had called to bid the -squire and his family good-bye, but the ladies quickly left the room. -They knew some apology was due the curate for placing the money intended -for relieving the suffering in the village in the preacher's care, and -at his disposal. But the curate was reasonable, and readily acknowledged -that "nearly all needing help were members of Mr. Foster's church, and -would naturally take relief better from him than from a stranger." - -The journey as far as Leeds was a very sad one, for the squire -stopped frequently to speak to groups of despairing, desperate men and -women:--"Hev courage, friends!" he said cheerfully to a gathering of -about forty or more on the Green of a large village, only fourteen miles -south of Annis. "Hev courage a little longer! I am Antony Annis, and I -am on my way to London, with many more gentlemen, to see that the Reform -Bill goes through the Lords, this time. If it does not then it will be -the duty of Englishmen to know the reason why. God knows you hev borne -up bravely. Try it a bit longer." - -"Squire," said a big fellow, white with hunger, "Squire, I hevn't -touched food of any kind for forty hours. You count hours when you are -hungry, squire." - -"We're all o' us," said his companion, "faint and clemmed. We hevn't -strength to be men any longer. Look at me! I'm wanting to cry like a -bairn." - -"I'm ready to fight, squire," added a man standing near by; "I hev a bit -o' manhood yet, and I'd fight for my rights, I would that!--if I nobbnd -hed a slice or two o' bread." - -At the same time a young woman, little more than a child, came tottering -forward, and stood at the side of Mistress Annis. She had a little baby -in her arms, she did not speak, she only looked in the elder woman's -face then cast her eyes down upon the child. It was tugging at an empty -breast with little sharp cries of hungry impatience. Then she said, "I -hev no milk for him! The lile lad is sucking my blood!" Her voice was -weak and trembling, but she had no tears left. - -Madam covered her face, she was weeping, and the next moment Katherine -emptied her mother's purse into the starving woman's hand. She took it -with a great cry, lifting her face to heaven--"Oh God, it is money! Oh -God, it is milk and bread!" Then looking at Katherine she said, "Thou -hes saved two lives. God sent thee to do it"--and with the words, she -found a sudden strength to run with her child to a shop across the -street, where bread and milk were sold. - -"It's little Dinas Sykes," said a man whose voice was weak with hunger. -"Eh! but I'm glad, God hes hed mercy on her!" and all watched Dinas -running for milk and bread with a grateful sympathy. The squire was -profoundly touched, his heart melted within him, and he said to the -little company with the voice of a companion, not of a master, "Men, how -many of you are present?" - -"About forty-four men--and a few half grown lads. They need food worse -than men do--they suffer more--poor lile fellows!" - -"And you all hev women at home? Wives and daughters?" - -"Ay, squire, and mothers, too! Old and gray and hungry--some varry -patient, and just dying on their feet, some so weak they are crying like -t' childer of two or four years old. My God! Squire, t' men's suffering -isn't worth counting, against that of t' women and children." - -"Friends, I hev no words to put against your suffering and a ten pound -note will be better than all the words I could give you. It will at -least get all of you a loaf of bread and a bit of beef and a mug of ale. -Who shall I give it to?" - -"Ben Shuttleworth," was the unanimous answer, and Ben stepped forward. -He was a noble-looking old man just a little crippled by long usage of -the hand loom. "Squire Annis," he said, "I'll gladly take the gift God -hes sent us by thy hands and I'll divide it equally, penny for penny, -and may God bless thee and prosper thy journey! We're none of us men -used to saying 'thank'ee' to any man but we say it to thee. Yes, we say -it to thee." - -Kindred scenes occurred in every village and they did not reach Leeds -in time for the mail coach they intended to take. The squire was not -troubled at the delay. He said, "he hed a bit of his awn business to -look after, and he was sure Katherine hed forgotten one or two varry -necessary things, that she could buy in Leeds." - -Katherine acknowledged that she had forgotten her thimble and her hand -glass, and said she had "been worrying about her back hair, which she -could not dress without one." - -Madam was tired and glad to rest. "But Antony," she said, "Dick will -meet this coach and when we do not come by it, he will have wonders and -worries about us." - -"Not he! Dick knows something about women, and also, I told him we might -sleep a night or two at some town on the way, if you were tired." - -The next day they began the journey again, half-purposing to stop and -rest at some half-way town. The squire said Dick understood them. He -would be on hand if they loitered a week. And Madam was satisfied; -she thought it likely Dick had instructions fitting his father's -uncertainty. - -Yet though the coach prevented actual contact with the miserable famine -sufferers, it could not prevent them witnessing the silent misery -sitting on every door step, and looking with such longing eyes for help -from God or man. Upon the whole it was a journey to break a pitiful -heart, and the squire and his family were glad when the coach drew up -with the rattle of wheels and the blowing of the guard's horn at its old -stand of Charing Cross. - -The magic of London was already around them, and the first face they saw -was the handsome beaming face of Dick Annis. He nodded and smiled to his -father, who was sitting--where he had sat most of the journey--at the -side of the driver. Dick would have liked to help him to the street, but -he knew that his father needed no help and would likely be vexed at any -offer of it, but Dick's mother and sister came out of the coach in his -arms, and the lad kissed them and called them all the fond names he -could think of. Noticing at the same time his father's clever descent, -he put out his left hand to him, for he had his mother guarded with his -right arm. "You did that jump, dad, better than I could have done it. -Are you tired?" - -"We are all tired to death, Dick. Hev you a cab here?" - -"To be sure, I have! Your rooms at the Clarendon are in order, and there -will be a good dinner waiting when you are ready for it." - -In something less than an hour they were all ready for a good dinner; -their faces had been washed, Katherine's hair smoothed and Madam's cap -properly adjusted. The squire was standing on the hearthrug in high -spirits. The sight of his son, the touch of the town, the pleasant light -and comfort of his surroundings, the prospect of dinner, made him forget -for a few minutes the suffering he had passed through, until his son -asked, "And did you have a pleasant journey, father?" - -"A journey, Dick, to break a man's heart. It hes turned me from a Tory -into a Radical. This government must feed the people or--we will kick -them back----" - -"Dear father, we will talk of that subject by ourselves. It isn't fit -for two tired women, now is it?" - -"Mebbe not; but I hev seen and I hev heard these last two or three days, -Dick, what I can niver forget. Things hev got to be altered. They hev -that, or----" - -"We will talk that over after mother and Kitty have gone to sleep. We -won't worry them to-night. I have ordered mother's favorite Cabinet -pudding for her, and some raspberry cream for Kitty. It wouldn't be -right to talk of unhappy things with good things in our mouths, now -would it?" - -"They are coming. I can hear Kitty's laugh, when I can hear nothing -else. Ring the bell, Dick, we can hev dinner now." - -There were a few pleasant moments spent in choosing their seats, and -as soon as they were taken, a dish of those small delicious oysters for -which England has been famous since the days of the Roman Emperors were -placed before them. "I had some scalloped for mother and Kitty," Dick -said. "Men can eat them raw, alive if they choose, but women--Oh no! It -isn't womanlike! Mother and Kitty wouldn't do it! Not they!" - -"And what else hes ta got for us, Dick?" asked the squire. "I'm mortal -hungry." - -The last word shocked him anew. He wished he had not said it. What made -him do it? Hungry! He had never been really hungry in all his life; and -those pallid men and women, with that look of suffering on their faces, -and in their dry, anxious eyes, how could he ever forget them? - -He was suddenly silent, and Katherine said: "Father is tired. He would -drive so much. I wonder the coachman let him." - -"Father paid for the privilege of doing the driver's work for him. I -have no doubt of that, my dears," said Madam. "Well, Dick, when did you -see Jane?" - -"Do you not observe, mother, that I am in evening dress? Jane has a -dance and supper to-night. Members from the government side will be -dropping in there after midnight, for refreshment. Both Houses are in -all-night sittings now." - -"How does Leyland vote?" - -"He is tremendously royal and loyal. You will have to mind your p's and -q's with him now, father." - -"Not I! I take my awn way. Leyland's way and mine are far apart. How is -your Aunt Josepha?" - -"She is all right. She is never anything else but all right. Certainly -she is vexed that Katherine is not to stay with her. Jane has been -making a little brag about it, I suppose." - -"Katherine could stay part of the time with her," said the squire. - -"She had better be with Jane. Aunt will ask O'Connell to her dinners, -and others whom Katherine would not like." - -"Why does she do it? She knows better." - -"I suspect we all know better than we do. She says, 'O'Connell keeps the -dinner table lively.' So he does. The men quarrel all the time they -eat and the women really admire them for it. They say '_Oh!_' at a very -strong word, but they would love to see them really fighting. Women -affect tenderness and fearfulness; they are actually cruel creatures. -Aunt says, 'that was what her dear departed told her, and she had no -doubt he had had experiences.' Jane sent her love to all of you, and she -purposes coming for Katherine about two o'clock to-morrow." - -"Oh!" said Madam, in a rather indifferent way, "Katherine and I can find -plenty to do, and to see, in London. Jane told me recently, she had a -new carriage." - -"One of the finest turn-outs Long Acre could offer her. The team is good -also. Leyland is a judge of horses, and he has chosen a new livery -with his new honors--gray with silver trimmings. It looks handsome and -stylish." - -"And will spoil quickly," said Madam. "Jane asked me about the livery, -and I told her to avoid light colors." - -"Then you should have told her to choose light colors. Jane lives and -votes with the opposition." In pleasant domestic conversation the hours -slipped happily away, but after the ladies had retired, Dick did not -stay long. The squire was really weary, though he "_pooh-poohed_" the -idea. "A drive from Leeds to London, with a rest between, what is that -to tire a man?" he asked, adding, "I hev trotted a Norfolk cob the -distance easy in less time, and I could do it again, if I wanted to." - -"Of course you could, father. Oh, I wish to ask you if you know anything -of the M.P. from Appleby?" - -"A little." - -"What can you say about him?" - -"He made a masterly speech last session, in favor of Peel's ministry. I -liked it then. I hevn't one good word for it now." - -"He is a very fine looking man. I suppose he is wealthy. He lives in -good style here." - -"I know nothing about his money. The De Burgs are a fine family--among -the oldest in England--Cumberland, I believe, down Furness way. Why art -thou bothering thysen about him?" - -"He is one of Jane's favorites. He goes to Ley-land's house a deal. I -was thinking of Katherine." - -"What about Katherine? What about Katherine?" the squire asked sharply. - -"You know Katherine is beautiful, and this De Burg is very handsome--in -his way." - -"What way?" - -"Well, the De Burgs are of Norman descent and Stephen De Burg shows it. -He has indeed the large, gray eyes of our own North Country, but his -hair is black--very black--and his complexion is swarthy. However, he is -tall and well-built, and remarkably graceful in speech and action--quite -the young man to steal a girl's heart away." - -"Hes he stolen any girl's heart from thee?" - -"Not he, indeed! I am Annis enough to keep what I win; but I was -wondering if our little Kitty was a match for Stephen De Burg." - -"Tha needn't worry thysen about Kitty Annis. I'll warrant her a match -for any man. Her mother says she hes a fancy for Harry Bradley, but -I----" - -"Harry is a fine fellow." - -"Nobody said he wasn't a fine fellow, and there is not any need for -thee to interrupt thy father in order to tell him that! Harry Bradley, -indeed! I wouldn't spoil any plan of De Burg's to please or help Harry -Bradley! Not I! Now I hope tha understands that! To-morrow thou can tell -me about thy last goddess, and if she be worthy to sit after thy mother -in Annis Court, I'll help thee to get wedded to her gladly. For I'm -getting anxious, Dick, about my grandsons and their sisters. I'd like to -see them that are to come after me." - -Then Dick went away with a laugh, but as the father and son stood a -moment hand-clasped, their resemblance was fitting and beautiful; and -no one noticing this fact could wonder at the Englishman's intense -affection and anxious care for the preservation of his family type. - -The squire then put out the candles and covered the fire just as he -would have done at Annis and while he did so he pondered what Dick -had told him and resolved to say nothing at all about it. "Then," he -reflected, "I shall get Katherine's real opinions about De Burg. Women -are so queer, they won't iver tell you the truth about men unless they -believe you don't care what they think:--and I won't tell Annie either. -Annie would take to warning and watching, and, for anything I know, -advising her to be faithful and true to her first love. Such simplicity! -Such nonsense!" - -Then he went to his room and found Mistress Annis sitting with her feet -on the fender, sipping a glass of wine negus, and as she dipped her -little strips of dry toast into it, she said, "I am so glad to see thee, -Antony. I am too excited to sleep and I wanted a few words with thee and -thee only. For three days I hev missed our quiet talks with each other. -I heard Dick laughing; what about?" - -"I told him I was getting varry anxious about my grandsons, eh?" - -Then both laughed and the squire stooped and kissed his wife and in that -moment he sat down by her side and frankly told her all he had heard -about De Burg. They talked about it for half-an-hour and then the squire -went calmly off to sleep without one qualm of conscience for his -broken resolution. In fact he assured himself that "he had done right. -Katherine's mother was Katherine's proper guardian and he was only doing -his duty in giving her points that might help her to do her duty." That -reflection was a comfortable one on which to sleep and he took all the -rest it gave him. - -Madam lay awake worrying about Katherine's wardrobe. After hearing of -her sister's growing social importance she felt that it should have been -attended to before they left Yorkshire. For in those days there were no -such things as ready-made suits, and any dress or costume lacking had to -be selected from the web, the goods bought, the dressmaker interviewed, -and after several other visits for the purpose of "trying-on" the gown -might be ready for use. These things troubled Madam. Katherine felt more -confidence in her present belongings. "I have half a dozen white frocks -with me, mother," she said, "and nothing could be prettier or richer -than my two Dacca muslins. The goods are fine as spider webs, the -embroidery on them is nearly priceless, and they are becoming every year -more and more scarce. I have different colored silk skirts to wear under -them, and sashes and beads, and bows, with which to adorn them." - -There was a little happy pause, then Katherine said, "Let us go and see -Aunt Josepha. I have not seen her for six years. I was counting the time -as I lay in bed this morning. I was about twelve years old." - -"That is a good idea. We can shop better after we hev hed a talk with -her." - -"There, mother! You had two Yorkshireisms in that sentence. Father would -laugh at you." - -"Niver mind, when my heart talks, my tongue talks as my heart does, and -Yorkshire is my heart's native tongue. When I talk to thee my tongue -easily slips into Yorkshire." - -Then a carriage was summoned, and Madam An-nis and her daughter went to -call on Madam Josepha Temple. They had to ride into the city and through -St. James Park to a once very fashionable little street leading from the -park to the river. Madam Temple could have put a fortune in her pocket -for a strip of this land bordering the river, but no money could induce -her to sell it. Even the city's offer had been refused. - -"Had not Admiral Temple," she asked, "found land enough for England, and -fought for land enough for England, for his widow to be allowed to keep -in peace the strip of land at the foot of the garden he planted and -where he had also erected a Watergate so beautiful that it had become -one of the sights of London?" And her claim had been politely allowed -and she had been assured that it would be respected. - -The house itself was not remarkable outwardly. It was only one of those -square brick mansions introduced in the Georgian era, full of large -square rooms and wide corridors and, in Madam Temple's case, of numerous -cupboards and closets; for in her directions to the Admiral she had said -with emphasis: - -"Admiral, you may as well live in a canvas tent without a convenience of -any kind as in a house without closets for your dresses and mantuas; and -cupboards for your china and other things you must have under lock and -key:" and the Admiral had seen to the closet and cupboard subject with -such strict attention that even his widow sometimes grew testy over -their number. - -Whatever faults the house might have, the furnishing had been done -with great judgment. It was solid and magnificent and only the best -tapestries and carpets found a place there. To Madam Temple had been -left the choice of silver, china, linen and damask, and the wisdom and -good taste of her selection had a kind of official approbation. Artists -and silversmiths asked her to permit them to copy the shapes of her old -silver and she possessed many pieces of Wedgwood's finest china of which -only a very small number had been made ere the mold was broken. - -After the house was finished the Admiral lived but five years and Madam -never allowed anything to be changed or renewed. If told that anything -was fading or wearing, she replied--"I am fading also, just wearing -away. They will last my time." However the house yet had an air of -comfortable antique grandeur and it was a favorite place of resort -to all who had had the good fortune to win the favor of the Admiral's -widow. - -As they were nearing the Temple house, Madam said: "The old man who -opens the door was the Admiral's body servant. He has great influence -with your aunt; speak pleasantly to him." At these words the carriage -stopped and the old man of whom Madam had spoken threw open the door and -stood waiting their approach. He recognized Madam Annis and said with a -pleasant respect--"Madam will take the right-hand parlor," but ere Madam -could do so, Mistress Temple appeared. She came hastily forward, talking -as she came and full of pleasure at the visit. - -"You dear ones!" she cried. "How welcome you are! Where is Antony? Why -didn't he come with you? How is he going to vote? Take off your cloaks -and bonnets. So this is the little girl I left behind me! You are now -a young lady, Kate. Who is the favored sweetheart?" These interjectory -remarks were not twaddle, they were the overflow of the heart. Josepha -Temple meant everything she said. - -Physically she was a feminine portrait of her brother, but in all other -respects she was herself, and only herself, the result of this world's -training on one particular soul, for who can tell how many hundred -years? She had brought from her last life most of her feelings and -convictions and probably they had the strength and persistence of -many reincarnations behind them. Later generations than Josepha do not -produce such characters; alas! their affections for anyone and their -beliefs in anything are too weak to reincarnate; so they do not come -back from the grave with them. Josepha was different. Death had had -no power over her higher self, she was the same passionate lover of -Protestantism and the righteous freedom of the people that she had been -in Cromwell's time; and she declared that she had loved her husband -ever since he had fought with Drake and been Cromwell's greatest naval -officer. - -She was near sixty but still a very handsome woman, for she was alive -from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet and disease of any -kind had not yet found a corner in her body to assail. Her hair was -untouched by Time, and the widow's cap--so disfiguring to any woman--she -wore with an air that made it appear a very proper and becoming head -covering. Her gowns were always black merino or cloth in the morning, -silk or satin or velvet in the afternoon; but they were brightened by -deep cuffs and long stomachers of white linen, or rich lace, and the -skirts of all, though quite plain, were of regal length and amplitude. - -"Off with your bonnets!" she cried joyfully as she kissed Katherine and -began to untie the elaborate bow of pink satin ribbon under her chin. -"Why, Kate, how lovely you have grown! I thought you would be just an -ordinary Yorkshire girl--I find you extraordinary. Upon my word! You are -a beauty!" - -"Thank you, aunt. Mother never told me so." - -"Annie, do you hear Kate?" - -"I thought it wiser not to tell her such things." - -"What trumpery nonsense! Do you say to your roses as they bloom, 'Do not -imagine, Miss Rose, that you are lovely, and have a fine perfume. You -are well enough and your smell isn't half-bad, but there are roses far -handsomer and sweeter than you are'?" - -"In their own way, Josepha, all roses are perfect." - -"In their own way, Annie, all women are perfect. Have you had your -breakfast?" - -"An hour ago." - -"Then let us talk. Where is Antony? What is he doing?" - -"He is doing well. I think he went to see Lord John Russell." - -"What can he have to say to Russell? He hasn't sense enough to be on -Russell's side. Russell is an A. D. 1832 man, Antony dates back two or -three hundred years." - -"He does nothing of that kind. He has been wearing a pair o' seven -leagued boots the past two weeks. Antony's now as far forward as -Russell, or Grey, or any other noncontent. They'll find that out as soon -as he opens his mouth in The House of Commons." - -"We call it 't' Lower House' here, Annie." - -"I don't see why. As good men are in it as sit in t' Upper House or any -ither place." - -"It may be because they speak better English there than thou art -speaking right now, Annie." - -Then Annie laughed. "I had forgot, Josepha," she said, "forgive me." - -"Nay, there's nothing to forgive, Annie. I can talk Yorkshire as well -as iver I did, if I want to. After all, it's the best and purest English -going and if you want your awn way or to get your rights, or to make -your servants do as they're told, a mouthful of Yorkshire will do it--or -nothing will. And I was telling Dick only the other day, to try a bit -o' Yorkshire on a little lass he is varry bad in love with--just at -present." - -Katherine had been standing at her aunt's embroidery frame admiring its -exquisite work but as soon as she heard this remark, she came quickly -to the fireside where the elder ladies had sat down together. They had -lifted the skirts of their dresses across their knees to prevent the -fire from drawing the color and put their feet comfortably on the -shining fender and Katherine did not find them indisposed to talk. - -"Who is it, aunt?" she asked with some excitement. "What is her name? Is -she Yorkshire?" - -"Nay, I doan't think she hes any claim on Yorkshire. I think she comes -Westmoreland way. She is a sister to a member of the Lower House called -De Burg. He's a handsome lad to look at. I hevn't hed time yet to go -further." - -"Have you seen this little girl, aunt?" - -"Yes. She was here once with her brother. He says she has never been -much from home before, and Dick says, that as far as he can make out, -her home is a gray old castle among the bleak, desolate, Westmoreland -Mountains. It might be a kindness for Katherine to go and see her." - -"If you will go with me, aunt, I will do so." - -"Not I. Take Dick with thee. He will fill the bill all round." - -"Well, then, I will ask Dick;" and to these words the squire entered. - -He appeared to be a little offended because no one had seen him coming -and all three women assumed an air of contrition for having neglected to -be on the lookout for him. "We were all so interested about Dick's new -sweetheart," said Madam Annis, "and somehow, thou slipped out of mind -for a few minutes. It _was_ thoughtless, Antony, it was that." - -"Have you had a good meal lately, Antony?" asked his sister. - -"No, Josepha, I hevn't. I came to ask thee to give me a bit of lunch. -I hev an appointment at three o'clock for The House and I shall need -a good substantial bite, for there's no saying when I'll get away from -there. What can thou give me?" - -"Oysters, hare soup, roast beef, and a custard pudding." - -"All good enough. I suppose there'll be a Yorkshire pudding with thy -beef; it would seem queer and half-done without it." - -"Well, Antony, I suppose I do know how to roast beef before t' fire and -put a pudding under it. I'd be badly educated, if I didn't." - -"If Yorkshire pudding is to be the test, Josepha, then thou art one of -the best educated women in England." - -"Father, Dick's new love is Miss De Burg. What do you think of that?" - -"He might do worse than marry a De Burg, and he might do better. I'm not -in a mood to talk about anyone's marriage." - -"Not even of mine, father?" - -"Thine, least of all. And thou hes to get a decent lover before thou hes -to ask me if he can be thy husband." - -"I hev a very good lover, father." - -"No, thou hes not. Not one that can hev a welcome in my family and home. -Not one! No doubt thou wilt hev plenty before we leave London. Get thy -mother to help thee choose the right one. _There now!_ That's enough of -such foolishness! My varry soul is full of matters of life or death to -England. I hev not one thought for lovers and husbands at this time. -Why, England is varry near rebellion, and I tell you three women -there is no Oliver Cromwell living now to guide her over the bogs of -misgovernment and anarchy. Russell said this morning, 'it was the Reform -Bill or Revolution.'" Then lunch was brought in and the subject was -dropped until the squire lit his pipe for "a bit of a smoke." Katherine -was, however, restless and anxious; she was watching for her sister's -arrival and when the squire heard of the intended visit, he said: "I -doan't want to see Jane this afternoon. Tell her I'll see her at her -home this evening and, Josepha, I'll smoke my pipe down the garden to -the Watergate and take a boat there for Westminster. Then I can smoke -all the way. I'm sure I can't tell what I would do without it." - -And as they watched him down to the Watergate, they heard Jane's -carriage stop at the street entrance. - - - - -CHAPTER V--THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE - - - "She was good as she was fair - - None on earth above her! - - As pure in thought as angels are, - - To know her was to love her!" - - - THE three ladies had reached the open door in time to watch Lady Jane -leave her carriage, a movement not easy to describe, for it was the -result of an action practiced from early childhood, and combining with -the unconscious grace and ease of habitual action, a certain decisive -touch of personality, that made for distinction. She was dressed in -the visiting costume of the period, a not more ungraceful one than the -fashion of the present time. Its material was rich violet poplin and it -appeared to be worn over a small hoop. It was long enough to touch the -buckles on her sandaled shoes and its belt line was in the proper place. -The bodice was cut low to the shoulders and the sleeves were large and -full to the elbows, then tight to the wrists. A little cape not falling -below the belt and handsomely trimmed with ermine, completed the -costume. The bonnets of that time were large and very high and open, -adorned with ostrich feathers much curled and standing fancifully -upright. Jane's was of this shape and the open space across the head was -filled with artificial flowers, but at the sides were loose, long curls -of her own splendid hair, falling below her throat, and over the ermine -trimmed cape. This bonnet was tied under the chin with a handsome bow of -violet ribbon. All the smaller items of her dress were perfect in their -way, not only with the mode, but also in strict propriety with her -general appearance. - -She was warmly welcomed and responded to it with hearty acquiescence, -her attitude towards Katherine being specially lovely and affectionate. -"My little sister is a beauty!" she said. "I am so proud of her. And -now let us have a little talk about her gowns and bonnets! She must have -some pretty ones, mother." - -"She shall have all that is needful, Jane," said Mrs. Annis. "Their cost -will not break her father, just yet." - -"You must ask me to go with you to shop, mother. I think I can be of -great use." - -"Of course. We have calculated on your help. Will you come to the hotel -for me?" - -"Here! Hold on bit!" cried Aunt Josepha. "Am I invited, or not?" - -"Certainly, Josepha," answered Mistress Annis very promptly. "We cannot -do without you. You will go with us, of course." - -"Well, as to-morrow is neither Wednesday, nor Friday, I may do so--but I -leave myself free. I may not go." - -"Why would Wednesday and Friday be objectionable, Josepha?" - -"Well, Annie, if thou hed done as much business with the world as I hev -done, thou'd know by this time of thy life that thou couldn't make -a good bargain on either o' them days. There's some hope on a Friday -because if Friday isn't the worst day in the week it's the very best. -There is no perhaps about Wednesday. I allays let things bide as they -are on Wednesday." - -"Shall I come here for you, aunt?" - -"No, no, Jane. If I go with you I will be at the Clarendon with Annie at -half-past nine. If I'm not there at that time I will not be going--no, -not for love or money." - -"But you will go the next day--sure?" - -"Not a bit of sureness in me. I doan't know how I'll be feeling the next -day. Take off your bonnet and cape, Jane, and sit down. I want to see -how you look. We'll hev our little talk and by and by a cup of tea, and -then thou can run away as soon as tha likes." - -"I cannot stay very long. I have a dinner tonight, and my servants need -overlooking." - -"I hope that cynical De Burg is not going to eat with you. He'll niver -break bread at my table." - -"Why, aunt, he is a man of the highest culture and one of the best -speakers in The House!" - -"Let him talk as much as he likes in t' House; there's a few men to -match him there." - -"How has he offended you, aunt? He is quite a favorite with Leyland and -myself." - -"Whatever does tha see in his favor?" - -"He has such a fine bearing and such graceful manners. Leyland says that -in the most excited hubbubs of The House, he carries himself with all -the serenity and aristocratic poise of an English gentleman--I should -say, nobleman." - -"There's no wonder tha forgets his nobility. It only counts to his -grandfather. I'll tell thee something, Jane--a gentleman is allays a -nobleman, a nobleman may be a gentleman, and he may be varry far from -it; but there, now! I'll say no more, or I'll mebbe say too much! How -many dresses does our beauty want?" - -This question opened a discussion of such interest that a servant -entered with the tea service and hot crumpets before they were thinking -of the time; and half an hour afterwards Katherine was ready to -accompany her sister to the Leyland home. - -During the first two weeks, the early part of Katherine's days were -spent either in shopping, or in "trying on," and such events rarely need -more than an allusion. Every woman has some, or all of the experiences -incident to this trial; but though they may be of personal importance, -they have no general interest. We may pass Katherine's dressmaking -trials, by knowing that they were in the hands of four or five women -capable of arranging them in the most satisfactory manner. Katherine -herself left them as early as possible, and spent the most of her time -in her father's company, and Lady Jane approved transiently of this -arrangement. She did not wish Katherine to be seen and talked about -until she was formally introduced and could make a proper grand -entry into the society she wished her to enter. Of course there were -suppositions floating about concerning the young lady seen so much -with Lady Leyland; but as long as the talk remained indefinite, it was -stimulating and working for a successful dbut. - -This interval was in many ways very pleasant to Katherine for the squire -took her to all those sights of London which people are expected to -know all about--the Tower--the British Museum--St. Paul's Church -and Westminster Abbey; and so forth. Sometimes the squire met an old -acquaintance from his own neighborhood and they went somewhere and had a -cup of tea together, the squire simply saying, "This is my little girl, -Denby; my youngest." Such an introduction demanded nothing but a smile -and a few courteous words, and these civilities Katherine managed with -retiring modesty and simplicity. - -Now, one morning, as they were walking down High Holborn, they met a -near neighbor, a very shrewd, cheerful gentleman, called Samuel Wade, -the squire of Everdeen. Annis and Katherine had turned into a pretty -white dairy for a plate of Devonshire cream and Samuel Wade was slowly -and thoughtfully partaking of the same dainty. - -"Hello, Wade! Whatever hes brought thee away from thy hounds and kennels -this fine spring weather?" asked Annis. - -"I will tell thee, Annis, if tha' will give me a halfhour and I know no -man I could be so glad to see as thysen. I'm in a quandary, squire, and -I would be glad of a word or two with thee." - -"Why, then, thou hes it! What does t'a want to say to me?" - -"_Why-a_, Annis, I want to tell thee I am building a mill." - -"_Niver! Niver!_ Thee building a mill! I niver thought of such a to-do -as that." - -"Nor I, either, till I was forced to do it, but when that hour arrived, -my weavers and I came to the conclusion that we weren't bound to starve -to save anybody's trade feelings. So I agreed to put up a factory -and they hev got work here and there just to learn the ways of this -new-fangled loom, so that when I hev t' factory ready they'll be ready -for it and glad enough to come home." - -"I'm not the man to blame thee, Samuel; I hev hed some such thoughts -mysen." - -"It was our preacher that put it into my mind. He said to us one night -when the men had been complaining of machine labor--'Brothers, when God -is on the side of civilization and the power-loom, how are you going to -use the hand loom? The hand loom is dead and buried,' he said, 'and what -is the use of keeping up a constant burying of this same old Defuncter. -It'll cost you all the brass you hev and you'll die poor and good for -nothing. The world is moving and you can't hold it back. It will just -kick you off as cumberers of the ground.' And after that talk three men -went out of t' chapel and began to build factories; and I was one of t' -three and I'm none sorry for it--_yet_." - -"And where is tha building?" - -"Down t' Otley road a few miles from my awn house, but my three lads are -good riders and it would be hard to beat me unless it was with better -stock than I hev; and I niver let anyone best me in that way if I can -help it. So the few miles does not bother us." - -"What made you build so far from Wade House?" - -"_Why-a_, squire, I didn't want to hev the sight of the blamed thing -before my eyes, morning, noon and night, and t' land I bought was varry -cheap and hed plenty of water-power on it." - -"To be sure. I hed forgot. Well then what brought thee to London? It is -a rayther dangerous place now, I can tell thee that; or it will be, if -Parliament doesn't heed the warnings given and shown." - -"Well, Annis, I came on my awn business and I'm not thinking of -bothering Parliament at present. A factory is enough for all the brains -I hev, for tha knows well that my brains run after horses--but I'll tell -thee what, factories hey a wonderful way of getting into your pocket." - -"That is nothing out of the way with thee. Thy pocket is too full, but -I should think a factory might be built in Yorkshire without coming to -London about it." - -"Annis, tha knaws that if I meddle wi' anything, I'll do what I do, -tip-top or not at all. I hed the best of factory architects Leeds could -give me and I hev ordered the best of power looms and of ivery other bit -of machinery; but t' ither day a man from Manchester went through Wade -Mill and he asked me how many Jacquard looms I was going to run. I hed -niver heard of that kind of a loom, but I felt I must hev some. Varry -soon I found out that none of the weavers round Otley way knew anything -about Jacquard looms and they didn't seem to want to know either, but -my eldest lad, Sam, said he would like to hev some and to know all -about them. So I made good inquiry and I found out the best of all -the Jacquard weavers in England lived in a bit of London called -Spitalfields. He is a Frenchman, I suppose, for his name is Pierre -Delaney." - -"And did you send your son to him?" - -"I did that and now Sam knows all about Jacquard looms, for he sent me -word he was coming home after a week in London just to look about him -and then I thought I would like to see the machine at work and get the -name of the best maker of it. So I came at once and I'm stopping at the -hotel where t' mail coach stopped, but I'm fairly bewildered. Sam has -left his stopping place and I rayther think is on his way home. I was -varry glad to see thy face among so many strange ones. I can tell thee -that!" - -"How can I help thee, Wade?" - -"Why, thou can go with me to see this Jacquard loom and give me thy -opinion." - -"I hev niver seen a Jacquard loom mysen and I would like to see one; but -I could not go now, for as tha sees I hev my little lass with me." - -"Father, I want to see this loom at this place called Spitalfields. Let -me go with you. Please, father, let me go with you; do!" - -"There's nothing to hinder," said Squire Wade. "I should think, Annis, -that thou and mysen could take care of t' little lass." - -"Let me go, father!" - -"Well, then, we will go at once. The day is yet early and bright, but no -one can tell what it will be in an hour or two." - -So Wade called a coach and they drove to London's famous manufacturing -district noted for the excellence of its brocaded silks and velvet, and -the beauty and variety of its ribbons, satins and lutestrings. The ride -there was full of interest to Katherine and she needed no explanation -concerning the groups of silent men standing at street corners sullen -and desperate-looking, or else listening to some passionate speaker. -Annis and Wade looked at each other and slightly shook their heads but -did not make any remark. The locality was not a pleasant one; it spoke -only of labor that was too urgent to have time for "dressing up," as -Pierre Delaney--the man they were visiting--explained to them. - -They found Delaney in his weaving shop, a large many-windowed room full -of strange looking looms and of men silent and intensely pre-occupied. -No one looked round when they entered, and as Wade and Annis talked to -the proprietor, Katherine cast her eyes curiously over the room. She saw -that it was full of looms, large ponderous looms, with much slower and -heavier movements than the usual one; and she could not help feeling -that the long, dangling, yellow harness which hung about each loom -fettered and in some way impeded its motion. The faces of all the -workers were turned from the door and they appeared to be working slowly -and with such strict attention that not one man hesitated, or looked -round, though they must have known that strangers had entered the room. - -In a few minutes Katherine's curiosity was intense. She wanted to go -close to the looms, and watch the men at what seemed to be difficult -work. However, she had scarcely felt the thrill of this strong desire -ere her father took her hand and they went with Delaney to a loom at the -head of the room. He said "he was going to show them the work of one of -his pupils, who had great abilities for patterns requiring unwavering -attention and great patience; but in fact," he added, "every weaver in -this room has as much as he can manage, if he keeps his loom going." - -The man whose work they were going to examine must have heard them -approaching, but he made no sign of such intelligence until they stood -at his side. Then he lifted his head, and as he did so, Katherine cried -out--"Father! Father! It is Harry! It is Harry Bradley! Oh Harry! Harry! -Whatever are you doing here?" And then her voice broke down in a cry -that was full both of laughter and tears. - -Yes, it was really Harry Bradley, and with a wondering happy look he -leaped from his seat, threw off his cap and so in a laughing hurry he -stood before them. Squire Annis was so amazed he forgot that he was no -longer friends with Harry's father and he gave an honest expression of -his surprise. - -"_Why-a_, Harry! Harry! Whativer is tha up to? Does thy father know the -kind of game thou art playing now, lad?" - -"Squire, dear! It is business, not play, that I am up to. I am happy -beyond words to see you, squire! I have often walked the road you take -to The House, hoping I might do so." And the young man put out his hand, -and without thinking, the squire took it. Acting on impulse, he could -not help taking it. Harry was too charming, too delightful to resist. He -wore his working apron without any consciousness of it and his handsome -face and joyful voice and manner made those few moments all his own. -The squire was taken captive by a happy surprise and eagerly seconded -Katherine's desire to see him at such absorbing work as his loom -appeared to require. - -Harry took his seat again without parleying or excuse. He was laughing -as he did so, but as soon as he faced the wonderful design before him, -he appeared to be unconscious of everything else. His watchers were -quickly lost in an all absorbing interest as they saw an exquisite -design of leaves and flowers growing with every motion of the shuttle, -while the different threads of the harness rose and fell as if to some -perfectly measured tune. - -And as he worked his face changed, the boyish, laughing expression -disappeared, and it was a man's face full of watchful purpose, alert and -carefully bent on one object and one end. The squire noticed the change -and he admired it. He wished secretly that he could see the same manly -look on Dick's face, forgetting that he had never seen Dick under the -same mental strain. - -But this reflection was only a thread running through his immense -pleasure in the result of Harry's wonderful manipulation of the forces -at his command and his first impulse was to ask Harry to take dinner -with him and Wade, at the Clarendon. He checked himself as regarded -dinner, but he asked Harry: - -"Where art thou staying, Harry? I shouldn't think Spitalfields quite the -place for thy health." - -"I am only here for working hours, squire. I have a good room at the -Yorkshire Club and I have a room when I want it at Mistress Temple's. I -often stay there when Dick is in London." - -"My word!" ejaculated the squire. He felt at once that the young man -had no need of his kindness, and his interest in him received a sudden -chill. - -This conversation occurred as Wade and Delaney were walking down -the room together talking about Jacquard looms and their best maker. -Katherine had been hitherto silent as far as words were concerned, but -she had slipped her hand into Harry's hand when he had finished his -exhibition at the loom. It was her way of praising him and Harry had -held the little hand fast and was still doing so when the squire said: - -"Harry, looms are wonderful creatures--ay, and I'll call them -'creatures.' They hev sense or they know how to use the sense of men -that handle them properly. I hev seen plenty of farm laborers that -didn't know that much; but those patterns you worked from, they are -beyond my making out." - -"Well, squire, many designs are very elaborate, requiring from twenty -thousand to sixty thousand cards for a single design. Weaving like that -is a fine art, I think." - -"Thou art right. Is tha going to stay here any longer to-day or will tha -ride back with us?" - -"Oh, sir, if I only might go back with you! In five minutes, I will be -ready." - -The squire turned hastily away with three short words, "Make haste, -then." He was put out by the manner in which Harry had taken his civil -offer. He had only meant to give him a lift back to his club but Harry -appeared to have understood it as an invitation to dinner. He was -wondering how he could get out of the dilemma and so did not notice that -Harry kissed Katherine's hand as he turned away. Harry had found few -opportunities to address her, none at all for private speech, yet both -Katherine and Harry were satisfied. For every pair of lovers have a code -of their own and no one else has the key to it. - -In a short time Harry reappeared in a very dudish walking suit, but -Wade and Delaney were not ready to separate and the squire was hard set -to hide his irritability. Harry also looked too happy, and too handsome, -for the gentlemen's dress of A. D. 1833 was manly and becoming, with -its high hat, pointed white vest, frock coat, and long thin cane, always -carried in the left hand. However, conversation even about money comes -to an end and at length Wade was satisfied, and they turned city-ward -in order to leave Wade at his hotel. On arriving there, Annis was again -detained by Wade's anxieties and fears, but Harry had a five minutes' -heavenly interlude. He was holding Katherine's hand and looking into her -eyes and saying little tender, foolish words, which had no more meaning -than a baby's prattle, but Katherine's heart was their interpreter and -every syllable was sweet as the dropping of the honey-comb. - -Through all this broken conversation, however, Harry was wondering how -he could manage to leave the coach with Katherine. If he could only see -Lady Jane, he knew she would ask him to remain, but how was he to see -Lady Jane and what excuse could he make for asking to see her? It never -struck the young man that the squire was desirous to get rid of him. He -was only conscious of the fact that he did not particularly desire an -evening with Katherine's father and mother and that he did wish very -ardently to spend an evening with Katherine and Lady Jane; and the coach -went so quick, and his thoughts were all in confusion, and they were at -the Leyland mansion before he had decided what to say, or do. Then the -affair that seemed so difficult, straightened itself out in a perfectly -natural, commonplace manner. For when Katherine rose, as a matter of -course, Harry also rose; and without effort, or consideration, said-- - -"I will make way for you, squire, or if you wish no further delay, I -will see Katherine into Lady Leyland's care." - -"I shall be obliged to you, Harry, if you will do so," was the answer. -"I am a bit tired and a bit late, and Mistress Annis will be worrying -hersen about me, no doubt. I was just thinking of asking you to do me -this favor." Then the squire left a message for his eldest daughter and -drove rapidly away, but if he had turned his head for a moment he might -have seen how happily the lovers were slowly climbing the white marble -steps leading them to Lady Leyland's door. Hand in hand they went, -laughing a little as they talked, because Harry was telling Katherine -how he had been racking his brains for some excuse to leave the coach -with her and how the very words had come at the moment they were wanted. - -At the very same time the squire was telling himself "how cleverly he -had got rid of the young fellow. He would hev bothered Annie above a -bit," he reflected, "and it was a varry thoughtless thing for me to -do--asking a man to dinner, when I know so well that Annie likes me best -when I am all by mysen. Well, I got out of that silly affair cleverly. -It is a good thing to hev a faculty for readiness and I'm glad to say -that readiness is one thing that Annie thinks Antony Annis hes on call. -Well, well, the lad was glad to leave me and I was enough pleased to get -rid of him." And if any good fellow should read this last paragraph he -will not require me to tell him how the little incident of "getting rid -of Harry" brightened the squire's dinner, nor how sweetly Annie told -her husband that he was "the kindest-hearted of men and could do a -disagreeable thing in such an agreeable manner, as no other man, she had -ever met, would think of." - -Then he told Annie about the Jacquard loom and Harry's mastery of it, -and when this subject was worn out, Annie told her husband that Jane was -going to introduce Katherine to London society on the following Tuesday -evening. She wanted to make it Wednesday evening, but "Josepha would not -hear of it"--she said, with an air of injury, "and Josepha always gets -what she desires." - -"Why shouldn't Josepha get all she desires? When a woman hes a million -pounds to give away beside property worth a fortune the world hes no -more to give her but her awn way. I should think Josepha is one of the -richest women in England." - -"However did the Admiral get so much money?" - -"All prize money, Annie. Good, honest, prize money! The Admiral's money -was the price of his courage. He threshed England's enemies for every -pound of it; and when we were fighting Spain, Spanish galleons, loaded -with Brazilian gold, were varry good paymasters even though Temple was -both just and generous to his crews." - -"No wonder then, if Josepha be one of the richest women in England. Who -is the richest man, Antony?" - -"I am, Annie! I am! Thou art my wife and there is not gold enough in -England to measure thy worth nor yet to have made me happy if I had -missed thee." What else could a wise and loving husband say? - -In the meantime Katherine and Harry had been gladly received by Lady -Jane, who at once asked Harry to stay and dine with them. - -"What about my street suit?" asked Harry. - -"We have a family dinner this evening and expect no one to join us. De -Burg may probably call and he may bring his sister with him. However, -Harry, you know your old room on the third floor. I will send Leyland's -valet there and he will manage to make you presentable." - -These instructions Harry readily obeyed, and soon as he had left the -room Lady Jane asked--"Where did you pick him up, Kitty? He is quite a -detrimental in father's opinion, you know." - -"I picked him up in a weaving room in the locality called Spitalfields. -He was working there on a Jacquard loom." - -"What nonsense you are talking!" - -"I am telling you facts, Jane. I will explain them later. Now I must go -and dress for dinner, if you are expecting the De Burgs." - -"They will only pay an evening call, but make yourself as pretty as is -proper for the occasion. If De Burg does not bring his sister you will -not be expected to converse." - -"Oh, Jane dear! I am not thinking, or caring, about the De Burgs. My -mind was on Harry and of course I shall dress a little for Harry. I have -always done that." - -"You will take your own way, Kitty, that also you have always done." - -"Well, then, is there any reason why I should not take my own way now?" - -She asked this question in a pleasant, laughing manner that required no -answer; and with it disappeared not returning to the parlor, until the -dinner hour was imminent. She found Harry and Lady Jane already there, -and she fancied they were talking rather seriously. In fact, Harry had -eagerly seized this opportunity to try and enlist Jane's sympathy in -his love for Katherine. He had passionately urged their long devotion -to each other and entreated her to give him some opportunities to retain -his hold on her affection. - -Jane had in no way compromised her own position. She was kind-hearted -and she had an old liking for Harry, but she was ambitious, and she was -resolved that Katherine should make an undeniably good alliance. De -Burg was not equal to her expectations but she judged he would be a -good auxiliary to them. "My beautiful sister," she thought, "must have a -splendid following of lovers and De Burg will make a prominent member of -it." - -So she was not sorry to see Katherine enter in a pretty, simple frock of -flowered silk, pale blue in color, and further softened by a good deal -of Valenciennes lace and a belt and long sash of white ribbon. Her hair -was dressed in the mode, lifted high and loosely, and confined by an -exquisite comb of carved ivory; the frontal curls were pushed behind the -ears, but fell in bright luxuriance almost to her belt. So fair was she, -so fresh and sweet and lovely, that Leyland--who was both sentimental -and poetic, within practical limits--thought instantly of Ben Jonson's -exquisite lines, and applied them to his beautiful sister-in-law: - - Have you seen but a bright lily grow - - Before rude hands have touched it? - - Have you marked but the fall of the snow - - Before the soil hath smutched it? - - Have you smelt of the bud of the brier, - - Or the nard in the fire? - - Or tasted the bag of the bee, - - O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! - -And then he felt a decided obligation to his own good judgment, for -inducing him to marry into so handsome a family. - -It was a comfortable mood in which to sit down to dinner and Harry's -presence also added to his pleasure, for it promised him some -conversation not altogether feminine. Indeed, though the dinner was a -simple family one, it was a very delightful meal. Leyland quoted some -of his shortest and finest lines, Lady Jane merrily recalled childish -episodes in which Harry and herself played the principal rles, and -Katherine made funny little corrections and additions to her sister's -picturesque childish adventures; also, being healthily hungry, she ate a -second supply of her favorite pudding and thus made everyone comfortably -sure that for all her charm and loveliness, she was yet a creature - - Not too bright and good, - - For human nature's daily food. - -They lingered long at the happy table and were still laughing and -cracking nuts round it when De Burg was announced. He was accompanied -by a new member of Parliament from Carlisle and the conversation drifted -quickly to politics. De Burg wanted to know if Leyland was going to The -House. He thought there would be a late sitting and said there was a -tremendous crowd round the parliament buildings, "but," he added, "my -friend was amazed at the dead silence which pervaded it, and, indeed, -if you compare this voiceless manifestation of popular feeling with the -passionate turbulence of the same crowd, it is very remarkable." - -"And it is much more dangerous," answered Ley-land. "The voiceless anger -of an English crowd is very like the deathly politeness of the man who -brings you a challenge. As soon as they become quiet they are ready for -action. We are apt to call them uneducated, but in politics they have -been well taught by their leaders who are generally remarkably clever -men, and it is said also that one man in seventeen among our weavers can -read and perhaps even sign his name." - -"That one is too many," replied De Burg. "It makes them dangerous. Yet -men like Lord Brougham are always writing and talking about it being our -duty to educate them." - -"Why, Sir Brougham formed a society for 'The Diffusion of Useful -Knowledge' four or five years ago--an entirely new sort of knowledge for -working men--knowledge relating to this world, personal and municipal. -That is how he actually described his little sixpenny books. Then some -Scotchman called Chambers began to publish a cheap magazine. I take it. -It is not bad at all--but things like these are going to make literature -cheap and common." - -"And I heard my own clergyman say that he considered secular teaching of -the poor classes to be hostile to Christianity." - -Then Lady Jane remarked--as if to herself--"How dangerous to good -society the Apostles must have been!" - -Leyland smiled at his wife and answered, "They were. They changed it -altogether." - -"The outlook is very bad," continued De Burg. "The tide of democracy -is setting in. It will sweep us all away and break down every barrier -raised by civilization. And we may play at Canute, if we like, but--" -and De Burg shook his head and was silent in that hopeless fashion that -represents circumstances perfectly desperate. - -Leyland took De Burg's prophetic gloom quite cheerfully. He had a verse -ready for it and he gave it with apparent pleasure-- - - "Yet men will still be ruled by men, - - And talk will have its day, - - And other men will come again - - To chase the rogues away." - -"That seems to be the way things are ordered, sir." - -After Leyland's poetic interval, Lady Jane glanced at her husband and -said: "Let us forget politics awhile. If we go to the drawing-room, -perhaps Miss Annis or Mr. Bradley will give us a song." - -Everyone gladly accepted the proposal and followed Lady Jane to the -beautiful, light warm room. - -It was so gay with flowers and color, it was so softly lit by wax -candles and the glow of the fire, it was so comfortably warmed by -the little blaze on the white marble hearth, that the spirits of all -experienced a sudden happy uplift. De Burg went at once to the fireside. -"Oh!" he exclaimed, "how good is the fire! How cheerful, how homelike! -Every day in the year, I have fires in some rooms in the castle." - -"Well, De Burg, how is that?" - -"You know, Leyland, my home is surrounded by mountains and I may say I -am in the clouds most of the time. We are far north from here and I am -so much alone I have made a friend of the fire." - -"I thought, sir, your mother lived with you." - -"I am unhappy in her long and frequent absences. My cousin Agatha cannot -bear the climate. She is very delicate and my mother takes her southward -for the winters. They are now in the Isle of Wight but they will be in -London within a week. For a short time they will remain with me then -they return to De Burg Castle until the cold drives them south again." - -Lady Jane offered some polite sympathies and De Burg from his vantage -ground of the hearth-rug surveyed the room. Its beauty and fitness -delighted him and he at once began to consider how the De Burg -drawing-room would look if arranged after its fashion. He could not help -this method of looking at whatever was beautiful and appropriate; he had -to place the thing, whatever it was, in a position which related itself -either to De Burg, or the De Burg possessions. So when he had placed -the Ley-land drawing-room in the gloomy De Burg Castle, he took into his -consideration Katherine Annis as the mistress of it. - -Katherine was sitting with Harry near the piano and her sister was -standing before her with some music in her hand. "You are now going to -sing for us, Katherine," she said, "and you will help Katherine, dear -Harry, for you know all her songs." - -"No, dear lady, I cannot on any account sing tonight." - -No entreaties could alter Harry's determination and it was during this -little episode De Burg approached. Hearing the positive refusal, he -offered his services with that air of certain satisfaction which insured -its acceptance. Then the songs he could sing were to be selected, and -this gave him a good opportunity of talking freely with the girl whom he -might possibly choose for the wife of a De Burg and the mistress of -his ancient castle. He found her sweet and obliging and ready to sing -whatever he thought most suitable to the compass and quality of his -voice, and as Lord and Lady Leyland assisted in this choice, Harry was -left alone; but when the singing began Harry was quickly at -Katherine's side, making the turning of the music sheets his excuse for -interference. It appeared quite proper to De Burg that someone should -turn the leaves for him and he acknowledged the courtesy by a bend of -his head and afterwards thanked Harry for the civility, saying, "it -enabled him to do justice to his own voice and also to the rather -difficult singing of the fair songstress." He put himself first, because -at the moment he was really feeling that his voice and personality had -been the dominating quality in the two songs they sang together. - -But though De Burg did his best and the Leylands expressed their -pleasure charmingly and Harry bowed and smiled, no one was enthusiastic; -and Ley-land could not find any quotation to cap the presumed pleasure -the music had given them. Then Harry seized the opportunity that came -with the rise of Katherine to offer his arm and lead her to their former -seat on the sofa leaving De Burg to the society of Leyland and his wife. -He had come, however, to the conclusion that Katherine was worthy of -further attentions, but he did not make on her young and tender -heart any fixed or favorable impression. For this man with all his -considerations had not yet learned that the selfish lover never really -succeeds; that the woman he attempts to woo just looks at him and then -turns to something more interesting. - -After all, the music had not united the small gathering, indeed it had -more certainly divided them. Lord Leyland remained at De Burg's side and -Lady Jane through some natural inclination joined them. For she had -no intention in the matter, it merely pleased her to do it, and it -certainly pleased Katherine and Harry that she had left them at liberty -to please each other. - -Katherine had felt a little hurt by her lover's refusal to sing but he -had promised to explain his reason for doing so to Jane and herself when -they were alone; and she had accepted this put-off apology in a manner -so sweet and confiding that it would have satisfied even De Burg's idea -of a wife's subordination to her husband's feelings or caprices. - -De Burg did not remain much longer; he made some remark about his duty -being now at The House, as it was likely to be a very late sitting but -he did not forget in taking leave to speak of Katherine's dbut on the -following Tuesday and to ask Lady Leyland's permission to bring with him -his cousin Agatha De Burg if she was fortunate enough to arrive in time; -and this permission being readily granted he made what he told himself -was a very properly timed and elegant exit. This he really accomplished -for he was satisfied with his evening and somehow both his countenance -and manners expressed his content. - -Leyland laughed a little about De Burg's sense of duty to The House, and -made his usual quotation for the over-zealous--about new brooms sweeping -clean--and Lady Jane praised his fine manner, and his correct singing, -but Katherine and Harry made no remark. Leyland, however, was not -altogether pleased with the self-complacent, faithful member of -parliament. "Jane," he asked, "what did the man mean by saying, 'his -political honesty must not be found wanting'?" - -"Oh, I think, Frederick, that was a very honorable feeling!" - -"To be sure, but members of parliament do not usually make their -political honesty an excuse for cutting short a social call. I wish -our good father Antony Annis had heard him. He would have given him a -mouthful of Yorkshire, that he would never have been able to forget. How -does the man reckon himself? I believe he thinks he is honoring _us_ by -his presence. No doubt, he thinks it only fit that you call your social -year after him." - -"The De Burg Year? Eh, Fred!" - -"Yes, the happy year in which you made the De Burg acquaintance. My -dear, should that acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?" -Then they all laughed merrily, and Leyland asked: "Why did you refuse to -sing, Harry? It was so unlike you that I would not urge your compliance. -I knew you must have a good reason for the refusal." - -"I had the best of reasons, sir, a solemn promise that I made my father. -I will tell you all about it. We gave our factory hands a dinner and -dance last Christmas and I went with father to give them a Christmas -greeting. A large number were already present and were passing the time -in singing and story-telling until dinner was served. One of the men -asked--'if Master Harry would give them a song,'--and I did so. -I thought a comic song would be the most suitable and I sang 'The -Yorkshire Man.' I had sung it at the Mill Owners' quarterly dinner, amid -shouts of laughter, and I was sure it was just the thing for the present -occasion. Certainly, I was not disappointed by its reception. Men and -women both went wild over it but I could see that my father was annoyed -and displeased, and after I had finished he hardly spoke until the -dinner was served. Then he only said grace over the food and wished all -a good New Year, and so speedily went away. It wasn't like father a -bit, and I was troubled about it. As soon as we were outside, I said, -'Whatever is the matter, father? Who, or what, has vexed you?' And he -said, 'Thou, thysen, Harry, hes put me out above a bit. I thought thou -would hev hed more sense than to sing that fool song among t' weavers. -It was bad enough when tha sung it at t' Master dinner but it were -a deal worse among t' crowd we have just left.' I said I did not -understand and he answered--'Well, then, lad, I'll try and make thee -understand. It is just this way--if ta iver means to be a man of weight -in business circles, if ta iver means to be respected and looked up to, -if ta iver thinks of a seat i' parliament, or of wearing a Lord Mayor's -gold chain, then don't thee sing a note when there's anybody present -but thy awn family. It lets a man down at once to sing outside his awn -house. It does that! If ta iver means to stand a bit above the ordinary, -or to rule men in any capacity, don't sing to them, or iver try in any -way to amuse them. Praise them, or scold them, advise them, or even -laugh at them, but don't thee sing to them, or make them laugh. The -moment tha does that, they hev the right to laugh at thee, or mimic -thee, or criticise thee. Tha then loses for a song the respect due thy -family, thy money, or thy real talents. Singing men aren't money men. -Mind what I say! It is true as can be, dear lad.' - -"That is the way father spoke to me and I promised him I would never -sing again except for my family and nearest friends. De Burg was not -my friend and I felt at once that if I sang for him I would give him -opportunities to say something unpleasant about me." - -Leyland laughed very understandingly. "You have given me a powerful -weapon, Harry," he said. "How did you feel when De Burg sang?" - -"I felt glad. I thought he looked very silly. I wondered if he had -ever practiced before a looking-glass. O Leyland, I felt a great many -scornful and unkind things; and I felt above all how right and proper my -father's judgment was--that men who condescend to amuse and especially -to provoke laughter or buffoonery will never be the men who rule or -lead other men. Even more strongly than this, I felt that the social -reputation of being a fine singer would add no good thing to my business -reputation." - -"You are right, Harry. It is not the song singers of England who are -building factories and making railroads and who are seeking and finding -out new ways to make steam their servant. Your father gave you excellent -advice, my own feelings and experience warrant him." - -"My father is a wise, brave-hearted man," said Harry proudly, and -Katherine clasped his hand in sweet accord, as he said it. - -That night Harry occupied his little room on the third floor in -Leyland's house and the happy sleeping place was full of dreams of -Katherine. He awakened from them as we do from fortunate dreams, buoyant -with courage and hope, and sure of love's and life's final victory and -happiness: - - Then it does not seem miles, - - Out to the emerald isles, - - Set in the shining smiles, - - Of Love's blue sea. - -Happy are the good sleepers and dreamers I Say that they spend nearly a -third part of their lives in sleep, their sleeping hours _are not dead -hours_. Their intellects are awake, their unconscious self is busy. In -reality we always dream, but many do not remember their dreams any more -than they remember the thoughts that have passed through their minds -during the day. Real dreams are rare. They come of design. They are -never forgotten. They are always helpful because the incompleteness of -this life asks for a larger theory than the material needs-- - - A deep below the deep, - - And a height beyond the height; - - For our hearing is not hearing, - - And our seeing is not sight. - -Harry had been wonderfully helped by his dreamful sleep. If he had -been at home he would have sung all the time he dressed himself. He -remembered that his father often did so but he did not connect that fact -with one that was equally evident--that his father was a great dreamer. -It is so easy to be forgetful and even ungrateful for favors that -minister to the spiritual rather than the material side of life. - -Yet he went downstairs softly humming to himself some joyous melody, he -knew not what it was. Katherine was in the breakfast room and heard -him coming, timing his footsteps to the music his heart was almost -whispering on his lips. So when he opened the door he saw her standing -expectant of his entrance and he uttered an untranslatable cry of joy. -She was standing by the breakfast table making coffee and she said, -"Good morning, Harry! Jane is not down yet. Shall I serve you until she -comes?" - -"Darling!" he said, "I shall walk all day in the clouds if you serve me. -Nothing could be more delightful." - -So it fell out that they breakfasted at once, and Love sat down between -them. And all that day, Harry ate, and talked, and walked, and did -his daily work to the happy, happy song in his heart--the song he had -brought back from the Land of Dreams. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--FASHION AND FAMINE - - - "Lord of Light why so much darkness? Bread of Life - - why so much hunger?" - - - "The great fight, the long fight, the fight that must be - - won, without any further delay." - - - IT is not necessary for me to describe the formal introduction of -Katherine to London society. A large number of my readers may have a -personal experience of that uncertain step, which Longfellow says, -the brook takes into the river, affirming also that it is taken "with -reluctant feet"; but Longfellow must be accepted with reservations. Most -girls have all the pluck and courage necessary for that leap into -the dark and Katherine belonged to this larger class. She felt the -constraints of the upper social life. She was ready for the event and -wished it over. - -The squire also wished it over. He could not help an uneasy regret about -the days and the money spent in preparing for its few hours of -what seemed to him unnecessary entertaining; not even free from the -possibility of being rudely broken up--the illuminated house, the -adjoining streets filled with vehicles, the glimpses of jewelry and -of rich clothing as the guests left their carriages; the sounds -of music--the very odors of cooking from the open windows of the -kitchens--the calls of footmen--all the stir of revelry and all the -paraphernalia of luxury. How would the hungry, angry, starving men -gathering all over London take this spectacle? The squire feared -there would be some demonstration and if it should be made against -his family's unfeeling extravagance how could he bear it? He knew that -Englishmen usually, - - Through good and evil stand, - - By the laws of their own land. - -But he knew also, that Hunger knows no law, and that men too poor to -have where to lay their heads do not have much care regarding the heads -of more fortunate men. - -Squire Annis was a thoroughly informed man on all historical and -political subjects and he knew well that the English people had not been -so much in earnest since the time of Oliver Cromwell as they then were; -and when he called to remembrance the events between the rejection of -the first Reform Bill and its present struggle, he was really amazed -that people could think or talk of any other thing. Continually he was -arranging in his mind the salient points of moral dispute, as he had -known them, and it may not be amiss for two or three minutes to follow -his thoughts. - -They generally went back to the dramatic rejection of the first Reform -Bill, on the sixteenth of August, A. D. 1831. Parliament met again on -the sixth of December, and on the twelfth of December Lord John Russell -brought in a second Reform Bill. It was slightly changed but in all -important matters the same as the first Bill. On the eighteenth of -December, Parliament adjourned for the Christmas holidays but met again -on January the seventeenth, A. D. 1832. This Parliament passed The Bill -ready for the House of Lords on March the twenty-sixth, just two days -after his own arrival in London. He had made a point of seeing this -ceremony, for a very large attendance of peeresses and strangers of mark -were expected to be present. He found the space allotted to strangers -crowded, but he also found a good standing place and from it saw the -Lord Chancellor Brougham take his seat at the Woolsack and the Deputy -usher of the Black Rod announce--"A message from the Commons." Then -he saw the doors thrown open and Lord Althorp and Lord John Russell, -bearing the Reform Bill in their hands, appeared at the head of one -hundred members of Parliament, and Russell delivered the Bill to the -Lord Chancellor, saying: - -"My Lords, the House of Commons have passed an act to amend the -representation of England and Wales to which they desire your Lordship's -concurrence." - -The great question now was, whether the Lords would concur or not, for -if the populace were ready to back their determination with their lives -the Lords were in the same temper though they knew well enough that -the one stubborn cry of the whole country was "The Bill, The Bill, -and nothing but The Bill." They knew also that The House of Commons -sympathized with the suffering of the poor and the terrible deeds of the -French Revolution were still green in their memories. Yet they dared to -argue and dispute and put off the men standing in dangerous patience, -waiting, waiting day and night for justice. - -During the past week, also, all thoughtful persons had been conscious of -a change in these waiting men, a change which Lord Grey told The Commons -was "to be regarded as ominous and dangerous." It was, that the crowds -everywhere had become portentously silent. They no longer discussed the -subject. They had no more to say. They were now full ready to do all -their powerful Political Unions threatened. These unions were prepared -to march to London and bivouac in its squares. The powerful Birmingham -Union declared "two hundred thousand men were ready to leave their -forges and shops, encamp on Hampstead Heath, and if The Bill did not -speedily become a law, compel that event to take place." - -At this time also, violent expressions had become common in The House. -Members spoke with the utmost freedom about a fighting duke, and a -military government, and the Duke of Wellington was said to have pledged -himself to the King to quiet the country, if necessary, in ten days. It -was also asserted that, at his orders, the Scots Greys had been employed -on a previous Sabbath Day in grinding their swords. - -"As if," cried the press and the people as with one voice, "as if -Englishmen could be kept from their purpose by swords and bayonets." - -Throughout this period the King was obstinate and ill-tempered and so -ignorant about the character of the people he had been set to govern, as -to think their sudden quietness predicted their submission; though Lord -Grey had particularly warned the Lords against this false idea. "Truly," -he virtually said, "we have not heard for a few days the thrilling -outcries of a desperate crowd of angry suffering men but I warn you, my -Lords, to take no comfort on that account." - -When Englishmen are ready to fight they don't scream about it but their -weapons are drawn and they are prepared to strike. The great body of -Englishmen did not consider these poor, unlettered men were any less -English men than themselves. They knew them to be of the same class -and kidney, as fought with Cromwell, Drake, and Nelson, and which made -Wellington victorious; they knew that neither the men who wielded the -big hammers at the forges of Birmingham, nor the men who controlled -steam, nor the men that brought up coal from a thousand feet below sight -and light, nor yet the men who plowed the ground would hesitate much -longer to fight for their rights; for there was not now a man in all -England who was not determined to be a recognized citizen of the land he -loved and was always ready to fight for. - -Sentiments like these could not fall from the lips of such men as Grey -and Brougham without having great influence; and in the soul of Antony -Annis they were echoing with potent effect, whatever he did, or wherever -he went. For he was really a man of fine moral and intellectual nature, -who had lived too much in his own easy, simple surroundings, and who had -been suddenly and roughly awakened to great public events. And, oh, how -quickly they were rubbing the rust from his unused talents and feelings! - -He missed his wife's company much at this time, for when he was in The -House he could not have it and when he got back to the hotel Annie was -seldom there. She was with Jane or Josepha, and her interests at this -period were completely centered on her daughter Katherine. So Annis, -especially during the last week, had felt himself neglected; he could -get his wife to talk of nothing but Katherine, and her dress, and the -preparations Jane was making to honor the beauty's dbut. - -Yet, just now he wanted above all other comforts his wife's company and -on the afternoon of the day before the entertainment was to take -place he was determined to have it, even if he had to go to Jane's or -Josepha's house to get what he wished. Greatly to his satisfaction he -found her in the dressing-room of her hotel apartments. She had been -trying on her own new dress for the great occasion and seemed to be much -pleased and in very good spirits; but the squire's anxious mood quickly -made itself felt and after a few ineffectual trials to raise her -husband's spirits, she said, with just a touch of irritability: - -"Whatever is the matter with thee, Antony? I suppose it is that -wearisome Bill." - -"Well, Annie, however wearisome it is we aren't done with it yet, mebbe -we hev only begun its quarrel. The Whole country is in a bad way and I -do wonder how tha can be so taken up with the thoughts of dressing and -dancing. I will tell thee one thing, I am feared for the sound of music -and merry-making in any house." - -"I never before knew that Antony Annis was cowardly." - -"Don't thee say words like them to me, Annie. I will not hev them. And I -think thou hes treated me varry badly indeed iver since we came here. I -thought I would allays be sure of thy company and loving help and thou -hes disappointed me. Thou hes that. Yet all my worry hes been about thee -and Kitty." - -"Thou has not shown any care about either of us. Thou has hardly been -at thy home here for ten days; and thou has not asked a question about -Kitty's plans and dress." - -"Nay, then, I was thinking of her life and of thy life, too. I was -wondering how these angry, hungry men, filling the streets of London -will like the sight and sounds of music and dancing while they are -starving and fainting in our varry sight. I saw a man fall down through -hunger yesterday, and I saw two men, early this morning, helping one -another to stagger to a bench in the park." - -"And I'll warrant thou helped them to a cup of coffee and----" - -"To be sure I did! Does tha think thy husband, Antony Annis, is without -feeling as well as without courage! I am afraid for thee and for all -women who can't see and feel that the riot and bloodshed that took place -not long ago in Bristol can be started here in London any moment by -some foolish word or act. And I want thee to know if tha doesn't already -know, that this new disease, that no doctor understands or ever saw -before, hes reached London. It came to Bristol while the city was -burning, it came like a blow from the hand of God, and every physician -is appalled by it. A man goes out and is smitten, and never comes home -again, and--and--oh, Annie! Annie! I cannot bear it! There will be-some -tragedy--and it is for thee and Kitty I fear--not for mysen, oh no!" -And he leaned his elbows on the chimney piece and buried his face in his -hands. - -Then Annie went swiftly to his side, and in low, sweet, cooing words -said, "Oh, my love! My husband! Oh, my dear Antony, if tha hed only told -me thy fears and thy sorrow, I could hev cleared thy mind a bit. Sit -thee down beside me and listen to what thy Annie can tell thee." Then -she kissed him and took his hands in her hands, and led him to his chair -and drew her own chair close to his side and said-- - -"I knew, my dear one, that thou was bothered in thy mind and that thy -thoughts were on Bristol and other places that hev been fired by the -rioters; and I wanted to tell thee of something that happened more than -a week ago. Dost thou remember a girl called Sarah Sykes?" - -"I do that--a varry big, clumsy lass." - -"Never mind her looks. When Josepha was at Annis last summer she noticed -how much the girl was neglected and she took her part with her usual -temper, gave her nice clothes, and told her she would find something for -her to do in London. So when we were all very busy and I was tired out, -Josepha sent her a pound and bid her come to us as quick as she could. -Well, the first thing we knew the lass was in Jane's house and she soon -found out that Joshua Swale was the leader of the crowd that are mostly -about the Crescent where it stands. And it wasn't long before Sarah -had told Israel all thou hed done and all thou was still doing for thy -weavers; and then a man, who had come from the little place where thou -left a ten-pound note, told of that and of many other of thy kind -deeds, and so we found out that thy name stood very high among all -the Political Unions; and that these Unions have made themselves -well acquainted with the sayings and doings of all the old hand loom -employers; and are watching them closely, as to how they are treating -their men, and if any are in The House, how they are voting." - -"I wish thou hed told me this when thou first heard it. I wonder thou -didn't do so." - -"If I could have managed a quiet talk with thee I would have done that; -but thou has lived in The House of Commons all of the last week, I -think." - -"And been varry anxious and unhappy, Annie. Let me tell thee that!" - -"Well, then, dearie, happiness is a domestic pleasure. Few people find -her often outside their own home. Do they, Antony?" - -"My duty took me away from thee and my own home. There hev been constant -night sessions for the last week and more." - -"I know, and it has been close to sun-up when thou tumbled sleepy and -weary into thy bed. And I couldn't wait until thou got thy senses again. -I hed to go with Josepha about something or other, or I had to help Jane -with her preparations, and so the days went by. Then, also, when I did -get a sight of thee, thou could not frame thysen to talk of anything -but that weary Bill and it made me cross. I thought thou ought to care -a little about Katherine's affairs, they were as important to her as The -Bill was to thee." - -"I was caring, Annie. I was full of care and worry about Kitty. I was -that. And I needn't hev been so miserable if thou hed cared for me." - -"Well, then, I was cross enough to say to myself, 'Antony can just tell -his worries to The Bill men and I'll be bound he does.' So he got no -chance for a good talk and I didn't let Sarah Sykes trouble my mind at -all; but I can tell thee that all thy goodness to the Annis weavers -is written down on their hearts, and thou and thine are safe whatever -happens." - -"I am thankful for thy words. Will tha sit an hour with me?" - -"I'll not leave thee to-night if thou wants to talk to me." - -"Oh, my joy! How good thou art! There is not a woman in England to -marrow thee." - -"Come then to the parlor and we will have a cup of tea and thou will -tell me all thy fears about The Bill and I'll sit with thee until thou -wants to go back to The House." - -So he kissed her and told her again how dear she was to him and how much -he relied on her judgment, and they went to the parlor like lovers, or -like something far better. For if they had been only lovers, they could -not have known the sweetness, and strength, and unity of a married love -twenty-six years old. And as they drank their tea, Annis made clear to -his wife the condition of affairs in The Commons, and she quickly became -as much interested in the debate going on as himself. "It hes been going -on now," he said, "for three nights, and will probably continue all this -night and mebbe longer." - -"Then will it be settled?" - -"Nothing is settled, Annie, till it is settled right, and if The Commons -settle it right the lords may turn it out altogether again--_if they -dare_. However, thou hes given me a far lighter heart and I'll mebbe hev -a word or two to say mysen to-night, for the question of workmen's wages -is coming up and I'd like to give them my opinion on that subject." - -"It would be a good thing if the government fixed the wages of the -workers. It might put a stop to strikes." - -"Not it! Workingmen's wages are as much beyond the control of -government as the fogs of the Atlantic. Who can prevent contractors -from underselling one another? Who can prevent workmen from preferring -starvation wages, rather than no wages at all? The man who labors knows -best what his work is worth and you can't blame him for demanding what -is just and fair. Right is right in the devil's teeth. If you talk -forever, you'll niver get any forrarder than that; but I have always -noticed that when bad becomes bad enough, right returns." - -"The last time we talked about The Bill, Antony, you said you were -anxious that the Scotch Bill should take exactly the same position that -the English Bill does. Will the Scotch do as you wish them?" - -"It's hard to get a Scotchman to confess that he is oppressed by anyone, -or by any law. He doesn't mind admitting a sentimental grievance about -the place that the lion hes on the flag; but he's far too proud to -allow that anything wrong with the conditions of life is permissible in -Scotland. Yet there are more socialists in Scotland than anywhere else, -which I take as a proof that they are as dissatisfied as any other -workingmen are." - -"What is it that the socialists are continually talking about?" - -"They are talking about a world that does not exist, Annie, and -that niver did exist, and promising us a world that couldn't by any -possibility exist. But I'll tell thee what I hev found out just since -I came here; that is, that if we are going to continue a Protective -Government we're bound to hev Socialism flourish. Let England stop -running a government to protect rich and noble land owners, let her open -her ports and give us Free Trade, and we'll hear varry little more of -socialism." - -"Will you go to The House to-night, Antony?" - -"I wouldn't miss going for a good deal. Last night's session did not -close till daylight and I'll niver forget as long as I live the look of -The House at that time. Grey had been speaking for an hour and a -half, though he is now in his sixty-eighth year; and I could not help -remembering that forty years previously, he had stood in the same place, -pleading for the same Bill, Grey being at that date both its author and -its advocate. My father was in The House then and I hev often heard -him tell how Lord Wharncliffe moved that Grey's Reform Bill should be -rejected altogether; and how Lord Brougham made one of the grandest -speeches of his life in its favor, ending it with an indescribable -relation of the Sybil's offer to old Rome. Now, Annie, I want to see -the harvest of that seed sowed by Grey and Brougham forty years ago, and -that harvest may come to-night. Thou wouldn't want me to miss it, would -thou?" - -"I would be very sorry indeed if thou missed it; but what about the -Sybil?" - -"Why-a! this old Roman prophetess was called up by Brougham to tell -England the price she would hev to pay if her rulers persisted in their -abominable husbandry of sowing injustice and reaping rebellion. 'Hear -the parable of the Sybil!' he cried. 'She is now at your gate, and -she offers you in this Bill wisdom and peace. The price she asks is -reasonable; it is to restore the franchise, which you ought voluntarily -to give. You refuse her terms and she goes away. But soon you find you -cannot do without her wares and you call her back. Again she comes but -with diminished treasures--the leaves of the book are partly torn away -by lawless hands, and in part defaced with characters of blood. But -the prophetic maid has risen in her demands--it is Parliament by the -year--it is vote by the ballot--it is suffrage by the million now. -From this you turn away indignant, and for the second time she departs. -Beware of her third coming, for the treasure you must have, and who -shall tell what price she may demand? It may even be the mace which -rests upon that woolsack. Justice deferred enhances the price you must -pay for peace and safety and you cannot expect any other crop than they -had who went before you and who, in their abominable husbandry, sowed -injustice and reaped rebellion.'" - -Antony was declaiming the last passages of this speech when the door -opened and Mrs. Temple entered. She sat down and waited until her -brother ceased, then she said with enthusiasm: - -"Well done, Antony! If thou must quote from somebody's fine orations, -Brougham and the Sybil woman were about the best thou could get, if so -be thou did not go to the Scriptures. In that book thou would find all -that it is possible for letters and tongues to say against the men who -oppress the poor, or do them any injustice; and if I wanted to make a -speech that would beat Brougham's to a disorganized alphabet, I'd take -ivery word of it out of the sacred Scriptures. I would that!" - -"Well, Josepha, I hope I may see The Bill pass the Commons to-night." - -"Then thou hes more to wish for than to hope for. Does Brougham and -Palmerston iver speak to each other now?" - -"It is as much as they can do to lift their hats. They niver speak, I -think. Why do you ask me?" - -"Because I heard one water man say to another, as I was taking a boat at -my awn water house-- - - "'If the Devil hes a son, - - Then his name is Palmerston.'" - -"Such rhymes against a man do him a deal of harm, Josepha. The rhyme -sticks and fastens, whether it be true or false, but there is nothing -beats a mocking, scornful story for cutting nation wide and living for -centuries after it. That rhyme about Palmerston will not outlive him in -any popular sense, but the mocking scornful story through which Canon -Sydney Smith of St. Paul's derided the imbecility of The Lords will live -as long as English history lives." - -"I do not remember that story, Antony. Do you, Josepha?" - -"Ay, I remember it; but I'll let Antony tell it to thee and then thou -will be sure to store it up as something worth keeping. What I tell thee -hes not the same power of sticking." - -"It may be that you are right, Josepha. Men do speak with more authority -than women do. What did Canon Sydney Smith say, Antony?" - -"He said the attempt of the Lords to stop Reform reminded him of the -great storm at Sidmouth and of the conduct of Mrs. Partington on that -occasion. Six or seven winters ago there was a great storm upon that -town, the tide rose to an incredible height, and the waves rushed in -upon the beach, and in the midst of this terrible storm she was seen at -the door of her house with her dress pinned up, and her highest pattens -on her feet, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea water, and -vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic Ocean was -roused. Mrs. Partington's spirit was up, but I need not tell you the -contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. You see, -Annie, the Canon really compared the Lords to a silly old woman and all -England that were not in the House of Lords screamed with laughter. In -that day, The House of Lords lost more of its dignity and prestige than -it has yet regained; and Mrs. Partington did far more for Reform than -all the fine speeches that were made." - -"Annie," said Josepha, "we may as well take notice that it was a woman -who went, or was sent, to the old Roman world with the laws of justice -and peace; and Sydney Smith knew enough about Reform to be aware it -would be best forwarded by putting his parable in the pluck and spirit -of Dame Partington. It seems, then, that both in the old and the present -world, there were men well aware of womanly influence in politics." - -"Well, dear women, I must away. I want to be in at the finish." - -"Nothing will finish to-night. And thou will lose thy sleep." - -"I lost it last night. The day was breaking when I left The House. The -candles had been renewed just before daylight and were blazing on after -the sunshine came in at the high windows, making a varry singular effect -on their crimson draperies and on the dusky tapestries on the wall. -I may be as late home to-morrow morning. Good night!" and he bent and -kissed both ladies, and then hurried away, anxious and eager. - -And the women were silent a moment watching him out of sight in the -twilight and then softly praising his beauty, manliness, and his loving -nature. On this subject Annie and Josepha usually agreed, though at last -Josepha said with a sigh--"It is a pity, however, that his purse strings -are so loose. He spends a lot of money." And Annie replied: "Perhaps so, -but he is such a good man I had forgotten that he had a fault." - -"And as a politician it is very eccentric--not to say foolish--for him -to vote for justice and principle, not to speak of feelings, instead of -party." - -"If those things in any shape are faults, I am glad he has them. I could -not yet live with a perfect man." - -"I don't suppose thou could. It would be a bit beyond thee. Is all ready -for to-morrow?" - -"Yes, but I have lost heart on the subject. Are you going to Jane's -now?" - -"I may do that. I heard that Agatha De Burg was home and I would like to -warn Katherine to take care of every word she says in Agatha's presence. -She tells all she hears to that cousin of hers." - -"Have you seen De Burg lately?" - -"Two or three times at Jane's house. He seems quite at home there now. -He is very handsome, and graceful, and has such fine manners." - -"Then I hev no more to say and it is too late for me to take the water -way home. Will tha order me a carriage?" - -Annie's readiness to fulfill this request did not please Josepha and she -stood at the window and was nearly silent until she saw a carriage stop -at the hotel door. Then she said, "I think I'll go and see if Jane hes -anything like a welcome to offer me. Good-by to thee, Annie." - -"We shall see you early to-morrow, I hope, Josepha." - -"Nay, then, thou hopes for nothing of that kind but I'll be at Jane's -sometime before I am wanted." - -"You should not say such unkind words, Josepha. You are always welcome -wherever you go. In some way I have lost myself the last ten minutes. I -do not feel all here." - -"Then thou hed better try and find thysen. Thou wilt need all there is -of thee to bother with Antony about t' House of Commons, and to answer -civilly the crowd of strangers that will come to see thy daughter -to-morrow." - -"It is neither the Bill nor the strangers that trouble me. My vexations -lie nearer home." - -"I must say that thou ought to hev learned how to manage them by this -time. It is all of twenty-seven years since Antony married thee." - -"It is not Antony. Antony has not a fault. Not one!" - -"I am glad thou hes found that out at last. Well, the carriage is -waiting and I'll bid thee good-bye; and I hope thou may get thysen all -together before to-morrow at this time." - -With these words Josepha went and Annie threw herself into her chair -with a sense of relief. "I know she intended to stay for dinner," she -mentally complained, "and I could not bear her to-night. She is too -overflowing--she is too much every way. I bless myself for my patience -for twenty-seven years. Is it really twenty-seven years?" And with this -last suggestion she lost all consciousness of the present hour. - -In the meantime Josepha was not thinking any flattering things of her -sister-in-law. "She wanted me to go away! What a selfish, cross woman -she is! Poor Antony! I wonder how he bears her," and in a mood of such -complaining, Josepha with all her kindly gossiping hopes dashed, went -almost tearfully home. - -Annie, however, was not cross. She was feeling with her husband the -gravity of public affairs and was full of anxious speculation concerning -Katherine. A change had come over the simple, beautiful girl. Without -being in the least disobedient or disrespectful, she had shown in late -days a thoroughly natural and full grown Annis temper. No girl ever knew -better just what she wanted and no girl ever more effectually arranged -matters in such wise as would best secure her all she wanted. About -Harry Bradley she had not given way one hair's breadth, and yet -evidently her father was as far as ever from bearing the thought of -Harry as a son-in-law. His kindness to him in the weaving shop was -founded initially on his appreciation of good work and of a clever -business tactic and he was also taken by surprise, and so easily gave -in to the old trick of liking the lad. But he was angry at himself for -having been so weak and he felt that in some way Harry had bested him, -and compelled him to break the promises he had made to himself regarding -both the young man and his father. - -For a couple of hours these subjects occupied her completely, then she -rose and went to her room and put away her new gown. It was a perfectly -plain one of fawn-colored brocade with which she intended to wear her -beautiful old English laces. As she was performing this duty she thought -about her own youth. It had been a very commonplace one, full of small -economies. She had never had a formal "coming out," and being the -eldest of five girls she had helped her mother to manage a household, -constantly living a little above its income. Yet she had many sweet, -loving thoughts over this life; and before she was aware her cheeks were -wet with tears, uncalled, but not unwelcome. - -"My dear mother," she whispered, "in what land of God art thou now -resting? Surely thou art thinking of me! We are near to each other, -though far, far apart. Now, then, I will do as thou used to advise, 'let -worries alone, and don't worry over them.' Some household angel will -come and put everything right. Oh, mother of many sorrows, pray for me. -Thou art nearer to God than I am." This good thought slipped through her -tears like a soft strain of music, or a glint of sunshine, and she was -strengthened and comforted. Then she washed her face and put on her -evening cap and went to the parlor and ordered dinner. - -Just as she sat down to her lonely meal the door was hastily opened, and -Dick Annis and Harry Bradley entered. And oh! how glad she was to see -them, to seat them at the table, and to plentifully feed the two hungry -young men who had been traveling all day. - -"Dick, wherever have you been, my dear lad? I hevn't had a letter from -you since you were in Edinburgh." - -"I wrote you lots of letters, mother, but I had no way of posting them -to you. After leaving Edinburgh we sailed northward to Lerwick and there -I mailed you a long letter. It will be here in a few days, no doubt, -but their mail boat only carries mail 'weather permitting,' and after -we left Lerwick, all the way to Aberdeen we had a roaring wind in our -teeth. I don't think it was weather the ill-tempered Pentland Firth -would permit mail to be carried over it. How is father?" - -"As well as he will be until the Reform Bill is passed. You are just in -time for Katherine's party." - -"I thought I might be so, for father told me he was sure dress and -mantua-makers would not have you ready for company in two weeks." - -"Father was right. We may get people to weave the cloth by steam but -when it comes to sewing the cloth into clothes, there is nothing but -fingers and needles and some woman's will." - -Then they talked of the preparations made and the guests that were -expected, and the evening passed so pleasantly that it was near midnight -when the youths went away. And before that time the squire had sent -a note to his wife telling her he would not leave The House until the -sitting broke up. This note was brought by a Commons Messenger, for the -telegraph was yet a generation away. - -So Mistress Annis slept well, and the next day broke in blue skies and -sunshine. After breakfast was over she went to the Leyland Mansion to -see if her help was required in any way. Not that she expected it, for -she knew that Jane was far too good an organizer to be unready in any -department. Indeed she found her leisurely drinking coffee and reading -_The Court Circular_. Its news also had been gratifying, for she said to -her mother as she laid down the paper, "All is very satisfactory. There -are no entertainments to-night that will interfere with mine." - -Katherine was equally prepared but much more excited and that pleased -her mother. She wished Katherine to keep her girlish enthusiasms and -extravagant expectations as long as possible; Jane's composure and -apparent indifference seemed to her unnatural and later she reflected -that "Jane used to flurry and worry more than enough. Why!" she mentally -exclaimed, "I have not forgot how she routed us all out of our beds -at five o'clock on the morning of her wedding day, and was so nervous -herself that she made the whole house restless as a whirlpool. But she -says it is now fashionable to be serenely unaffected by any event, and -whatever is the fashionable insanity, Jane is sure to be one of the -first to catch it." - -On this occasion her whole household had been schooled to the same calm -spirit, and while it had a decided air of festivity, there was also -one of order, and of everything going on as it ought to do. No hurrying -servants or belated confectionery vans impeded the guests' arrival. The -rooms were in perfect order. The dinner would be served at the minute -specified, and the host and hostess were waiting to perform every -hospitable duty with amiable precision. - -Katherine did not enter the reception parlors until the dinner guests -had arrived and expectation was at a pleasant point of excitement. Then -the principal door was thrown open with obvious intent and Squire -Annis and his family were very plainly announced. Katherine was walking -between her father and mother, and Mrs. Josepha Temple, leaning on the -arm of her favorite nephew Dick, was a few steps behind them. - -There was a sudden silence, a quick assurance of the coming of -Katherine, and immediately the lovely girl made a triumphant entry into -their eyes and consciousness. She was dressed in white radiant gauze, * -dotted with small silver stars. It fell from her belt to her feet -without any break of its beauty by ruffle or frill. The waist slightly -covered the shoulders, the sleeves were full and gathered into a band -above the elbows. Both waist and sleeves were trimmed with lace traced -out with silver thread, and edged with a thin silver cord. Her sandals -were of white kid embroidered with silver stars, her gloves matched -them. She was without jewelry of any kind, unless the wonderfully carved -silver combs for the hair which Admiral Temple had brought from India -can be so called. Thus clothed, all the mystery and beauty of the flesh -was accentuated. Her fine eyes were soft and shining, with that happy -surprise in them that belongs only to the young enthusiast, and yet her -eyes were hardly more lambent than the rest of her face, for at this -happy hour all the ancient ecstasy of Love and Youth transfigured her -and she looked as if she had been born with a smile. - - * An almost transparent material first made in Gaza, - Palestine, from which it derived its name. - -Without intent Katherine's association with her father and mother -greatly added to the impression she made. The squire was handsomely -attired in a fashionable suit of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with -large gilt buttons, a white satin vest, and a neck piece of soft mull -and English lace. And not less becoming to Katherine as a set off was -her mother's plain, dark, emphatic costume. Yes, even the rather showy -extravagance of the aunt as a background was an advantage, and could -hardly have been better considered, for Madam Temple on this occasion -had discarded her usual black garments and wore a purple velvet dress -and all her wonderful diamonds. Consistent with this luxury, her laces -were of old Venice _point de rose_, arranged back and front in a Vandyke -collar with cuffs of the same lace, high as the elbows, giving a cachet -to her whole attire, which did not seem to be out of place on a woman so -erect and so dignified that she never touched the back of a chair, and -with a temper so buoyant, so high-spirited, and so invincible. - -When dinner was served, Katherine noticed that neither De Burg nor Harry -Bradley were at the table and after the meal she questioned her -sister with some feeling about this omission. "I do not mind De Burg's -absence," she said, "he is as well away as not, but poor Harry, what has -he done!" - -"Harry is all right, Kitty, but we have to care for father's feelings -first of all and you know he has no desire to break bread with Harry -Bradley. _Why!_ he considers 'by bread and salt' almost a sacred -obligation, and if he eats with Harry, he must give him his hand, his -good will, and his help, when the occasion asks for it. Father would -have felt it hard to forgive me if I had forced such an obligation on -him." - -"And De Burg? Is he also beyond the bread and salt limit?" - -"I believe father might think so, but that is not the reason in his -case. He sent an excuse for dinner but promised to join the dancers at -ten o'clock and to bring his cousin Agatha with him." - -"How interesting! We shall all be on the _qui-vive_ for her dbut." - -"Don't be foolish, Kitty. And do not speak French, until you can speak -it with a proper accent." - -"I have no doubt it is good enough for her." - -"As for her dbut, it occurred six or seven years ago. Agatha had the -run of society when you were in short frocks. Come, let us go to the -ballroom. Your father is sure to be prompt." - -When they reached the ballroom, they found Lord Leyland looking for -Katherine. "Father is waiting," he said, "and we have the quadrilles -nearly set," and while Leyland was yet speaking, Squire Annis bowed to -his daughter and she laid her hand in his with a smile, and they took -the place Leyland indicated. At the same moment, Dick led his mother to -a position facing them and there was not a young man or a young woman in -the room who might not have learned something of grace and dignity from -the dancing of the elderly handsome couple. - -After opening the ball the squire went to his place in The House of -Commons and Madam went to the card room and sat down to a game of whist, -having for her partner Alexander Macready, a prominent London banker. -His son had been in the opening quadrille with Katherine and in a moment -had fallen in love with her. Moreover, it was a real passion, timid yet -full of ardor, sincere, or else foolishly talkative, and Katherine felt -him to be a great encumbrance. Wearily listening to his platitudes of -admiration, she saw Harry Bradley and De Burg and his cousin enter. -Harry was really foremost, but courtesy compelled him for the lady's -sake to give precedence to De Burg and his cousin; consequently they -reached Katherine's side first. But Katherine's eyes, full of love's -happy expectation, looked beyond them, and Miss De Burg saw in their -expression Katherine's preference for the man behind her brother. - -"Stephen need not think himself first," she instantly decided, "this new -girl was watching for the man Stephen put back. A handsome man! He'll -get ahead yet! He's made that way." - -Then Lady Leyland joined them and De Burg detained her as long as -possible, delighting himself with the thought of Harry's impatience. -When they moved forward he explained his motive and laughed a little -over it; but Agatha quickly damped his self-congratulation. - -"Stephen," she said, "the young man waiting was not at all -uncomfortable. I saw Miss Annis give him her hand and also a look that -some men would gladly wait a day for." - -"Why, Gath, I saw nothing of the kind. You are mistaken." - -"You were too much occupied in reciting to her the little speech you -had composed for the occasion. You know! I heard you saying it over and -over, as you walked about your room last night." - -"What a woman you are! You hear and see everything." - -"That I am not wanted to hear and see, eh?" - -"In this house I want you to see and hear all you can. What do you think -of the young lady?" - -"Why should I think of her at all?" - -"For my sake." - -"That plea is worn out." She smiled as she spoke and then some exigency -of the ball separated them. - -Miss De Burg was not a pretty woman and yet people generally looked -twice at her. She had a cold, washed-out face, a great deal of very pale -brown hair and her hair, eyebrows, and eyes were all the same color. -There was usually _no look_ in her eyes and her mouth told nothing. It -was a firm and silent mouth and if her face had any expression it was -one of reserve or endurance. And Katherine in the very flush of her own -happy excitement divined some tragedy below this speechless face, and -she held Agatha's hand and looked into her eyes with that sympathy which -is one of youth's kindest moods. This feeling hesitated a moment between -the two women; then Agatha surrendered, and took it into her heart and -memory. - -Now balls are so common and so natural an expression of humanity that -they possess both its sameness and its variability. They are all alike -and all different, all alike in action, all different in the actors; -and the only importance of this ball to Katherine Annis was that it -introduced her to the mere physical happiness that flows from fresh and -happy youth. In this respect it was perhaps the high tide of her life. -The beautiful room, the mellow transfiguring light of wax candles, the -gayly gowned company, the intoxicating strains of music, and the delight -of her motion to it, the sense of her loveliness, and of the admiration -it brought, made her heart beat high and joyfully, and gave to her light -steps a living grace no artist ever yet copied. She was queen of that -company and took out what lovers she wished with a pretty despotism -impossible to describe; but - - Joy's the shyest bird, - - Mortals ever heard. - -And ere anyone had asked "What time is it?" daylight was stealing into -the candle light and then there was only the cheerful hurry of cloaking -and parting left, and the long-looked-for happiness was over. Yet after -all it was a day by itself and the dower of To-morrow can never be -weighed by the gauge of Yesterday. - -_"Right! There is a battle cry in the word. You feel as if you had drawn -a sword. A royal word, a conquering word, which if the weakest speak, -they straight grow strong."_ - - - - -CHAPTER VII--IN THE FOURTH WATCH - - - LADY LEYLAND had ordered breakfast at ten o'clock and at that hour her -guests were ready for it. Mistress Temple and Katherine showed no signs -of weariness, but Lord Ley-land looked bored and Mistress Annis was -silent concerning the squire and his manner of passing the night. Then -Leyland said: - -"By George! Madam, you are very right to be anxious. The company of -ladies always makes me anxious. I will go to my club and read the -papers. I feel that delay is no longer possible." - -"Your breakfast, Fred," cried Katherine, but Fred was as one that heard -not, and with a smile and a good-by which included all present, Leyland -disappeared, and as his wife smilingly endorsed his - - "Love puts out all other cares." - -and anxious but soon voiced her trouble in a wish forget everything else -but now if I can be excused apologies, no one made the slightest attempt -to detain him. Certainly Mistress Annis looked curiously at her daughter -and, when the door was closed, said: - -"I wonder at you, Jane--Leyland had not drank his first cup of coffee -and as to his breakfast it is still on his plate. It is not good for a -man to go to politics fasting." - -"O mother! you need not worry about Fred's breakfast. He will order one -exactly to his mind as soon as he reaches his club and he will be ten -times happier with the newspapers than with us." - -Just at this point the squire and his son entered the room together and -instantly the social temperature of the place rose. - -"I met Leyland running away from you women," said the squire. "Whatever -hev you been doing to him?" - -"He wanted to see the papers, father," said Katherine. - -"It was a bit of bad behavior," said Madam Temple. - -"Oh, dear, no," Jane replied. "Fred is incapable of anything so vulgar. -Is he not, father?" - -"To be sure he is. No doubt it was a bit of fine feeling for the women -present that sent him off. He knew you would want to discuss the affair -of last night and also the people mixed up in it and he felt he would -be in everybody's way, and so he was good-natured enough to leave you -to the pleasure of describing one another. It was varry agreeable and -polite for Fred to do so. I hedn't sense enough to do the same." - -"Nay, nay, Antony, that isn't the way to put it. Dick, my dear lad, say -a word for me." - -"I could not say a word worthy of you, mother, and now I came to bid you -good-by. I am off as quick as possible for Annis. Father had a letter -from Mr. Foster this morning. It is best that either father or I go -there for a few days and, as father cannot leave London at this crisis, -I am going in his place." - -"What is the matter now, Dick?" - -"Some trouble with the weavers, I believe." - -"Of course! and more money needed, I suppose." - -"To be sure," answered the squire, with a shade of temper; "and if -needed, Dick will look after it, eh, Dick?" - -"Of course Dick will look after it!" added Madam Temple, but her "of -course" intimated a very different meaning from her sister-in-law's. -They were two words of hearty sympathy and she emphasized them by -pushing a heavy purse across the table. "Take my purse as well as thy -father's, Dick; and if more is wanted, thou can hev it, and welcome. -I am Annis mysen and I was born and brought up with the men and women -suffering there." - -She spoke with such feeling that her words appeared to warm the room and -the squire answered: "Thy word and deed, Josepha, is just like thee, my -dear sister!" He clasped her hand as he spoke, and their hands met over -the purse lying on the table and both noticed the fact and smiled and -nodded their understanding of it. Then the squire with a happy face -handed the purse to Dick, telling him to "kiss his mother," and be off -as soon as possible. "Dick," he said in a voice full of tears--"Dick, my -lad, it is hard for hungry men to wait." - -"I will waste no time, father, not a minute," and with these words he -clasped his father's hand, leaned over and kissed his mother, and with a -general good-by he went swiftly on his errand of mercy. - -Then Jane said: "Let us go to the parlor. We were an hour later than -usual this morning and must make it up if we can." - -"To be sure, Jane," answered Mistress Temple. "We can talk as well in -one room as another. Houses must be kept regular or we shall get into -the same muddle as old Sarum--we shall be candidates for dinner and no -dinner for us." - -"Well, then, you will all excuse me an hour while I give some orders -about household affairs." The excuse was readily admitted and the -squire, his wife, sister and daughter, took up the question which would -intrude into every other question whether they wished it or not. - -The parlor to which they went looked precisely as if it was glad to see -them; it was so bright and cheerful, so warm and sunny, so everything -that the English mean by the good word "comfortable." And as soon as -they were seated, Annie asked: "What about The Bill, Antony?" - -"Well, dearie, The Bill passed its third reading at seven o'clock this -morning." - -"Thou saw it pass, eh, Antony?" - -"That I did! _Why-a!_ I wouldn't hev missed Lord Grey's final speech -for anything. He began it at five o'clock and spoke for an hour and a -half--which considering his great age and the long night's strain was an -astonishing thing to do. I was feeling a bit tired mysen." - -"But surely the people took its passing very coldly, Antony." - -"The people aren't going to shout till they are sure they hev something -to shout for. Nobody knows what changes the lords may make in it. They -may even throw it out again altogether." - -"_They dare not! They dare not for their lives_ try any more such -foolishness," said Josepha Temple with a passion she hardly restrained. -"Just let them try it! The people will not allow that step any more! -Let them try it! They will quickly see and feel what will come of such -folly." - -"Well, Josepha, what will come of it? What can the people do?" - -"Iverything they want to do! Iverything they ought to do! One thing is -sure--they will send the foreigners back to where they belong. The very -kith and kin of the people now demanding their rights founded, not -many generations ago, a glorious Republic of their own, and they gave -themsens all the rights they wanted and allays put the man of their -choice at the head of it. Do you think our people don't know what their -fathers hev done before them? They know it well. They see for themsens -that varry common men can outrank noble men when it comes to intellect -and courage. What was it that Scotch plowboy said:-- - - "A king can mak' a belted knight, - - A marquis, duke and a' that, - - But an honest man's aboon his might-- - -and a God's mercy it is, for if he tried it, he would waste and spoil -the best of materials in the making." - -"All such talk is sheer nonsense, Josepha." - -"It is nothing of the kind. Josepha has seen how such sheer nonsense -turns out. I should think thou could remember what happened fifty years -ago. People laughed then at the sheer nonsense of thirteen little -colonies in the wilds of America trying to make England give them -exactly what Englishmen are this very day ready to fight for-- -representation in parliament. And you need not forget this fact also, -that the majority of Englishmen at that day, both in parliament and out -of it, backed with all the power they hed these thirteen little -colonies. Why, the poor button makers of Sheffield refused to make -buttons for the soldiers' coats, lest these soldiers should be sent to -fight Englishmen. It was then all they could do but their children are -now two hundred thousand strong, and king and parliament _hev_ to -consider them. They _hev to do it_ or to take the consequences, Antony -Annis! Your father was hand and purse with that crowd and I knew you -would see things as they are sooner or later. For our stock came from a -poor, brave villager, who followed King Richard to the Crusades, and won -the Annis lands for his courage and fidelity. That is why there is -allays a Richard in an Annis household." - -"I believe all you say, Josepha, and our people, the rich and the poor, -both believe it. They hev given the government ivery blessed chance to -do fairly by them. Now, if it does so, well and good. If it does not do -so, the people are full ready to make them do it. I can tell you that." - -"I am so tired of it all," said Annie wearily. "Why do poor, uneducated -men want to meddle with elections for parliament? I can understand and -feel with them in their fight about their looms--it means their daily -bread; but why should they care about the men who make our laws and that -sort of business?" - -"I'll tell thee why. They hev to do it or else go on being poor and -ignorant and of no account among men. Our laws are made to please the -men who have a vote or a say-so in any election. The laboring men of -England hev no vote at all. They can't say a word about their rights in -the country for through the course of centuries the nobles and the rich -men hev got all the votes in their awn pockets." - -"Maybe there is something right in that arrangement, Antony. They are -better educated." - -"Suppose that argument stood, Annie; still a poor man might like one -rich man better than another, and he ought to be able to hev his chance -for electing his choice; but that, however, is only the tag-end of the -question." - -"Then what is the main end?" - -"This:--In the course of centuries, places once of some account hev -disappeared, as really as Babylon or Nineveh, and little villages hev -grown to be big cities. There is no town of Sarum now, not a vestige, -but the Chatham family represent it in parliament to-day or they sell -the position or give it away. The member for the borough of Ludgershall -is himself the only voter in the borough and he is now in parliament -on his _awn_ nomination. Another place has two members and only seven -voters; and what do you think a foreigner visiting England would say -when told that a green mound without a house on it sent two members to -Parliament, or that a certain green park without an inhabitant also -sent two members to Parliament? Then suppose him taken to Manchester, -Bradford, Sheffield, and other great manufacturing cities, and told -they had _no_ representative in Parliament; what do you suppose he would -think and say?" - -"He would advise them to get a few paper caps among their coronets," -said Josepha. - -"And so it goes all over England," said the squire. "Really, my dears, -two-thirds of the House of Commons are composed of the nominees of the -nobles and the great landowners. What comes of the poor man's rights -under such circumstances? He hes been robbed of them for centuries; -doesn't tha think, Annie, it is about time he looked after them?" - -"I should think it was full time," Josepha said hotly. - -"It is a difficult question," replied Annie. "It must have many sides -that require examination." - -"Whatever is right needs no examination, Annie." - -"Listen, women, I have but told you one-half of the condition. There is -another side of it, for if some places hev been growing less and less -during the past centuries, other places, once hardly known, have become -great cities, like Birmingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Sheffield, and so -forth, and have no representation at all. What do you think of that? Not -a soul in parliament to speak for them. Now if men hev to pay taxes they -like to know a little bit about their whys and wherefores, eh, women?" - -"Did they always want to know, father?" asked Katherine. - -"I should say so. It would only be natural, Kitty, but at any rate since -the days of King John; and I don't believe but what the ways of men and -the wants of men hev been about the same iver since God made men. They -hev allays wanted a king and they hev allays been varry particular about -hev-ing some ways and means of making a king do what they want him to -do." - -"Suppose the lords pass The Bill but alter it so much that it is _not -The Bill_, what then, father?" - -"Well, Kitty, they could do that thing but as your aunt said, they had -better not. Nothing but the whole Bill will now satisfy. No! they dare -not alter it. Now you can talk over what I hev told you. I must go about -my awn business and the first thing I hev to do is to take my wife home. -Come, Annie, I am needing thee." - -Annie rose with a happy alacrity. She was glad to go. To be alone with -her husband after the past days of society's patented pleasures was an -unspeakable rest and refreshment. They drove to the Clarendon in silent -contentment, holding each other's hand and putting off speech until they -could talk without restraint of any kind. And if anyone learned in the -expression of the flesh had noticed their hands they would have seen -that Annie's thumb in the clasp was generally the uppermost, a sure sign -that she had the strongest will and was made to govern. The corollary -of this fact is, that if the clasping thumb in both parties is the right -thumb, then complications are most likely to frequently occur. - -Indeed Annie did not speak until she had thrown aside her bonnet and -cloak and was comfortably seated in the large soft chair she liked best; -then she said with an air of perfect satisfaction, "O Antony! It was so -kind and thoughtful of thee to come for me. I was afraid there might -be some unpleasant to-do before I got away. Josepha was ready for one, -longing for one, and Jane hed to make that excuse about getting dinner -ready, in order to avoid it. Jane, you know, supports the whole House -of Lords, and she goes on about 'The Constitution of the British -Government' as if it was an inspired document." - -"Well tha knows, Leyland is a Tory from his head to his feet. I doan't -think his mind hes much to do with his opinions. He inherited them from -his father, just as he inherited his father's face and size and money. -And a woman hes to think as her husband thinks--if she claims to be a -good wife." - -"That idea is an antiquated lie, Antony. A good wife, Antony, thinks not -only for herself, she thinks also for her husband." - -"I niver noticed thee making thysen contrary. As I think, thou thinks. -Allays that is so." - -"Nay, it is not. There is many a thing different in my mind to what is -in thy mind, and thou knows it, too; and there are subjects we neither -of us want to talk of because we cannot agree about them. I often thank -thee for thy kind self-denial in this matter." - -"I'm sure I doan't know what thou art so precious civil about. I think -of varry little now but the Reform Bill and the poor weavers; and thou -thinks with me on both of them subjects. Eh, Joy?" - -"To be sure I do--with some sub-differences." - -"I doan't meddle with what thou calls thy 'subdifferences.' I'll warrant -they are innocent as thysen and thy son Dick is a good son and he -thinks just as I think on ivery subject. That's enough, Annie, on -sub-differences. Let us hev a bit of a comfortable lunch. Jane's -breakfast was cold and made up of fancy dishes like oysters and chicken -minced with mushrooms, and muffins and such miscarriages of eatable -dishes. I want some sensible eating at one o'clock and I feel as if it -was varry near one now." - -"What shall I order for you?" - -"Some kidney soup and cold roast beef and a good pudding, or some Christ -Church tartlets, the best vegetables they hev and a bottle of Bass' best -ale or porter, but thou can-hev a cup of sloppy tea if tha fancies it." - -"I think no better of sloppy things than thou does, Antony. I'll hev a -glass of good, pale sherry wine, and the same would be better for thee -than anything Bass brews. Bass makes a man stout, and thou art now just -the right weight; an ounce more flesh would spoil thy figure and take -the spring out of thy step and put more color in thy face and take -the music out of thy voice; but please thy dear self about thy eating; -perhaps I am a bit selfish about thy good looks, but when a woman gets -used to showing herself off with a handsome man she can't bear to give -up that bit of pride." - -"Well, then, Annie dear, whativer pleases thee, pleases me. Send for -number five, and order what thou thinks best." - -"Nay, Antony, thou shalt have thy own wish. It is little enough to give -thee." - -"It is full and plenty, if thou puts thy wish with it." - -Then Annie happily ordered the kidney soup and cold roast and the -particular tarts he liked and the sherry instead of the beer, and the -fare pleased both, and they ate it with that smiling cheerfulness which -is of all thanksgiving the most acceptable to the Bountiful Giver of -all good things. And as they ate they talked of Katherine's beauty and -loving heart and of Dick's ready obedience and manly respect for his -father, and food so seasoned and so cheerfully eaten is the very best -banquet that mortals can ever hope to taste in this life. - -In the meantime, Dick, urged both by his father's desire and his own -wistful longing to see Faith Foster, lost no time in reaching his home -village. He was shocked by its loneliness and silence. He did not meet -or see a single man. The women were shut up in their cottages. Their -trouble had passed all desire for company and all hope of any immediate -assistance. Talking only enervated them and they all had the same -miserable tale to tell. It might have been a deserted village but for -the musical chime of the church clock and the sight of a few little -children sitting listlessly on the doorsteps of the cottages. Hunger had -killed in them the instinct of play. "It hurts us to play. It makes the -pain come," said one little lad, as he looked with large suffering eyes -into Dick's face; but never asked from him either pity or help. Yet his -very silence was eloquence. No words could have moved to sympathy so -strongly as the voiceless appeal of his sad suffering eyes, his thin -face, and the patient helplessness of his hopeless quiet. Dick could not -bear it. He gave the child some money, and it began to cry softly and to -whimper "Mammy! Mammy!" and Dick hurried homeward, rather ashamed of his -own emotion, yet full of the tenderest pity. - -He found Britton pottering about the stable and his wife Sarah trying -with clumsy fingers to fashion a child's frock. "Oh, Master Dick!" she -cried. "Why did tha come back to this unhappy place? I think there is -pining and famishing in ivery house and sickness hard following it." - -"I have come, Sarah, to see what can be done to help the trouble." - -"A God's mercy, sir! We be hard set in Annis village this day." - -"Have you a room ready for me, Sarah? I may be here for a few days." - -"It would be a varry queer thing if I hedn't a room ready for any of the -family, coming in a hurry like. Your awn room is spick and span, sir. -And I'll hev a bit of fire there in ten minutes or thereby, but tha -surely will hev summat to eat first." - -"Nothing to eat just yet, Sarah. I shall want a little dinner about five -o'clock if you will have it ready." - -"All right, sir. We hev no beef or mutton in t' house, sir, but I will -kill a chicken and make a rice pudding, if that will do." - -"That is all I want." - -Then Dick went to the stables and interviewed Britton, and spoke to -every horse in it, and asked Britton to turn them into the paddock for -a couple of hours. "They are needing fresh air and a little liberty, -Britton," he said, and as Britton loosened their halters and opened the -door that led into the paddock they went out prancing and neighing their -gratitude for the favor. - -"That little gray mare, sir," said Britton, "she hes as much sense as -a human. She knew first of all of them what was coming, and she knew -it was your doing, sir, that's the reason she nudged up against you and -fairly laid her face against yours." - -"Yes, she knew me, Britton. Lucy and I have had many a happy day -together." Then he asked Britton about the cattle and the poultry, and -especially about the bulbs and the garden flowers, which had always had -more or less the care of Mistress Annis. - -These things attended to, he went to his room and dressed himself with -what seemed to be some unnecessary care. Dick, however, did not think -so. He was going to see Mr. Foster and he might see Faith, and he could -not think of himself as wearing clothing travel-soiled in her presence. -In an hour, however, he was ready to go to the village, fittingly -dressed from head to feet, handsome as handsome Youth can be, and the -gleam and glow of a true love in his heart. "It may be--it may be!" he -told himself as he walked speedily down the nearest way to the village. - -When about half-way there, he met the preacher. "I heard you were here, -Mr. Annis," he said. "Betty Bews told me she saw you pass her cottage." - -"I came in answer to your letter, sir. The Bill is at a great crisis, -and my father's vote on the right side is needed. And I was glad to -come, if I can do good in any way." - -"Oh, yes, sir, there are things to do, and words to say that I cannot do -or say--and the need is urgent." - -"Then let us go forward. I was shocked by the village as I passed -through it. I did not meet a single man. I saw only a few sickly looking -women, and some piteous children." - -"The men have gone somewhere four days ago. I suppose they were called -by their society. They did not tell me where they were going and I -thought it was better not to ask any questions. The women are all sick -and despairing, the children suffer all they can bear and live. That is -one phase of the trouble; but there is another coming that I thought you -would like to be made acquainted with." - -"Not the cholera, I hope? It has reached London, you know, and the -doctors are paralyzed by their ignorance of its nature and can find no -remedy for it." - -"Our people think it a judgment of God. I am told it broke out in -Bristol while the city was burning and outrages of all kinds rampant." - -"You know, sir, that Bristol is one of our largest seaports. It is -more likely to have been brought here by some traveler from a strange -country. I heard a medical man who has been in India with our troops say -that it was a common sickness in the West Indies." - -"It was never seen nor heard of in England before. Now it is going up -the east coast of Britain as far north as the Shetland Isles. These -coast people are nearly all fishermen, very good, pious men, and they -positively declare that they saw a gigantic figure of a woman, shadowy -and gray, with a face of malignant vengeance, passing through the land." - -"God has sent such messengers many times--ministers of His Vengeance. -His Word is full of such instances." - -"But a woman with a malignant face! Oh, no!" - -"Whatever is evil, must look evil--but here we are at Jonathan -Hartley's. Will you go in?" - -"He is coming to us. I will give him my father's letter. That will be -sufficient." - -But Jonathan had much to say and he seemed troubled beyond outside -affairs to move him, and the preacher asked--"What is personally out of -the right way with you, Jonathan?" - -"Well, sir, my mother is down at the ford; she may cross any hour--she's -only waiting for the guide--and my eldest girl had a son last night--the -little lad was born half-starved. We doan't know yet whether either of -them can be saved--or not. So I'll not say 'Come in,' but if you'll sit -down with me on the garden bench, I'll be glad of a few minutes fresh -air." He opened the little wicket gate as he spoke and they sat down on -a bench under a cherry tree full dressed in perfumed white for Easter -tide. - -As soon as they were seated the young squire delivered his father's -letter and then they talked of the sudden disappearance of the men of -the village. "What does it mean, Jonathan?" asked Dick, and Jonathan -said-- - -"Well, sir, I hevn't been much among the lads for a week now. My mother -hes been lying at the gate of the grave and I couldn't leave her long at -a time. They were all loitering about the village when I saw them last. -Suddenly they all disappeared, and the old woman at the post office told -me ivery one of them hed received a letter four mornings ago, from the -same Working Man's Society. I hed one mysen, for that matter, and that -afternoon they all left together for somewhere." - -"But," asked Dick, "where did they get the money necessary for a -journey?" - -"Philip Sugden got the money from Sugbury Bank. He hed an order for it, -that was cashed quick enough. What do you make of that, sir?" - -"I think there may be fighting to do if parliament fails the people this -time." - -"And in the very crisis of this trouble," said Dick, "I hear from Mr. -Foster that a man has been here wanting to build a mill. Who is he, -Jonathan? And what can be his motive?" - -"His name is Jonas Boocock. He comes from Shipley. His motive is to mak' -money. He thinks this is the varry place to do it. He talked constantly -about its fine water power, and its cheap land, and thought Providence -hed fairly laid it out for factories and power-looms; for he said -there's talk of a branch of railway from Bradley's place, past Annis, to -join the main track going to Leeds. He considered it a varry grand idea. -Mebbe it is, sir." - -"My father would not like the plan at all. It must be prevented, if -possible. What do you think, Jonathan?" - -"I think, sir, if it would be a grand thing for Jonas Boocock, it might -happen be a good thing for Squire Antony Annis. The world is moving -for-rard, sir, and we must step with it, or be dragged behind it. Old as -I am, I would rayther step for-rard with it. Gentlemen, I must now go to -my mother." - -"Is she worse, Jonathan?" - -"She is quite worn out, worn out to the varry marrow. I would be -thankful, sir, if tha would call and bid her good-by." - -"I will. I will come about seven o'clock." - -"That will be right. I'll hev all the household present, sir." - -Then they turned away from Jonathan's house and went to look at the land -Boocock hankered for. The land itself was a spur descending from -the wold, and was heathery and not fit for cultivation; but it was -splendidly watered and lay along the river bank. "Boocock was right," -said Mr. Foster. "It is a bit of land just about perfect for a factory -site. Does the squire own it, sir?" - -"I cannot say. I was trying to fix its position as well as I could, and -I will write to my father tonight. I am sorry Jonathan did not know more -about the man Boocock and his plans." - -"Jonathan's mother is a very old woman. While she lives, he will stay at -her side. You must remember her?" - -"I do. She was exceedingly tall and walked quite erect and was so white -when I met her last that she looked like a ghost floating slowly along -the road." - -"She had always a sense of being injured by being here at all--wondered -why she had been sent to this world, and though a grand character was -never really happy. Jonathan did not learn to read until he was over -forty years of age; she was then eighty, and she helped him to remember -his letters, and took the greatest pride in his progress. There ought to -be schools for these people, there are splendid men and women mentally -among them. Here we are at home. Come in, sir, and have a cup of tea -with us before you climb the brow." - -Dick was very glad to accept the invitation and the preacher opened the -door and said: "Come in, sir, and welcome!" and they went into a small -parlor plainly furnished, but in perfect order, and Dick heard someone -singing softly not far away. Before the preacher had more than given his -guest a chair the door opened and Faith entered the room. If he had not -been already in love with her he would have fallen fathoms deep in the -divine tide that moment, for his soul knew her and loved her, and was -longing to claim its own. What personal charm she had he knew not, -he cared not, he had been drawn to her by some deep irresistible -attraction, and he succumbed absolutely to its influence. At this moment -he cast away all fears and doubts and gave himself without reservation -to the wonderful experience. - -Faith had answered her father's call so rapidly, that Dick was not -seated when she entered the room. She brought with her into the room an -atmosphere of light and peace, through which her loveliness shone with -a soft, steady glow. There was something unknown and unseen in her very -simplicity. All that was sweet and wise, shone in her heavenly eyes, and -their light lifted her higher than all his thoughts; they were so soft -and deep and compelling. Very singularly their influence seemed to be -intensified by the simple dress she wore. It was of merino and of the -exact shade of her eyes, and it appeared in some way to increase their -mystical power by the prolongation of the same color. There was nothing -of intention in this arrangement. It was one of those coincidences that -are perhaps suggested or induced by the angel that guards our life and -destiny. For there are angels round all of us. Earth is no strange land -to them. The dainty neatness of her clothing delighted Dick. After a -season of ruffles and flounces and extravagant trimming, its soft folds -falling plainly and unbrokenly to her feet, charmed him. Something -of white lace, very narrow and unpretentious, was around the neck and -sleeves which were gathered into a band above the elbows. Her hair, -parted in the center of the forehead, lay in soft curls which fell no -lower than the tip of the ears and at the back was coiled loosely on -the crown of the head, where it was fastened by a pretty shell comb. -The purity and peace of a fervent transparent soul was the first and the -last impression she made, and these qualities revealed themselves in a -certain homely sweetness, that drew everyone's affection and trust like -a charm. - -She had in her hands a clean tablecloth and some napkins, but when she -saw Dick, she laid them down, and went to meet him. He took her hand and -looked into her eyes, and a rush of color came into her face and gave -splendor to her smile and her beauty. She hastened to question him about -his mother and Katherine, but even as they talked of others, she knew -he was telling her that he loved her, and longed for her to love him in -return. - -"Faith, my dear," said Mr. Foster, "our friend, Mr. Annis, will have a -cup of tea with us before he goes up the brow," and she looked at Dick -and smiled, and began to lay the round table that stood in the center -of the room. Dick watched her beautiful white arms and hands among the -white china and linen and a very handsome silver tea service, with a -pleasure that made him almost faint. Oh, if he should lose this lovely -girl! How could he bear it? He felt that he might as well lose life -itself. - -For though Dick had loved her for some months, love not converted into -action, becomes indolent and unbelieving. So he had misgivings he could -not control and amid the distractions of London, his love, instead of -giving a new meaning to his life, had infected him rather with a sense -of dreamland. But in this hour, true honest love illumined life, he -saw things as they were, he really fell in love and that is a wonderful -experience, a deep, elemental thing, beyond all reasoning with. In this -experience he had found at last the Key to Life, and he understood in a -moment, as it were, that this Key is in the Heart, and not in the Brain. -He had been very wise and prudent about Faith and one smile from her -had shattered all his reasoning, and the love-light now in his eyes, and -shining in his face, was heart-work and not brain work. For love is -a state of the soul; anger, grief and other passions can change their -mental states; but love? No! Love absorbs the whole man, and if not -satisfied, causes a state of great suffering. So in that hour Love was -Destiny and fashioned his life beyond the power of any other passion to -change. - -In the meantime Faith brought in tea and some fresh bread and butter, -and a dish of broiled trout. "Mr. Braithwaite was trout fishing among -the fells to-day," she said, "and as he came home, he left half a dozen -for father. He is one of the Chapel Trustees and very fond of line -fishing. Sometimes father goes with him. You know," she added with a -smile, "fishing is apostolical. Even a Methodist preacher may fish." - -For a short time they talked of the reel and line, and its caprices, -but conversation quickly drifted to the condition of the country and of -Annis particularly, and in this conversation an hour drifted speedily -away. Then Faith rose and brought in a bowl of hot water, washed the -china and silver and put them away in a little corner cupboard. - -"That silver is very beautiful," said Dick. - -"Take it in your hand, Mr. Annis, and read what is engraved on the tea -pot." So Dick took it in his hand and read that the whole service had -been given by the Wesleyans of Thirsk to Reverend Mr. Foster, as a proof -of their gratitude to him as their spiritual teacher and comforter. Then -Dick noticed the china and said his mother had a set exactly like it and -Mr. Foster answered--"I think, Mr. Annis, every family in England has -one, rich and poor. Whoever hit upon this plain white china, with its -broad gold band round all edges, hit on something that fitted the -English taste universally. It will be a wedding gift, and a standard tea -set, for many generations yet; unless it deteriorates in style and -quality--but I must not forget that I am due at Hartley's at seven -o'clock, so I hope you will excuse me, Mr. Annis." - -"May I ask your permission to remain with Miss Foster until your return, -sir? I have a great deal to tell her about Katherine and many messages -from my sister to deliver." - -For a moment Mr. Foster hesitated, then he answered frankly, "I will be -glad if you stay with Faith until I return." Then Faith helped him on -with his top coat and gave him his hat and gloves and walking stick and -both Dick and Faith stood at the open door, and watched him go down the -street a little way. But this was Dick's opportunity and he would not -lose it. - -"Come into the parlor, dear, dear Faith! I have something to tell you, -something I must tell you!" And all he said in the parlor was something -he had never dared to say before, except in dreams. - -Faith knew what he wished to say. He had wooed her silently for months, -but she had not suffered him to pass beyond the horizon of her thoughts. -Yet she knew well, that though they were in many things dissimilar as -two notes of music, they were made for each other. She told herself that -he knew this fact as well as she did and that at the appointed hour he -would come to her. Until that hour she would not provoke Destiny by -her impatience. A change so great for her would doubtless involve other -changes and perhaps their incidentals were not yet ready. So she never -doubted but that Dick would tell her he loved her, as soon as he thought -the right hour had come. - -And now the hour had come, and Dick did tell her how he loved her with a -passionate eloquence that astonished himself. She did not try to resist -its influence. It was to her heart all that cold water would be to -parching thirst; it was the coming together of two strong, but different -temperaments, and from the contact the flashing forth of love like -fire. His words went to her head like wine, her eyes grew soft, tender, -luminous, her form was half mystical, half sensuous. Dick was creating -a new world for them, all their own. Though her eyes lifted but an -instant, her soul sought his soul, gradually they leaned closer to each -other in visible sweetness and affection and then it was no effort, but -a supreme joy, to ask her to be his wife, to love and counsel and guide -him, as his mother had loved and guided his father; and in the sweet, -trembling patois of love, she gave him the promise that taught him what -real happiness means. And her warm, sweet kisses sealed it. He felt they -did so and was rapturously happy. Is there anything more to be said on -this subject? No, the words are not yet invented which could continue -it. Yet Faith wrote in her Diary that night--"To-day I was born into the -world of Love. That is the world God loves best." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--LOVE'S TENDER PHANTASY - - - "No mortal thing can bear so high a price, - - But that with mortal thing it may be bought; - - No pearls, no gold, no gems, no corn, no spice, - - No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price. - - Divine is Love and scorneth worldly pelf, - - And can be bought with nothing but itself." - - - A MAN in love sees miracles, as well as expects them. Outsiders are apt -to think him an absurd creature, he himself knows that he is seeking the -only love that can complete and crown his life. Dick was quite sure of -his own wisdom. Whenever he thought of Faith, of her innocence, her high -hopes, her pure eyes, and flowerlike beauty, he felt that his feet were -on a rock and his soul went after her and everything was changed in his -life. - -It was not until great London was on his horizon, that any fear touched -his naturally high spirit. His father's good will, he was sure, could -be relied on. He himself had made what his father called "a varry -inconsiderate marriage," but it had proved to be both a very wise and -a very happy union, so Dick expected his father would understand and -sympathize with his love for Faith Foster. - -About the women of his family he felt more uncertain, his mother and -sister and aunt would doubtless be harder to please. Yet they must see -that Faith was everyway exceptional. Was she not the very flower and -pearl of womanhood? He could not understand how they could find any -fault with his wonderfully fortunate choice. Yet he kindly considered -the small frailties of the ordinary woman and made some allowances for -their jealousies and for the other interferences likely to spring from -family and social conditions. - -But Dick was no coward and he was determined to speak of his engagement -to Faith as soon as he had rid his mind of the business which had sent -him to Annis. Nor had he any love-lorn looks or attitudes; he appeared -to be an exceedingly happy man, when he opened the parlor door of his -father's apartments in the Clarendon. Breakfast was on the table and -the squire and his wife were calmly enjoying it. They cried out joyfully -when they saw him. The squire hastily stood up with outstretched hands, -while Dick's mother cried out, "O Dick! Dick! how good it is to see -thee!" - -Dick was soon seated between them and as he ate he told the news he had -brought from the home village. It was all interesting and important to -them--from the change in its politics--which Dick said had become nearly -Radical--to the death of Jonathan Hartley's mother, who had been for -many years a great favorite of Mistress Annis. - -Dick was a little astonished to find that his father pooh-pooh'd -Boocock's design of building a mill in Annis. "He can't build ef he -can't get land and water," he answered with a scornful laugh; "and -Antony Annis will not let him hev either. He is just another of those -once decent weavers, who hev been turned into arrant fools by making -brass too easy and too quick. I hev heard them talk. They are allays -going to build another mill somewhere, they are going to mak' a bid for -all Yorkshire and mebbe tak' Lancashire into their plans. Boocock does -not trouble me. And if Squire Annis puts him in Cold Shoulder Lane, -there will not be a man in t' neighborhood poor and mean enough to even -touch his cap to him. This is all I hev to say about Boocock at the -present time and I don't want him mentioned again. Mind that!" - -"I think, then, father, that you will have to get rid of Jonathan -Hartley." - -"Rid of Jonathan! Whativer is tha talking about? I could spare him as -little as my right hand." - -"Jonathan told me to tell you that you had better build a mill yourself, -than let Boocock, or some other stranger, in among Annis folk. He said -the world was stepping onward and that we had better step with the -world, than be dragged behind it. He said that was his feeling." - -"Well, he hes a right to his feeling, but he need not send it to me. -Let him go. I see how it is. I am getting a bit older than I was and -men that are younger five or ten years are deserting me. They fear to -be seen with an old fogy, like Squire Annis. God help me, but--I'm not -downed yet. If they can do without me, I can jolly well do without them. -_Why-a!_ Thy mother is worth iverybody else to me and she'll love and -cherish me if I add fifty years more to my present fifty-five." - -"I want no other love, Antony, than yours. It is good enough for -life--and thereafter." - -"Dear, dear Annie! And don't fear! When I am sure it is time to move, -I'll move. I'll outstrip them all yet. By George, I'll keep them panting -after me! How is it, Dick? Wilt thou stand with thy father? If so, -put thy hand in thy father's and we will beat them all at their awn -game"--and Dick put his hand in his father's hand and answered, "I am -your loving and obedient son. Your will is my pleasure, sir." - -"Good, dear lad! Then we two will do as we want to do, we'll do it in -our awn time, and in our awn way, and we hev sense enough, between -us, to tak' our awn advice, whativer it be. For first of all, we'll -do whativer is best for the village, and then for oursens, without -anybody's advice but our awn. Just as soon as The Bill is off my mind we -will hev a talk on this subject. Annis Hall and Annis land and water is -our property--mine and thine--and we will do whativer is right, both to -the land and oursens." - -And Dick's loving face, and the little sympathizing nod of his head, -was all the squire needed. Then he stood up, lifting himself to his full -height, and added, "Boocock and his mill will have to wait on my say-so, -and I haven't room in my mind at present to consider him; so we will -say no more on that subject, until he comes and asks me for the land and -water he wants. What is tha going to do with thysen now?" - -"That depends upon your wish, father. Are you going to--The House?" - -"The House! Hes tha forgotten that the English Government must hev its -usual Easter recreation whativer comes or goes? I told thee--I told thee -in my first letter to Annis, that parliament hed given themsens three -weeks' holiday. They feel a good bit tired. The Bill hed them all worn -out." - -"I remember! I had forgotten The Bill!" - -"Whativer hes tha been thinking of to forget that?" - -"Where then are you going to-day, father?" - -"I doan't just know yet, Dick, but----" - -"Well, I know where I am going," said Mistress Annis. "I have an -engagement with Jane and Katherine at eleven and I shall have to hurry -if I am to keep it." - -"Somewhere to go, or something to do. Which is it, Annie?" - -"It is both, Antony. We are going to Exeter Hall, to a very aristocratic -meeting, to make plans for the uplifting of the working man. Lord -Brougham is to be chairman. He says very few can read and hardly any -write their names. Shocking! Lord Brougham says we ought to be ashamed -of such a condition and do something immediately to alter it." - -"Brougham does not know what he is talking about. He thinks a man's -salvation is in a spelling book and an inkhorn. There is going to be a -deal of trouble made by fools, who want to uplift the world, before the -world is ready to be uplifted. They can't uplift starving men. It is -bread, not books, they want; and I hev allays seen that when a man gets -bare enough bread to keep body and soul together, the soul, or the mind, -gets the worst of it." - -"I cannot help that," said Mistress Annis. "Lord Brougham will prove -to us, that body and mind must be equally cared for or the man is not -developed." - -"Well, then, run away to thy developing work. It is a new kind of job -for thee; and I doan't think it will suit thee--not a bit of it. I would -go with thee but developing working men is a step or two out of my way. -And I'll tell thee something, the working men--and women, too--will -develop theirsens if we only give them the time and the means, and -the brass to do it. But go thy ways and if thou art any wiser after -Brougham's talk I'll be glad to know what he said." - -"I shall stay and dine with Jane and thou hed better join us. We may go -to the opera afterwards." - -"Nay, then, I'll not join thee. I wouldn't go to another opera for -anything--not even for the great pleasure of thy company. If I hev to -listen to folk singing, I want them to sing in the English language. It -is good enough, and far too good, for any of the rubbishy words I iver -heard in any opera. What time shall I come to Jane's for thee?" - -"About eleven o'clock, or soon after." - -"That's a nice time for a respectable squire's wife to be driving about -London streets. I wish I hed thee safe at Annis Hall." - -With a laugh Annie closed the door and hurried away and Dick turned to -his father. - -"I want to talk with you, sir," he said, "on a subject which I want your -help and sympathy in, before I name it to anyone else. Suppose we sit -still here. The room is quiet and comfortable and we are not likely to -be disturbed." - -"Why then, Dick! Hes tha got a new sweetheart?" - -"Yes, sir, and she is the dearest and loneliest woman that ever lived. I -want you to stand by me in any opposition likely to rise." - -"What is her name? Who is she?" asked the squire not very cordially. - -"Her name is Faith Foster. You know her, father?" - -"Yes, I know her. She is a good beautiful girl." - -"I felt sure you would say that, sir. You make me very happy." - -"A man cannot lie about any woman. Faith Foster is good and beautiful." - -"And she has promised to be my wife. Father, I am so happy! So happy! -And your satisfaction with Faith doubles my pleasure. I have been in -love with her for nearly a year but I was afraid to lose all by asking -all; and I never found courage or opportunity to speak before this to -her." - -"That is all buff and bounce. Thou can drop the word 'courage,' and -opportunity will do for a reason. I niver knew Dick Annis to be afraid -of a girl but if thou art really afraid of this girl--let her go. It is -the life of a dog to live with a woman that you fear." - -"Father, you have seen Faith often. Do you fear her in the way your -words seem to imply?" - -"Me! Does tha think I fear any woman? What's up with thee to ask such a -question as that?" - -"I thought from your kind manner with Faith and your admiring words both -to her and about her that you would have congratulated me on my success -in winning her love." - -"I doan't know as thou deserves much congratulation on that score. -I think it is mebbe, to me mysen, and to thy mother thou art mainly -indebted for what success there is in winning Miss Foster's favor. We -gave thee thy handsome face and fine form, thy bright smile and that -coaxing way thou hes--a way that would win any lass thou choose to -favor--it is just the awful way young men hev, of choosing the wrong -time to marry even if they happen to choose the right woman." - -"Was that your way, father?" - -"Ay, was it! I chose the right time, but the girl was wrong enough in -some ways." - -"My mother wrong! Oh, no, father!" - -"My father thought she was not rich enough for me. He was a good bit -disappointed by my choice but I knew what I was doing." - -"Father, I also know what I am doing. I suppose you object to Faith's -want of fortune." - -"Mebbe I do, and I wouldn't be to blame if I did, but as it happens -I think a man is better without his wife's money. A wife's money is a -quarrelsome bit of either land or gold." - -"I consider Faith's goodness a fortune far beyond any amount of either -gold or land." - -"Doan't thee say anything against either land or gold. When thou hes -lived as long as I hev thou wilt know better than do that." - -"Wisdom is better than riches. I have heard you say that often." - -"It was in Solomon's time. I doan't know that it is in Victoria's. The -wise men of this day would be a deal wiser if they hed a bit of gold to -carry out all the machines and railroads and canals they are planning; -and what would the final outcome be, if they hed it? Money, money, and -still more money. This last year, Dick, I hev got some new light both on -poverty and riches and I have seen one thing plainly, it is that money -is a varry good, respectable thing, and a thing that goes well with -lovemaking; but poverty is the least romantic of all misfortunes. A man -may hide, or cure, or forget any other kind of trouble, but, my lad, -there is no Sanctuary for Poverty." - -"All you say is right, father, but if Faith's want of fortune is no -great objection, is there any other reason why I should not marry her? -We might as well speak plainly now, as afterwards." - -"That is my way. I hate any backstair work, especially about marrying. -Well, then, one thing is that Faith's people are all Chapel folk. The -Squire of Annis is a landed gentleman of England, and the men who own -England's land hev an obligation to worship in England's Church." - -"You know, father, that wives have a duty laid on them to make their -husbands' church their church. Faith will worship where I worship and -that is in Annis Parish Church." - -"What does tha know of Faith's father and mother?" - -"Her grandfather was a joiner and carpenter and a first class workman. -He died of a fever just before the birth of Faith's mother. Her -grandmother was a fine lace maker, and supported herself and her child -by making lace for eight years. Then she died and the girl, having no -kindred and no friends willing to care for her, was taken to the Poor -House." - -"Oh, Dick! Dick! that is bad--very bad indeed!" - -"Listen, father. At the Poor House Sunday school she learned to read, -and later was taught how to spin, and weave, and to sew and knit. She -was a silent child, but had fine health and a wonderfully ambitious -nature. At eleven years of age she took her living into her own hands. -She went into a woolen mill and made enough to pay her way in the family -of Samuel Broadbent, whose sons now own the great Broadbent mill with -its six hundred power-looms. When she was fifteen she could manage two -looms, and was earning more than a pound a week. Every shilling nearly -of this money went for books. She bought, she borrowed, she read every -volume she could reach; and in the meantime attended the Bradford Night -School of the Methodist Church. At seventeen years of age she was a very -good scholar and had such a remarkable knowledge of current literature -and authors that she was made the second clerk in the Public Library. -Soon after, she joined the Methodist Church, and her abilities were -quickly recognized by the Preacher, and she finally went to live with -his family, teaching his boys and girls, and being taught and protected -by their mother. One day Mr. Foster came as the second preacher in that -circuit and he fell in love with her and they married. Faith is their -child, and she has inherited not only her mother's beauty and intellect, -but her father's fervent piety and humanity. Since her mother's death -she has been her father's companion and helped in all his good works, as -you know." - -"Yes, I know--hes her mother been long dead? - -"About six years. She left to the young girls who have to work for -their living several valuable text-books to assist them in educating -themselves, a very highly prized volume of religious experiences and a -still more popular book of exquisite poems. Is there anything in this -record to be called objectionable or not honorable?" - -"_Ask thy mother_ that question, Dick." - -"Nay, father, I want your help and sympathy. I expect nothing favorable -from mother. You must stand by me in this strait. If you accept Faith -my mother will accept her. Show her the way. Do, father! Always you -have been right-hearted with me. You have been through this hard trial -yourself, father. You know what it is." - -"To be sure I do; and I managed it in a way that thou must not think of, -or I will niver forgive thee. I knew my father and mother would neither -be to coax nor to reason with, and just got quietly wedded and went off -to France with my bride. I didn't want any browbeating from my father -and I niver could hev borne my mother's scorn and silence, so I thought -it best to come to some sort of terms with a few hundred miles between -us--but mind what I say, Dick! I was niver again happy with them. They -felt that I hed not trusted their love and they niver more trusted my -love. There was a gulf between us that no love could bridge. Father died -with a hurt feeling in his heart. Mother left my house and went back -to her awn home as soon as he was buried. All that thy mother could do -niver won her more than mere tolerance. Now, Dick, my dear lad, I -hev raked up this old grief of mine for thy sake. If tha can win thy -mother's promise to accept Faith as a daughter, and the future mistress -of Annis Hall, I'll put no stone in thy way. Hes tha said anything on -this subject to Mr. Foster? If so, what answer did he give thee?" - -"He said the marriage would be a great pleasure to him if you and mother -were equally pleased; but not otherwise." - -"That was right, it was just what I expected from him." - -"But, father, until our engagement was fully recognized by you and -mother, he forbid us to meet, or even to write to each other. I can't -bear that. I really can not." - -"Well, I doan't believe Faith will help thee to break such a command. -Not her! She will keep ivery letter of it." - -"Then I shall die. I could not endure such cruelty! I will--I will----" - -"Whativer thou shall, could, or will, do try and not make a fool -of thysen. _Drat it, man!_ Let me see thee in this thy first trial -_right-side-out_. Furthermore, I'll not hev thee going about Annis -village with that look on thy face as if ivery thing was on the perish. -There isn't a man there, who wouldn't know the meaning of it and -they would wink at one another and say 'poor beggar! it's the Methody -preacher's little lass!' There it is! and thou knows it, as well as I -do." - -"Let them mock if they want to. I'll thrash every man that names her." - -"Be quiet! I'll hev none of thy tempers, so just bid thy Yorkshire devil -to get behind thee. I hev made thee a promise and I'll keep it, if tha -does thy part fairly." - -"What is my part?" - -"It is to win over thy mother." - -"You, sir, have far more influence over mother than I have. If I cannot -win mother, will you try, sir?" - -"No, I will not. Now, Dick, doan't let me see thee wilt in thy first -fight. Pluck up courage and win or fail with a high heart. And if tha -should fail, just take the knockdown with a smile, and say, - - "If she is not fair for me, - - What care I how fair she be! - -That was the young men's song in my youth. Now we will drop the subject -and what dost tha say to a ride in the Park?" - -"All right, sir." - -The ride was not much to speak of. One man was too happy, and the other -was too unhappy and eventually the squire put a stop to it. "Dick," he -said, "tha hed better go to thy room at The Yorkshire Club and sleep -thysen into a more respectable temper." And Dick answered, "Thank you, -sir. I will take your advice"--and so raising his hand to his hat he -rapidly disappeared. - -"Poor lad!" muttered his father; "he hes some hard days before him but -it would niver do to give him what he wants and there is no ither way -to put things right"--and with this reflection the squire's good spirits -fell even below his son's melancholy. Then he resolved to go back to -the Clarendon. "Annie may come back there to dress before her dinner -and opera," he reflected--"but if she does I'll not tell her a word -of Dick's trouble. No, indeed! Dick must carry his awn bad news. I hev -often told her unpleasant things and usually I got the brunt o' them -mysen. So if Annie comes home to dress--and she does do so varry often -lately--I'll not mention Dick's affair to her. I hev noticed that she -dresses hersen varry smart now and, by George, it suits her well! In her -way she looks as handsome as either of her daughters. I did not quite -refuse to dine at Jane's, I think she will come to the Clarendon to -dress and to beg me to go with her and I might as well go--here she -comes! I know her step, bless her!" - -When Dick left his father he went to his sister's residence. He knew -that Jane and his mother were at the lecture but he did not think that -Katherine would be with them and he felt sure of Katherine's sympathy. -He was told that she had just gone to Madam Temple's and he at once -followed her there and found her writing a letter and quite alone. - -"Kitty! Kitty!" he cried in a lachrymose tone. "I am in great trouble." - -"Whatever is wrong, Dick? Are you wanting money?" - -"I am not thinking or caring anything about money. I want Faith and her -father will not let me see her or write to her unless father and mother -are ready to welcome her as a daughter. They ought to do so and father -is not very unwilling; but I know mother will make a stir about it and -father will not move in the matter for me." - -"Move?" - -"Yes, I want him to go to mother and make her do the kind and the right -thing and he will not do it for me, though he knows that mother always -gives in to what he thinks best." - -"She keeps her own side, Dick, and goes as far as she can, but it is -seldom she gets far enough without father's consent. Father always keeps -the decisive word for himself." - -"That is what I say. Then father could--if he would--say the decisive -word and so make mother agree to my marriage with Faith." - -"Well you see, Dick, mother is father's love affair and why should -he have a dispute with his wife to make you and your intended wife -comfortable and happy? Mother has always been in favor of Harry Bradley -and she does not prevent us seeing or writing each other, when it is -possible, but she will not hear of our engagement being made public, -because it would hurt father's feelings and she is half-right anyway. A -wife ought to regard her husband's feelings. You would expect that, if -you were married." - -"Oh, Kitty, I am so miserable. Will you sound mother's feelings about -Faith for me? Then I would have a better idea how to approach her on the -subject." - -"Certainly, I will." - -"How soon?" - -"To-morrow, if possible." - -"Thank you, dearie! I love Faith so truly that I have forgotten all -the other women I ever knew. Their very names tire me now. I wonder at -myself for ever thinking them at all pretty. I could hardly be civil to -any of them if we met. I shall never care for any woman again, if I miss -Faith." - -"You know, Dick, that you must marry someone. The family must be kept -up. Is the trouble Faith's lack of money?" - -"No. It is her father and mother." - -"Her father is a scholar and fine preacher." - -"Yes, but her mother was a working girl, really a mill hand," and then -Dick told the story of Faith's mother with enthusiasm. Kitty listened -with interest, but answered, "I do not see what you are going to do, -Dick. Not only mother, but Jane will storm at the degradation you intend -to inflict upon the house of Annis." - -"There are two things I can do. I will marry Faith, and be happier than -words can tell; or I will leave England forever." - -"Dick, you never can do that. Everything good forbids it--and there. -Jane's carriage is coming." - -"Then good-by. When can I see you tomorrow?" - -"In the afternoon, perhaps. I may speak to mother before three o'clock." - -Then Dick went away and a servant entered with a letter. It was from -Lady Jane, bidding Katherine return home immediately or she would not -be dressed in time for dinner. On her way home she passed Dick walking -slowly with his head cast down and carrying himself in a very dejected -manner. Katherine stopped the carriage and offered to give him a lift as -far as his club. - -"No, thank you, Kitty," he answered. "You may interview mother for me if -you like. I was coming to a resolution to take the bull by the horns, -or at least in some manner find a way that is satisfactory in the -meantime." - -"That is right. There is nothing like patient watching and waiting. -Every ball finally comes to the hand held out for it." - -Then with a nod and a half-smile, Dick lifted his hat and went forward. -While he was in the act of speaking to Katherine an illuminating thought -had flashed through his consciousness and he walked with a purposeful -stride towards his club. Immediately he sat down and began to write a -letter, and the rapid scratching of the goose quill on the fine glazed -paper indicated there was no lack of feeling in what he was writing. -The firm, strong, small letters, the wide open long letters, the rapid -fluency and haste of the tell-tale quill, all indicated great emotion, -and it was without hesitation or consideration he boldly signed his name -to the following letter:-- - -To the Rev. John Foster. - -Dear Sir: - -You have made me the most wretched of men. You have made Faith the -most unhappy of women. Faith never wronged you in all her life. Do you -imagine she would do for me what she has never before done? I never -wronged you by one thought. Can you not trust my word and my honor? I -throw myself and Faith on your mercy. You are punishing us before we -have done anything worthy of punishment. Is that procedure just and -right? If so, it is very unlike you. Let me write to Faith once every -week and permit her to answer my letter. I have given you my word; my -word is my honor. I cannot break it without your permission, and until -you grant my prayer, I am bound by a cruel obligation to lead a life, -that being beyond Love and Hope, is a living death. And the terrible -aching torture of this ordeal is that Faith must suffer it with me. Sir, -I pray your mercy for both of us. - -Your sincere suppliant, - -Richard Haveling Annis. - -Dick posted this letter as soon as it was written and the following day -it was in the hands of the preacher. He received it as he was going -home to his tea, about half past five, and he read it, and then turned -towards the open country, and read it again and again. He had been in -the house of mourning all day. His heart was tender, his thoughts sadly -tuned to the sorrows and broken affections of life, and at the top of -the Brow he sat down on a large granite boulder and let his heart lead -him. - -"Richard Annis is right," he said. "I have acted as if I could not -trust. Oh, how could I so wrong my good, sweet daughter I I have almost -insulted her, to her lover. Why did I do this evil thing? Self! Self! -Only for Self! I was determined to serve myself first. I did not -consider others as I ought to have done--and Pride! Yes, Pride! John -Foster! You have been far out of the way of the Master whom you serve. -Go quickly, and put the wrong right." And he rose at the spiritual order -and walked quickly home. As he passed through the Green he saw Faith -come to the door and look up and down the street. "She is uneasy about -my delay," he thought, "how careful and loving she is about me! How -anxious, if I am a little late! The dear one! How I wronged her!" - -"I have been detained, Faith," he said, as she met him at the door. -"There are four deaths from cholera this afternoon, and they talk of -forbidding me to visit the sick, till this strange sickness disappears." -During the meal, Foster said nothing of the letter he had received, but -as Faith rose, he also rose, and laying his hand upon her shoulder said: -"Faith, here is a letter that I received this afternoon from Richard -Annis." - -"Oh, father, I am so sorry! I thought Richard would keep his word. He -promised me--" and her voice sunk almost to a whisper. - -"Richard has not broken a letter of his promise. The letter was sent to -me. It is my letter. I want you to read it, and to answer it for me, -and you might write to him once a week, without infringing on the time -necessary for your duties here. I wish to tell you also, that I think -Annis is right. I have put both of you under restraints not needful, -not supposable, even from my knowledge of both of you. Answer the letter -according to your loyal, loving heart. Annis will understand by my -utterly revoking the charge I gave you both, that I see my fault, and am -sorry for it." - -Then Faith's head was on her father's shoulder, and she was clasped to -his heart, and he kissed the silent happy tears from off her cheeks and -went to the chapel with a heart at peace. - -Two days afterward the squire went to call upon his son and he found him -in his usual buoyant temper. "Mother was anxious about thee, Dick. She -says she has not seen thee for four or five days." - -"I have been under the weather for a week, but I am all right now. Tell -her I will come and dine with her to-night. What are you going to do -with yourself to-day?" - -"Well, I'll tell thee--Russell and Grey hev asked me to go to Hyde Park -Gate and talk to the people, and keep them quiet, till parliament can -fashion to get back to its place." - -"Are not the Easter holidays over yet?" - -"The taking of holidays at this time was both a sin and a shame. The -streets are full of men who are only wanting a leader and they would -give king and lords and commons a long, long holiday. Earl Russell -says I am the best man to manage them, and he hes asked by proclamation -Yorkshire and Lancashire men to meet me, and talk over our program with -me." - -"Can I go with you?" - -"If tha wants to." - -"There may be quarreling and danger. I will not let you go alone. I must -be at your side." - -"Nay, then, there is no 'must be.' I can manage Yorkshire lads without -anybody's help." - -"What time do you speak?" - -"About seven o'clock." - -"All right. Tell mother I'll have my dinner with her and you at the -Clarendon, and then we will go to interview the mob afterward." - -"They are not a mob. Doan't thee call them names. They are ivery one -Englishmen, holding themsens with sinews of steel, from becoming mobs; -but if they should, by any evil chance, become a mob, then, bless thee, -lad, it would be well for thee and me to keep out of their way!" - -"The trouble lies here," the squire continued,--"these gatherings of men -waiting to see The Bill passed that shall give them their rights, have -been well taught by Earl Grey, Lord Russell, and Lord Brougham, but -only fitfully, at times and seasons; but by day and night ivery day and -Sunday, there hev been and there are chartists and socialist lecturers -among them, putting bitter thoughts against their awn country into their -hearts. And they're a soft lot. They believe all they are told, if t' -speaker but claim to be educated. Such precious nonsense!" - -"Well, then, father, a good many really educated people go to lectures -about what they call science and they, too, believe all that they are -told." - -"I'll warrant them, Dick. Yet our Rector, when he paid us a visit last -summer, told me emphatically, that science was a new kind of sin--a new -kind of sin, that, and nothing more, or better! And I'll be bound thy -mother will varry soon find it out and I'm glad she hed the sense to -keep Kitty away from such teachers. Just look at Brougham. He is making -a perfect fool of himsen about tunneling under the Thames River and -lighting cities with the gas we see sputtering out of our coal fires -and carrying men in comfortable coaches thirty, ay, even forty, miles an -hour by steam. Why Bingley told me, that he heard Brougham say he hoped -to live to see men heving their homes in Norfolk or Suffolk villages, -running up or down to London ivery day to do their business. Did tha -iver hear such nonsense, Dick? And when men who publish books and sit on -the government benches talk it, what can you expect from men who don't -know their alphabet?" - -"You have an easier fight than I have, sir. Love and one woman, can be -harder to win, than a thousand men for freedom." - -"Tha knows nothing about it, if that is thy opinion," and the squire -straightened himself, and stood up, and with a great deal of passion -recited three fine lines from Byron, the favorite men's poet of that -day:-- - - "For Freedom's battle once begun, - - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, - - Though baffled oft, is always won!" - -"Those lines sound grandly in your mouth, dad," said Dick, as he looked -with admiring love into his father's face. - -"Ay, I think they do. I hev been reciting them a good deal lately. They -allays bring what t' Methodists call 'the Amen' from the audience. I -don't care whether it is made up of rich men, or poor men, they fetch a -ringing Amen from every heart." - -"I should think that climax would carry any meeting. - -"No, it won't. The men I am going to address to-night doan't read; but -they do think, and when a man hes drawn his conclusions from what he hes -seen, and what he hes felt or experienced, they hev a bulldog grip on -him. I will tell thee now, and keep mind of what I say--when tha hes -to talk to fools, tha needs ivery bit of all the senses tha happens to -hev." - -"Well, father, can I be of any use to you to-night?" - -"Tha can not. Not a bit, not a word. Dick, thou belongs to the coming -generation and they would see it and make thee feel it. Thy up-to-date -dress would offend them. I shall go to t' meeting in my leather -breeches, and laced-up Blucher shoes, my hunting coat and waistcoat with -dog head buttons, and my Madras red neckerchief. They will understand -that dress. It will explain my connection with the land that we all of -us belong to. Now be off with thee and I am glad to see thou hes got -over thy last sweet-hearting so soon, and so easy. I thought thou wert -surely in for a head-over-ears attack." - -"Good-by, dad I and do not forget the three lines of poetry." - -"I'm not likely to forget them. No one loves a bit of poetry better than -a Yorkshire weaver. Tha sees they were mostly brought up on Wesley's -Hymn Book," and he was just going to recite the three lines again, but -he saw Dick had turned towards the door and he let him go. "Ah, well!" -he muttered, "it is easy to make Youth see, but you can't make it -believe." - - - - -CHAPTER IX--LOVERS QUARREL AND THE SQUIRE MAKES A SPEECH - - - "There are no little events with the Heart." - - "The more we judge, the less we Love." - - "Kindred is kindred, and Love is Love." - - "The look that leaves no doubt, that the last - - Glimmer of the light of Love has gone out." - - - WHEN Dick left his father he hardly knew what to do with himself. -He was not prepared to speak to his mother, nor did he think it quite -honorable to do so, until he had informed his father of Mr. Foster's -change of heart, with regard to Faith and himself. His father had been -his first confidant, and in this first confidence, there had been an -implied promise, that his engagement to Faith was not yet to be made -public. - -"Dick!" the squire had said: "Thou must for a little while do as most -men hev to do; that is, keep thy happiness to thysen till there comes -a wiser hour to talk about it. People scarcely sleep, or eat, the whole -country is full of trouble and fearfulness; and mother and Jane are -worried about Katherine and her sweethearts. She hes a new one, a varry -likely man, indeed, the nephew of an earl and a member of a very rich -banking firm. And Kitty is awkward and disobedient, and won't notice -him." - -"I think Kitty ought to have her own way, father. She has set her heart -on Harry Bradley and no one can say a word against Harry." - -"Perhaps not, from thy point of view. Dick, it is a bit hard on a father -and mother, when their children, tenderly loved and cared for, turn -their backs on such love and go and choose love for themsens, even out -of the house of their father's enemies. I feel it badly, Dick. I do -that!" And the squire looked so hopeless and sorrowful, Dick could not -bear it. He threw his arm across his father's shoulder, and their hands -met, and a few words were softly said, that brought back the ever ready -smile to the squire's face. - -"It is only thy mother," continued the squire, "that I am anxious about. -Kitty and Harry are in the same box as thysen; they will mebbe help thee -to talk thy love hunger away. But I wouldn't say a word to thy aunt. -However she takes it she will be apt to overdo hersen. It is only -waiting till the Bill is passed and that will soon happen. Then we shall -go home, and mother will be too busy getting her home in order, to make -as big a worry of Faith, as she would do here, where Jane and thy aunt -would do all they could to make the trouble bigger." - -Then Dick went to look for Harry. He could not find him. A clerk at the -Club told him he "believed Mr. Bradley had gone to Downham Market in -Norfolk," and Dick fretfully wondered what had taken Harry to Norfolk? -And to Downham Market, of all the dull, little towns in that country. -Finally, he concluded to go and see Kitty. "She is a wise little soul," -he thought, "and she may have added up mother by this time." So he went -to Lady Leyland's house and found Kitty and Harry Bradley taking lunch -together. - -"Mother and Jane are out with Aunt Josepha," she said, "and Harry has -just got back from Norfolk. I was sitting down to my lonely lunch when -he came in, so he joined me. It is not much of a lunch. Jane asked me -if a mutton patty-pie, and some sweet stuff would do, and I told her she -could leave out the mutton pie, if she liked, but she said, 'Nonsense! -someone might come in, who could not live on love and sugar.' So the -pies luckily came up, piping hot, for Harry. Some good little household -angel always arranges things, if we trust to them." - -"What took you to Norfolk, Harry? Bird game on the Fens, I suppose?" - -"Business, only, took me there. We heard of a man who had some Jacquard -looms to sell. I went to see them." - -"I missed you very much. I am in a lot of trouble. Faith and I are -engaged, you know." - -"No! I did not know that things had got that far." - -"Yes, they have, and Mr. Foster behaved to us very unkindly at first, -but he has seen his fault, and repented. And father was more set and -obdurate than I thought he could be, under any circumstances; and I -wanted your advice, Harry, and could not find you anywhere." - -"Was it about Faith you wanted me?" - -"Of course, I wanted to know what you would do if in my circumstances." - -"Why, Dick, Kitty and I are in a similar case and we have done nothing -at all. We are just waiting, until Destiny does for us what we should -only do badly, if we tried to move in the matter before the proper time. -I should personally think this particular time would not be a fortunate -hour for seeking recognition for a marriage regarded as undesirable on -either, or both sides. I am sorry you troubled your father just at this -time, for I fear he has already a great trouble to face." - -"My father a great trouble to face! What do you mean, Harry? Have you -heard anything? Is mother all right? Kitty, what is it?" - -"I had heard of nothing wrong when mother and Jane went out to-day. -Harry is not ten minutes in the house. We had hardly finished saying -good afternoon to each other." - -"I did not intend to say anything to Kitty, as I judged it to be a -trouble the squire must bear alone." - -"Oh, no! The squire's wife and children will bear it with him. Speak -out, Harry. Whatever the trouble is, it cannot be beyond our bearing and -curing." - -"Well, you see, Dick, the new scheme of boroughs decided on by the -Reform Bill will deprive the squire of his seat in Parliament, as -Annis borough has been united with Bradley borough, which also takes -in Thaxton village. Now if the Bill passes, there will be a general -election, and there is a decided move, in that case, to elect my father -as representative for the united seats." - -"That is nothing to worry about," answered Dick with a nonchalant tone -and manner. "My dad has represented them for thirty years. I believe -grandfather sat for them, even longer. I dare be bound dad will be glad -to give his seat to anybody that hes the time to bother with it; it is -nothing but trouble and expense." - -"Is that so? I thought it represented both honor and profit," said -Harry. - -"Oh, it may do! I do not think father cares a button about what honor -and profit it possesses. However, I am going to look after father now, -and, Kitty, if the circumstances should in the least be a trouble to -father, I shall expect you to stand loyally by your father and the -family." With these words he went away, without further courtesies, -unless a proud upward toss of his handsome head could be construed into -a parting salute. - -A few moments of intense silence followed. Katherine's cheeks were -flushed and her eyes cast down. Harry looked anxiously at her. He -expected some word, either of self-dependence, or of loyalty to -her pledge of a supreme love for himself; but she made neither, and -was--Harry considered--altogether unsatisfactory. At this moment he -expected words of loving constancy, or at least some assurance of the -stability of her affection. On the contrary, her silence and her cold -manner, gave him a heart shock. "Kitty! My darling Kitty! did you hear, -did you understand, what Dick said, what he meant?" - -"Yes, I both heard and understood." - -"Well then, what was it?" - -"He meant, that if my father was hurt, or offended by his removal from -his seat in The House, he would make father's quarrel his own and expect -me to do the same." - -"But you would not do such a thing as that?" - -"I do not see how I could help it. I love my father. It is beyond words -to say how dear he is to me. It would be an impossibility for me to -avoid sympathizing with him. Mother and Dick would do the same. Aunt -Josepha and even Jane and Ley-land, would make father's wrong their -own; and you must know how Yorkshire families stand together even if the -member of it in trouble is unworthy of the least consideration. Remember -the Traffords! They were all made poor by Jack, and Jack's wife, but -they would not listen to a word against them. That is _our_ way, you -know it. To every Yorkshire man and woman Kindred is Kin, and Love is -Love." - -"But they put love before kindred." - -"Perhaps they do, and perhaps they do not. I have never seen anyone put -strangers before kindred. I would despise anyone who did such a thing. -Yes, indeed, I would!" - -"Your father knows how devotedly we love each other, even from our -childhood." - -"Well, then, he has always treated our love as a very childish affair. -He looks upon me yet, as far too young to even think of marrying. He has -been expecting me during this season in London, to meet someone or -other by whom I could judge whether my love for you was not a childish -imagination. You have known this, Harry, all the time we have been -sweethearts. When I was nine, and you were twelve, both father and -mother used to laugh at our childish love-making." - -"I wonder if I understand you, Kitty! Are you beginning to break your -promise to me?" - -"If I wished to break my promise to you, I should not do so in any -underhand kind of way. Half-a-dozen clear, strong words would do. I -should not understand any other way." - -"I am very miserable. Your look and your attitude frighten me." - -"Harry, I never before saw you act so imprudently and unkindly. No one -likes the bringer of ill news. I was expecting a happy hour with you and -Dick; and you scarcely allowed Dick to bid me a good afternoon, until -you out with your bad news--and there was a real tone of triumph in your -voice. I'm sure I don't wonder that Dick felt angry and astonished." - -"Really, Kitty, I thought it the best opportunity possible to tell you -about the proposed new borough. I felt sure, both you and Dick would -remember my uncertain, and uncomfortable position, and give me your -assurance of my claim. It is a very hard position for me to be in, and I -am in no way responsible for it." - -"I do not think your position is any harder than mine and I am as -innocent--perhaps a great deal more innocent--of aiding on the situation -as you can be." - -"Do you intend to give me up if your father and Dick tell you to do so?" - -"That is not the question. I say distinctly, that I consider your hurry -to tells the news of your father's possible substitution in the squire's -parliamentary seat, was impolite and unnecessary just yet, and that your -voice and manner were in some unhappy way offensive. I felt them to be -so, and I do not take offense without reason." - -"Let me explain." - -"No. I do not wish to hear any more on the subject at present. And -I will remind you that the supplanting of Squire Annis is as yet -problematic. Was there any necessity for you to rush news which -is dependent on the passing of a Bill, that has been loitering in -parliament for forty years, and before a general election was certain? -It was this hurry and your uncontrollable air of satisfaction, which -angered Dick--and myself:"--and with these words, said with a great deal -of quiet dignity, she bid Harry "good afternoon" and left the room. - -And Harry was dumb with sorrow and amazement. He made no effort to -detain her, and when she reached the next floor, she heard the clash -of the main door follow his hurrying footsteps. "It is all over! All -over!!" she said and then tried to comfort herself, with a hearty fit of -crying. - -Harry went to his club and thought the circumstance over, but he hastily -followed a suggestion, which was actually the most foolish move he -could have made--he resolved to go and tell Madam Temple the whole -circumstance. He believed that she had a real liking for him and would -be glad to put his side of the trouble in its proper light. She had -always sympathized with his love for Katherine and he believed that she -would see nothing wrong in his gossip about the squire's position. So he -went to Madam at once and found her in her office with her confidential -lawyer. - -"Well, then?" she asked, in her most authoritative manner, "what brings -thee here, in the middle of the day's business? Hes thou no business in -hand? No sweetheart to see? No book or paper to read?" - -"I came to you, Madam, for advice; but I see that you are too busy to -care for my perplexities." - -"Go into the small parlor and I will come to thee in ten minutes." - -Her voice and manner admitted of no dispute, and Harry--inwardly chafing -at his own obedience--went to the small parlor and waited. As yet he -could not see any reason for Dick's and Katherine's unkind treatment of -him. He felt sure Madam Temple would espouse his side of the question, -and also persuade Katherine that Dick had been unjustly offended. But -his spirits fell the moment she entered the room. The atmosphere -of money and the market-place was still around her and she asked -sharply--"Whativer is the matter with thee, Harry Bradley? Tell me -quickly. I am more than busy to-day, and I hev no time for nonsense." - -"It is more than nonsense, Madam, or I would not trouble you. I only -want a little of your good sense to help me out of a mess I have got -into with----" - -"With Katherine, I suppose?" - -"With Dick also." - -"To be sure. If you offended one, you would naturally offend the other. -Make as few words as thou can of the affair." This order dashed Harry at -the beginning of the interview, and Madam's impassive and finally -angry face gave him no help in detailing his grievance. Throughout his -complaint she made no remark, no excuse, neither did she offer a word -of sympathy. Finally he could no longer continue his tale of wrong, its -monotony grew intolerable, even to himself, and he said passionately-- - -"I see that you have neither sympathy nor counsel to give me, Madam. I -am sorry I troubled you." - -"Ay, thou ought to be ashamed as well as sorry. Thou that reckons to -know so much and yet cannot see that tha hes been guilty of an almost -unpardonable family crime. Thou hed no right to say a word that would -offend anyone in the Annis family. The report might be right, or it -might be wrong, I know not which; but it was all wrong for thee to clap -thy tongue on it. The squire has said nothing to me about thy father -taking his place in the House of Commons, and I wouldn't listen to -anyone else, not even thysen. I think the young squire and Katherine -treated thee a deal better than thou deserved. After a bit of behavior -like thine, it wasn't likely they would eat another mouthful with thee." - -"The truth, Madam, is----" - -"Even if it hed been ten times the truth, it should hev been a lie to -thee. Thou ought to hev felled it, even on the lips speaking it. I think -nothing of love and friendship that won't threep for a friend, right or -wrong, for or against, true or untrue. I am varry much disappointed in -thee, Mr. Harry Bradley, and the sooner thou leaves me, the better I'll -be pleased." - -"Oh, Madam, you utterly confound me." - -"Thou ought to be confounded and I would be a deal harder on thee if I -did not remember that thou hes no family behind thee whose honor----" - -"Madam, I have my father behind me, and a nobler man does not exist. He -is any man's peer. I know no other man fit to liken him to." - -"That's right. Stand by thy father. And remember that the Annis family -hes to stand up for a few centuries of Annis fathers. Go to thy father -and bide with him. His advice will suit thee better than mine." - -"I think Dick might have understood me." - -"Dick understood thee well enough. Dick was heart hurt by thy evident -pleasure with the news that was like a hot coal in thy mouth. It pleased -thee so well thou couldn't keep it for a fitting hour. Not thou! Thy -vanity will make a heart ache for my niece, no doubt she will be worried -beyond all by thy behavior, but I'll warrant she will not go outside her -own kith and kin for advice or comfort." - -"Madam, forgive my ignorance. I ask you that much." - -"Well, that is a different thing. I can forgive thee, where I couldn't -help thee--not for my life. But thou ought to suffer for such a bit of -falsity, and I hope thou wilt suffer. I do that! Now I can't stay -with thee any longer, but I do wish thou hed proved thysen more -right-hearted, and less set up with a probability. In plain truth, -that is so. And I'll tell the one sure thing--if thou hopes to live -in Yorkshire, stand by Yorkshire ways, and be leal and loyal to thy -friends, rich or poor." - -"I hope, Madam, to be leal and loyal to all men." - -"That is just a bit of general overdoing. It was a sharp wisdom in -Jesus Christ, when he told us not to love all humanity, but to love our -neighbor. He knew that was about all we could manage. It is above what I -can manage this afternoon, so I'll take my leave of thee." - -Harry left the house almost stupefied by the storm of anger his vanity -and his pride in his father's probable honor, had caused him. But when -he reached his room in The Yorkshire Club and had closed the door on -all outside influences, a clear revelation came to him, and he audibly -expressed it as he walked angrily about the floor:-- - -"I hate that pompous old squire! He never really liked me--thought I was -not good enough for his daughter--and I'll be glad if he hes to sit a -bit lower--and I'm right glad father is going a bit higher. Father is -full fit for it. So he is! but oh, Katherine! Oh, Kitty! Kitty! What -shall I do without you?" - -In the meantime, Dick had decided that he would say nothing about the -squire's probable rival for the new borough, until the speech to be made -that evening had been delivered. It might cause him to say something -premature and unadvised. When he came to this conclusion he was suddenly -aware that he had left his lunch almost untouched on his sister's table, -and that he was naturally hungry. - -"No wonder I feel out of sorts!" he thought. "I will go to The Yorkshire -and have a decent lunch. Kitty might have known better than offer me -anything out of a patty-pan. I'll go and get some proper eating and then -I'll maybe have some sensible thinking." - -He put this purpose into action at once by going to The Yorkshire Club -and ordering a beefsteak with fresh shalots, a glass of port wine, and -bread and cheese, and having eaten a satisfying meal, he went to his -room and wrote a long letter to Faith, illustrating it with his own -suspicions and reflections. This letter he felt to be a very clever -move. He told himself that Faith would relate the story to her father -and that Mr. Foster would say and do the proper thing much more wisely -and effectively than anyone else could. - -He did not know the exact hour at which his father was to meet some of -the weavers and workers of Annis locality, but he thought if he reached -the rendezvous about nine o'clock he would be in time to hear any -discussion there might be, and walk to the Clarendon with his father -after it. This surmise proved correct, for as he reached the designated -place, he saw the crowd, and heard his father speaking to it. Another -voice appeared to be interrupting him. - -Dick listened a moment, and then ejaculated, "Yes! Yes! That is father -sure enough! He is bound to have a threep with somebody." Then he walked -quicker, and soon came in sight of the crowd of men surrounding the -speaker, who stood well above them, on the highest step of a granite -stairway leading into a large building. - -Now Dick knew well that his father was a very handsome man, but he -thought he had never before noticed it so clearly, for at this hour -Antony Annis was something more than a handsome man--he was an inspired -orator. His large, beautiful countenance was beaming and glowing with -life and intellect; but it was also firm as steel, for he had a clear -purpose before him, and he looked like a drawn sword. The faces of -the crowd were lifted to him--roughly-sketched, powerful faces, with -well-lifted foreheads, and thick brown hair, crowned in nearly every -case with labor's square, uncompromising, upright paper cap. - -The squire had turned a little to the right, and was addressing an Annis -weaver called Jonas Shuttleworth. "Jonas Shuttleworth!" he cried, "does -tha know what thou art saying? How dare tha talk in this nineteenth -century of Englishmen fighting Englishmen? They can only do that thing -at the instigation of the devil. _Why-a!_ thou might as well talk of -fighting thy father and mother! As for going back to old ways, and old -times, none of us can do it, and if we could do it, we should be far -from suited with the result. You hev all of you now seen the power loom -at work; would you really like the old cumbrous hand-loom in your homes -again? You know well you wouldn't stand it. A time is close at hand when -we shall all of us hev to cut loose from our base. I know that. I shall -hev to do it. You will hev to do it. Ivery man that hes any _forthput_ -in him will hev to do it. Those who won't do it must be left behind, -sticking in the mud made by the general stir up." - -"That would be hard lines, squire." - -"Not if you all take it like 'Mr. Content' at your new loom. For I -tell you the even down truth, when I say--You, and your ways, and your -likings, will all hev to be _born over again!_ Most of you here are -Methodists and you know what that means. The things you like best you'll -hev to give them up and learn to be glad and to fashion yoursens to -ways and works, which just now you put under your feet and out of your -consideration." - -"Your straight meaning, squire? We want to understand thee." - -"Well and good! I mean this--You hev allays been 'slow and sure'; in the -new times just here, you'll hev to be 'up and doing,' for you will find -it a big hurry-push to keep step with your new work-fellows, steam and -machinery." - -"That is more than a man can do, squire." - -"No, it is not! A man can do anything he thinks it worth his while to -do." - -"The _London Times_, sir, said yesterday that it would take all of -another generation." - -"It will do nothing of the kind, Sam Yates. What-iver has thou to do -with the newspapers? Newspapers! Don't thee mind them! Their advice is -meant to be read, not taken." - -"Labor, squire, hes its rights----" - -"To be sure, labor also hes its duties. It isn't much we hear about the -latter." - -"Rights and duties, squire. The Reform Bill happens to be both. When is -The Bill to be settled?" - -"Nothing is settled, Sam, until it is settled right." - -"Lord Brougham, in a speech at Manchester, told us he would see it -settled this session." - -"Lord Brougham thinks in impossibilities. He would make a contract with -Parliament to govern England, or even Ireland. Let me tell thee all -government is a thing of necessity, not of choice. England will not for -any Bill dig under her foundations. Like Time, she destroys even great -wrongs slowly. Her improvements hev to grow and sometimes they take a -good while about it. You hev been crying for this Bill for forty -years, you were not ready for it then. Few of you at that time hed any -education. Now, many of your men can read and a lesser number write. -Such men as Grey, Russell, Brougham and others hev led and taught you, -and there's no denying that you hev been varry apt scholars. Take your -improvements easily, Sam. You won't make any real progress by going over -precipices." - -"Well, sir, we at least hev truth on our side." - -"Truth can only be on one side, Sam, I'm well pleased if you hev it." - -"All right, squire, but I can tell you this--if Parliament doesn't help -us varry soon now we will help oursens." - -"That is what you ought to be doing right now. Get agate, men! Go to -your new loom, and make yersens masters of it. I will promise you in -that case, that your new life will be, on the whole, better than the old -one. As for going back to the old life, you can't do it. Not for your -immortal souls! Time never runs back to fetch any age of gold; and as -for making a living in the old way and with the old hand loom, you may -as well sow corn in the sea, and hope to reap it." - -"Squire, I want to get out of a country where its rulers can stop -minding its desperate poverty, and can forget that it is on the edge of -rebellion, and in the grip of some death they call cholera, and go home -for their Easter holiday, quite satisfied with themsens. We want another -Oliver Cromwell." - -"No, we don't either. The world won't be ready for another Cromwell, not -for a thousand years maybe. Such men are only born at the rate of one in -a millennium." - -"What's a millennium, squire?" - -"A thousand years, lad." - -"There wer' men of the right kind in Cromwell's day to stand by him." - -"Our fathers were neither better nor worse than oursens, Sam, just about -thy measure, and my measure." - -"I doan't know, sir. They fought King and Parliament, and got all they -wanted. Then they went over seas and founded a big republic, and all hes -gone well with them--and we could do the same." - -"Well, then, you hev been doing something like the same thing iver since -Cromwell lived. Your people are busy at the same trade now. The English -army is made up of working men. They are usually thrown in ivery part of -the world, taking a sea port, or a state, or a few fertile islands that -are lying loose and uncivilized in the southern seas. They do this for -the glory and profit of England and in such ways they hev made pagans -live like Christians, and taught people to obey the just laws of -England, that hed niver before obeyed a decent law of any kind." - -"They don't get for their work what Cromwell's men got." - -"They don't deserve it. Your mark can't touch Cromwell's mark; it was -far above your reach. Your object is mainly a selfish one. You want -more money, more power, and you want to do less work than you iver -did. Cromwell's men wanted one thing first and chiefly--the liberty to -worship God according to their conscience. They got what they wanted for -their day and generation, and before they settled in America, they made -a broad path ready for John Wesley. Yes, indeed, Oliver Cromwell made -John Wesley possible. Now, when you go to the wonderful new loom that -hes been invented for you, and work it cheerfully, you'll get your Bill, -and all other things reasonable that you want." - -"The Parliament men are so everlastingly slow, squire," said an old man -sitting almost at the squire's feet. - -"That is God's truth, friend. They _are_ slow. It is the English way. -You are slow yoursens. So be patient and keep busy learning your -trade in a newer and cleverer way. I am going to bide in London till -Parliament says, _Yes or No_. Afterwards I'll go back to Annis, and -learn a new life." Then some man on the edge of the crowd put up his -hand, and the squire asked: - -"Whose cap is speaking now?" - -"Israel Kinsman's, sir. Thou knaws me, squire." - -"To be sure I do. What does tha want to say? And when did tha get home -from America?" - -"A matter of a year ago. I hev left the army and gone back to my loom. -Now I want to ask thee, if thou are against men when they are oppressed -fighting for their rights and their freedom?" - -"Not I! Men, even under divine guidance, hev taken that sharp road many -times. The God who made iron knew men would make swords of it--just as -He also knew they would make plowshares. Making war is sometimes the -only way to make peace. If the cause is a just one the Lord calls -himself the God of battles. He knows, and we know, that - - "Peace is no peace, if it lets the ill grow stronger, - - Only cheating destiny a very little longer; - - War with its agonies, its horrors, and its crimes, - - Is cheaper if discounted, and taken up betimes. - - Foolish, indeed, are many other teachers; - - Cannons are God's preachers, when the time is ripe for - - war. - -"Now, men, there is no use in discussing a situation not likely to -trouble England in this nineteenth century. I believe the world is -growing better constantly, and that eventually all men will do, or cause -to be done, whatever is square, straight and upright, as the caps on -your heads. I believe it, because the good men will soon be so immensely -in excess that bad men will _hev_ to do right, and until that day comes, -we will go on fighting for freedom in ivery good shape it can come; -knowing surely and certainly, that - - "Freedom's battle once begun, - - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, - - Though baffled oft, is always won. - -"That is a truth, men, you may all of you cap to," and as the squire -lifted his riding cap high above his head, more than two hundred paper -caps followed it, accompanied by a long, joyful shout for the good time -promised, and certainly coming. - -"Now, men," said the squire, "let us see what 'cap money' we can collect -for those who are poor and helpless. Israel Naylor and John Moorby will -collect it. It will go for the spreading of the children's table in -Leeds and Israel will see it gets safely there." - -"We'll hev thy cap, squire," said Israel. "The man who proposes a cap -collection salts his awn cap with his awn money first." And the squire -laughed good-humoredly, lifted his cap, and in their sight dropped five -gold sovereigns into it. Then Dick offered his hat to his father, saying -he had his opera hat in his pocket and the two happy men went away -together, just as some musical genius had fitted Byron's three lines to -a Methodist long-metre, so they were followed by little groups straying -off in different directions, and all singing, - - "For Freedom's battle once begun, - - Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, - - Though baffled oft, is always won! - - Is always won! Is always won!" - -Dick did not enter the Clarendon with his father. He knew that he might -be a little superfluous. The squire had a certain childlike egotism -which delighted in praising himself, and in telling his own story; and -Annie was audience sufficient. If she approved, there was no more to be -desired, the third person was often in the way. In addition to this wish -to give the squire the full measure of his success, Dick was longing -passionately to be with his love and his hopes. The squire would not -speak of Faith, and Dick wanted to talk about her. Her name beat upon -his lips, and oh, how he longed to see her! To draw her to his side, to -touch her hair, her eyes, her lips! He told himself that the promise of -silence until the Bill was passed, or thrown out was a great wrong, -that he never ought to have made it, that his father never ought to have -asked for it. He wondered how he was to get the time over; the gayeties -of London had disappeared, the Leylands thought it prudent to live -quietly, his mother and Katherine were tired of the city, and longed -to be at home; and Harry, whose sympathy he had always relied on, was -somewhere in Norfolk, and had not even taken the trouble to write and -tell him the reason for his visit, to such a tame, bucolic county. - -Yet with the hope of frequent letters, and his own cheerful optimistic -temper, he managed to reach the thirtieth of May. On that morning he -took breakfast with his parents, and the squire said in a positive voice -that he was "sure the Bill would pass the House of Lords before May -became June; and if you remember the events since the seventh of April, -Dick, you will also be sure." - -"But I do not remember much about public affairs during that time, -father. I was in Annis, and here and there, and in every place it was -confusion and anger and threats. I really do not remember them." - -"Then thou ought to, and thou may as well sit still, and let me tell -thee some things thou should niver forget." But as the squire's method -was discursive, and often interrupted by questions and asides from -Mistress Annis and Dick, facts so necessary may be told without such -delay, and also they will be more easily remembered by the reader. - -Keeping in mind then that Parliament adjourned at seven o'clock in the -morning, on April fourteenth until the seventh of May, it is first to -be noted that during this three weeks' vacation there was an incessant -agitation, far more formidable than fire, rioting, and the destruction -of property. Petitions from every populous place to King William -entreated him to create a sufficient number of peers to pass the Bill -_in spite of the old peers_. The Press, nearly a unit, urged as the most -vital and necessary thing the immediate passage of the Bill, predicting -a United Rebellion of England, Scotland and Ireland, if longer delayed. -On the seventh of May, the day Parliament reassembled, there was the -largest public meeting that had ever been held in Great Britain, and -with heads uncovered, and faces lifted to heaven, the crowd took the -following oath:-- - -"_With unbroken faith through every peril and privation, we here devote -ourselves and our children to our country's cause!_" - -This great public meeting included all the large political unions, and -its solemn enthusiasm was remarkable for the same fervor and zeal of -the old Puritan councils. Its solemn oath was taken while Parliament -was reassembling in its two Houses. On that afternoon the House of Lords -took up first the disfranchising of the boroughs, and a week of -such intense excitement followed, as England had not seen since the -Revolution of 1688. - -On the eighth of May, Parliament asked the King to sanction a large -creation of new peers. The king angrily refused his assent. The -ministers then tendered their resignation. It was accepted. On the -evening of the ninth, their resignation was announced to the Lords and -Commons. On the eleventh Lord Ebrington moved that "the House should -express to the King their deep distress at a change of ministers, and -entreat him only to call to his councils such persons as would carry -through _The Bill_ with all its demands unchanged and unimpaired." - -This motion was carried, and then for one week the nation was left to -its conjectures, to its fears, and to its anger at the attitude of the -government. Indeed for this period England was without a government. The -Cabinet had resigned, leaving not a single officer who would join the -cabinet which the king had asked the Duke of Wellington to form. In -every city and town there were great meetings that sent petitions to the -House of Commons, praying that it would grant no supplies of any kind to -the government until the Bill was passed without change or mutilation. -A petition was signed in Manchester by twenty-three thousand persons in -three hours, and the deputy who brought it informed the Commons that -the whole north of England was in a state of indignation impossible to -describe. Asked if the people would fight, he answered, "They will first -of all demand that Parliament stop all government supplies--the tax -gatherer will not be able to collect a penny. All civil tribunals will -be defied, public credit shaken, property insecure, the whole frame of -society will hasten to dissolution, and great numbers of our wealthiest -families will transfer their homes to America." - -Lord Wellington utterly failed in all his attempts to form a ministry, -Sir Robert Peel refused to make an effort to do so, and on the fifteenth -of May it was announced in both Houses, that "the ministers had resumed -their communication with his majesty." On the eighteenth Lord Grey -said in the House of Lords that "he expected to carry the Reform Bill -unimpaired and immediately." Yet on the day before this statement, -Brougham and Grey had an interview with the King, in which his majesty -exhibited both rudeness and ill-temper. He kept the two peers standing -during the whole interview, a discourtesy contrary to usage. Both Grey -and Brougham told the King that they would not return to office unless -he promised to create the necessary number of peers to insure the -passage of the Reform Bill just as it stood; and the King consented so -reluctantly that Brougham asked for his permission in writing. - -The discussion of these facts occupied the whole morning and after an -early lunch the squire prepared to go to The House; then Dick noticed -that even after he was hatted and coated for his visit, he kept delaying -about very trivial things. So he resolved to carry out his part of their -secret arrangement, and remove himself from all temptation to tell his -mother he was going to marry Faith Foster. His father understood the -lad so like himself, and Dick knew what his father feared. So he bid -his mother good-by, and accompanied his father to the street. There the -latter said plainly, "Thou did wisely, Dick. If I hed left thee alone -with thy mother, thou would hev told her all that thou knew, and -thought, and believed, and hoped, and expected from Faith. Thou couldn't -hev helped it--and I wouldn't hev blamed thee." - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE GREAT BILL PASSES - - -_"In relation to what is to be, all Work is sacred because it is the -work given us to do."_ - -_"Their cause had been won, but the victory brought with it a new -situation and a new struggle."_ - -_"Take heed to your work, your name is graven on it."_ - - - ALTHOUGH Dick pretended an utter disbelief in Grey's prophecy, it -really came true; and the Reform Bill passed the House of Lords on the -last day of May. Then the Annis family were in haste to return home. The -feeling of being on a pleasure visit was all past and gone, and the bare -certainties and perplexities of life confronted them. For the first -time in all his days, the squire felt anxious about money matters, -and actually realized that he was going to be scrimped in coin for his -household expenses. This fact shocked him, he could hardly believe it. -Annie, however, knew nothing of this dilemma and when her husband spoke -of an immediate return home, said: - -"I am glad we are going home. To-morrow, I will see my dressmaker and -finish my shopping;" and the squire looked at her with such anxious eyes -that she immediately added--"unless, Antony, thou would like me to pack -my trunks at once." - -"I would like that, Annie. It would help me above a bit." - -"All right. Kitty is ready to start at any hour. She wants to go home." - -"What is the matter with Kitty? She isn't like hersen lately? Is she -sick?" - -"I think there is a little falling out between Harry and her. That is -common enough in all love affairs." - -Here a servant entered with a letter and gave it to the squire. He -looked at it a moment and then said to his wife--"It is from Josepha. -She wants to see me varry particular, and hopes I will come to her at -once. She thinks I had better drop in for dinner and says she will wait -for me until half-past five." - -"That is just like her unreasonableness. If she knows the Bill is -passed, she must know also that we are packing, and as busy as we can -be." - -"Perhaps she does not know that the great event has happened." - -"That is nonsense. Half a dozen people would send her word, or run with -the news themselves." - -"Well, Annie, she is my only sister, and she is varry like my mother. I -must give her an hour. I could not be happy if I did not;" and there was -something in the tone of his voice which Annie knew she need not try to -alter. So she wisely acquiesced in his resolve, pitying him the while -for having the claims of three women to satisfy. But the squire went -cheerfully enough to his sister. The claims of kindred were near and -dear to him and a very sincere affection existed between him and his -sister Jo-sepha. She was waiting for him. She was resolved to have a -talk with him about the Bradleys, and she had a proposal to make, a -proposal on which she had set her heart. - -So she met him at the open door, and said--with a tight clasp of his big -hand--"I am right glad to see thee, brother. Come in here," and she led -him to a small parlor used exclusively by herself. - -"I cannot stop to dinner, Josey," he said kindly, but he kept her hand -in his hand, until he reached the chair his sister pointed out. Then she -sat down beside him and said, "Antony, my dear brother, thou must answer -me a few questions. If thou went home and left me in doubt, I should be -a varry unhappy woman." - -"Whativer art thou bothering thysen about?" - -"About thee. I'll speak out plain and thou must answer me in the same -fashion. What is tha going to do about thy living? Thou hes no business -left, and I know well thou hes spent lavishly iver since thou came here -with thy wife and daughter." - -"To be sure I hev. And they are varry welcome to ivery penny of the -outlay. And I must say, Josey, thou has been more extravagant about both -Annie and Kitty than I hev been." - -"Well then Kitty is such a darling--thou knows." - -"Ay, she is that." - -"And Annie is more tolerant with me than she iver was before." - -"To be sure. Iveryone gets more kindly as he grows older. And she knaws -thee better, which is a great deal. Annie is good from the beginning to -the end." - -"Nobody will say different, but that is not what I am wanting to talk to -thee about. Listen to me now, my dear lad! What art thou going to do? I -am in earnest anxiety. Tell me, my brother." - -The squire was silent and looked steadily down on the table for a few -minutes. Josepha did not by the slightest movement interfere but her -steady, kindly gaze was fixed upon the silent man. Perhaps he felt, -though he did not see, the love that shone upon him, for he lifted his -face with a broad smile, and answered-- - -"My dear lass, I don't know." - -"I shouldn't wonder. Now speak straight words to me as plain as thou -spoke to the Annis weavers last week." - -"My dear sister, I shall do right, and let come what will." - -"And what does tha call doing right?" - -"I think of two ways and both seem right to me." - -"What are they? Perhaps I can help thee to decide that one is better -than the other. Dear lad, I want to help thee to do the best thing -possible for thysen, and thy children." - -There was no resisting the persuasion in her face, voice and manner, -and the squire could not resist its influence. "Josey," he said, as -he covered her small plump hand with his own in a very masterful -way--"Josey! Josey! I am in the thick of a big fight with mysen. I did -really promise a crowd of Annis weavers that if the Reform Bill passed I -would build a mill and give them all work, and that would let them come -home again. Tha sees, they all own, or partly own, their cottages, and -if I can't find them work, they will hev to give up their homes mebbe, -to a varry great disadvantage." - -"To be plain with thee, thou could in such a case, buy them all back for -a song." - -"Does tha really think thou hes an up and down blackguard for thy -brother? I'm not thinking of buying poor men's houses for a song--nor -yet of buying them at any price." - -"A perfectly fair price, eh?" - -"No. There could not be a fair price under such conditions. The poor -would be bound to get the worst of the bargain, unless I ruined mysen -to be square and just. I doan't want to sit in hell, trying to count up -what I hed made by buying poor men's homes at a bargain." - -"Hes tha any plan that will help thee to build a mill and give thy old -weavers a chance?" - -"The government will loan to old employers money to help them build a -mill, and so give work and bread." - -"The government is not lending money, except with some excellent -security." - -"Land, I have plenty. I could spare some land." - -"No. Thou could not spare the government one acre." - -"Then I cannot build a mill and furnish it with looms and all -necessary." - -"Yes, thou can easily do it--if thou wilt take a partner." - -"Does tha know anyone suitable?" - -"I do." - -"Do I know the person?" - -"Varry well. It is mysen. It is Josepha Temple." The squire fairly -started. He looked straight into Josepha's eyes and she continued, "Take -me for thy partner, Antony. I will build thee the biggest, and most -completely finished mill in the West Riding--or anywhere else--cotton or -wool--whichiver thou likes. Bradley's is mainly cotton, thou hed better -stick to wool. Thou hes two hundred sheep of thy awn, on thy awn fells, -and wold. Stick to the wool, dear lad." - -"Art thou in very earnest, Josepha?" - -"Sure as life and death! I am in earnest. Say the word, and I'll build, -and fit the mill, just as tha wants it." - -"And thy share in it will be----" - -"We will divide equally--half and half. I want to buy a partnership with -my money. '_Annis and Temple_' will suit me well. I will find all the -wherewithal required--money for building, looms, engines, wool or cotton -yarns, just as thou wishes. Thou must give the land, and the varry best -bit of land for the purpose, that thou hes on thy estate in Annis, or -elsewhere." - -"Dost tha knaw how much money tha will hev to spend for what thou -proposes?" - -"I should think I do and it will every farthing of it be Annis money. -I hev speculated, and dealt wisely with the money the good Admiral left -me. I hev made, made mysen, more money than we shall require for the -mill and all its necessary furniture, and if it was not enough, I could -double it and not feel a pound poorer. The outlay is mine, all of it; -the land, and the management is thy affair. It is only by my name, which -is well known among monied men, that I shall appear in the business." - -"Josepha! Thou art my good angel!" - -"I am thy sister. We are both Annis folk. We were both rooted in the -soil of this bit of England. We had the same good father and mother, -the same church, and the same dear old home. God forbid we should iver -forget that! No, we can not! These memories run with our blood, and -throb in our hearts. All that is mine is thine. Thou art dear to me as -my awn life. Thy son and daughter are my son and daughter. My money is -thy money, to its last penny. Now, wilt thou hev me for thy partner?" -The squire had buried his face in his hands, and Josepha knew he was -hiding his feelings from everyone but God, and she stepped to the window -and drew up the shade, and let the sunshine flood the room. As she did -so, the squire called to himself--"Be of good courage, Antony!" And he -rose quickly, and so met his sister coming back to her chair, and took -her in his arms, and kissed her and said: "Josey, dear, there was a load -on my heart I was hardly able to bear; thou hes lifted it, and I love -and thank thee! We will work together, and we will show Yorkshire that -landed gentlefolk can do a bit of business, above all their ideas, and -above all thou can imagine it pleases me, that I may then redeem my -promises to the men that hev worked so long, and so faithfully for me." - -And then it was Josepha that had to dry her eyes as she said: "Thy -kiss, Antony, was worth all I hev promised. It was the signing of our -contract." - -"I felt, Josey, when I entered this house, that my life had come to an -end, and that I could only write 'defeated' over it." - -"Thy real life begins at this hour. Thy really fine business faculties, -corroded with rust and dust of inaction, will yet shine like new silver. -There is no defeat, except from within. And the glad way in which thou -can look forward, and take up a life so different to that thou hes known -for more than fifty years, shows plainly that you can, and will, redeem -every fault of the old life. As thou art so busy and bothered to-night, -come to-morrow and I will hev my lawyer, and banker, also a first rate -factory architect, here to meet thee." - -"At what hour?" - -"From ten o'clock to half-past twelve are my business hours. If that -time is too short, we will lengthen it a bit. Dick has asked me to tell -thee something thou ought to know, but which he cannot talk to thee -about." - -"Is it about Faith Foster?" - -"Not it! Varry different." - -"What, or who, then?" - -"John Thomas Bradley." - -"Then don't thee say a word about the man. Thy words hev been so good, -so wonderfully good, that I will not hev meaner ones mixed up with them. -They may come to-morrow after law and money talk, but not after thy -loving, heartening promises. No! No!" - -"Well, then, go home and tell Annie, and let that weary Reform Bill -business drop out of thy mind." - -"Reform was a great need. It was a good thing to see it come, and Grey -and Brougham hev proved themsens to be great men." - -"I don't deny it, and it is allays so ordered, that in all times, great -men can do great things." - -With a light heart and a quick step the squire hurried back to the -Clarendon. He had been given to drink of the elixir of life, the joy of -work, the pleasure of doing great good to many others, the feeling that -he was going to redeem his lost years. He had not walked with such a -light purposeful step for twenty years, and Annie was amazed when -she heard it. She was still more amazed when she heard him greet some -acquaintance whom he met in the corridor. Now Annie had resolved to be -rather cool and silent with her husband. He had overstayed his own -time nearly two hours, and she thought he ought to be made to feel the -enormity of such a delinquency; especially, when he was hurrying their -departure, though she had yet a great many little things to attend to. - -She quickly changed her intentions. She only needed one glance at her -husband to make her rise to her feet, and go to meet him with a face -full of wonder. "Why! Antony! Antony, whativer hes come to thee? Thou -looks--thou looks----" - -"How, Annie? How do I look?" - -"Why! Like thou looked--on thy wedding day! Whativer is it, dear?" - -"Annie! Annie! I feel varry like I did that day. Oh, Annie, I hev got -my life given back to me! I am going to begin it again from this varry -hour! I am going to work, to be a big man of business, Annie. I'm going -to build a factory for a thousand power looms. Oh, my wife! My wife! I'm -so proud, so happy, I seem to hev been dead and just come back to life -again." - -"I am so glad for thee, dear. Who, or what, hes brought thee this -wonderful good?" - -"Sit thee down beside me, and let me hold thy hand, or I'll mebbe think -I am dreaming. Am I awake? Am I in my right mind? Or is it all a dream, -Annie? Tell me the truth." - -"Tell thy wife what hes happened, then I can tell thee the truth." - -"_Why-a!_ thy husband, the squire of Annis, is going to build the -biggest and handsomest factory in the whole West Riding--going to fill -it with steam power looms--going to manufacture woolen goods for the -whole of England--if England will hev the sense to buy them; for they -will be well made, and of tip-top quality. Annis village is going to be -a big spinning and weaving town! O Annie! Annie! I see the vision. I -saw it as I came through Piccadilly. The little village seemed to be in -midair, and as I looked, it changed, and I saw it full of big buildings, -and high chimneys, and hurrying men and women, and I knew that I was -looking at what, please God, I shall live to see in reality. Annie, I -hev begun to live this varry day. I have been in a sweet, sweet sleep -for more than fifty years, but I hev been awakened, and now I am going -to work for the new Annis, and redeem all the years I hev loitered away -through the old." - -"I am glad for thee, Antony. Glad for thee! How is tha going to manage -it? I am sorry Kitty and I hev made thee spend so much good gold on our -foolishness!" - -"Nay, nay, I am glad you both hed all you wanted. This morning I was -feeling down in the depths. I hedn't but just money enough to take us -home, and I was wondering how iver I was to make buckle and belt meet. -Then tha knows I got a letter from Jo-sepha, and I went to see her, and -she told me she was going to build the biggest factory in the West -Riding. She told me that she hed _made_ money enough to do this: that it -was Annis money, ivery farthing of it, and it was coming to Annis, and -Annis only. Then she told me what her big plans were, bigger than I -could fairly swallow at first, and oh, dear lass, she asked me to be her -partner. I hev to give the land and my time. She does all the rest." - -"Thy sister hes a great heart. I found that out this winter." - -"Ay, and she found out that thou were a deal sweeter than she thought -before, and she opened her heart to thee, and Dick, and Kitty." - -"Will she live in Annis?" - -"Not she! No one could get her away from London, and the house her -Admiral built for her. She will come down to our regular meeting once a -quarter. She won't bother thee." - -"No, indeed, she won't! After this wonderful kindness to thee, she can't -bother me. She is welcome to iverything that is mine, even to my warmest -and truest love. The best room at Annis Hall is hers, and we will both -love and honor her all the days of our lives." - -"Now, then, I am quite happy, as happy as God and His gift can make a -man; and if I was a Methodist, I would go to their chapel at once and -tell them all what a good and great thing God hed done for them, as well -as mysen. Thou sees they were thought of, no doubt, when I was thought -of, for God knew I'd do right by His poor men and women and little -childer." - -"I hope, though, thou wilt stand by thy awn church. It hes stood by -thee, and all thy family for centuries. I wouldn't like thee to desert -the mother church of England." - -"Howiver can thou speak to me in such a half-and-half way. My prayer -book is next to my Bible. _Why-a!_ it is my soul's mother. I hev my -collect for ivery day, and I say it. On the mornings I went hunting, -sometimes I was a bit hurried, but as I stood in my bare feet, I allays -said it, and I allays did my best to mean ivery word I said." - -"I know, my love--but thou hes lately seemed to hev a sneaking respect -for Mr. Foster, and Jonathan Hartley, and Methodists in general." - -"Well, that is true. I hev a varry great respect for them. They do -their duty, and in the main they trusted in God through these past black -years, and behaved themsens like men. But I should as soon think of -deserting thee as of deserting my Mother Church." - -"I believe thee, yet we do hev varry poor sermons, and in that way Mr. -Foster is a great temptation." - -"I niver minded the sermon. I hed the blessed Book of Common Prayer. And -if the church is my soul's mother, then the Book of Common Prayer is -mother's milk; that it is, and I wonder that thou hes niver noticed how -faithfully I manage to say my collect. My mother taught me to say one -ivery morning. I promised her I would. I am a man of my word, Annie, -even to the living, and I would be feared to break a promise to the -dead. I can't think of anything much worse a man could do." - -"My dear one! This day God hes chosen thee to take care of his poor. We -must get back to Annis as quickly as possible, and give them this hope." - -"So we must, but I hev a meeting to-morrow at ten o'clock with Josepha's -banker, business adviser, her lawyer, and her architect. I may be most -of the day with his crowd. This is Monday, could tha be ready to start -home on Thursday, by early mail coach?" - -"Easily." - -"That will do. Now then, Annie, I hed a varry good dinner, but I want a -cup of tea--I am all a quiver yet." - -Later in the evening Dick came in, and joined them at the supper table. -He looked at his father and mother and wondered. He saw and felt that -something good had happened, and in a few minutes the squire told him -all. His enthusiasm set the conversation to a still happier tone, though -Dick was for a moment dashed and silenced by his father's reply to his -question as to what he was to look after in this new arrangement of -their lives. - -"Why, Dick," answered the squire, "thy aunt did not name thee, and -when I did, she said: 'We'll find something for Dick when the time is -fitting.' She said also that my time would be so taken up with watching -the builders at work, that Dick would hev to look after his mother and -the household affairs, till they got used to being alone all day long. -Tha sees, Dick, we hev spoiled our women folk, and we can't stop waiting -on them, all at once." - -Dick took the position assigned him very pleasantly, and then remarked -that Kitty ought to have been informed. "The dear one," he continued, -"hes been worried above a bit about the money we were all spending. She -said her father looked as if he had a heartache, below all his smiles." - -Then Dick thought of the political climax that Harry had spoken of, and -asked himself if he should now speak of it. No, he could not. He could -not do it at this happy hour. Nothing could be hindered, or helped, by -the introduction of this painful subject, and he told himself that he -would not be the person to fling a shadow over such a happy and hopeful -transition in the squire's life. For Dick also was happy in a change -which would bring him so much nearer to his beautiful and beloved Faith. - -Indeed it was a very charming return home. The squire seemed to have -regained his youth. He felt as if indeed such a marvelous change had -actually taken place, nor was there much marvel in it. His life had been -almost quiescent. He had been lulled by the long rust of his actually -fine business talents. Quite frequently he had had a few days of -restlessness when some fine railway offer presented itself, but any -offer would have implied a curtailment, which would not result in -bettering his weavers' condition, and he hesitated until the opportunity -was gone. For opportunities do not wait, they are always on the wing. -Their offer is "take or leave me," and so it is only the alert who bid -quick enough. - -After a pleasant, though fatiguing drive, they reached Annis village. -Their carriage was waiting at the coach office for them, and everyone -lifted his cap with a joyful air as they appeared. The squire was glad -to see that the caps were nearly all paper caps. It was likely then -that many of his old weavers were waiting on what he had promised in his -speech to them. And it filled his heart with joy that he could now keep -that promise, on a large and generous scale. He saw among the little -crowd watching the coach, Israel Naylor, and he called him in a loud, -cheerful voice, that was in itself a promise of good, and said: "Israel, -run and tell Jonathan Hartley to come up to the Hall, and see me as soon -as iver he can and thou come with him, if tha likes to, I hev nothing -but good news for the men. Tell them that. And tell thysen the same." - -In an hour the squire and his family and his trunks and valises and -carpet bags were all at home again. Weary they certainly were, but oh, -so happy, and Dick perhaps happiest of all, for he had seen Mr. Foster -at his door, and as he drove past him, had lifted his hat; and in that -silent, smiling movement, sent a message that he knew would make Faith -as happy as himself. - -I need not tell any woman how happy Mistress Annis and her daughter were -to be home again. London was now far from their thoughts. It was the new -Annis that concerned them--the great, busy town they were to build up -for the future. Like the squire, they all showed new and extraordinary -energy and spirit, and as for the squire he could hardly wait with -patience for the arrival of Jonathan Hartley and Israel. - -Actually more than twenty of the old weavers came with Jonathan, and -Annie found herself a little bothered to get sittings for them, until -the squire bethought him of the ballroom. Thither he led the way with -his final cup of tea still in his hand, as in loud cheerful words he bid -them be seated. Annie had caused the chairs to be placed so as to form -a half circle and the squire's own chair was placed centrally within -it. And as he took it every man lifted his paper cap above his head, -and gave him a hearty cheer, and no man in England was happier at that -moment than Antony Annis, Squire of Annis and Deeping Hollow. - -"My friends!" he cried, with all the enthusiasm of a man who has -recaptured his youth. "I am going to build the biggest and handsomest -factory in Yorkshire--or in any other place. I am going to fill it with -the best power looms that can be bought--a thousand of them. I am going -to begin it to-morrow morning. To-night, right here and now, I am going -to ask Jonathan to be my adviser and helper and general overseer. For -this work I am offering him now, one hundred and fifty pounds the -first year, or while the building is in progress. When we get to -actual weaving two hundred pounds a year, with increase as the work and -responsibility increases. Now, Jonathan, if this offer suits thee, I -shall want thee at eight o'clock in the morning. Wilt tha be ready, eh?" - -Jonathan was almost too amazed to speak, but in a moment or two he -almost shouted-- - -"Thou fairly caps me, squire. Whativer can I say to thee? I am -dumbfounded with joy! God bless thee, squire!" - -"I am glad to be His messenger of comfort to you all. These are the -plans for all who choose to take them, my old men having the preference -wheriver it can be given. To-morrow, Jonathan and I will go over my -land lying round Annis village within three miles, and we will pick -the finest six acres there is in that area for the mill. We will begin -digging for the foundation Monday morning, if only with the few men we -can get round our awn village. Jonathan will go to all the places near -by, to get others, and there will be hundreds of men coming from London -and elsewhere, builders, mechanics, and such like. The architect is -hiring them, and will come here with them. Men, these fresh mouths will -all be to fill, and I think you, that awn your awn cottages, can get -your wives to cook and wash for them, and so do their part, until we get -a place put up for the main lot to eat and sleep in. Jonathan will help -to arrange that business; and you may tell your women, Antony Annis will -be surety for what-iver is just money for their work. Bit by bit, we -will soon get all into good working order, and I am promised a fine -factory ready for work and business in one year. What do you think of -that, men?" Then up went every paper cap with a happy shout, and the -squire smiled and continued: - -"You need not fear about the brass for all I am going to do, being -either short or scrimpit. My partner has money enough to build two -mills, aye, and more than that. And my partner is Annis born, and loves -this bit of Yorkshire, and is bound to see Annis village keep step with -all the other manufacturing places in England; and when I tell you that -my partner is well known to most of you, and that her name is Josepha -Annis, you'll hev no fear about the outcome." - -"No! No! Squire," said Jonathan, speaking for all. "We all know -the Admiral's widow. In one way or other we hev all felt her loving -kindness; and we hev often heard about her heving no end of money, and -they know thy word, added to her good heart, makes us all happy and -satisfied. Squire, thou hes kept thy promise thou hes done far more than -keep it. God must hev helped thee! Glory be to God!" - -"To be sure I hev kept my promise. I allays keep my promise to the poor -man, just as fully as to the rich man. Tell your women that my partner -and I are going to put in order all your cottages--we are going to -put wells or running water in all of them, and re-roof and paint and -whitewash and mend where mending is needed. And you men during your -time of trouble, hev let your little gardens go to the bad. Get agate -quickly, and make them up to mark. You knaw you can't do rough work with -your hands, you that reckon to weave fine broadcloth; but there will be -work of some kind or other, and it will be all planned out, while the -building goes on, as fast as men and money can make it go." - -"Squire," said Jonathan in a voice so alive with feeling, so strong and -happy, that it might almost have been seen, as well as heard, "Squire, -I'll be here at eight in the morning, happy to answer thy wish and -word." - -"Well, then, lads, I hev said enough for to-night. Go and make your -families and friends as happy as yoursens. I haven't said all I wanted -to say, but I shall be right here with you, and I will see that not one -of my people suffer in any way. There is just another promise I make -you for my partner. She is planning a school--a good day school for -the children, and a hospital for the sick, and you'll get them, sure -enough." - -"Squire, we thank thee with all our hearts, and we will now go and ring -t' chapel bell, and get the people together, and tell them all thou hes -said would come to pass." - -"Too late to-night." - -"Not a bit too late. Even if we stop there till midnight, God loves -the midnight prayer. Oh, Squire Annis, thou hes done big things for -workingmen in London, and----" - -"Ay, I did! I wouldn't come home till I saw the workingmen got their -rights. And I shall see that my men get all, and more, than I hev -promised them. My word is my bond." - -Then the men with hearty good-bys, which is really the abbreviation of -"_God be with you!_" went quickly down the hill and in half-an-hour -the chapel bells were ringing and the squire stood at his open door and -listened with a glad heart to them. His wife and daughter watched him, -and then smiled at each other. They hardly knew what to say, for he was -the same man, and yet far beyond the same. His child-likeness, and his -pleasant bits of egotism, were, as usual, quite evident; and Annie -was delighted to see and hear the expressions of his simple -self-appreciation, but in other respects he was not unlike one who had -just attained unto his majority. To have had his breakfast and be ready -for a day's tramp at eight o'clock in the morning was a wonderful thing -for Antony Annis to promise. Yet he faithfully kept it, and had -been away more than an hour when his wife and daughter came down to -breakfast. - -Dick soon joined them, and he was not only in high spirits, but also -dressed with great care and taste. His mother regarded him critically, -and then became silent. She had almost instantly divined the reason of -his careful dressing. She looked inquisitively at Katherine, who dropped -her eyes and began a hurried and irrelative conversation about the most -trifling of subjects. Dick looked from one to the other, and said with a -shrug of his shoulders, "I see I have spoiled a private conversation. I -beg pardon. I will be away in a few minutes." - -"Where are you going so early, Dick?" - -"I am going to Mr. Foster's. I have a message to him from father, and I -have a very important message to Faith Foster from myself." He made -the last remark with decision, drank off his coffee, and rose from the -table. - -"Dick, listen to your mother. Do not be in a hurry about some trivial -affair, at this most important period of your father's--of all our -lives. Nothing can be lost, everything is to be gained by a little -self-denial on the part of all, who fear they are being neglected. -Father has the right of way at this crisis." - -"I acknowledge that as unselfishly as you do, mother. I intend to help -father all I can. I could not, would not, do otherwise. Father wants to -see Mr. Foster, and I want to see Miss Foster. Is there anything I can -do for yourself or Kitty when I am in the village?" - -"Nothing. Nothing at all." - -"Then good-by," and with a rapid glance at his sister, Dick left the -room. Neither mother nor sister answered his words. Mistress Annis took -rapid spoonfuls of coffee; Katherine broke the shell of her egg with -quite superfluous noise and rapidity. For a few moments there was -silence, full of intense emotion, and Katherine felt no inclination to -break it. She knew that Dick expected her at this very hour to make his -way easy, and his intentions clear to his mother. She had promised to -do so, and she did not see how she was to escape, or delay this action. -However, she instantly resolved to allow her mother to open the subject, -and stand as long as possible on the defensive. - -Mistress Annis made exactly the same resolve. Her lips quivered, her -dropped eyes did not hide their trouble and she nervously began -to prepare herself a fresh cup of coffee. Katherine glanced at her -movements, and finally said, with an hysterical little laugh, "Dear -mammy, you have already put four pieces of sugar in your cup," and she -laid her hand on her mother's hand, and so compelled her to lift her -eyes and answer, "Oh, Kitty! Kitty! don't you see, dearie? Dick has gone -through the wood to get a stick, and taken a crooked one at the last. -You know what I mean. Oh, dear me! Dear me!" - -"You fear Dick is going to marry Faith Foster. Some months ago I told -you he would do so." - -"I could not take into my consciousness such a calamity." - -"Why do you say 'calamity'?" - -"A Methodist preacher's daughter is far enough outside the pale of the -landed aristocracy." - -"She is as good as her father and every landed gentleman, in or near -this part of England, loves and respects, Mr. Foster. They ask his -advice on public and local matters, and he by himself has settled -disputes between masters and men in a way that satisfied both parties." - -"That is quite a different thing. Politics puts men on a sort of -equality, the rules of society keep women in the state in which it has -pleased God to put them." - -"Unless some man out of pure love lifts them up to his own rank by -marriage. I don't think any man could lift up Faith. I do not know a man -that is able to stand equal to her." - -"Your awn brother, I think, ought to be in your estimation far----" - -"Dick is far below her in every way, and Dick knows it. I think, mother -dear, it is a good sign for Dick's future, to find him choosing for a -wife a woman who will help him to become nobler and better every year of -his life." - -"I hev brought up my son to a noble standard. Dick is now too good, or -at least good enough, for any woman that iver lived. I don't care who, -or what she was, or is. I want no woman to improve Dick. Dick hes no -fault but the one of liking women below him, and inferior to him, and -unworthy of him:--women, indeed, that he will hev to educate in -ivery way, up to his own standard. That fault comes his father's way -exactly--his father likes to feel free and easy with women, and he can't -do it with the women of his awn rank--for tha knaws well, the women -of ivery station in life are a good bit above and beyond the men, and -so----" - -"Dear mammy, do you think?--oh, you know you cannot think, father -married with that idea in his mind. You were his equal by birth, and yet -I have never seen father give up a point, even to you, that he didn't -want to give up. I think father holds his awn side with everyone, and -holds it well. And if man or woman said anything different, I would not -envy them the words they would get from you." - -"Well, of course, I could only expect that you would stand by Dick in -any infatuation he had; the way girls and young men spoil their lives, -and ruin their prospects, by foolish, unfortunate marriage is a miracle -that hes confounded their elders iver since their creation. Adam fell -that way. Poor Adam!" - -"But, mammy dear, according to your belief, the woman in any class is -always superior to the man." - -"There was no society, and no social class in that time, and you know -varry well what came of Adam's obedience to the woman. She must hev been -weaker than her husband. Satan niver thought it worth his while to try -his schemes with Adam." - -"I wonder if Adam scolded and ill-treated Eve for her foolishness!" - -"He ought to have done so. He ought to hev scolded her well and hard, -all her life long." - -"Then, of course, John Tetley, who killed his wife with his persistent -brutality, did quite right; for his excuse was that she coaxed him to -buy railway shares that proved actual ruin to him." - -"Well, I am tired of arguing with people who can only see one way. Your -sister Jane, who is just like me, and who always took my advice, hes -done well to hersen, and honored her awn kin, and----" - -"Mother, do you really think Jane's marriage an honor to her family?" - -"Leyland is a peer, and a member of The House of Lords, and considered a -clever man." - -"A peer of three generations, a member of a House in which he dare not -open his mouth, for his cleverness is all quotation, not a line of it is -the breed of his own brain." - -"Of course, he is not made after the image and likeness of Harry -Bradley." - -"Mother, Harry is not our question now. I ask you to give Dick some good -advice and sympathy. If he will listen to anyone, you are the person -that can influence him. You must remember that Faith is very lovely, and -beauty goes wherever it chooses, and does what it wants to do." - -"And both Dick and you must remember that you can't choose a wife, or -a husband, by his handsome looks. You might just as wisely choose your -shoes by the same rule. Sooner or later, generally sooner, they would -begin to pinch you. How long hev you known of this clandestine affair?" - -"It was not clandestine, mother. I told you Dick was really in love with -Faith before we went to London." - -"Faith! Such a Methodist name." - -"Faith is not her baptismal name. She came to her father and mother as a -blessing in a time of great trouble, and they called her _Consola_ from -the word Consolation. You may think of her as Consola. She will have to -be married by that name. Her father wished for some private reason of -his own to call her Faith. He never told her why." - -"The one name is as disagreeable as the other, and the whole subject is -disagreeable; and, in plain truth, I don't care to talk any more about -it." - -"Can I help you in anything this morning, mother?" - -"No." - -"Then I will go to my room, and put away all the lovely things you -bought me in London." - -"You had better do so. Your father is now possessed by one idea, and he -will be wanting every pound to further it." - -"I think, too, mother, we have had our share." - -"Have you really nothing to tell me about Harry and yourself?" - -"I could not talk of Harry this morning, mother. I think you may hear -something from father tonight, that will make you understand." - -"Very well. That will be soon enough, if it is more trouble," and though -she spoke wearily, there was a tone of both pity and anxiety in her -voice. - -Indeed, it was only the fact of the late busy days of travel and change, -and the atmosphere of a great reconstruction of their whole life and -household, that had prevented Mistress Annis noticing, as she otherwise -would have done, the pallor and sorrow in her daughter's appearance. -Not even the good fortune that had come to her father, could dispel the -sickheartedness which had caused her to maintain a stubborn silence -to all Harry's pleas for excuse and pardon. Dick was his sister's only -confidant and adviser in this matter, and Dick's anger had increased -steadily. He was now almost certain that Harry deserved all the -resentment honest love could feel and show towards those who had -deceived and betrayed it. And the calamity that is not sure, is almost -beyond healing. The soul has not forseen, or tried to prevent it. It has -come in a hurry without credentials, and holds the hope of a "perhaps" -in its hands; it may not perhaps be as bad as it appears; it may not -perhaps be true. There may possibly be many mitigating circumstances yet -not known. Poor Kitty! She had but this one sad circumstance to think -about, she turned it a hundred ways, but it was always the same. -However, as she trailed slowly up the long stairway, she said to -herself-- - -"Mother was talking in the dark, but patience, one more day! Either -father or Dick will bring the truth home with them." - - - - -CHAPTER XI--AUNT JOSEPHA INTERFERES - - -_"Nothing seems to have happened so long ago as an affair of Love."_ - -_"To offend any person is the next foolish thing to being offended."_ - -_"When you can talk of a new lover, you have forgotten the old one."_ - - - LIFE is full of issues. Nothing happens just as we expect or prepare -for it, and when the squire returned home late in the afternoon, weary -but full of enthusiasm, he was yet ignorant concerning the likely -nomination of Bradley for the united boroughs of Annis and Bradley. He -had walked all of fourteen miles, and he told his wife proudly, that -"Jonathan was more weary with the exercise than he was." - -"All the same, Annie," he added, as he kissed her fondly, "I was glad to -see Britton with the horse and gig at the foot of the hill. That was a -bit of thy thoughtfulness. God bless thee, dearie!" - -"Yes, it was. I knew thou hed not walked as much as tha ought to hev -done while we were in London. I don't want thy fine figure spoiled, but -I thought thou would be tired enough when thou got to the foot of the -hill." - -"So I was, and Jonathan was fairly limping, but we hev settled on t' -mill site--there's nothing can lick Clitheroe Moor side, just where it -touches the river. My land covers twenty acres of it, and on its south -edge it is almost within touch of the new railway going to Leeds. -Jonathan fairly shouted, as soon as we stood on it. 'Squire,' he said, -'here's a mill site in ten thousand. There cannot be a finer one -found in England, and it is the varry bit of land that man Boocock -wanted--_and didn't get as tha knows?_' Now I must write to Josepha, and -tell her to come quickly and see it. She must bring with her also her -business adviser." - -"Does tha reckon to be under thy sister?" - -"Keep words like those behind thy lips, and set thy teeth for a barrier -they cannot pass. We are equal partners, equal in power and profit, -equal in loss or gain." Then he was silent, and Annie understood -that she had gone far enough. Yet out of pure womanly wilfulness, she -answered-- - -"I shall not presume to speak another word about thy partner," and -Antony Annis looked at her over the rim of his tea cup, and the ready -answer was on his lips, but he could not say it. Her personal beauty -smote the reproving words back, her handsome air of defiance conquered -his momentary flash of anger. She had her husband at her feet. She knew -it, and her steady, radiant smile completed her victory. Then she leaned -towards him, and he put down his cup and kissed her fondly. He had -intended to say "O confound it, Annie! What's up with thee? Can't thou -take a great kindness with anything but bitter biting words?" And what -he really said was--"Oh, Annie! Annie! sweet, dear Annie!" And lo! there -came no harm from this troubling of a man's feelings, because Annie knew -just how far it was safe for her to go. - -This little breeze cleared the room that had been filled with unrestful -and unfair suspicions all the day long. The squire suddenly found out it -was too warm, and rose and opened the window. Then he asked--like a man -who has just recovered himself from some mental neglect--"Wheriver hev -Dick and Kitty gone to? I hevn't seen nor heard them since I came home." - -"They went to the village before two o'clock. They went to the Methodist -preacher's house, I hev no doubt. Antony, what is to come of this -foolishness? I tell thee Dick acts as never before." - -"About Faith?" - -"Yes." - -"What hes he said to thee about Faith? How does he act?" asked the -squire. - -"He hes not said so much to me as he usually does about the girl he is -carrying-on-with, but he really believes himself in love with her for -iver and iver." - -"I'll be bound, he thinks that very thing. Dick is far gone. But the -girl is fair and good. He might do worse." - -"I don't like her, far from it." - -"She is always busy in some kind of work." - -"Busy to a fault." - -"I'll tell thee what, my Joy. We shall hev to make the best we can of -this affair. If Dick is bound to marry her, some day their wedding will -come off. So there is no good in worrying about it. But I am sure in the -long run, all will be well." - -"My mind runs on this thing, and it troubles me. Thou ought to speak -sharp and firm to Dick. I am sure Josepha hes other plans for him." - -"I'll break no squares with my lad, about any woman." - -"The girls all make a dead set for Dick." - -"Not they! It hes allays been the other way about. We wanted him to -marry pretty Polly Raeburn, and as soon as he found that out, he gave -her up. That is Dick's awful way. Tell him he ought to marry Faith, and -he will make easy shift to do without her. That is the short and -the long of this matter. Now, Annie, thou must not trouble me about -childish, foolish love affairs. I hev work for two men as strong as -mysen to do, and I am going to put my shoulder to the collar and do it. -Take thy awn way with Dick. I must say I hev a fellow feeling with the -lad. Thou knows I suffered a deal, before I came to the point of running -away with thee." - -"What we did, is neither here nor there, the circumstances were -different. I think I shall let things take their chance." - -"Ay, I would. Many a ship comes bravely into harbor, that hes no pilot -on board." - -"Did tha hear any political news? It would be a strange thing if -Jonathan could talk all day with thee, and the both of you keep off -politics." - -"Well, tha sees, we were out on business and business means ivery -faculty a man hes. I did speak once of Josepha, and Jonathan said, 'She -is good for any sum.'" - -"Antony, hes thou ever thought about the House of Commons since thou -came home? What is tha going to do about thy business there?" - -"I hevn't thought on that subject. I am going to see Wetherall about it. -I cannot be in two places at one time, and I am going to stick to Annis -Mill." - -"Will it be any loss to thee to give up thy seat?" - -"Loss or gain, I am going to stand firmly by the mill. I don't think it -will be any money loss. I'll tell Wetherall to sell the seat to any -man that is of my opinions, and will be bound to vote for the Liberal -party." - -"I would see Wetherall soon, if I was thee." - -"What's the hurry? Parliament is still sitting. Grey told me it could -not get through its present business until August or later." - -"It will not be later. September guns and rods will call ivery man to -the hills or the waters." - -"That's varry likely, and if so, they won't go back to London until -December. So there's no need for thee to worry thysen about December. -It's only June yet, tha knows." - -"Will tha lose money by selling thy seat?" - -"Not I! I rayther think I'll make money. And I'll save a bag of -sovereigns. London expenses hes been the varry item that hes kept us -poor,--that is, poorer than we ought to be. There now! That will do -about London. I am a bit tired of London. I hear Dick and Kitty's -voices, and there's music in them. O God, what a grand thing it is to be -young!" - -"I must order fresh tea for them, they are sure to be hungry." - -"Not they! There's no complaining in their voices. Listen how gayly Dick -laughs. And I know Kitty is snuggling up to him, and saying some loving -thing or ither. Bless the children! It would be a dull house wanting -them." - -"Antony!" - -"So it would, Annie, and thou knows it. Hev some fresh food brought for -them. Here they are!" And the squire rose to meet them, taking Kitty -within his arm, and giving his hand to Dick. - -"Runaways!" he said. "Whativer kept you from your eating? Mother hes -ordered some fresh victuals. They'll be here anon." - -"We have had our tea, mother--such a merry meal!" - -"Wheriver then? - -"At Mr. Foster's," said Dick promptly. "Mr. Foster came in while Kitty -and I were sitting with Faith, and he said 'it was late, and he was -hungry, and we had better get tea ready.' And 'so full of fun and -pleasure we all four went to work. Mr. Foster and I set the table, and -Faith and Kitty cut the bread and butter, and all of us together brought -on cold meat and Christ-Church patties, and it was all done in such a -joyous mood, that you would have thought we were children playing at -having a picnic. Oh! it was such a happy hour! Was it not, Kitty?" - -"Indeed it was. I shall never forget it." - -But who can prolong a joy when it is over? Both Kitty and Dick tried to -do so, but the squire soon turned thoughtful, and Mistress Annis, though -she said only nice words, put no sympathy into them; and they were only -words, and so fell to the ground lifeless. The squire was far too genial -a soul, not to feel this condition, and he said suddenly--"Dick, come -with me. I hev a letter to write to thy aunt, and thou can do it for me. -I'll be glad of thy help." - -"I will come gladly, father. I wish you would let me do all the writing -about business there is to be done. Just take me for your secretary." - -"That is a clever idea. We will talk it out a bit later. Come thy ways -with me, now. No doubt thy mother and sister hev their awn things to -talk over. Women hev often queer views of what seems to men folk varry -reasonable outcomes." - -So the two men went out very confidingly together, and Kitty remained -with her mother, who sat silently looking into the darkening garden. - -Neither spoke for a few minutes, then Kitty lifted her cape and bonnet -and said, "I am tired, mother. I think I will go to my room." - -"Varry well, but answer me a few questions first. What do you now think -of Dick's fancy for Faith?" - -"It is not a fancy, mother. It is a love that will never fade or grow -old. He will marry Faith or he will never marry." - -"Such sentimentality! It is absurd!" - -"Dick thinks his love for Faith Foster the great fact of his life. He -will never give her up. Her ways are his ways. He thinks as she thinks. -He would do anything she asked him to do. Dear mammy, try and make the -best of it. You cannot alter it. It is Destiny, and I heard Mr. Foster -say, that no person, nor yet any nation, could fight Destiny unless God -was on their side. I think it is Dick's destiny to marry Faith." - -"Think as you like, Katherine, but be so kind as to omit quoting Mr. -Foster's opinions in my presence." - -"Very well, mother." - -"And I do wish you would make up your quarrel with Harry Bradley; it is -very unpleasant to have you go mourning about the house and darkening -the only bit of good fortune that has ever come to your father. Indeed, -I think it is very selfish and cruel. I do that!" - -"I am sorry. I try to forget, but--" and she wearily lifted her cape and -left the room. And her mother listened to her slow, lifeless steps on -the stairway, and sorrowfully wondered what she ought to do. Suddenly -she remembered that her husband had asked her not to trouble him about -foolish love affairs and Dick was sure to take Katherine's view of the -matter, whatever the trouble was; and, indeed, she was quite aware that -the squire himself leaned to the side of the lovers, and there was no -one else she could speak to. It was all a mixed up anxiety, holding -apparently no hope of relief from outside help. - -Yes, there was Aunt Josepha, and as soon as she stepped into the -difficulty, Katherine's mother felt there would be some explanation or -help. It was only waiting a week, and Madam Temple would be in Annis, -and with this reflection she tried to dismiss the subject. - -Indeed, everyone in Annis Hall was now looking forward to the visit of -Josepha. But more than a fortnight elapsed before she arrived, bringing -with her experts and advisers of various kinds. The latter were -pleasantly located in the village inn, and Josepha was delighted with -the beautiful and comfortable arrangements her sister-in-law had made -for her. She came into their life with overflowing good humor and -spirits, and was soon as busily interested in the great building work as -her happy brother. - -She had to ride all through the village to reach the mill site, and she -did not think herself a day too old to come down to breakfast in her -riding habit and accompany her brother. It was not long, however, before -the pair separated. Soon after her arrival, the village women, one by -one, renewed their acquaintance with her, and every woman looked to Miss -Josepha for relief, or advice about their special tribulations. Many of -them were women of her own age. They remembered her as Miss Josepha, -and prided themselves on the superiority of their claim. To the younger -women she was Madam, just Madam, and indeed it was a queer little -incident that quite naturally, and without any word of explanation, -made all, both old and young, avoid any other name than Miss Josepha. -"Yorkshire is for its awn folk, we doan't take to strange people and -strange names," said Israel Naylor, when questioned by some of the -business experts Josepha had brought down with her; "and," he explained, -"Temple is a Beverley name, or I mistake, and Annis folk know nothing -about Beverley names." So Madam Temple was almost universally Miss -Josepha, to the villagers, and she liked the name, and people who used -it won her favor. - -In a few weeks she had to hire a room in Naylor's house, and go there at -a fixed hour to see any of the people who wanted her. All classes came -to this room, from the Episcopal curate and the Methodist preacher, to -the poor widow of a weaver, who had gone to Bradford for work, and died -of cholera there. "Oh, Miss Josepha!" she cried, "Jonathan Hartley told -me to come to thee, and he said, he did say, that thou hed both wisdom -and money in plenty, and that thou would help me." - -"What is thy trouble, Nancy?" - -"My man died in Bradford, and he left me nothing but four helpless -childer, and I hev a sister in Bradford who will take care of them while -I go back to my old place as pastry cook at the Black Swan Hotel." - -"That would be a good plan, Nancy." - -"For sure it would, Miss Josepha, but we awned our cottage, and our bee -skeps, and two dozen poultry, and our old loom. I can't turn them into -brass again, and so I'm most clemmed with it all." - -"How much do you want for the 'all you awn'?" - -"I would count mysen in luck, if I got one hundred and fifty pounds." - -"Is that sum its honest worth, not a penny too much, or a penny too -little?" - -"It is just what it cost us; ivery penny, and not a penny over, or -less." - -"Then I'll buy it, if all is as thou says. I'll hev my lawyer look it -over, and I'll see what the squire says, and if thou hes been straight -with me, thou can go home, and pack what tha wants to take with thee." - -This incident was the initial purchase of many other cottages sold for -similar reasons, and when Josepha went back to London, she took with -her the title deeds of a large share of Annis village property. "But, -Antony," she said, "I hev paid the full value of ivery deed I hold, ay, -in some cases more than their present value, but I do not doubt I shall -get all that is mine when the time is ripe for more, and more, and more -mills." - -"Was this thy plan, when thou took that room in the Inn?" - -"Not it! I took it for a meeting place. I know most of the women -here, and I saw plainly Annie would not be able to stand the constant -visitations that were certain to follow. It made trouble in the kitchen, -and the voice of the kitchen soon troubles the whole house. Annie must -be considered, and the comfort of the home. That is the great right. -Then I hev other business with Annis women, not to be mixed up with thy -affairs. We are going to plan such an elementary school as Annis needs -for its children, with classes at night for the women who doan't want -their boys and girls to be ashamed of them. And there must be a small -but perfectly fitted up hospital for the workers who turn sick or get -injured in the mill. And the Reverend Mr. Bentley and the Reverend Mr. -Foster come to me with their cases of sorrow and sickness, and I can -tell thee a room for all these considerations was one of the necessities -of our plans." - -"I hevn't a bit of doubt of it. But it is too much for thee to manage. -Thou art wearying soul and body." - -"Far from it. It is as good and as great a thing to save a soul as it is -to make it. I am varry happy in my work, and as Mr. Foster would put it, -I feel a good deal nearer God, than I did counting up interest money in -London." - -In the meantime the home life at Annis Hall was not only changed but -constantly changing. There was always some stranger--some expert of one -kind or another--a guest in its rooms, and their servants or assistants -kept the kitchen in a racket of cooking, and eating, and unusual -excitement. Mistress Annis sometimes felt that it would be impossible to -continue the life, but every day the squire came home so tired, and -so happy, that all discomforts fled before his cheery "Hello!" and his -boyish delight in the rapidly growing edifice. Dick had become his paid -secretary, and in the meantime was studying bookkeeping, and learning -from Jonathan all that could be known, concerning long and short staple -wools. - -Katherine was her mother's right hand all the long day, but often, -towards closing time, she went down to the village on her pony, and then -the squire, or Dick, or both, rode home with her. Poor Kitty! Harry no -longer wrote to her, and Josepha said she had heard that he had gone to -America on a business speculation, "and it is a varry likely thing," -she said, "for Harry knew a penny from a pound, before he learned how to -count. I wouldn't fret about him, dearie." - -"I am not fretting, aunt, but how would you feel, if you had shut the -door of your heart, and your love lay dead on its threshold. Nothing is -left to me now, but the having loved." - -"Well, dearie, when we hevn't what we love, we must love what we hev. -Thou isn't a bit like thy sen." - -"I have never felt young since Harry left me." - -"That is a little thing to alter thee so much." - -"No trouble that touches the heart is a little thing." - -"Niver mind the past, dearie. Love can work miracles. If Harry really -loved thee he will come back to thee. Love is the old heartache of the -world, and then all in a minute some day, he is the Healing Love and The -Comforter. I hev a good mind to tell thee something, that I niver told -to any ither mortal sinner." - -"If it would help me to bear more cheerfully my great loss, I would be -glad to hear anything of that kind." - -Then Josepha sat down and spread her large capable hands one over each -knee and looking Kitty full in the eyes said--"I was at thy age as far -gone in love, with as handsome a youth as your Harry is. One morning -we hed a few words about the value of good birth, and out of pure -contradiction I set it up far beyond what I really thought of it; though -I'll confess I am yet a bit weak about my awn ancestors. Now my lover -was on this subject varry touchy, for his family hed money, more than -enough, but hed no landed gentry, and no coat of arms, in fact, no -family. And I hed just hed a few words with mother, and Antony hedn't -stood up for me. Besides, I wasn't dressed fit to be seen, or I thought -I wasn't, and I was out with mother, and out with Antony, well then, I -was out with mysen, and all the world beside; and I asked varry crossly: -'Whativer brings thee here at this time of day? I should hev thought -thou knew enough to tell thysen, a girl hes no liking for a lover that -comes in the morning. He's nothing but in her way.'" - -"Oh, auntie, how could you?" - -"Well, then, there was a varry boisterous wind blowing, and they do say, -the devil is allays busy in a high wind. I suppose he came my road -that morning, and instead of saying 'be off with thee' I made him so -comfortable in my hot temper, he just bided at my side, and egged me on, -to snap out ivery kind of provoking thing." - -"I am very much astonished, aunt. The fair word that turneth away wrath -is more like you." - -"For sure it is, or else there hes been a great change for t' better -since that time. Well, that day it was thus, and so; and I hev often -wondered as to the why and wherefore of that morning's foolishness." - -"Did he go away forever that morning?" - -"He did not come for a week, and during that week, Admiral Temple came -to see father, and he stayed until he took with him my promise to be his -wife early in the spring." - -"Were you very miserable, auntie?" - -"Oh, my dear, I was sick in love, as I could be." - -"Why didn't you make it up with him?" - -"I hed several reasons for not doing so. My father hed sailed with -Admiral Temple, and they were friends closer than brothers, for they hed -saved each other's lives--that was one reason. I was angry at my -lover staying away a whole week. That was reason number two. Ten years -afterwards I learned, quite accidentally, that his coming was prevented -by circumstances it was impossible for him to control. Then my mother -hed bragged all her fine words over the country-side, about the great -marriage I was to make. That was another reason;--and I am a bit ashamed -to say, the splendid jewels and the rich silks and Indian goods my new -lover sent me seemed to make a break with him impossible. At any rate, -I felt this, and mother and father niver spoke of the Admiral that they -did not add another rivet to the bond between us. So at last I married -my sailor, and I thank God I did so!" - -"Did your lover break his heart?" - -"Not a bit of it! He married soon after I was married." - -"Whom did he marry?" - -"Sophia Ratcliffe, a varry pretty girl from the old town of -Boroughbridge. I niver saw her. I went with the Admiral, by permission, -to various ports, remaining at some convenient town, while he sailed far -and wide after well-loaded ships of England's enemies, and picking up as -he sailed, any bit of land flying no civilized flag. I did not come back -to Annis for five years. My father was then dead, my mother hed gone -back to her awn folks, and my brother Antony was Squire of Annis." - -"Then did you meet your old lover?" - -"One day, I was walking with Antony through the village, and we met the -very loveliest child I iver saw in all my life. He was riding a Shetland -pony, and a gentleman walked by his side, and watched him carefully, and -I found out at once by his air of authority that he was the boy's tutor. -I asked the little fellow for a kiss, and he bent his lovely face and -smilingly let me take what I wanted. Then they passed on and Antony -said, 'His mother died three months ago, and he nearly broke his heart -for her.' 'Poor little chap,' I said, and my eyes followed the little -fellow down the long empty street. 'His father,' continued Antony, 'was -just as brokenhearted. All Annis village was sorry for him.' -'Do I know him?' I asked. 'I should think so!' answered thy father with -a look of surprise, and then someone called, 'Squire,' and we waited, -and spoke to the man about his taxes. After his complaint had been -attended to we went forward, and I remembered the child, and asked, -'What is the name of that lovely child?' And Antony said, -"'His name is Harry Bradley. His father is John Thomas Bradley. Hes thou -forgotten him?' - -"Then I turned and looked after the boy, but the little fellow was -nearly out of sight. I only got a last glimpse of some golden curls -lying loose over his white linen suit and black ribbons." - -Then Josepha ceased speaking and silently took the weeping girl in her -arms. She kissed her, and held her close, until the storm of sorrow was -over, then she said softly: - -"There it is, Lovey! The lot of women is on thee. Bear it bravely for -thy father's sake. He hes a lot to manage now, and he ought not to see -anything but happy people, or hear anything but loving words. Wash thy -face, and put on thy dairymaid's linen bonnet and we will take a -breath of fresh air in the lower meadow. Its hedges are all full of -the Shepherd's rose, and their delicious perfume gives my soul a fainty -feeling, and makes me wonder in what heavenly paradise I had caught that -perfume before." - -"I will, aunt. You have done me good, it would be a help to many girls -to have heard your story. We have so many ideas that, if examined, -would not look as we imagine them to be. Agatha De Burg used to say that -'unfaithfulness to our first love was treason to our soul.'" - -"I doan't wonder, if that was her notion. She stuck through thick and -thin to that scoundrel De Burg, and she was afraid De Burg was thinking -of thee, and afraid thou would marry him. When girls first go into -society they are in a bit of a hurry to get married; if they only wait a -year or two, it does not seem such a pressing matter. Thou knows De -Burg was Agatha's first love, and she hes not realized yet, that it is a -God's mercy De Burg hes not kep the promises he made her." - -"The course of true love never yet ran smooth," and Katherine sighed as -she poured out some water and prepared to wash her face. - -"Kitty," said her aunt, "the way my life hes been ordered for me, -shows that God, and only God, orders the three great events of ivery -life--birth, marriage and death; that is, if we will let Him do so. -Think a moment, if I hed married John Thomas Bradley, I would hev spent -all my best days in a lonely Yorkshire hamlet, in the midst of worrying -efforts to make work pay, that was too out-of-date to struggle along. -Until I was getting to be an old woman, I would hev known nothing but -care and worry, and how John Thomas would hev treated me, nobody but God -knew. I hated poverty, and I would hev been poor. I wanted to see Life -and Society and to travel, and I would hardly hev gone beyond Annis -Village. Well, now, see how things came about. I mysen out of pure bad -temper made a quarrel with my lover, and then perversely I wouldn't make -it up, and then the Admiral steps into my life, gives me ivery longing -I hed, and leaves me richer than all my dreams. I hev seen Life and -Society, and the whole civilized world, and found out just what it -is worth, and I hev made money, and am now giving mysen the wonderful -pleasure of helping others to be happy. Sit thee quiet. If Harry is -thine, he will come to thee sure as death! If he does not come of his -awn free will, doan't thee move a finger to bring him. Thou wilt mebbe -bring nothing but trouble to thysen. There was that young banker thou -met at Jane's house, he loved thee purely and sincerely. Thou might -easily hev done far worse than marry him. Whativer hed thou against -him?" - -"His hair." - -"What was wrong with the lad's hair?" - -"Why, aunt, Jane called it 'sandy' but I felt sure it was turning -towards red." - -"Stuff and nonsense! It will niver turn anything but white, and it -won't turn white till thy awn is doing the same thing. And tha knaws -it doesn't make much matter what color a man's hair is. Englishmen are -varry seldom without a hat of one kind or another. I doan't believe I -would hev known the Admiral without his naval hat, or in his last years, -his garden hat. Does tha remember an old lady called Mrs. Sam Sagar? She -used to come and see thy mother, when thou was only a little lass about -eight years old, remember her, she was a queer old lady." - -"Queer, but Yorkshire; queer, but varry sensible. Her husband, like the -majority of Yorkshiremen, niver took off his hat, unless to put on his -nightcap, or if he was going inside a church, or hed to listen to the -singing of 'God Save the King.' When he died, his wife hed his favorite -hat trimmed with black crape, and it hung on its usual peg of the hat -stand, just as long as she lived. You see his hat was the bit of his -personality that she remembered best of all. Well, what I wanted to show -thee was, the importance of the hat to a man, and then what matters the -color of his hair." - -By this time they were in the thick green grass of the meadow, and -Kitty laughed at her aunt's illustration of the Yorkshire man's habit -of covering his head, and they chatted about it, as they gathered great -handfuls of shepherd's roses. And after this, Josepha spoke only of her -plans for the village, and of Faith's interest in them. She felt she -had said plenty about love, and she hoped the seed she had sown that -afternoon had fallen on good ground. Surely it is a great thing to know -_how and when to let go._ - - - - -CHAPTER XII--THE SQUIRE MAKES GOOD - - -_"Busy, happy, loving people; talking, eating, singing, sewing, living -through every sense they have at the same time."_ - -_"People who are happy, do not write down their happiness."_ - - - THE summer went quickly away, but during it the whole life of Annis -Hall and Annis Village changed. The orderly, beautiful home was tossed -up by constant visitors, either on business, or on simple social -regulations; and the village was full of strange men, who had small -respect for what they considered such an old-fashioned place. But in -spite of all opinions and speculations, the work for which all this -change was permitted went on with unceasing energy. The squire's -interest in it constantly increased, and Dick's enthusiasm and ability -developed with every day's exigencies. Then Josepha was constantly -bringing the village affairs into the house affairs, and poor women -with easy, independent manners, were very troublesome to Britton and -his wife. They were amazed at the tolerance with which Mistress Annis -permitted their frequent visits and they reluctantly admitted such -excuses as she made for them. - -"You must remember, Betsy," she frequently explained, "that few of them -have ever been in any home but their father's and their own. They have -been as much mistress in their own home, as I have been in my home. -Their ideas of what is fit and respectful, come from their heart and are -not in any degree habits of social agreement. If they like or respect a -person, they are not merely civil or respectful, they are kind and free, -and speak just as they feel." - -"They do that, Madam--a good bit too free." - -"Well, Betsy, they are Mistress Temple's business at present. Thou need -not mind them." - -"I doan't, not in the least." - -"They are finding out for her, things she wants to know about the -village, the number of children that will be to teach--the number of men -and women that know how to read and write." - -"Few of that kind, Madam, if any at all." - -"You know she is now making plans for a school, and she wants, of -course, to have some idea as to the number likely to go there, and other -similar questions. Everyone ought to know how to read and write." - -"Well, Madam, Britton and mysen hev found our good common senses all we -needed. They were made and given to us by God, when we was born. He gave -us senses enough to help us to do our duty in that state of life it had -pleased Him to call us to. These eddicated lads are fit for nothing. -Britton won't be bothered with them. He says neither dogs nor horses -like them. They understand Yorkshire speech and ways, but when a lad -gets book knowledge, they doan't understand his speech, and his ways -of pronouncing his words; and they just think scorn of his -perliteness--they kick up their heels at it, and Britton says they do -right. _Why-a!_ We all know what school teachers are! The varry childher -feel suspicious o' them, and no wonder! They all hev a rod or a strap -somewhere about them, and they fairly seem to enjoy using it. I niver -hed a lick from anybody in my life. I wouldn't hev stood it, except from -dad, and his five senses were just as God made them; and if dad gave -any o' the lads a licking, they deserved it, and they didn't mind taking -it." - -"If they got one from a schoolmaster, I dare say they would deserve it." - -"No, Madam, begging your pardon, I know instances on the contrary. My -sister-in-law's cousin's little lad was sent to a school by Colonel -Broadbent, because he thought the child was clever beyond the usual run -of lads, and he got such a cruel basting as niver was, just because -he wouldn't, or couldn't, learn something they called parts of -speech--hard, long names, no meaning in them." - -"That was too bad. Did he try to learn them?" - -"He tried himsen sick, and Britton he tried to help him. Britton learned -one word, called in-ter-jec-tions. He tried that word on both dogs and -horses----" - -"Well, what followed?" - -"Nothing, Madam. He wanted the horses to go on, and they stood stock -still. The dogs just looked up at him, as if they thought he hed lost -his senses. And Britton, he said then and there, 'the Quality can hev -all my share of grammar, and they are varry welcome to it.' Our folk, -young and old, learn greedily to read. Writing hes equal favor with -them, arithmatic goes varry well with their natural senses, but grammar! -What's the use of grammar? They talk better when they know nothing about -it." - -So it must be confessed, Miss Josepha did not meet with the eager -gratitude she expected. She was indeed sometimes tempted to give up her -plans, but to give up was to Josepha so difficult and so hateful that -she would not give the thought a moment's consideration. "I hev been -taking the wrong way about the thing," she said to Annie. "I will go and -talk to them, mysen." - -"Then you will make them delighted to do all your will. Put on your bib -and tucker, and ask Mr. Foster's permission to use the meeting room of -the Methodist Chapel. That will give your plans the sacred touch women -approve when the subject concerns themselves." This advice was followed, -and two days afterward, Josepha dressed herself for a chapel interview -with the mothers of Annis. The special invitation pleased them, and they -went to the tryst with their usual up-head carriage, and free and easy -manner, decidely accentuated. - -Josepha was promptly at the rendezvous appointed, and precisely as -the clock struck three, she stepped from the vestry door to the little -platform used by the officials of the church in all their secular -meetings. She smiled and bowed her head and then cried--"Mothers of -Annis, good afternoon to every one of you!" And they rose in a body, and -made her a courtesy, and then softly clapped their hands, and as soon as -there was silence, Jonathan Hartley's daughter welcomed her. There was -nothing wanting in this welcome, it was brimful of honest pleasure. -Josepha was Annis. She was the sister of their squire, she was a very -handsome woman, and she had thought it worth while to dress herself -handsomely to meet them. She was known to every woman in the village, -but she had never become commonplace or indifferent. There was no other -woman just like her in their vicinity, and she had always been a ready -helper in all the times of their want and trouble. - -As she stood up before them, she drew every eye to her. She wore or -this occasion, her very handsomest, deepest, mourning garments. Her long -nun-like crpe veil would have fallen below her knees had it not been -thrown backward, and within her bonnet there was a Maria Stuart border -of the richest white crpe. Her thick wavy hair was untouched by Time, -and her stately figure, richly clothed in long garments of silk poplin, -was improved, and not injured, by a slight _embonpoint_ that gave her a -look of stability and strength. Her face, both handsome and benign, had -a rather austere expression, natural and approved,-though none in that -audience understood that it was the result of a strong will, tenaciously -living out its most difficult designs. - -Without a moment's delay she went straight to her point, and with -vigorous Yorkshire idioms soon carried every woman in the place with -her; and she knew so well the mental temperature of her audience, that -she promptly declined their vote. "I shall take your word, women," she -said in a confident tone, "and I shall expect ivery one of you to keep -it." - -Amid loud and happy exclamations, she left the chapel and when she -reached the street, saw that her coachman was slowly walking the ponies -in an opposite direction, in order to soothe their restlessness. She -also was too restless to stand still and wait their leisurely pace and -she walked in the same direction, knowing that they must very soon meet -each other. Almost immediately someone passed her, then turned back and -met face to face. - -It was a handsome man of about the squire's age, and he put out his -hand, and said with a charming, kindly manner:-- - -"_Why-a, Josepha! Josepha!_ At last we hev met again." - -For just a moment Josepha hesitated, then she gave the apparent stranger -her hand, and they stood laughing and chatting together, until the -ponies were at hand, and had to be taken away for another calming -exercise. - -"I hevn't seen you, Josepha, for twenty-four years and five months and -four days. I was counting the space that divided us yesterday, when -somebody told me about this meeting of Annis women, and I thought, 'I -will just go to Annis, and hang round till I get a glimpse of her.'" - -"Well, John Thomas," she answered, "it is mainly thy awn fault. Thou hed -no business to quarrel with Antony." - -"It was Antony's fault." - -"No, it was not." - -"Well, then, it was all my fault." - -"Ay, thou must stick to that side of the quarrel, or I'll not hev to -know thee," and both laughed and shook hands again. Then she stepped -into her carriage, and Bradley said: - -"But I shall see thee again, surely?" - -"It might so happen," she answered with a pretty wave of her hand. And -all the way home she was wandering what good or evil Fate had brought -John Thomas Bradley into her life again. - -When she got back to the Hall, she noticed that her sister-in-law was -worried, and she asked, "What is bothering thee now, Annie?" - -"Well, Josepha, Antony hed a visit from Lawyer Wetherall and he told -Antony Annis that he hes not a particle of right to the seat in The -House of Commons, as matters stand now. He says the new borough will -be contested, and that Colonel Frobisher of Annis is spoken of for -the Liberals, and Sir John Conyers or John Thomas Bradley are likely -candidates for the Tory side of affairs. They hed a long talk and it -wasn't altogether a pleasant one, and Wetherall went away in a huff, and -Antony came to me in one of his still passions, and I hev been heving -a varry disagreeable hour or two; and I do think Antony's ignorance -on this matter quite shameful. He ought to hev known, on what right or -title he held such an honor. I am humiliated by the circumstance." - -"Well, then, thou needn't be so touchy. A great many lords and earls and -men of high degree hev been as ignorant as Antony. Thy husband stands in -varry good company. Antony isn't a bit to blame. Not he! Antony held his -right from the people of Annis--his awn people--he did not even buy it, -as some did. It had been his, with this authenticity, for centuries. -Thou shared with him all of the honor and profit it brought, and if -there was any wrong in the way it came, thou sanctioned and shared it. -And if I was Antony I would send Wetherall to the North Pole in his -trust or esteem. If he knew different he ought to hev told Antony -different long ago. I shall take ivery bit of business I hev given -Wetherall out of his hands to-morrow morning. And if he charges me a -penny-piece too much I'll give him trouble enough to keep on the fret -all the rest of his life. I will that!" - -"I hev no doubt of it." - -"Where is Antony now?" - -"Wheriver that weary mill is building, I suppose." - -"Well, thou ought to be a bit beyond 'supposing.' Thou ought to _know_. -It is thy place to know, and if he is in trouble, to be helping him to -bear it." - -"Josepha, there is no use in you badgering and blaming me. What would -you hev done if Wetherall hed said such and such things, in your -presence, as he did in mine?" - -"I would hev told him he was a fool, as well as a rascal, to tell at the -end what he ought to hev told at the beginning. If Antony hed no right -to the seat, why did he take money, year after year, for doing business -connected with the seat; and niver open his false mouth? I shall get -mysen clear of him early to-morrow morning." - -"Don't go away now, Josepha. I will send someone to look for the -squire." - -"I will go mysen, Annie. Thank you!" - -She found the squire in a very troubled, despondent mood. "Josepha," he -cried, "to think that I hev been filling a position on sufferance that I -thought was my lawful right!" - -"And that rascal, Wetherall, niver said a word to thee?" - -"It is my awn fault. I aught to hev inquired into the matter long ago." - -"Then so ought the rest of the legislators. Custom becomes right, -through length of years, and thou art not to blame, not in the least. -Now, however, I would give it up to the people, who gave it to thee. Not -to Wetherall! Put him out of the affair. _Entirely!_ There is to be a -meeting on the village green to-night. Go to it, and then and there say -the words that will give thy heart satisfaction." - -"Ay, I intend to go, but Annie is vexed, and she makes me feel as if I -hed done something that reflects on our honor and respectability." - -"Thou hes done nothing of the kind. No man in all England or Scotland -will say such a thing. Doan't thee take blame from anyone. If women hed -to judge men's political character, ivery one would be wrong but their -awn men folk." - -"Annie thinks I hev been wrong." - -"Annie is peculiar. There are allays exceptions to ivery proposition. -Annie is an exception. Dress thysen in thy handsomest field suit, and -take thy short dog whip in thy hands; it will speed thy words more than -thou could believe, and a crack with it will send an epithet straight -to where it should go." The squire laughed and leaped to his feet. "God -bless thee, Josepha! I'll do just what tha says." - -"Then thou'll do right." - -This promise was not an easy one to keep, in the face of Annie's air -of reproach and suffering; but, nevertheless, it was kept, and when the -squire came in sight of the Green he saw a very large gathering of -men already standing round a rude rostrum, on which sat or stood -half-a-dozen gentlemen. Annis put his horse in the care of his servant, -and stood on the edge of the crowd. Wetherall was talking to the newly -made citizens, and explaining their new political status and duties to -them, and at the close of his speech said, "he had been instructed to -propose John Thomas Bradley for the Protective or Tory government," and -this proposal was immediately seconded by a wealthy resident of Bradley -village. - -The squire set his teeth firmly, his lips were drawn straight and tight, -and his eyes snapped and shone with an angry light. Then there was a -movement among the men on the platform, and Bradley walked to the front. -The clear soft twilight of an English summer fell all over him. It -seemed to Annis that his old friend had never before appeared so -handsome and so lovable. He looked at him until some unbidden tears -quenched the angry flame in his eyes, and he felt almost inclined to -mount and ride away. - -He was, however, arrested immediately by Bradley's words.--"Gentlemen," -he said with prompt decision--"I cannot, and will not, accept your -flattering invitation. Do any of you think that I would accept a -position, that puts me in antagonism to my old and well-loved friend, -Antony Annis? Not for all the honor, or power, or gold in England! Annis -is your proper and legitimate representative. Can any of you count the -generations through which the Annis family hes been your friends and -helpers? You know all that the present Squire Antony hes done, without -me saying a word about it: and I could not, and I would not, try to -stand in his shoes for anything king or country could give me. This, on -my honor, is a definite and positive refusal of your intended mark of -respect. I accept the respect which prompted the honor gratefully; the -honor itself, I positively decline. If I hev anything more to say, it -is this--send your old representative, Antony Annis, to watch over, and -speak outright, for your interests. He is the best man you can get in -all England, and be true to him, and proud of him!" - -A prolonged cheering followed this speech, and during it Squire Antony -made his way through the crowd, and reached the platform. He went -straight to Bradley with outstretched hands--"John Thomas!" he said, in -a voice full of emotion, "My dear, dear friend! I heard ivery word!" and -the two men clasped hands, and stood a moment looking into each other's -love-wet eyes; and knew that every unkind thought, and word, had been -forever forgiven. - -Then Annis stepped forward, and was met with the heartiest welcome. -Never had he looked so handsome and gracious. He appeared to have thrown -off all the late sorrowful years, and something of the glory of that -authority which springs from love, lent a singular charm to this -picturesque appearance. - -He stood at the side of Bradley, and still held his hand. "My friends -and fellow citizens!" he cried joyfully, giving the last two words such -an enthusiastic emphasis, as brought an instant shout of joyful triumph. -"My friends and fellow citizens! If anything could make it possible for -me to go back to the House of Commons, it would be the plea of the man -whose hand I have just clasped. As you all know, I hev pledged my word -to the men and women of Annis to give them the finest power-loom factory -in the West Riding. If I stick to my promise faithfully, I cannot take -on any other work or business. You hev hed my promise for some months. -I will put nothing before it--or with it. Men of Annis, you are my -helpers, do you really think I would go to London, and break my promise? -Not you! Not one of you! I shall stay right here, until Annis mill is -weaving the varry best broadcloths and woolen goods that can be made. -Ask Colonel Frobisher to go to London, and stand for Annis and her wool -weavers. He hes little else to do, we all know and love him, and he -will be varry glad to go for you. Antony Annis hes been a talking man -hitherto, henceforward he will be a working man, but there is a bit of -advice I'll give you now and probably niver again. First of all, take -care how you vote, and for whom you vote. If your candidate proves -unworthy of the confidence you gave him, mebbe you are not quite -innocent. Niver sell your vote for any price, nor for any reason. -Remember voting is a religious act." - -"Nay, nay, squire!" someone in the crowd called out, with a dissenting -laugh. "There's nothing but jobbery, and robbery, and drinking and -quarreling in it. There is no religion about it, squire, that I can -see." - -"Well, then, Tommy Raikes, thou doesn't see much beyond thysen." - -"And, squire, I heard that the Methodist preacher prayed last Sunday in -the varry pulpit about the election. Folks doan't like to go to chapel -to pray about elections. It isn't right. Mr. Foster oughtn't to do such -things. It hurts people's feelings." - -"Speak for thysen, Tommy; I'll be bound the people were all of Mr. -Foster's opinion. It is a varry important election, the varry first, -that a great many of the people iver took a part in. And I do say, -that I hev no doubt all of them were thankful for the prayer. There is -nothing wrong in praying about elections. It is a religious rite, just -the same as saying grace before your food, and thanking God when you hev -eaten it. Just the same as putting _Dei gratia_ on our money, or taking -oaths in court, or when assuming important positions. Tommy, such simple -religious services proclaim the sacredness of our daily life; and so the -vote at an election, if given conscientiously, is a religious act." - -There was much hearty approval of the squire's opinion, and Tommy Raikes -was plainly advised in various forms of speech to reserve his own. -During the altercation the squire turned his happy face to John Thomas -Bradley, and they said a few words to each other, which ended in a -mutual smile as the squire faced his audience and continued: - -"The best thing I hev to say to you this night is, in the days of -prosperity fast coming to Annis, stick to your religion. Doan't lose -yoursens in the hurry and flurry of the busy life before you all. Any -nation to become great must be a religious nation; for nationality is -a product of the soul. It is something for which ivery straight-hearted -man would die. There are many good things for which a good man would not -die, but a good man would willingly die for the good of his country. His -hopes for her will not tolerate a probability. They hev to be realized, -or he'll die for them. - -"If you are good Church of England men you are all right. She is your -spiritual mother, do what she tells you to do, and you can't do wrong. -If you are a Dissenter from her, then keep a bit of Methodism in your -souls. It is kind and personal, and if it gets hold of a man, it does a -lot for him. It sits in the center. I am sorry to say there are a great -many atheists among weavers. Atheists do nothing. A man steeped in -Methodism can do anything! Its love and its honesty lift up them that -are cast down; it gives no quarter to the devil, and it hes a heart as -big as God's mercy. If you hev your share of this kind of Methodist, you -will be kind, or at least civil to strangers. You knaw how you usually -treat them. The ither day I was watching the men budding, and a stranger -passed, and one of the bricklayers said to another near him, 'Who's -that?' and the other looked up and answered, 'I doan't know. He's a -stranger.' And the advice promptly given was, 'throw a brick at him!'" -This incident was so common and so natural, that it was greeted with a -roar of laughter, and the squire nodded and laughed also, and so in the -midst of the pleasant racket, went away with John Thomas Bradley at his -side. - -"It's a fine night," said Annis to Bradley. "Walk up the hill and hev -a bite of supper with me." The invitation was almost an oath of renewed -friendship, and Bradley could on no account refuse it. Then the squire -sent his man ahead to notify the household, and the two men took the -hill at each other's side, talking eagerly of the election and its -probabilities. As they neared the Hall, Bradley was silent and a little -troubled. "Antony," he said, "how about the women-folk?" - -"I am by thy side. As they treat me they will treat thee. Josepha was -allays thy friend. Mistress Annis hed a kind side for thee, so hed my -little Kitty. For awhile, they hev been under the influence of a lie set -going by thy awn son." - -"By Harry?" - -"To be sure. But Harry was misinformed, by that mean little lawyer that -lives in Bradley. I hev forgotten the whole story, and I won't hev it -brought up again. It was a lie out of the whole cloth, and was varry -warmly taken up by Dick, and you know how our women are--they stand by -ivery word their men say." - -The men entered together. Josepha was not the least astonished. In fact, -she was sure this very circumstance would happen. Had she not advised -and directed John Thomas that very afternoon what to do, and had he not -been only too ready and delighted to follow her advice? When the door -opened she rose, and with some enthusiasm met John Thomas, and while she -was welcoming him the squire had said the few words that were sufficient -to insure Annie's welcome. An act of oblivion was passed without a word, -and just where the friendship had been dropped, it was taken up again. -Kitty excused herself, giving a headache as her reason, and Dick was -in Liverpool with Hartley, looking over a large importation of South -American wool. - -The event following this rearrangement of life was the return of Josepha -to her London home. She said a combination of country life and November -fogs was beyond her power of cheerful endurance; and then she begged -Katherine to go back to London with her. Katherine was delighted to do -so. Harry's absence no longer troubled her. She did not even wish to see -him and the home circumstances had become stale and wearisome. The -coming and going of many strangers and the restlessness and uncertainty -of daily life was a great trial to a family that had lived so many years -strictly after its own ideals of reposeful, regular rule and order. -Annie, very excusably, was in a highly nervous condition, the squire was -silent and thoughtful, and in the evenings too tired to talk. Katherine -was eager for more company of her own kind, and just a little weary of -Dick's and Faith's devotion to each other. "I wish aunt would go to -London and take me with her," she said to herself one morning, as she -was rather indifferently dressing her own hair. - -And so it happened that Josepha that very day found the longing for her -own home and life so insistent that she resolved to indulge it. "What am -I staying here for?" she asked herself with some impatience. "I am not -needed about the business yet to be, and Antony is looking after the -preparations for it beyond all I expected. I'm bothering Annie, and -varry soon John Thomas will begin bothering me; and poor Kitty hes no -lover now, and is a bit tired of Faith's perfections. As for Dick, poor -lad! he is kept running between the mill's business, and the preacher's -daughter. And Antony himsen says things to me, nobody else hes a right -to say. I see people iverywhere whom no one can suit, and who can't suit -themsens. I'll be off to London in two days--and I'll take Kitty with -me." - -Josepha's private complaint was not without truth and her resolve was -both kind and wise. A good, plain household undertaking was lacking; -every room was full of domestic malaria, and the best-hearted person -in the world, can neither manage nor yet control this insidious unhappy -element. It is then surely the part of prudence, where combat is -impossible, to run away. - -So Josepha ran away, and she took her niece with her. They reached -London in time to see the reopening of Parliament, and Mrs. Temple's -cards for dinner were in the hands of her favorites within two weeks -afterwards. Katherine was delighted to be the secretary for such -writing, and she entered heartily into her aunt's plans for a busy, -social winter. They chose the parties to carry out their pleasant ideas -together, and as Kitty was her aunt's secretary, it soon became evident -to both that the name of Edward Selby was never omitted. One or other of -the ladies always suggested it, and the proposal was readily accepted. - -"He is a fine young man," said Josepha, "and their bank hes a sound -enviable reputation. I intend, for the future, to deposit largely there, -and it is mebbe a good plan to keep in social touch with your banker." - -"And he is very pleasant to dance with," added Kitty, "he keeps step -with you, and a girl looks her best with him; and then he is not always -paying you absurd compliments." - -"A varry sensible partner." - -"I think so." - -And during the long pleasant winter this satisfaction with Selby grew -to a very sweet and even intense affection. The previous winter Harry -Bradley had stood in his way, but the path of love now ran straight and -smooth, and no one had any power to trouble it. Selby was so handsome, -so deeply in love, so desirable in every way, that Katherine knew -herself to be the most fortunate of women. She was now also in love, -really in love. Her affection for her child lover had faded even out of -her memory. Compared with her passion for Selby, it was indeed a child -love, just a sentimental dream, nursed by contiguity, and the tolerance -and talk of elder people. Nothing deceives the young like the idea of -first love--a conquering idea if a true one, a pretty dangerous mirage, -if it is not true. - -While this affair was progressing delightfully in London things were not -standing still in Annis. The weather had been singularly propitious, and -the great, many-windowed building was beginning to show the length and -breadth of its intentions. Meanwhile Squire Annis was the busiest and -happiest man in all Yorkshire, and Annie was rejoicing in the restored -peace and order of her household. It did not seem that there could now -have been any cause of anxiety in the old Annis home. But there was a -little. Dick longed to have a more decided understanding concerning his -own marriage, but the squire urged him not to think of marriage until -the mill was opened and at work and Dick was a loyal son, as well as -a true lover. He knew also that in many important ways he had become -a great help to his father, and that if he took the long journey he -intended to take with his bride, his absence would be both a trial and -a positive loss in more ways than one. The situation was trying to all -concerned, but both Faith and her father made it pleasant and hopeful, -so that generally speaking his soul walked in a straight way. Sometimes -he asked his father with one inquiring look, "How long, father, how -long now?" And the squire had hitherto always under' stood the look, and -answered promptly, "Not just yet, dear lad, not just yet!" - -Josepha and Katherine had returned from London. So continually the -days grew longer, and brighter, and warmer, and the roses came and -sent perfume through the whole house, as the small group of women made -beautiful garments, and talked and wondered, and speculated; and the -squire and Dick grew more and more reticent about the mill and its -progress, until one night, early in July, they came home together, and -the very sound of their footsteps held a happy story. Josepha understood -it. She threw down the piece of muslin in her hand and stood up -listening. The next moment the squire and his son entered the room -together. "What is it, Antony?" she cried eagerly. "_The mill?_" - -"The mill is finished! The mill is perfect! We can start work to-morrow -morning if we wish. It is thy doing!" Then he turned to his wife, and -opened his arms, and whispered his joy to her, and Annie's cheeks were -wet when they both turned to Katherine. - -And that day the women did not sew another stitch. - -The next morning Annis village heard a startling new sound. It was the -factory bell calling labor to its duty. And everyone listened to its -fateful reverberations traveling over the surrounding hills and telling -the villages in their solitary places, "Your day also is coming." -The squire sat up in his bed to listen, and his heart swelled to the -impetuous summons and he whispered in no careless manner, "_Thank God!_" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--MARRIAGE BELLS AND GOOD-BY TO ANNIS - - - "All will be well, though how or where - - Or when it will we need not care. - - We cannot see, and can't declare: - - 'Tis not in vain and not for nought, - - The wind it blows, the ship it goes, - - Though where, or whither, no one knows." - - - IMMEDIATELY after this event preparations for Katherine's marriage were -revived with eager haste and diligence, and the ceremony was celebrated -in Annis Parish Church. She went there on her father's arm, and -surrounded by a great company of the rich and noble relatives of the -Annis and Selby families. It was a glorious summer day and the gardens -from the Hall to the end of the village were full of flowers. It seemed -as if all nature rejoiced with her, as if her good angel loved her so -that she had conniv'd with everything to give her love and pleasure. -There had been some anxiety about her dress, but it turned out to be a -marvel of exquisite beauty. It was, of course, a frock of the richest -white satin, but its tunic and train and veil were of marvelously fine -Spanish lace. There were orange blooms in her hair and myrtle in -her hands, and her sweetness, beauty and happiness made everyone -instinctively bless her. - -Dick's marriage to Faith Foster was much longer delayed; not because his -love had lost any of its sweetness and freshness, but because Faith had -taught him to cheerfully put himself in his father's place. So without -any complaining, or any explanation, he remained at his father's side. -Then the Conference of the Methodist Church removed Mr. Foster from -Annis to Bradford, and the imperative question was then whether Faith -would go with her father or remain in Annis as Dick's wife. Dick was -never asked this question. The squire heard the news first and he went -directly to his son:-- - -"Dick, my good son, thou must now get ready to marry Faith, or else thou -might lose her. I met Mr. Foster ten minutes ago, and he told me that -the Methodist Conference had removed him from Annis to Bradford." - -"Whatever have they done that for? The people here asked him to remain, -and he wrote the Conference he wished to do so." - -"It is just their awful way of doing 'according to rule,' whether the -rule fits or not. But that is neither here nor there. Put on thy hat and -go and ask Faith how soon she can be ready to marry thee." - -"Gladly will I do that, father; but where are we to live? Faith would -not like to go to the Hall." - -"Don't ask her to do such a thing. Sir John Pomfret wants to go to -southern France for two or three years to get rid of rheumatism, and his -place is for rent. It is a pretty place, and not a mile from the mill. -Now get married as quick as iver thou can, and take Faith for a month's -holiday to London and Paris and before you get home again I will hev the -Pomfret place ready for you to occupy. It is handsomely furnished, and -Faith will delight her-sen in keeping it in fine order." - -"What will mother say to that?" - -"Just what I say. Not a look or word different. She knows thou hes stood -faithful and helpful by hersen and by me. Thou hes earned all we can -both do for thee." - -These were grand words to carry to his love, and Dick went gladly to her -with them. A couple of hours later the squire called on Mr. Foster and -had a long and pleasant chat with him. He said he had gone at once to -see Sir John Pomfret and found him not only willing, but greatly pleased -to rent his house to Mr. Richard Annis and his bride. "I hev made a good -bargain," he continued, "and if Dick and Faith like the place, I doan't -see why they should not then buy it. Surely if they winter and summer a -house for three years, they ought to know whether it is worth its price -or not." - -In this conversation it seemed quite easy for the two men to arrange -a simple, quiet marriage to take place in a week or ten days, but when -Faith and Mrs. Annis were taken into the consultation, the simple, quiet -marriage became a rather difficult problem. Faith said that she would -not leave her father until she had packed her father's books and seen -all their personal property comfortably arranged in the preacher's house -in Bradford. Then some allusion was made to her wardrobe, and the men -remembered the wedding dress and other incidentals. Mistress Annis found -it hard to believe that the squire really expected such a wedding as he -and Mr. Foster actually planned. - -"_Why-a, Antony!_" she said, "the dear girl must have a lot to do both -for her father and hersen. A marriage within two or three months is -quite impossible. Of course she must see Mr. Foster settled in his new -home and also find a proper person to look after his comfort. And after -that is done, she will have her wedding dress to order and doubtless -many other garments. And where will the wedding ceremony take place?" - -"In Bradford, I suppose. Usually the bridegroom goes to his bride's home -for her. I suppose Dick will want to do so." - -"He cannot do so in this case. The future squire of Annis must be -married in Annis church." - -"Perhaps Mr. Foster might----" - -"Antony Annis! What you are going to say is impossible! Methodist -preachers cannot marry anyone legally. I have known that for years." - -"I think that law has been abrogated. There was a law spoken of that was -to repeal all the disqualifications of Dissenters." - -"We cannot have any uncertainties about our son's marriage. Thou knows -that well. And as for any hole-in-a-corner ceremony, it is impossible. -We gave our daughter Katherine a proper, public wedding; we must do the -same for Dick." - -It is easy under these circumstances to see how two loving, anxious -women could impose on themselves extra responsibilities and thus -lengthen out the interval of separation for nearly three months. For -Faith, when the decision was finally left to her, refused positively -to be married from the Hall. Thanking the squire and his wife for their -kind and generous intentions, she said without a moment's hesitation, -that "she could not be married to anyone except from her father's home." - -"It would be a most unkind slight to the best of fathers," she said. "It -would be an insult to the most wise and tender affection any daughter -ever received. I am not the least ashamed of my simple home and simple -living, and neither father nor myself look on marriage as an occasion -for mirth and feasting and social visiting." - -"How then do you regard it?" asked Mistress Annis, "as a time of -solemnity and fear?" - -"We regard it as we do other religious rites. We think it a condition -to be assumed with religious thought and gravity. Madam Temple is of our -opinion. She said dressing and dancing and feasting over a bridal always -reminded her of the ancient sacrificial festivals and its garlanded -victim." - -The squire gave a hearty assent to Faith's opinion. He said it was not -only right but humane that most young fellows hated the show, and fuss, -and wastry over the usual wedding festival, and would be grateful to -escape it. "And I don't mind saying," he added, "that Annie and I -did escape it; and I am sure our married life has been as near to a -perfectly happy life as mortals can hope for in this world." - -"Dick also thinks as we do," said Faith. - -"_That_, of course," replied Mistress Annis, just a little offended at -the non-acceptance of her social plans. - -However, Faith carried out her own wishes in a strict but sweetly -considerate way. Towards the end of November, Mr. Foster had been -comfortably settled in his new home at Bradford. She had arranged his -study and put his books in the alphabetical order he liked, and every -part of the small dwelling was in spotless order and comfort. - -In the meantime Annie was preparing with much love and care the Pomfret -house for Dick and Dick's wife. It was a work she delighted herself in -and she grudged neither money nor yet personal attention to make it a -House Beautiful. - -She did not, however, go to the wedding. It was November, dripping and -dark and cold, and she knew she had done all she could, and that it -would be the greatest kindness, at this time, to retire. But she kissed -Dick and sent him away with love and good hopes and valuable gifts of -lace and gems for his bride. The squire accompanied him to Bradford, and -they went together to The Black Swan Inn. A great political meeting was -to occur that night in the Town Hall, and the squire went there, while -Dick spent a few hours with his bride and her father. As was likely -to happen, the squire was immediately recognized by every wool-dealer -present and he was hailed with hearty cheers, escorted to the platform, -and made what he always considered the finest speech of his life. He was -asked to talk of the Reform Bill and he said: - -"_Not I_! That child was born to England after a hard labor and will -hev to go through the natural growth of England, which we all know is a -tremendously slow one. But it will go on! It will go on steadily, till -it comes of full age. Varry few, if any of us, now present will be in -this world at that time; but I am sure wherever we are, the news will -find us out and will gladden our hearts even in the happiness of a -better world than this, though I'll take it on me to say that this world -is a varry good world if we only do our duty in it and to it, and -love mercy and show kindness." Then he spoke grandly for labor and the -laboring man and woman. He pointed out their fine, though uncultivated -intellectual abilities, told of his own weavers, learning to read after -they were forty years old, of their unlearning an old trade and learning -a new one with so much ease and rapidity, and of their great natural -skill in oratory, both as regarded religion and politics. "Working men -and working women are _the hands_ of the whole world," he said. "With -such men as Cartwright and Stevenson among them, I wouldn't dare to say -a word lessening the power of their mental abilities. Mebbe it was as -great a thing to invent the power loom or conceive of a railroad as to -run a newspaper or write a book." - -He was vehemently applauded. Some time afterwards, Faith said the -Yorkshire roar of approval was many streets away, and that her father -went to find out what had caused it. "He was told by the man at the -door, 'it's nobbut one o' them Yorkshire squires who hev turned into -factory men. A great pity, sir!' he added. 'Old England used to pin her -faith on her landed gentry, and now they hev all gone into the money -market.' My father then said that they might be just as useful there, -and the man answered warmly: 'And thou art the new Methodist preacher, -I suppose! I'm ashamed of thee--I am that!' When father tried to explain -his meaning, the man said: 'Nay-a! I'm not caring what _tha means_. A -man should stand by what he _says_. Folks hevn't time to find out his -meanings. I've about done wi' thee!' Father told him he had not done -with him and would see him again in a few days." And then she smiled and -added, "Father saw him later, and they are now the best of friends." The -wedding morning was gray and sunless, but its gloom only intensified the -white loveliness of the bride. Her perfectly plain, straight skirt of -rich, white satin and its high girlish waist looked etherially white in -the November gloom. A wonderful cloak of Russian sable which was Aunt -Josepha's gift, covered her when she stepped into the carriage with her -father, and then drove with the little wedding party to Bradford parish -church. There was no delay of any kind. The service was read by a solemn -and gracious clergyman, the records were signed in the vestry, and in -less than an hour the party was back at Mr. Foster's house. A simple -breakfast for the eight guests present followed, and then Faith, having -changed her wedding gown for one of light gray broadcloth of such fine -texture that it looked like satin, came into the parlor on her father's -arm. He took her straight to Dick, and once more gave her to him. The -tender little resignation was made with smiles and with those uncalled -tears which bless and consecrate happiness that is too great for words. - -After Dick's marriage, affairs at Annis went on with the steady -regularity of the life they had invited and welcomed. The old church -bells still chimed away the hours, but few of the dwellers in Annis paid -any attention to their call. The factory bell now measured out the days -and the majority lived by its orders. To a few it was good to think of -Christmas being so nearly at hand; they hoped that a flavor of the old -life might come with Christmas. At Annis Hall they expected a visit from -Madam Temple, and it might be that Dick and Faith would remember this -great home festival, and come back to join in it. Yet the family were -so scattered that such a hope hardly looked for realization. Selby and -Katherine were in Naples, and Dick and Faith in Paris and Aunt Josepha -in her London home where she hastily went one morning to escape the -impertinent clang of the factory bell. At least that was her excuse for -a sudden homesickness for her London house. Annie, however, confided -to the squire her belief that the rather too serious attentions of John -Thomas Bradley were the predisposing grievances, rather than the factory -bell. So the days slipped by and the squire and Jonathan Hartley were in -full charge of the mill. - -It did exceedingly well under their care, but soon after Christmas the -squire began to look very weary, and Annie wished heartily that Dick -would return, and so allow his father to take a little change or rest. -For Annie did not know that Dick's father had been constantly adding -to Dick's honeymoon holiday. "Take another week, Dick! We can do a bit -longer without thee," had been his regular postscript, and the young -people, a little thoughtlessly, had just taken another week. - -However, towards the end of January, Dick and his wife returned and took -possession of their own home in the Pomfret place. The squire had made -its tenure secure for three years, and Annie had spared no effort to -render it beautiful and full of comfort, and it was in its large sunny -parlor she had the welcome home meal spread. It was Annie that met and -kissed them on the threshold, but the squire stood beaming at her side, -and the evening was not long enough to hear and to tell of all that -happened during the weeks in which they had been separated. - -Of course they had paid a little visit to Mr. and Mistress Selby and had -found them preparing to return by a loitering route to London. "But," -said Dick, "they are too happy to hurry themselves. Life is yet a -delicious dream; they do not wish to awaken just yet." - -"They cannot be 'homed' near a factory," said Annie with a little laugh. -"Josepha found it intolerable. It made her run home very quickly." - -"I thought she liked it. She said to me that it affected her like the -marching call of a trumpet, and seemed to say to her, 'Awake, Josepha! -There is a charge for thy soul to-day!'" - -Hours full of happy desultory conversation passed the joyful evening -of reunion, but during them Dick noted the irrepressible evidences -of mental weariness in his father's usually alert mind, and as he was -bidding him good night, he said as he stood hand-clasped with him: -"Father, you must be off to London in two days, and not later. -Parliament opens on the twenty-ninth, and you must see the opening of -the First Reformed Parliament." - -"_Why-a_, Dick! To be sure! I would like to be present. I would like -nothing better. The noise of the mill hes got lately on my nerves. I -niver knew before I hed nerves. It bothered me above a bit, when that -young doctor we hev for our hands told me I was 'intensely nervous.' I -hed niver before thought about men and women heving nerves. I told him -it was the noise of the machinery and he said it was my nerves. I was -almost ashamed to tell thy mother such a tale." - -And Annie laughed and answered, "Of course it was the noise, Dick, and I -told thy father not to mind anything that young fellow said. The idea of -Squire Annis heving what they call 'nerves.' I hev heard weakly, sickly -women talk of their nerves, but it would be a queer thing if thy father -should find any nerves about himsen. Not he! It is just the noise," and -she gave Dick's hand a pressure that he thoroughly understood. - -"Go to London, father, and see what sort of a job these new men make of -a parliamentary opening." - -"I suppose Jonathan and thysen could manage for a week without me?" - -"We would do our best. Nothing could go far wrong in a week. This is the -twenty-fifth of January, father. Parliament opens on the twenty-ninth. -London was getting crowded with the new fellows as Faith and I came -through it. They were crowding the hotels, and showing themselves off -as the 'Reformed Parliament.' I would have enjoyed hearing thee set them -down a peg or two." - -Then the old fire blazed in the squire's eyes, and he said, "I'll be off -to-morrow afternoon, Dick. I'm glad thou told me. If there's anything -I hev a contempt for it is a conceited upstart. I'll turn any of that -crowd down to the bottom of their class;" and the squire who left the -Pomfret house that night was a very different man from the squire who -entered it that afternoon. - -Two days afterwards the squire was off to London. He went first to the -Clarendon and sent word to his sister of his arrival. She answered -his note in person within an hour. "My dear, dear lad!" she cried. "My -carriage is at the door and we will go straight home." - -"No, we won't, Josepha. I want a bit of freedom. I want to go and come -as I like. I want to stay in the House of Commons all night long, if -the new members are passing compliments on each other's records and -abilities. I hev come up to London to feel what it's like to do as I -please, and above all, not to be watched and cared for." - -"I know, Antony! I know! Some men are too happily married. In my -opinion, it is the next thing to being varry---" - -"I mean nothing wrong, Josepha. I only want to be let alone a bit until -I find mysen." - -"Find thysen?" - -"To be sure. Here's our medical man at the mill telling me 'I hev what -he calls nerves.' I hevn't! Not I! I'm a bit tired of the days being -all alike. I'd enjoy a bit of a scolding from Annie now for lying in bed -half the morning, and as sure as I hev a varry important engagement at -the mill, I hear the hounds, and the _view, holloa!_ and it is as -much as I can do to hold mysen in my chair. It is _that_ thou doesn't -understand, I suppose." - -"I do understand. I hev the same feeling often. I want to do things I -would do if I was only a man. Do exactly as thou feels to do, Antony, -while the mill is out of sight and hearing." - -"Ay, I will." - -"How is our mill doing?" - -"If tha calls making money doing well, then the Temple and Annis mill -can't be beat, so far." - -"I am glad to hear it. Wheniver the notion takes thee, come and see me. -I hev a bit of private business that I want to speak to thee about." - -"To be sure I'll come and see thee--often." - -"Then I'll leave thee to thysen" - -"I'll be obliged to thee, Josepha. Thou allays hed more sense than the -average woman, who never seems to understand that average men like now -and then to be left to their awn will and way." - -"I'll go back with thee to Annis and we can do all our talking there." - -"That's sensible. We will take the early coach two weeks from to-day. -I'll call for thee at eleven o'clock, and we'll stay over at the old inn -at Market Harborough." - -"That is right. I'll go my ways now. Take care of thysen and behave -thysen as well as tha can," and then she clasped his hand and went -good-naturedly away. But as she rode home, she said to herself--"Poor -lad! I'll forgive and help him, whativer he does. I hope Annie will be -as loving. I wonder why God made women so varry good. He knew what kind -of men they would mebbe hev to live with. Poor Antony! I hope he'll hev -a real good time--I do that!" and she smiled and shrugged her shoulders -and kept the rest of her speculations to herself. - -The two weeks the squire had specified went its daily way, and Josepha -received no letter from her brother, but at the time appointed he -knocked at her door promptly and decidedly. Josepha had trusted him. She -met him in warm traveling clothes, and they went away with a smile and -a perfect trust in each other. Josepha knew better than to ask a man -questions. She let him talk of what he had seen and heard, she made -no inquiries as to what he had _done_, and when they were at Market -Harborough he told her he had slept every hour away except those he -spent in The House. "I felt as if I niver, niver, could sleep enough, -Josepha. It was fair wonderful, and as it happened there were no night -sessions I missed nothing I wanted to see or hear. But tha knows I'll -hev to tell Annie and mebbe others about The House, so I'll keep that to -mysen till we get all together. It wouldn't bear two talks over. Would -it now?" - -"It would be better stuff than usual if it did, Antony. Thou wilt be -much missed when it comes to debating." - -"I think I shall. I hev my word ready when it is the right time to say -it, that is, generally speaking." - -Josepha's visit was unexpected but Annie took it with apparent -enthusiasm, and the two women together made such a fuss over the -improvement in the squire's appearance that Josepha could not help -remembering the plaintive remarks of her brother about being too much -cared for. However, nothing could really dampen the honest joy in the -squire's return, and when the evening meal had been placed upon the -table and the fire stirred to a cheering blaze, the room was full of a -delightful sense of happiness. A little incident put the finishing touch -to Annie's charming preparation. A servant stirred the fire with no -apparent effect. Annie then tried to get blaze with no better result. -Then the squire with one of his heartiest laughs took the apparently -ineffectual poker. - -"See here, women!" he cried. "You do iverything about a house better -than a man except stirring a fire. Why? Because a woman allays stirs a -fire from the top. That's against all reason." Then with a very decided -hand he attacked the lower strata of coals and they broke up with -something like a big laugh, crackling and sputtering flame and sparks, -and filling the room with a joyful illumination. And in this happy -atmosphere they sat down to eat and to talk together. - -Josepha had found a few minutes to wash her face and put her hair -straight, the squire had been pottering about his wife and the luggage -and the fire and was still in his fine broadcloth traveling suit, which -with its big silver buttons, its smart breeches and top boots, its -line of scarlet waistcoat and plentiful show of white cambric round the -throat, made him an exceedingly handsome figure. And if the husbands -who may chance to read of this figure will believe it, this good man, -so carefully dressed, had thought as he put on every garment, of the -darling wife he wished still to please above all others. - -The first thing the squire noticed was the absence of Dick and Faith. - -"Where are they?" he asked in a disappointed tone. - -"Well, Antony," said Josepha, "Annie was just telling me that Dick hed -gone to Bradford to buy a lot of woolen yarns; if so be he found they -were worth the asking price, and as Faith's father is now in Bradford, -it was only natural she should wish to go with him." - -"Varry natural, but was it wise? I niver could abide a woman traipsing -after me when I hed any business on hand." - -"There's where you made a mistake, Antony. If Annie hed been a business -woman, you would hev built yoursen a mill twenty years ago." - -"Ay, I would, if Annie hed asked me. Not without. When is Dick to be -home?" - -"Some time to-morrow," answered Annie. "He is anxious to see thee. He -isn't on any loitering business." - -"Well, Josepha, there is no time for loitering. All England is spinning -like a whipped top at full speed. In Manchester and Preston the wheels -of the looms go merrily round. Oh, there is so much I want to do!" - -They had nearly finished a very happy meal when there was a sound of -men's voices coming nearer and nearer and the silver and china stopped -their tinkling and the happy trio were still a moment as they listened. -"It will be Jonathan and a few of the men to get the news from me," said -the squire. - -"Well, Antony, I thought of that and there is a roaring fire in the -ballroom and the chairs are set out, and thou can talk to them from the -orchestra." And the look of love that followed this information made -Annie's heart feel far too big for everyday comfort. - -There were about fifty men to seat. Jonathan was their leader and -spokesman, and he went to the orchestra with the squire and stood by -the squire's chair, and when ordinary courtesies had been exchanged, -Jonathan said, "Squire, we want thee to tell us about the Reform -Parliament. The _Yorkshire Post_ says thou were present, and we felt -that we might ask thee to tell us about it." - -"For sure I will. I was there as soon as the House was opened, and John -O'Connell went in with me. He was one of the 'Dan O'Connell household -brigade,' which consists of old Dan, his three sons, and two -sons-in-law. They were inclined to quarrel with everyone, and impudently -took their seats on the front benches as if to awe the Ministerial Whigs -who were exactly opposite them. William Cobbett was the most conspicuous -man among them. He was poorly dressed in a suit of pepper and salt -cloth, made partly like a Quaker's and partly like a farmer's suit, and -he hed a white hat on. * His head was thrown backward so as to give the -fullest view of his shrewd face and his keen, cold eyes. Cobbett had no -respect for anyone, and in his first speech a bitter word niver failed -him if he was speaking of the landed gentry whom he called 'unfeeling -tyrants' and the lords of the loom he called 'rich ruffians.' Even -the men pleading for schools for the poor man's children were -'education-cantors' to him, and he told them plainly that nothing would -be good for the working man that did not increase his victuals, his -drink and his clothing. - - * A white hat was the sign of an extreme Radical. - -"Is that so, men?" asked the squire. He was answered by a "_No!_" whose -style of affirmation was too emphatic to be represented by written -words. - -"But the Reform Bill, squire? What was said about the Reform Bill and -the many good things it promised us?" - -"I niver heard it named, men. And I may as well tell you now that you -need expect nothing in a hurry. All that really has been given you is -an opportunity to help yoursens. Listen to me. The Reform Bill has taken -from sixty boroughs both their members, and forty-seven boroughs hev -been reduced to one member. These changes will add at least half a -million voters to the list, and this half-million will all come from the -sturdy and generally just, great middle class of England. It will mebbe -take another generation to include the working class, and a bit longer -to hev the laboring class educated sufficiently to vote. That is -England's slow, sure way. It doan't say it is the best way, but it is -_our_ way, and none of us can hinder or hasten it. ** - - ** In 1867, during Lord Derby's administration, it was made - to include the artizans and mechanics, and in Gladstone's - administration, A. D. 1884, the Reform Bill was made to - include agricultural and all day laborers. - -"In the meantime you have received from your own class of famous -inventors a loom that can make every man a master. Power-loom weaving is -the most healthy, the best paid, and the pleasantest of all occupations. -With the exception of the noise of the machinery, it has nothing -disagreeable about it. You that already own your houses take care of -them. Every inch of your ground will soon be worth gold. I wouldn't -wonder to see you, yoursens, build your awn mills upon it. Oh, there -is nothing difficult in that to a man who trusts in God and believes in -himsen. - -"And men, when you hev grown to be rich men, doan't forget your God and -your Country. Stick to your awn dear country. Make your money in it. Be -Englishmen until God gives you a better country, Which won't be in this -world. But whether you go abroad, or whether you stay at home, niver -forget the mother that bore you. She'll niver forget you. And if a man -hes God and his mother to plead for him, he is well off, both for this -world and the next." - -"That is true, squire." - -"God has put us all in the varry place he thought best for the day's -work He wanted from us. It is more than a bit for'ardson in us telling -Him we know better than He does, and go marching off to Australia or New -Zealand or Canada. It takes a queer sort of a chap to manage life in a -strange country full of a contrary sort of human beings. Yorkshire men -are _all_ Yorkshire. They hevn't room in their shape and make-up for -new-fangled ways and ideas. You hev a deal to be proud of in England -that wouldn't be worth a half-penny anywhere else. It's a varry -difficult thing to be an Englishman and a Yorkshireman, which is the -best kind of an Englishman, as far as I know, and not brag a bit about -it. There's no harm in a bit of honest bragging about being himsen a -Roman citizen and I do hope a straight for-ard Englishman may do what -St. Paul did--brag a bit about his citizenship. And as I hev just said, -I say once more, don't leave England unless you hev a clear call to do -so; but if you do, then make up your minds to be a bit more civil to the -strange people than you usually are to strangers. It is a common saying -in France and Italy that Englishmen will eat no beef but English beef, -nor be civil to any God but their awn God. I doan't say try to please -iverybody, just do your duty, and do it pleasantly. That's about all we -can any of us manage, eh, Jonathan?" - -"We are told, sir, to do to others as we would like them to do to us." - -"For sure! But a great many Yorkshire people translate that precept into -this--'Tak' care of Number One.' Let strangers' religion and politics -alone. Most--I might as well say _all_--of you men here, take your -politics as seriously as you take your religion, and that is saying a -great deal. I couldn't put it stronger, could I, Jonathan?" - -"No, sir! I doan't think you could. It is a varry true comparison. It is -surely." - -"Now, lads, in the future, it is to be work and pray, and do the varry -best you can with your new looms. It may so happen that in the course -of years some nation that hes lost the grip of all its good and prudent -senses, will try to invade England. It isn't likely, but it might be. -Then I say to each man of you, without an hour's delay, do as I've often -heard you sing-- - - " 'Off with your labor cap! rush to the van! - - The sword is your tool, and the height of your plan - - Is to turn yoursen into a fighting man.' - -"Lads, I niver was much on poetry but when I was a varry young man, -I learned eleven lines that hev helped me in many hours of trial and -temptation to remember that I was an English gentleman, and so bound by -birth and honor to behave like one." - -"Will tha say them eleven lines to us, squire? Happen they might help us -a bit, too." - -"I am sure of it, Jonathan." With these words, the kind-hearted, -scrupulously honorable gentleman lifted his hat, and as he did so, fifty -paper caps were lifted as if by one hand and the men who wore them rose -as one man. - -"You may keep your standing, lads, the eleven lines are worthy of that -honor; and then in a proud, glad enthusiasm, the squire repeated them -with such a tone of love and such a grandeur of diction and expression -as no words can represent:-- - - "This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, - - This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, - - This other Eden, demi-Paradise; - - This fortress built by Nature for herself, - - Against infection, and the hand of war, - - This happy breed of men, this little world, - - This precious stone set in the silver sea, - - Which serves it in the office of a wall-- - - Or as a moat defensive to a house-- - - Against the envy of less happier lands. - - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England!" - -And the orator and his audience were all nearer crying than they knew, -for it was pride and love that made their hearts beat so high and their -eyes overflow with happy tears. The room felt as if it was on fire, -and every man that hour knew that Patriotism is one of the holiest -sentiments of the soul. With lifted caps, they went away in the -stillness of that happiness, which the language of earth has not one -word to represent. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--A RECALL - - - AFTER this event I never saw Squire Antony Annis any more. Within a -week, I had left the place, and I was not there again until the year A. -D. 1884, a period of fifty-one years. Yet the lovely village was clear -enough in my memory. I approached it by one of the railroads boring -their way through the hills and valleys surrounding the place, and as I -did so, I recalled vividly its pretty primitive cottages--each one set -in its own garden of herbs and flowers. I could hear the clattering of -the looms in the loom sheds attached to most of these dwellings. I could -see the handsome women with their large, rosy families, and the burly -men standing in groups discussing some recent sermon, or horse race, -or walking with their sweethearts; and perhaps singing "The Lily of the -Valley," or "There is a Land of Pure Delight!" I could hear or see -the children laughing or quarreling, or busy with their bobbins at the -spinning wheel, and I could even follow every note of the melody the old -church chimes were flinging into the clear, sweet atmosphere above me. - -In reality, I had no hopes of seeing or hearing any of these things -again, and the nearer I approached Annis Railroad Station, the more -surely I was aware that my expectation of disappointment was a certain -presage. I found the once lovely village a large town, noisy and dirty -and full of red mills. There were whole streets of them, their lofty -walls pierced with more windows than there are days in a year, and their -enormously high chimneys shutting out the horizon as with a wall. The -street that had once overlooked the clear fast-running river was jammed -with mills, the river had become foul and black with the refuse of -dyeing materials and other necessities of mill labor. - -The village had totally disappeared. In whatever direction I looked -there was nothing but high brick mills, with enormously lofty chimneys -lifted up into the smoky atmosphere. However, as my visit was in the -winter, I had many opportunities of seeing these hundreds and thousands -of mill windows lit up in the early mornings and in the twilight of the -autumn evenings. It was a marvelous and unforget-able sight. Nothing -could make commonplace this sudden, silent, swift appearance of light -from the myriad of windows, up the hills, and down the hills, through -the valleys, and following the river, and lighting up the wolds, -every morning and every evening, just for the interval of dawning -and twilight. As a spectacle it is indescribable; there is no human -vocabulary has a word worthy of it. - -The operatives were as much changed as the place. All traces of that -feudal loyalty which had existed between Squire Annis and his weavers, -had gone forever, with home and hand-labor, and individual bargaining. -The power-loom weaver was even then the most independent of all workers. -And men, women and children were well educated, for among the first -bills passed by Parliament after the Reform Bill was one founding -National schools over the length and breadth of England; and the third -generation since was then entering them. "Now that you have given the -people the vote," said Lord Brougham, "you must educate them. The men -who say 'yes' or 'no' to England's national problems must be able to -read all about them." So National Schools followed The Bill, and I found -in Annis a large Public Library, young men's Debating Societies, and -courses of lectures, literary and scientific. - -On the following Sunday night, I went to the Methodist chapel. The old -one had disappeared, but a large handsome building stood on its site. -The moment I entered it, I was met by the cheerful Methodist welcome and -because I was a stranger I was taken to the Preacher's pew. Someone was -playing a voluntary, on an exceptionally fine organ, and in the midst of -a pathetic minor passage--which made me feel as if I had just lost Eden -over again--there was a movement, and with transfigured faces the whole -congregation rose to its feet and began to sing. The voluntary had -slipped into the grand psalm tune called "_Olivet_" and a thousand men -and women, a thousand West Riding voices, married the grand old Psalm -tune to words equally grand-- - - "Lo! He comes with clouds descending, - - Once for favored sinners slain; - - Thousand, thousand saints attending, - - Swell the triumph of his train. - - Halleluiah! - - God appears on the earth to reign. - - "Yea, Amen! let all adore thee, - - High on Thy eternal throne; - - Savior, take the power and glory! - - Claim the kingdom for Thine own. - - Halleluiah! - - Everlasting God come down!" - -And at this hour I am right glad, because my memory recalls that -wonderful congregational singing; even as I write the words, I hear it. -It was not Emotionalism. No, indeed! It was a good habit of the soul. - -The next morning I took an early train to the cathedral city of Ripon, -and every street I passed through on my way to the North-Western Station -was full of mills. You could not escape the rattle of their machinery, -nor the plunging of the greasy piston rods at every window. It was not -yet eight o'clock, but the station was crowded with men carrying samples -of every kind of wool or cotton. They were neighbors, and often friends, -but they took no notice of each other. They were on business, and their -hands were full of bundles. So full that I saw several men who could not -manage their railway ticket, and let the conductor take it from their -teeth. - -Now when I travel, I like to talk with my company, but as I looked -around, I could not persuade myself that any of these business-saturated -men would condescend to converse with an inquisitive woman. However, a -little further on, a very complete clergyman came into my compartment. -He looked at me inquiringly, and I felt sure he was speculating about -my social position. So I hastened to put him at ease, by some inquiries -about the Annis family. - -"O dear me!" he replied. "So you remember the old Squire Antony! How -Time does fly! The Annis people still love and obey Squire Antony. I -suppose he is the only person they do love and obey. How long is it -since you were here?" - -"Over fifty years. I saw the great Reform Bill passed, just before I -left Annis in 1833." - -"You mean the first part of it?" - -"Well, then, sir, had it more than one part?" - -"I should say so. It seemed to need a deal of altering and repairing. -The Bill you saw pass was Grey's bill. It cleaned up the Lords and -Commons, and landed gentlemen of England. Thirty-five years later, Derby -and Disraeli's Reform Bill gave the Franchise to the great middle class, -mechanics and artizan classes, and this very year Gladstone extended the -Bill to take in more than two millions of agricultural and day laborers. -It has made a deal of difference with all classes." - -"I think it is quite a coincidence that I should be here at the finish -of this long struggle. I have seen the beginning and the end of it. -Really quite a coincidence," and I laughed a little foolish laugh, -for the clergyman did not laugh with me. On the contrary he said -thoughtfully: "Coincidences come from higher intelligences than -ourselves. We cannot control them, but they are generally fortunate." - -"Higher intelligences than ourselves?" I asked. "Yes. This world is both -the workfield and the battlefield of those sent to minister unto souls -who are to be heirs of salvation, and who perhaps, in their turn, -become comforting and helpful spirits to the children of men. Yes. A -coincidence is generally a fortunate circumstance. Someone higher than -ourselves, has to do with it. Are you an American?" - -"I have lived in America for half-a-century." - -"In what part of America?" - -"In many parts, north and south and west. My life has been full of -changes." - -"Change is good fortune. Yes, it is. To change is to live, and to have -changed often, is to have had a perfect life." - -"Do you think the weavers of Annis much improved by all the changes that -steam and machinery have brought to them?" - -"No. Machinery confers neither moral nor physical perfection, and steam -and iron and electricity do not in any way affect the moral nature. Men -lived and died before these things were known. They could do so again." - -Here the guard came and unlocked our carriage, and my companion gathered -his magazines and newspapers together and the train began to slow up. -He turned to me with a smile and said, "Good-by, friend. Go on having -changes, and fear not." - -"But if I _do_ fear?" - -"Look up, and say: - - "O Thou who changest not! Abide with me!" - -With these words he went away forever. I had not even asked his name, -nor had he asked mine. We were just two wayfarers passing each other -on life's highway. He had brought me a message, and then departed. But -there are other worlds beyond this. We had perhaps been introduced for -this future. For I do believe that no one touches our life here, who has -not some business or right to do so. For our lives before this life and -our lives yet to be are all one, separated only by the little sleep we -call death. - -I reached Ripon just at nightfall, and the quiet of the cathedral city, -its closed houses, and peaceful atmosphere, did not please me. After the -stress and rush of the West Riding, I thought the place must be asleep. -On the third morning I asked myself, "What are you doing here? What -has the past to give you? To-day is perhaps yours--Yesterday is as -unattainable as To-morrow." Then the thought of New York stirred me, and -I hastened and took the fastest train for Liverpool, and in eight days I -had crossed the sea, and was in New York and happily and busily at work -again. - -But I did not dismiss Annis from my memory and when the first mutterings -of the present war was heard, I remembered Squire Antony, and his charge -to the weavers of Annis--"It may so happen," he said, "that in the -course of years, some nation, that has lost the grip of all its good -senses, will try to invade England. It isn't likely, but it might be -so. Then I say to each of you, and every man of you, without one hour's -delay, do as I have often heard you sing, and say you would do:-- - - " 'Off with your Labor Cap! rush to the van! - - The sword for your tool, and the height of your plan - - To turn yoursen into a fighting man_! - -Would they do so? - -As I repeated the squire's order, I fell naturally into the Yorkshire -form of speech and it warmed my heart and set it beating high and fast. - -Would the 'Yorkshires' still honor the charge Squire Annis had given -them? Oh, how could I doubt it! England had been in some war or other, -nearly ever since the squire's charge, and the 'Yorkshires' had always -been soon and solid in rushing to her help. It was not likely that in -this tremendous struggle, they would either be too slow, or too cold. -Not they! Not they! They were early at the van, and doubly welcome; and -they are helping at this hour to fight a good fight for all humanity; -and learning the while, how to become of the highest type of manhood -that can be fashioned in this world. Not by alphabets and books, but by -the crucial living experiences that spring only from the courses of -Life and Death--divine monitions, high hopes and plans, that enlarge the -judgment, and the sympathies, the heart and the intellect, and that with -such swift and mysterious perfection, as can only be imparted while the -mortal stands on the very verge of Immortality. - -Very soon, now, they will come home bringing a perfect peace with them, -_then!_ how good will be their quiet, simple lives, and their daily -labor, and their Paper Cap! - -THE END - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/50089-8.zip b/old/50089-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9348ef7..0000000 --- a/old/50089-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50089-h.zip b/old/50089-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d94c6bf..0000000 --- a/old/50089-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50089-h/50089-h.htm b/old/50089-h/50089-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 33cc43d..0000000 --- a/old/50089-h/50089-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11656 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!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" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. Barr - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. Barr - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Paper Cap - A Story of Love and Labor - -Author: Amelia E. Barr - -Illustrator: Stockton Mulford - -Release Date: September 30, 2015 [EBook #50089] -Last Updated: October 31, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PAPER CAP *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE PAPER CAP - </h1> - <h3> - A Story Of Love And Labor - </h3> - <h2> - By Amelia E. Barr - </h2> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - “A king may wear a golden crown, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - A Paper Cap is lighter; - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - And when the crown comes tumbling down - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - The Paper Cap sits tighter - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <h3> - Frontispiece By Stockton Mulford - </h3> - <h4> - D. Appleton And Company New York - </h4> - <h5> - 1918. - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - TO SAMUEL GOMPERS - </h3> - <p> - THE WORKER’S FRIEND THIS STORY OF LABOR’S FORTY YEARS’ STRUGGLE FOR THE - RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - This is the Gospel of Labor, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Ring it, ye bells of the Kirk, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The Lord of Love came down from above - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - To live with the people who work. - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Henry Van Dyke - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he headdress of - nationalities, and of public and private societies, has been in all ages a - remarkable point of interest. Religion, Poetry, Politics, superstitions, - and so forth, have all found expression by the way they dressed or covered - their heads. Priests, soldiers, sailors, lawyers, traders, professions of - all kinds are known by some peculiar covering of the head which they - assume. None of these symbols are without interest, and most of them - typify the character or intents of their wearers. - </p> - <p> - The Paper Cap has added to its evident story a certain amount of mystery, - favorable in so far as it permits us to exercise our ingenuity in devising - a probable reason for its selection as the symbol of Labor. A very - industrious search has not yet positively revealed it. No public or - private collection of old prints of the seventeenth century that I have - seen or heard from has any representation of an English working man - wearing a Paper Cap. There is nothing of the kind in any <i>Hone’s</i> - four large volumes of curious matters; nor does <i>Notes and Queries</i> - mention it. Not until the agitation and the political disturbance - attending the Reform Bill, is it seen or mentioned. Then it may be found - in the rude woodcuts and chap books of the time while in every town and - village it soon became as familiar as the men who wore it. - </p> - <p> - Now, if the working man was looking for a symbol, there are many reasons - why the Paper Cap would appeal to him. It is square, straight, upright; it - has no brim. It permits the wearer to have full sight for whatever he is - doing. It adds five inches or more to his height. It is cool, light and - clean, and it is made of a small square of brown paper, and costs nothing. - Every man makes his own paper cap, generally while he smokes his first - morning pipe. It was also capable of assuming all the expressions of more - pretentious head coverings—worn straight over the brows, it imparted - a steady, business-like appearance. Tilted to one side, it showed the - wearer to be interested in his own appearance. If it was pushed backward - he was worried or uncertain about his work. On the heads of large - masterful men it had a very “hands off” look. Employers readily understood - its language. - </p> - <p> - I do not remember ever seeing anyone but working men wear a Paper Cap and - they generally wore it with an “air” no pretender could assume. In the - days of the Reform Bill a large company of Paper-Capped men were a company - to be respected. - </p> - <p> - The man whose clever fingers first folded into such admirable shape a - piece of brown paper seems to be unknown. I was once told he was a - Guiseley man, again he was located at Burnley, or Idle. No one pretended - to know his name. It was perhaps some tired weaver or carpenter whose head - was throbbing in the sultry room and who feared to expose it to the full - draught from some open window near his loom or bench. No other affiliation - ever assumed or copied this cap in any way and for a century it has stood - bravely out as the symbol of Labor; and has been respected and recognized - as the badge of a courageous and intelligent class. - </p> - <p> - Now, if we do not positively know the facts about a certain matter, we can - consider the circumstances surrounding it and deduct from them a - likelihood of the truth; and I cannot avoid a strong belief that the Paper - Cap was invented early in the agitation for the Reform Bill of A. D. 1832 - and very likely directly after the immense public meeting at New Hall, - where thousands of English working men took bareheaded and with a Puritan - solemnity, a solemn oath to stand by the Reform Bill until it was passed. - It was not fully passed until 1884, and during that interval the Paper Cap - was everywhere in evidence. Might it not be the symbol of that oath and a - quiet recognition of brotherhood and comradeship in the wearing of it? - </p> - <p> - It is certain that after this date, 1884, its use gradually declined, yet - it is very far from being abandoned. In Nova Scotia and Canada it is still - common, and we all know how slowly any personal or household habit dies in - England. I am very sure that if I went to-morrow to any weaving town in - the West Riding, I would see plenty of Paper Caps round the great centers - of Industry. Last week only, I received half-a-dozen from a large building - firm in Bradford. - </p> - <p> - As a symbol of a sacred obligation between men, it is fitting and unique. - It has never been imitated or copied, and if the habit of making a clean - one every day is observed, then whatever it promises will be kept clean - and clear in the memory. Long live the Paper Cap! - </p> - <p> - My theory that the Paper Cap is associated with the Reform Bill, may, or - may not be correct, but the union seems to be a very natural one—the - Bill deserved the friendship and long adherence of the Cap, and the Cap - deserved the freedom and strength of the Bill. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE PAPER CAP</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—THE SQUIRE OF ANNIS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—THE PROSPECT OF LONDON LIFE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—THE REALIZATION OF TROUBLE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—LONDON AND AUNT JOSEPHA </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—FASHION AND FAMINE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—IN THE FOURTH WATCH </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—LOVE’S TENDER PHANTASY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—LOVERS QUARREL AND THE SQUIRE - MAKES A SPEECH </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE GREAT BILL PASSES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—AUNT JOSEPHA INTERFERES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—THE SQUIRE MAKES GOOD </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—MARRIAGE BELLS AND GOOD-BY TO - ANNIS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—A RECALL </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE PAPER CAP - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I—THE SQUIRE OF ANNIS - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “The turning point in life arrives for all of us. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - A land of just and old renown, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Where Freedom slowly broadens down - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - From precedent to precedent.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>EARLY ninety years - ago, there was among the hills and wolds of the West Riding of Yorkshire a - lovely village called Annis. It had grown slowly around the lords of the - manor of Annis and consisted at the beginning of the nineteenth century of - men and women whose time was employed in spinning and weaving. The looms - were among their household treasures. They had a special apartment in - every home, and were worthily and cheerfully worked by their owners. There - were no mills in Annis then, and no masters, and no Trade Unions. They - made their own work-hours and the Leeds Cloth Hall settled the worth of - their work. - </p> - <p> - Squire Antony Annis owned the greater part of the village. The pretty - white stone cottages, each in its own finely cared-for garden, were, - generally speaking, parts of his estate and he took a fatherly, masterly - care of them. It was the squire who bought their work, and who had to - settle with the Leeds Cloth Hall. It was the squire who found the wool for - the women to spin and who supplied the men with the necessary yarns. - </p> - <p> - He lived close to them. His own ancient Hall stood on a high hill just - outside the village!—a many-gabled building that had existed for - nearly three hundred years. On this same hilly plateau was the church of - Annis, still more ancient, and also the Rectory, a handsome residence that - had once been a monastery. Both were in fine preservation and both were - influential in the village life, though the ancient church looked down - with grave disapproval on the big plain Wesleyan Chapel that had stolen - from it the lawful allegiance it had claimed for nearly five centuries. - Yet its melodious chimes still called at all canonical hours to worship, - and its grand old clock struck in clarion tones the hours of their labor - and their rest. - </p> - <p> - They were handsome men in this locality, strong and powerful, with a - passion for horses and racing that not even Methodism could control. Their - women were worthy of them, tall and fine-looking, with splendid coloring, - abundant hair, and not unfrequently eyes like their Lancashire neighbors; - gray and large, with long dark lashes, and that “look” in them which the - English language has not yet been able to find a word for. They were busy - wives, they spun the wool for their husbands’ looms and they reared large - families of good sons and daughters. - </p> - <p> - The majority of the people were Methodists—after their kind. The - shepherds on the mountains around took as naturally to Methodism as a babe - to its mother’s milk. They lived with their flocks of Merino sheep half - their lives in the night and its aërial mysteries. The doctrine of - “Assurance” was their own spiritual confidence, and John Wesley’s - Communion with the other world they certified by their own experience. As - to the weavers, they approved of a religion that was between God and - themselves only. They had a kind of feudal respect for Squire Annis. He - made their pleasant independent lives possible and they would take a word - or two of advice or reproof from him; and also the squire knew what it was - to take a glass of strong ale when he had been to a race and seen the - horse he had backed, win it—but the curate! The curate knew nothing - about horses. - </p> - <p> - If they saw the curate approaching them they got out of his way; if they - saw the squire coming they waited for him. He might call them idle lads, - but he would walk to their looms with them and frankly admire the - excellence of their work, and perhaps say: “I wonder at a fine lad like - thee leaving a bit of work like that. If I could do it I would keep at it - daylight through.” - </p> - <p> - And the weaver would look him bravely in the face and answer—“Not - thou, squire! It wouldn’t be a bit like thee. I see thee on t’ grandstand, - at ivery race I go to. I like a race mysen, it is a varry democratic - meeting.” - </p> - <p> - Then the squire would give the child at the spinning wheel a shilling and - go off with a laugh. He knew that in any verbal contest with Jimmy Riggs, - he would not be the victor. - </p> - <p> - Also if the squire met any mother of the village he would touch his hat - and listen to what she wished to say. And if one of her lads was in - trouble for “catching a rabbit on the common”—though he suspected - the animal was far more likely from his own woods—he always promised - to help him and he always did so. - </p> - <p> - “Our women have such compelling eyes,” he would remark in excuse, “and - when they would look at you through a mist of tears a man that can say - ‘no’ to them isn’t much of a man.” - </p> - <p> - Naturally proud, the squire was nevertheless broadly affable. He could not - resist the lifted paper cap of the humblest man and his lofty stature and - dignified carriage won everyone’s notice. His face was handsome, and - generally wore a kind thoughtful expression, constantly breaking into - broad smiles. And all these advantages were seconded and emphasized by his - scrupulous dress, always fit and proper for every occasion. - </p> - <p> - He was riding slowly through the village one morning when he met a - neighbor with whom he had once been on intimate friendly terms. It was - John Thomas Bradley, who had just built a large mill within three miles of - Annis village and under the protecting power of the government had filled - it with the latest power-looms and spinning jennies. - </p> - <p> - “Good morning, Annis!” he said cheerfully. “How dost tha do?” - </p> - <p> - “I do none the better for thy late doings. I can tell thee that!” - </p> - <p> - “Is tha meaning my new building?” - </p> - <p> - “Is tha ashamed to speak its proper name? It’s a factory, call it that. - And I wouldn’t wonder, if tha hes been all through Annis, trying to get - some o’ my men to help thee run it.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, then. I wouldn’t hev a man that hes been in thy employ, unless it - were maybe Jonathan Hartley. They are all petted and spoiled to death.” - </p> - <p> - “Ask Jonathan to come to thy machine shop. He wouldn’t listen to thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, I wouldn’t listen to his Chartist talk. I would want to cut - the tongue out o’ his head. I would that! O Annis, we two hev been friends - for forty years, and our fathers were hand and glove before us.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, Bradley, I know! But now thou art putting bricks and iron before - old friendship and before all humanity; for our workers are men, - first-rate men, too—and thou knows it.” - </p> - <p> - “Suppose they are, what by that?” - </p> - <p> - “Just this; thou can’t drive men by machines of iron tethered to steam! It - is an awful mastership, that it is! It is the drive of the devil. The - slaves we are going to set free in the West Indies are better off, far - better off than factory slaves. They hed at any rate human masters, that - like as not, hev a heart somewhere about them. Machines hev no heart, and - no sympathy and no weakness of any make. They are regular, untiring, - inexorable, and——” - </p> - <p> - “They do more work and better work than men can do.” - </p> - <p> - “Mebbe they do, and so men to keep up wi’ them, hev to work longer, and - harder, and wi’ constantly increasing peril o’ their lives. Yes, for the - iron master, the man must work, work, work, till he falls dead at its iron - feet. It is a cruel bad do! A bad do! Bradley, how can thou fashion to do - such things? Oh, it isn’t fair and right, and thou knows it!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Annis, thou may come to see things a good deal different and tha - knows well I can’t quarrel wi’ thee. Does ta think I can iver forget March - 21, 1823, when thou saved me and mine, from ruin?” - </p> - <p> - “Let that pass, Bradley. It went into God’s memory—into God’s memory - only. Good morning to thee!” And the men parted with a feeling of kindness - between them, though neither were able to put it into words. - </p> - <p> - Still the interview made the squire unhappy and he instantly thought of - going home and telling his wife about it. “I can talk the fret away with - Annie,” he thought, and he turned Annisward. - </p> - <p> - At this time Madam Annis was sitting in the morning sunshine, with her - finest set of English laces in her hand. She was going carefully over - them, lifting a stitch here and there, but frequently letting them fall to - her lap while she rested her eyes upon the wealth of spring flowers in the - garden which at this point came close up to the windows. - </p> - <p> - Madam Annis was fifty years old but still a beautiful woman, full of life, - and of all life’s sweetest and bravest sympathies. She wore an Indian - calico—for Manchester’s printed calicoes were then far from the - perfection they have since arrived at—and its bizarre pattern, and - wonderfully brilliant colors, suited well her fine proportions and regal - manner. A small black silk apron with lace pockets and trimmings of lace, - and black silk bows of ribbon—a silver chatelaine, and a little lace - cap with scarlet ribbons on it, were the most noticeable items of her - dress though it would hardly do to omit the scarlet morocco slippers, - sandaled and trimmed with scarlet ribbon and a small silver buckle on the - instep. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she heard rapid footsteps descending the great stairway, and in - the same moment she erected her position, and looked with kind but steady - eyes at the door. It opened with a swift noiseless motion and a girl of - eighteen years entered; a girl tall and slender, with masses of bright - brown hair, a beautiful mouth and star-like eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Mother,” she said, “how am I to go to London this spring?” - </p> - <p> - “I am not yet in thy father’s intentions about the journey, Katherine. He - promised to take thee when he went up to the House. If he forswears his - promise, why then, child, I know not. Ask him when he is going.” - </p> - <p> - “I did so this morning and he said I must excuse him at present.” - </p> - <p> - “Then he will take thee, later.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s a bit different, mother; and it isn’t what he promised me. It is - my wish to go now.” - </p> - <p> - “There is no way for thee to go now. Let London wait for its proper time.” - </p> - <p> - “Alura Percival, and Lady Capel, and Agatha Wickham, are already on their - way there. Captain Chandos told me so an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed! Has he learned how to speak the truth?” - </p> - <p> - “Like other people, he speaks as much of it as is profitable to him. If - father is not going just yet cannot you go, dear mother? You know Jane - will expect us to keep our promise.” - </p> - <p> - “Jane knows enough of the times to understand why people are now often - prevented from keeping their promises. Is Jane going much out?” - </p> - <p> - “A great deal and she says Lord Leyland wishes her to keep open house for - the rest of the season. Of course, I ought to be with her.” - </p> - <p> - “I see no ‘ought’ in the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “She is my sister and can introduce me to noblemen and distinguished - people. She desires me to come at once. I have just had a letter from her. - And what about my frocks, mother? If father is not ready to go you could - go with me, dear mother! That would be just as well, perhaps better!” And - she said these flattering words from the very summit of her splendid eyes. - </p> - <p> - “There are people here in Annis who are wanting bread and——” - </p> - <p> - “It is their own fault, mother, and you know it. The Annis weavers are a - lot of stubborn old fogies.” - </p> - <p> - “They have only taken this world as they found it. Isn’t that right?” - </p> - <p> - “No. It is all wrong. Every generation ought to make it better. You said - that to father last night, I heard you.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t always talk to thy father as I do to thee. It wouldn’t be a bit - suitable. Whatever were thou talking to Captain Chandos for—if he is - a captain—I doubt it.” - </p> - <p> - “His uncle bought him a commission in The Scotch Greys. His mother is - Scotch. I suppose he has as much right there, as the rest of the Hanover - fools.” - </p> - <p> - “And if thou are going to indulge thyself in describing people in the army - and the court thou wilt get thy father into trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “I saw father talking to Squire Bradley for a long time this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “In what mood? I hope they were not—quarreling.” - </p> - <p> - “They were disputing rather earnestly, father looked troubled, and so did - Bradley.” - </p> - <p> - “They were talking of the perishing poor and the dreadful state of. - England no doubt. It’s enough to trouble anybody, I’m sure of that.” - </p> - <p> - “So it is, but then father has a bad way of making things look worse than - they are. And he isn’t friendly with Bradley now. That seems wrong, - mother, after being friends all their live-long lives.” - </p> - <p> - “It is wrong. It is a bit of silent treason to each other. It is that! And - how did thou happen to see them talking this morning?” - </p> - <p> - “They met on the village green. I think Bradley spoke first.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll warrant it. Bradley is varry good-natured, and he thought a deal o’ - thy father. How did thou happen to be on the green so early in the day?” - </p> - <p> - “I was sitting with Faith Foster, and her parlor window faces the Green.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith Foster! And pray what took thee to her house?” - </p> - <p> - “I was helping her to sew for a lot of Annis babies that are nearly naked, - and perishing with cold.” - </p> - <p> - “That was a varry queer thing for thee to do.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought so myself even while I was doing it—but Faith works as - she likes with everyone. You can’t say ‘No’ to anything she wants.” - </p> - <p> - “Such nonsense! I’m fairly astonished at thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever seen Faith, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Not I! It is none o’ my place to visit a Methodist preacher’s daughter.” - </p> - <p> - “Everybody visits her—rich and poor. If you once meet her she can - bring you back to her as often as she wishes.” - </p> - <p> - “Such women are very dangerous people to know. I’d give her a wide border. - Keep thyself to thyself.” - </p> - <p> - “I am going to London. Maybe, mother, I ought to tell you that our Dick is - in love with Faith Foster. I am sure he is. I do not see how he can help - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Dick and his father will hev that matter to settle, and there is enough - on hand at present—what with mills, and steam, and working men, not - to speak of rebellion, and hunger, and sore poverty. Dick’s love affairs - can wait awhile. He hes been in love with one and twenty perfect beauties - already. Some of them were suitable fine girls, of good family, and Lucy - Todd and Amy Schofield hed a bit of money of their awn. Father and I would - hev been satisfied with either o’ them, but Dick shied off from both and - went silly about that French governess that was teaching the Saville - girls.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not think Dick will shy off from Faith Foster. I am sure that he has - never yet dared to say a word of love to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Dared! What nonsense! Dick wasn’t born in Yorkshire to take a dare from - any man or woman living.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, mother, I have made you wise about Faith Foster. A word is all you - want.” - </p> - <p> - “I the girl pretty?” - </p> - <p> - “Pretty She is adorable.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that she is a fine looking girl?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean that she is a little angel. You think of violets if she comes - where you are. Her presence is above a charm and every door flies open to - her. She is very small. Mary Saville, speaking after her French governess, - calls her <i>petite</i>. She is, however, beautifully fashioned and has - heavenly blue, deep eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me nothing more about her. I should never get along with such a - daughter-in-law. How could thou imagine it?” - </p> - <p> - “Now, mother, I have told you all my news, what have you to say to me - about London?” - </p> - <p> - “I will speak to thy father some time to-day. I shall hev to choose both a - proper way and a proper time; thou knows that. Get thy frocks ready and I - will see what can be done.” - </p> - <p> - “If father will not take me, I shall write to Aunt Josepha.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou will do nothing of that kind. Thy Aunt Josepha is a very peculiar - woman. We heard from the Wilsons that she hed fairly joined the radicals - and was heart and soul with the Cobden set. In her rough, broad way she - said to Mrs. Wilson, that steam and iron and red brick had come to take - possession of England and that men and women who could not see that were - blind fools and that a pinch of hunger would do them good. She even - scolded father in her letter two weeks ago, and father her <i>eldest - brother</i>. Think of that! I was shocked, and father felt it far more - than I can tell thee. <i>Why!</i>—he wouldn’t hev a mouthful of - lunch, and that day we were heving hare soup; and him so fond of hare - soup.” - </p> - <p> - “I remember. Did father answer that letter?” - </p> - <p> - “I should think he did. He told Josepha Temple a little of her duty; he - reminded her, in clear strong words, that he stood in the place of her - father, and the head of the Annis family, and that he had a right to her - respect and sympathy.” - </p> - <p> - “What did Aunt Josepha say to that?” - </p> - <p> - “She wrote a laughable, foolish letter back and said: ‘As she was two - years older than Antony Annis she could not frame her mouth to ‘father’ - him, but that she was, and always would be, his loving sister.’ You see - Josepha Temple was the eldest child of the late squire, your father came - two years after her.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you know that Dick had been staying with her for a week?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Dick wrote us while there. Father is troubled about it. He says Dick - will come home with a factory on his brain.” - </p> - <p> - “You must stand by Dick, mother. We are getting so pinched for money you - know, and Lydia Wilson told me that everyone was saying: ‘Father was - paying the men’s shortage out of his estate.’ They were sorry for father, - and I don’t like people being sorry for him.” - </p> - <p> - “And pray what has Lydia Wilson to do with thy father’s money and - business? Thou ought to have asked her that question. Whether thou - understands thy father or not, whatever he does ought to be right in thy - eyes. Men don’t like explaining their affairs to anyone; especially to - women, and I doan’t believe they iver tell the bottom facts, even to - themselves.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother, if things come to the worst, would it do for me to ask Jane for - money?” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder at thee. Jane niver gives or lends anything to anybody, but to - Jane.” - </p> - <p> - “She says she is going to entertain many great people this winter and she - wishes me to meet them so I think she might help me to make a good - appearance.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t wonder if she asked thy father to pay her for introducing thee - into the titled set. She writes about them and talks about them and I dare - warrant dreams about them.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, mother!” - </p> - <p> - “Does she ever forget that she has managed to become Lady Leyland? She - thinks that two syllables before her name makes her better than her own - family. <i>Chut!</i> Katherine! Leyland is only the third of the line. It - was an official favor, too—what merit there is in it has not yet - been discovered. We have lived in this old house three hundred years, and - three hundred before that in old Britain.” - </p> - <p> - “Old Britain?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure—in Glamorganshire, I believe. Ask thy father. He knows - his genealogy by heart. I see him coming. Go and meet him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, mother, but I think I will write a short note to Aunt Josepha. I - will not name business, nor money, nor even my desire to make a visit to - London.” - </p> - <p> - “Write such a letter if thou wishes but take the result—whatever it - is—in a good humor. Remember that thy aunt’s temper, and her words - also, are entirely without frill.” - </p> - <p> - “That, of course. It is the Annis temper.” - </p> - <p> - “It is the English temper.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, mother, things seem to be ordered in a very unhappy fashion but I - suppose we might as well take to them at once. Indeed, we shall be - compelled to do it, if so be, it pleases them above.” - </p> - <p> - “Just so,” answered Madam. “But, Katherine, The Hands of Compulsion - generally turn out to be The Hands of Compassion.” - </p> - <p> - Katherine smiled happily, the door opened, and the next moment she gave - the smile in a kiss to her father, as he clasped her fondly in his arms, - crying, “Eh, my joy! I am glad to see thee!” Then the two women made that - charming fuss over his “tired look,” which is so consoling to men fresh - from the slings and arrows of an outrageous world that will not do as they - want it to do. - </p> - <p> - In his family life the squire still retained many old-fashioned customs, - and his dinner at one o’clock was a settled ceremony. This day, in the - very middle of it, Katherine said, “I saw you, father, this morning when - you were talking to Mr. Bradley on the Green—about ten o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “And I saw thee trailing through the low meadows with Bradley’s son.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he came home last night.” - </p> - <p> - “And went out t’ varry next morning, to meet thee in t’ low meadow.” - </p> - <p> - “If you say, he happened to meet me in the low meadow, it would be - better.” - </p> - <p> - “Whativer hed the lad to do in my meadow so early in the morning?” - </p> - <p> - “Do you call half-past ten early, dad?” - </p> - <p> - “I call it too early for thee to be traipsing through t’ wet grass with - Henry Bradley.” - </p> - <p> - “Let us keep to facts, dear father. The grass was quite dry—too dry. - Joel was wishing for rain; he said, ‘Master so pampered his cattle, that - they perfectly thought scorn of half-cured grass.’” - </p> - <p> - “Thou art trying to slip by my question and I’m not going to let thee do - it. What was John Henry Bradley doing wi’ thee in the low meadow this - morning?” - </p> - <p> - “He brought me a letter from my brother Dick. Dick and Harry have been in - London together, and they stayed four days with Aunt Josepha. They liked - her very much. They took her to the opera and the play and she snubbed - O’Connell and some other famous men and told them to let her alone, that - she had two innocent lads in her care—and so on. You know.” - </p> - <p> - “Was he making love to thee?” - </p> - <p> - “You should not ask me a question of that kind, dad.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou need not tell me, what I should, or should not do. I hed learned all - that, before thou wer born. And I’ll tell thee plainly that I will not hev - any lovemaking between thee and Harry Bradley.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, father. If you are going to the stable will you tell someone - to have my saddle horse at the door in half-an-hour?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, I will. If tha wants a ride and will go to Yoden Bridge, I’ll - go with thee.” - </p> - <p> - “I would like that but I promised to help Faith Foster, who is making - clothing for the naked, shivering babies in Annis village. When Oddy’s - little girl died a week ago, there wasn’t a night-gown in the house to - bury it in. Its mother tore a breadth out of her one petticoat and folded - her baby in it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Katherine Annis! Surely that tale is not true!” cried Madam. - </p> - <p> - “Alas, it is too true! The baby’s one little gown was not fit even for the - grave.” - </p> - <p> - The Squire sat down and covered his face with his hands and when Katherine - left the room he looked up pitifully at his wife. And she stooped and - kissed him and as she did so comforted him with broken words of affection - and assurances that it was not his fault—“thou hast pinched us all a - bit to keep the cottage looms busy,” she said, “thou couldn’t do more than - that, could thou, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought I was doing right. Is there any other way?” - </p> - <p> - “Thou could build—like the rest.” - </p> - <p> - He did not answer the remark but stood up hurriedly, saying, “I must go - and order Katherine’s mount and she will expect me to put her up. After - that I may go to Yoden Bridge.” - </p> - <p> - Madam sighed and turned hopelessly away. “When will he listen to reason?” - she whispered, but there was no answer. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II—THE PROSPECT OF LONDON LIFE - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Men who their duties know, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But know their rights, and knowing dare maintain.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “The blind mole casts - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Copp’d hills toward heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - By man’s oppression and the poor worm doth die for’t.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T is during the - hungry years of the thirties and forties of the nineteenth century that - the great body of Englishmen and Englishwomen reveal themselves most nobly - and clearly in their national character. They were years of hunger and - strife but it is good to see with what ceaseless, persistent bravery they - fought for their ideals year after year, generation after generation, - never losing hope or courage but steadily working and waiting for the - passage of that great Reform Bill, which would open the door for their - recognition at least as members of the body politic. - </p> - <p> - Yet this Reform Bill terrified the aristocracy and great land holders and - they were sure that its passage would sweep away both the monarchy and the - House of Lords. What else could be looked for if the franchise was given - to the laborer and the mechanic? The Bill had been well received by the - House of Commons, but rejected by the House of Lords on the twentieth day - of the previous October; and the condition of the country was truly - alarming. - </p> - <p> - Madam Annis reminded her daughter of this fact but Katherine was not to be - frightened. “Your father,” she said, “has just told us about the riot and - outrages at Derby and the burning of Nottingham Castle by a frantic mob - and the press says—‘the people in London are restless and full of - passion.’ Still more to be wondered at is the letter which Thomas Attwood, - the great banker, has just sent to the Duke of Wellington. In this letter - he dared to threaten the government, to tell them he would march on London - with a hundred thousand men, in order to inquire why the Reform Bill was - hindered and delayed. This morning’s paper comments on this threat and - says, The Duke of Wellington is not afraid of this visit, but would rather - it was not paid.’ All the way up to London there is rioting. It is not a - fit journey for thee to take. Mind what I say.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, mother, only think! I might have been in the Ladies’ Gallery, in the - House. I might have heard Mr. Macaulay’s answer to the Lord’s denial, with - his grand question to the Commons, ‘Ought we to abandon the Reform Bill - because the Lords have rejected it? No! We must respect the lawful - privileges of their House, but we ought also to assert our own.’ No wonder - the Commons cheered, and cheered, and cheered him. Oh, how gladly I would - have helped them!” - </p> - <p> - “You are going too far and too fast, Katherine.” - </p> - <p> - “Father ought to have been in the House on the third of February and it is - now the seventh of March: Is that right?” - </p> - <p> - “A great many landed men will not go to this session. The Reform Bill, - re-written by Lord Russell, is to come up again and father does not want - to vote either for, or against it.” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” - </p> - <p> - “He hes his reasons. I doan’t know that his reasons are any business of - thine.” - </p> - <p> - “Harry Bradley was explaining things to me this morning, and I am for the - Reform Bill. I am sure the people are right.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t say as much on thy opinion. Wisdom wasn’t born wi’ thee and I - doan’t expect she will die wi’ thee. I think if thou went to London this - spring thou would make more enemies than thou could manage. Father is - following my advice in staying home, and London isn’t a fit place for a - young girl like thee and the way there is full of rioters. Thy father is a - landed man and he doesn’t believe in giving every weaver and hedger and - ditcher a voice in the government of England.” - </p> - <p> - “Harry Bradley says, some of their leaders and speakers are very clever - eloquent men.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t talk nonsense after Harry Bradley. Who’s Harry Bradley?” - </p> - <p> - “He is my friend, mother. We have been friends nearly twenty years.” - </p> - <p> - “Not you! It is not yet eighteen years since thou showed thy face in this - world.” - </p> - <p> - “I was speaking generally, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Eh, but there’s something wrong in that way! A lot o’ bother can come out - of it. I wouldn’t mind anything Harry Bradley says, thy father won’t hev - any nonsense about him. I can tell thee that!” - </p> - <p> - “Father is so set in his own way. No one suits him lately. We met Captain - Chandos last Monday, and he would hardly notice him.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, there are plenty of folk no one can suit, and varry often - they can’t suit themselves.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don’t care about Chandos, mother; but I feel angry when Harry is - slighted. You see, mother, I might come to marry Harry Bradley.” - </p> - <p> - “I do hope thou won’t be so far left to thysen, as that would mean.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you would be wise to let me go to London. A girl must have a lover, - or she feels out in the cold, and Harry is the best specimen of a man - round about Annis.” - </p> - <p> - “All right. Let me tell thee that I hev noticed that the girls who never - throw a line into the sea of marriage, do a deal better than them that are - allays fishing.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps so, but then there is the pleasure of throwing the line.” - </p> - <p> - “And perhaps the pleasure of being caught by some varry undesireable - fisherman for tha needn’t think that women are the only fishers. The men - go reg’lar about that business and they will soon find out that thou hes a - bit o’ money o’ thy awn and are well worth catching. See if they doan’t.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother, I want to go to London and see the passing of the great Reform - Bill. I am in love with those brave men Earl Grey and Lord Russell and Mr. - Macaulay, who dared to speak up for the poor, before all England.” - </p> - <p> - “I rather think they are all married men, Katherine, and marrying for love - is an unwise and generally an unprofitable bit of business.” - </p> - <p> - “Business and Love have nothing to do with each other.” - </p> - <p> - “Eh, but they hev!” - </p> - <p> - “I shall marry for love.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, marry for love, but love wisely.” - </p> - <p> - “Money is only one thing, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, but it is a rayther important thing.” - </p> - <p> - “You might persuade father that he had better take me to London out of - Harry’s way. Dear mammy, do this for your little girl, won’t you? You can - always get round father in some way or other.” - </p> - <p> - “I will ask thy father again but I shall take no roundabout way. - Straightforrard is the best. And I am above a bit astonished at thee, a - Yorkshire lass, thinking of any crooked road to what thou wants! If tha - can’t get thy way openly and fairly make up thy mind any other way isn’t - worth while, for it will be full of ups and downs, and lonely bits, and - stony bits, and all sorts and kinds of botherations. Keep these words in - thy mind.” - </p> - <p> - “I will.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I’ll ask thy father again, to take thee with him to London—if - he goes himsen—if he does not go at all, then——” - </p> - <p> - “I must find out some other way, and really the most straightforward way - would be to marry Harry Bradley, and go to London with him as a wedding - trip.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou must stop talking nonsense or else it will stop my talking one word - for thy wish.” - </p> - <p> - “I was just joking, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Always keep everything straight between thysen and thy mother. The first - deception between me and thee opens the gates of Danger.” - </p> - <p> - “I will never forget that, mother. And if I should go away I ask you to - take my place with Faith Foster, who is making clothing for the poor in - the village.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Katherine, what with one thing and what with another, I doan’t know - what tha wants. Does tha know thysen?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I think it would look better if the Hall should trouble itself a - little about the suffering in the village. Faith Foster is the only person - doing anything. I was helping her, but——” - </p> - <p> - “I should think thou would have told thysen that it was varry forrard in a - young person putting herself in my place without even a word to me on the - matter. She ought to hev come and told me what was needed and offered her - help to me. Thy father is Lord of the Manor of Annis, and it is his - business to see the naked clothed. I wonder at thee letting any one take - my place and then asking me to help and do service for them. That is a bit - beyond civility, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “It was very thoughtless. I am sorry I did it. I was so touched by Faith’s - description of the hunger and nakedness in Abram Oddy’s family, that I - thought of nothing but how to relieve it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well! It is all right, someway or other. I see father coming - towards the house. I wonder what he is wanting.” - </p> - <p> - “And he is walking so rapidly and looks so happy, something must have - pleased him. I will go away, mother. This may be a good hour for our - request.” - </p> - <p> - “Why <i>our?</i>” - </p> - <p> - Katherine had disappeared. She left the room by one door as the squire - entered by the other. Madam rose to meet him but before she could speak - the squire had kissed her and was saying in glad eager tones, “I hev - hurried a bit, my Joy, to tell thee that both thysen and Katherine can go - wi’ me to London. I had a lump of good fortune this afternoon. Mark - Clitheroe sent me the thousand pounds he owed, when he broke up five years - ago. He told me he wouldn’t die till he had paid it; and I believed him. - The money came to-day and it came with a letter that does us both credit.” - </p> - <p> - “However has Clitheroe made a thousand pounds to spare since his smash-up? - Thou said, it wer a varry complete ruin.” - </p> - <p> - “It was all of that, yet he tells me, he will be able to pay the last - farthing he owes to anyone, during this year some time.” - </p> - <p> - “It caps me! How hes he made the money?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Annie, his father built a factory for him and filled it with the - finest power-looms and he says he hes been doing a grand business. Old - Clitheroe hed allays told him he was wasting time and good brass in hand - weaving but Mark would hev his awn way, and somehow his awn way took him - to ruin in three years. I was his main creditor. Well, well! I am both - astonished and pleased, I am that! Now get thysen and Katherine ready for - London.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t really want to go, Antony.” - </p> - <p> - “But I cannot do without thee. Thou wilt hev to go, and there is - Katherine, too! Ten to one, she will need a bit of looking after.” - </p> - <p> - “When art thou going to start?” - </p> - <p> - “Not for a month. I must see to the sowing of the land—the land - feeds us. I thought, though, it would be right to give thee the bit o’ - change and pleasure to think about and talk about.” - </p> - <p> - “Where does thou intend to stay while in London?” - </p> - <p> - “I am thinking of the Clarendon Hotel for thee and mysen. I suppose - Katherine can be comfortable and welcome at her sister’s.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly she can. Jane isn’t anything but kind at heart. It is just her - <i>you-shallness</i> that makes her one-sided to live with. But Katherine - can hold her own side, without help, she can that! And if thou art bound - for London, then London is the place where my heart will be and we will go - together.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou art a good wife to me, Annie.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, I promised thee to be a good wife, and I’m Yorkshire enough - to keep a promise—good or bad. I am glad thou art going to the - Clarendon. It is a pleasant house but thy sister Josepha is a bit - overbearing, isn’t she, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “She does not overbear me. I am her eldest brother. I make her remember - that. Howiver, I shall hev to listen to such a lot o’ strong language in - the House that I must hev only thee about me when I can get away from - committees, and divisions, taking of votes, and the like.” - </p> - <p> - By this time the squire had filled his pipe, and seated himself in his - favorite corner on that side of the hearth, that had no draughts whichever - way the wind blew. Then Madam said: “I’ll leave thee a few minutes, - Antony. I am going to tell Katherine that thou art going to take her to - London.” - </p> - <p> - “Varry well. I’ll give thee five minutes, then thou must come back here, - for I hev something important to tell thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Katherine will want to come back here with me. She will be impatient to - thank thee for thy goodness and to coax some sovereigns in advance for a - new dress and the few traveling things women need when they are on the - road.” - </p> - <p> - “Then thou hed better advise her to wait until supper time. When the day’s - work is all done I can stand a bit of cuddling and petting and I doan’t - mind waring a few sovereigns for things necessary. Of course, I know the - little wench will be happy and full o’ what she is going to see, and to - do, and to hear. Yet, Annie, I hev some important thoughts in my mind now - and I want thy help in coming to their settlement.” - </p> - <p> - “Antony Annis! I <i>am</i> astonished at thee, I am that! When did thou - ever need or take advice about thy awn business? Thou hes sense for all - that can be put up against thy opinion, without asking advice from man or - woman—‘specially woman.” - </p> - <p> - “That may be so, Annie, perhaps it <i>is</i> so, but thou art different. - Thou art like mysen and it’s only prudent and kind to talk changes over - together. For thou hes to share the good or the bad o’ them, so it is only - right thou should hev time to prepare for whatever they promise. Sit thee - down beside me. Now, then, this is what happened just as soon as I hed - gotten my money—and I can assure thee, that a thousand pounds in a - man’s pocket is a big set up—I felt all my six feet four inches and - a bit more, too—well, as I was going past the Green to hev a talk - wi’ Jonathan Hartley, I saw Mr. Foster come to his door and stand there. - As he was bare-headed, I knew he was waiting to speak to me. I hev liked - the man’s face and ways iver since he came to the village, and when he - offered his hand and asked me to come in I couldn’t resist the kindness - and goodness of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou went into the preacher’s house?” - </p> - <p> - “I surely did, and I am glad of it. I think a deal o’ good may come from - the visit.” - </p> - <p> - “Did thou see his daughter?” - </p> - <p> - “I did and I tell thee she is summat to see.” - </p> - <p> - “Then she is really beautiful?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and more than that. She was sitting sewing in a plain, small parlor - but she seemed to be sitting in a circle of wonderful peace. All round her - the air looked clearer than in the rest of the room and something sweet - and still and heavenly happy came into my soul. Then she told me all about - the misery in the cottages and said it had now got beyond individual help - and she was sure if thou knew it, and the curate knew it, some proper - general relief could be carried out. She had began, she said, ‘with the - chapel people,’ but even they were now beyond her care; and she hoped thou - would organize some society and guide all with thy long and intimate - knowledge of the people.” - </p> - <p> - “What did thou say to this?” - </p> - <p> - “I said I knew thou would do iverything that it was possible to do. And I - promised that thou would send her word when to come and talk the ways and - means over with thee and a few others.” - </p> - <p> - “That was right.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it would be right wi’ thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Katherine says that our Dick is in love wi’ the preacher’s daughter.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t wonder, and if a man hedn’t already got the only perfect woman - in the world for his awn you could not blame him. No, you could not blame - him!” - </p> - <p> - “Thou must hev stayed awhile there for it is swinging close to five - o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, but I wasn’t at the preacher’s long. I went from his house to - Jonathan Hartley’s, and I smoked a pipe with him, and we hed a long talk - on the situation of our weavers. Many o’ them are speaking of giving-in, - and going to Bradley’s factory, and I felt badly, and I said to Jonathan, - ‘I suppose thou is thinking of t’ same thing.’ And he looked at me, Annie, - and I was hot wi’ shame, and I was going to tell him so, but he looked at - me again, and said: - </p> - <p> - “‘Nay, nay, squire, thou didn’t mean them words, and we’ll say nothing - about them’; so we nodded to each other, and I wouldn’t be sure whether or - not we wer’ not both nearer tears than we’d show. Anyway, he went on as if - nothing had happened, telling me about the failing spirit of the workers - and saying a deal to excuse them. ‘Ezra Dixon’s eldest and youngest child - died yesterday and they are gathering a bit of money among the chapel folk - to bury them.’ Then I said: ‘Wait a minute, Jonathan,’ and I took out of - my purse a five pound note and made him go with it to the mother and so - put her heart at ease on that score. You know our poor think a parish - funeral a pitiful disgrace.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Antony, if that was what kept thee, thou wert well kept. Faith - Foster is right. I ought to be told of such sorrow.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure we both ought to know, but tha sees, Annie, my dearie, we hev - been so much better off than the rest of weaving villages that the workers - hev not suffered as long and as much as others. But what’s the use of - making excuses? I am going to a big meeting of weavers on Saturday night. - It is to be held in t’ Methodist Chapel.” - </p> - <p> - “Antony! Whatever art thou saying? What will the curate say? What will all - thy old friends say?” - </p> - <p> - “Annie, I hev got to a place where I don’t care a button what they say. I - hev some privileges, I hope, and taking my awn way is one o’ them. The - curate hes been asked to lend his sanction to the meeting, and the men are - betting as to whether he’ll do so or not. If I was a betting man I would - say ‘No’!” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” - </p> - <p> - “His bishop. The bishops to a man were against the Reform Bill. Only one - is said to have signed for it. That is not sure.” - </p> - <p> - “Then do you blame him?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, I’m sorry for any man, that hesn’t the gumption to please his awn - conscience, and take his awn way. However, his career is in the bishop’s - hand, and he’s varry much in love with Lucy Landborde.” - </p> - <p> - “Lucy Landborde! That handsome girl! How can he fashion himself to make up - to Lucy?” - </p> - <p> - “She thinks he is dying of love for her, so she pities him. Women are a - soft lot!” - </p> - <p> - “It is mebbe a good thing for men that women are a soft lot. Go on with - thy story. It’s fair wonderful.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Foster will preside, and they’ll ask the curate to record - proceedings. St. George Norris and Squire Charington and the Vicar of - Harrowgate will be on the platform, I hear. The vicar is going to marry - Geraldine Norris next week to a captain in the Guards.” - </p> - <p> - “I declare, Antony, thou finds out iverything going on.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. That is part o’ my business as Lord of the Manor. Well tha - sees now, that it is going to be a big meeting, especially when they add - to it a Member of Parliament, a Magistrate, and a Yorkshire Squire.” - </p> - <p> - “Who art thou talking about now?” - </p> - <p> - “Mysen! Antony Annis! Member of Parliament, Squire of Annis and Deeping - Wold, and Magistrate of the same district.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word, I had forgotten I was such a big lady. And I am to go to - London with thee. I am as set up about that as a child would be. I think I - ought to go and tell Katherine.” - </p> - <p> - “Mebbe it would be the kind thing. Sharing a pleasure doubles it;” and as - the squire uttered the words, Katherine rather impetuously opened the - parlor door. - </p> - <p> - “O daddy!” she cried as she pulled a chair to his side. “What are you - talking about? I know it is about London; are you going to take me there - with you? Say yes. Say it surely.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me a kiss and I will take both thee and thy mother there with me.” - </p> - <p> - “How soon, daddy? How soon?” - </p> - <p> - “As soon as possible. We must look after the poor and the land and then we - can go with a good heart.” - </p> - <p> - “Let us talk it all over. Where are you going to stay?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, my dear lass. I am talking to thy mother now and she is on a - different level to thee. Run away to thy room and make up thy mind about - thy new dress and the other little tricks thou wants.” - </p> - <p> - “Such as a necklace and a full set of amber combs for my hair.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay! I hev no money for jewelry, while little childer and women all - round us are wanting bread. Thou wouldn’t suit it and it wouldn’t be lucky - to thee. Run away now, I’ll talk all thou wants to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Verry well, dear daddy. Thy word is enough to build on. I can sit quiet - and arrange my London plans, for a promise from thee is as sure as the - thing itself.” - </p> - <p> - Then the squire laughed and took a letter out of his pocketbook. “It is - good for a thousand pounds, honey,” he said, “and that is a bit of - security for my promise, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a penny’s worth. Thy promise needs no security. It stands alone as it - ought to do.” - </p> - <p> - She rose as she spoke and the squire rose and opened the door for her and - then stood and watched her mount the darkening stairway. At the first - reach, she turned and bent her lovely face and form towards him. The - joyful anticipations in her heart transfigured her. She was radiant. Her - face shone and smiled; her white throat, and her white shoulders, and her - exquisite arms, and her firm quick feet seemed to have some new sense - given them. You would have said that her body thought and that her very - voice had a caress in it as she bridged the space between them with a - “Thank you, dear, dear daddy! You are the very kindest father in all the - world!” - </p> - <p> - “And thou art his pet and his darling!” With these words he went back to - his wife. “She is justtip-on-top,” he said. “There’s no girl I know like - her. She sits in the sunlight of my heart. Why, Annie, she ought to make a - better marriage than Jane, and Jane did middling well.” - </p> - <p> - “Would thou think Harry Bradley a good match?” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t put him even in a passing thought with Katherine. Harry - Bradley, indeed! I am fairly astonished at thee naming the middle class - fellow!” - </p> - <p> - “Katherine thinks him all a man should be.” - </p> - <p> - “She will change her mind in London.” - </p> - <p> - “I doubt that.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou lets her hev opinions and ideas of her awn. Thou shouldn’t do it. - Jane will alter that. Jane will tell her how to rate men and women. Jane - is varry clever.” - </p> - <p> - “Jane is no match for Katherine. Dost thou think Antony Annis will be?” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t doubt it.” - </p> - <p> - “Then don’t try conclusions with her about Harry Bradley, and happen then - thou may keep thy illusion. Katherine’s fault is a grave one, though it - often looks like a virtue.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t see what thou means. Faults are faults, and virtues are virtues. - I hev niver seen a fault of any kind in her, unless it be wanting more - guineas than I can spare her just now, but that is the original sin o’ - women as far as I can make out. Whativer is this fault that can look like - a virtue?” - </p> - <p> - “She overdoes everything. She says too little, or too much; she does too - little, or too much; she gives too little, or too much. In everything she - exceeds. If she likes anyone, she is unreasonable about them; if she - dislikes them, she is unjust.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t call that much of a fault—if thou knew anything about - farming thou would make little of it. Thou would know that it is the - richest land that hes the most weeds in its crop. The plow and the harrow - will clear it of weeds and the experience of life will teach Katherine to - be less generous with both her feelings and her opinions. Let her overdo, - it is a fault that will cure itself.” - </p> - <p> - “And in the meantime it makes her too positive and insisting. She thinks - she is right and she wants others to be right. She is even a bit forceable——” - </p> - <p> - “And I can tell thee that women as well as men need some force of - character, if they mean to do anything with their lives. <i>Why-a!</i> - Force is in daily life all that powder is to shot. If our weavers’ wives - hed more force in their characters, they wouldn’t watch their children - dying of hunger upon their knees and their hearths, they would make their - stubborn men go to any kind of a loom. They wouldn’t be bothering - themselves about any Bill in Parliament, they would be crying out for - bread for their children. We must see about the women and children - to-morrow or we shall not be ready for Faith Foster’s visit.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, but we need not think of it to-night. I’m heart weary, - Antony. Nobody can give sympathy long unless they turn kind words into - kind actions.” - </p> - <p> - “Then just call Katherine and order a bit of supper in. And I’d like a - tankard of home-brewed, and a slice or two of cold mutton. My word, but - the mutton bred in our rich meadows is worth eating! Such a fine color, so - tender and juicy and full of rich red gravy.” - </p> - <p> - “I think thou would be better without the tankard. Our ale is four years - old, and tha knows what it is at that age. It will give thee a rattling - headache. The cask on now is very strong.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure it is. A man could look a lion in the face after a couple of - glasses of it.” - </p> - <p> - “I advise thee to take a glass of water, with thy mutton to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I won’t. I’ll hev a glass of sherry wine, and thou can be my butler. - And tell Katherine not to talk about London to-night. I hevn’t got my - intentions ready. I’d be making promises it would not be right to keep. - Tha knows——!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know.” - </p> - <p> - Katherine had not yet been promoted to a seat at the late supper table, - and only came to it when specially asked. So Madam found her ungowned, and - with loosened hair, in a dressing-sacque of blue flannel. She was writing - a letter to a school friend, but she understood her mother’s visit and - asked with a smile— - </p> - <p> - “Am I to come to supper, mother? Oh, I am so glad.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, dearie, do not speak of London, nor the poor children, nor the - selfish weavers.” - </p> - <p> - “Not selfish, mother. They believe they are fighting for their rights. You - know that.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t know it. I doan’t believe it. Their wives and children ought to - be more to them than their awn way which is what they really want. Doan’t - say a word about them.” - </p> - <p> - “I will not. I am going to tell father about the Arkroyds, who owned Scar - Top House so long.” - </p> - <p> - “Father will like to hear anything good about Colonel Arkroyd. He is the - last of a fine Yorkshire family. Who told thee anything about him?” - </p> - <p> - “Before I came to my room I went to give Polly some sugar I had in my - pocket for her, and I met Britton, who had just come from the stable. He - turned and went with me and he was full of the story and so I had to - listen to it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, we will listen to it when thou comes down. Father is hungry, - so don’t keep him waiting, or he will be put out of his way.” - </p> - <p> - “I will be down in five minutes, and father is never cross with me.” - </p> - <p> - Indeed, when Madam went back to the parlor, a servant was bringing in the - cold mutton and Madam had the bottle of sherry in her hand. A few minutes - later Katherine had joined her parents, and they were sitting cozily round - a small table, set in the very warmth and light of the hearthstone. Then - Madam, fearing some unlucky word or allusion, said as quickly as possible— - </p> - <p> - “Whatever was it thou heard about Colonel Ark-royd, Katherine?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay! Ay! Colonel Arkroyd! Who has anything to say about him?” asked the - squire. “One of the finest men alive to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “I heard a strange thing about his old house, an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - “But he sold Scar Top House, and went to live in Kendal. A man from - Bradford bought it, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, a man with a factory and six hundred looms, they say. Father, have - you noticed how crowded our rookery is with the birds’ nests this spring?” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t know that I hev noticed the number of the nests, but nobody can - help hearing their noisy chattering all over Annis.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you remember the rookery at Scar Top?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I often hed a friendly threep with Ark-royd about it. He would - insist, that his rookery hed the largest congregation. I let him think so—he’s - twenty years older than I am—and I did hear that the Bradford man - had bought the place because of the rookery.” - </p> - <p> - “So he did. And now, father, every bird has left it. There was not one - nest built there this spring. Not one!” - </p> - <p> - “I never heard the like. Whoever told thee such a story?” - </p> - <p> - “The whole village knows it. One morning very early every rook in Scar Top - went away. They went altogether, just before daybreak. They went to - Saville Court and settled in a long row of elm trees in the home meadow. - They are building there now and the Bradford man——” - </p> - <p> - “Give him his name. It is John Denby. He was born in Annis—in my - manor—and he worked for the colonel, near twenty years.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. John Denby and Colonel Arkroyd have quarreled about the birds, - and there is likely to be a law suit over them.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word! That will be a varry interesting quarrel. What could make - birds act in such a queer way? I niver knew them to do such a thing - before.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, father, rooks are very aristocratic birds. Denby could not get a <i>caw</i> - out of the whole flock. They would not notice Denby, and they used to talk - to Arkroyd, whenever he came out of the house. Denby used to work for - Colonel Arkroyd, and the rooks knew it. They did not consider him a - gentleman, and they would not accept his hospitality.” - </p> - <p> - “That is going a bit too far, Katherine.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no! Old Britton told me so, and the Yorkshire bird does not live who - has not told Britton all about itself. He said further, that rooks are - very vain and particularly so about their feathers. He declared they would - go far out of their way in order to face the wind and so prevent ruffling - their feathers.” - </p> - <p> - “Rooks are at least a very human bird,” said Madam; “our rooks make quite - a distinction between thee and myself. I can easily notice it. The male - birds are in a flutter when thou walks through the rookery, they moderate - their satisfaction when I pay them a call and it is the female birds who - do the honors then.” - </p> - <p> - “That reminds me, mother, that Britton told me rooks intermarried - generation after generation, and that if a rook brought home a strange - bride, he was forced to build in a tree the community selected, at some - distance from the rookery. If he did not do this, his nest was - relentlessly torn down.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, my Joy, I am glad to learn so much from thee. How do the rooks - treat thee?” - </p> - <p> - “With but moderate notice, father, unless I am at Britton’s side. Then - they ‘caw’ respectfully, as I take my way through their colony. Britton - taught me to lift my hat now and then, as father does.” The squire - laughed, and was a bit confused. “Nay, nay!” he said. “Britton hes been - making up that story, though I vow, I would rayther take off my hat to - gentlemanly rooks than to some humans I know; I would that! There is one - thing I can tell thee about rooks, Britton seems to have forgot; they - can’t make a bit of sunshine for themselves. If t’ weather is rainy, no - bird in the world is more miserable. They sit with puffed out feathers in - uncontrollable melancholy, and they hevn’t a caw for anybody. Yet I hev a - great respect for rooks.” - </p> - <p> - “And I hev a great liking for rook pies,” said Madam. “There is not a pie - in all the records of cookery, to come near it. <i>Par excellence</i> is - its name. I shall miss my rook pies, if we go away this summer.” - </p> - <p> - “But we shall have something better in their place, dear mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Who can tell? In the meantime, sleep will be the best thing for all. - To-morrow is a new day. Sleep will make us ready for it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III—THE REALIZATION OF TROUBLE - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Beneath this starry arch, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Naught resteth, or is still; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And all things have their march, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As if by one great will. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Move on! Move all! - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Hark to the footfall! - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - On, on! forever!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning - Katherine came to her mother full of enthusiasm. She had some letters in - her hand and she said: “I have written these letters all alike, mother, - and they are ready to send away, if you will give me the names of the - ladies you wish them to go to.” - </p> - <p> - “How many letters hast thou written?” - </p> - <p> - “Seven. I can write as many as you wish.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou hes written too many already.” - </p> - <p> - “Too many!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, tha must not forget, that this famine and distress is over all - Yorkshire—over all England. Every town and village hes its awn sick - and starving, and hes all it can do to look after them. Thy father told me - last night he hed been giving to all the villages round us for a year back - but until Mr. Foster told him yesterday he hed no idea that there was any - serious trouble in Annis. Tha knows, dearie, that Yorkshire and Lancashire - folk won’t beg. No, not if they die for want of begging. The preacher - found out their need first and he told father at once. Then Jonathan - Hartley admitted they were all suffering and that something must be done - to help. That is the reason for the meeting this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear me!” - </p> - <p> - “Jonathan hes been preparing for it for a week but he did not tell father - until yesterday. I will give thee the names of four ladies that may assist - in the way of sending food—there is Mrs. Benson, the doctor’s wife—her - husband is giving his time to the sick and if she hedn’t a bit of money of - her awn, Benson’s family would be badly off, I fear. She may hev the heart - to <i>do</i> as well as to pinch and suffer, but if she hesn’t, we can’t - find her to blame. Send her an invitation. Send another to Mistress - Craven. Colonel Craven is with his regiment somewhere, but she is wealthy, - and for anything I know, good-hearted. Give her an opportunity. Lady - Brierley can be counted on in some way or other and perhaps Mrs. Courtney. - I can think of no others because everyone is likely to be looking for - assistance just as we are. What day hev you named for the meeting?” - </p> - <p> - “Monday. Is that too soon?” - </p> - <p> - “About a week too soon. None of these ladies will treat the invitation as - a desirable one. They doubtless hev many engagements already made. Say, - next Saturday. It is not reasonable to expect them to drop iverything else - and hurry to Annis, to sew for the hungry and naked.” - </p> - <p> - “O mother! Little children! Who would not hurry to them with food and - clothing?” - </p> - <p> - “Hes thou been with Faith Foster to see any children hungry and naked?” - </p> - <p> - “No, mother; but I do not need to <i>see</i> in order to <i>feel</i>. And - I have certainly noticed how few children are on the street lately.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Katherine, girls of eighteen shouldn’t need to <i>see</i> in order - to feel. Thank God for thy fresh young feelings and keep them fresh as - long as thou can. It will be a pity when thou begins to reason about them. - Send letters to Mrs. Benson, Mrs. Craven, Lady Brierley, and Mrs. - Courtney, and then we shall see what comes from them. After all, we are - mere mortals!” - </p> - <p> - “But you are friendly with all these four ladies?” - </p> - <p> - “Good friends to come and go upon. By rights they ought to stand by Annis—but - ‘ought’ stands for nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “Why <i>ought</i>, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Thy father hes done ivery one o’ them a good turn of one kind or the - other but it isn’t his way to speak of the same. Now send off thy letters - and let things slide until we see what road they are going to take. I’m - afraid I’ll hev to put mysen about more than I like to in this matter.” - </p> - <p> - “That goes without saying but you don’t mind it, do you, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, your father took me on a sudden. I hedn’t time to think before I - spoke and when my heart gets busy, good-by to my head.” - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Courtney has not been here for a long time.” - </p> - <p> - “She is a good deal away but I saw her in London last year every now and - then. She is a careless woman; she goes it blind about everything, and yet - she wants to be at the bottom of all county affairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother, could we not do a little shopping today?” - </p> - <p> - “At the fag end of the week? What are you talking about? Certainly not. - Besides, thy father is worried about the meeting this afternoon. He says - more may come of it than we can dream of.” - </p> - <p> - “How is that?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Katherine, it might end in a factory here, or it might end in the - weavers heving to leave Annis and go elsewhere.” - </p> - <p> - “Cannot they get work of some other kind, in, or near by Annis?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, tha surely knows, that a weaver hes to keep his fingers soft, and - his hands supple. Hard manual work would spoil his hands forever for the - loom, and our men are born weavers. They doan’t fashion to any other work, - and to be sure England hes to hev her weavers.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother, would it not be far better to have a factory? Lately, when I have - taken a walk with father he always goes to the wold and looks all round - considering just like a man who was wondering about a site for a building. - It would be a good thing for us, mother, would it not?” - </p> - <p> - “It seems so, but father does not want it. He says it will turn Annis into - a rough village, full of strangers, with bad ways, and also that it will - spoil the whole country-side with its smoke and dirt.” - </p> - <p> - “But if it makes money?” - </p> - <p> - “Money isn’t iverything.” - </p> - <p> - “The want of it is dreadful.” - </p> - <p> - “Thy father got a thousand pounds this morning. If he does not put most of - it into a factory, he will put it into bread, which will be eaten to-day - and wanted again to-morrow. That would make short work of a thousand - pounds.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you reminded father of that?” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t need to. Father seems an easy-going man but he thinks of - iverything; and when he <i>hes</i> to act no one strikes the iron quicker - and harder. If thou saw him in London, if thou heard him in the House, - brow-beating the Whigs and standing up for Peel and Wellington and others, - thou would wonder however thou dared to tease, and contradict, and coax - him in Annis. Thou would that! Now I am going to the lower summer house - for an hour. Send away thy letters, and let me alone a bit.” - </p> - <p> - “I know. I saw father going down the garden. He is going to the summer - house also; he intends to tell you, mother, what he is going to say - to-night. He always reads, or recites his speeches to you. I have heard - him sometimes.” - </p> - <p> - “Then thou ought to be ashamed to speak of it! I am astonished at thy want - of honor! If by chance, thou found out some reserved way of thy father it - should have been held by thee as a sacred, inviolable secret. Not even to - me, should thou have dared to speak of it. I am sorry, indeed, to hev to - teach thee this point of childhood’s honor. I thought it would be natural - to the daughter of Antony and Annie Annis!” - </p> - <p> - “Mother! Forgive me! I am ashamed and sorry and oh, do not, for my sake, - tell father! My dear, dear father! You have made it look like mocking him—I - never thought how shameful it could look—oh, I never thought about - it! I never spoke of it before! I never did!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, see thou never again listens to what was not intended for - thee to hear. It would be a pretty state of things, if thy father hed to - go somewhere out of the way of listeners to get a bit of private talk with - me.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother, don’t be so cruel to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Was thou trying to compliment me or was thou scorning a bit about thy - father’s ways? If thou thought I would feel complimented by being set - above him that thought was as far wrong as it could possibly get.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother! Mother! You will break my heart! You never before spoke this way - to me—<i>Oh, dear! Oh, dear!</i>” - </p> - <p> - For a few minutes Madam let her weep, then she bent over the crouching, - sobbing girl, and said, “There now! There now!” - </p> - <p> - “I am so sorry! So sorry!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, dearie, sorrow is good for sin. It is the only thing sorrow is good - for. Dry thy eyes, and we will niver name the miserable subject again.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it really a sin, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Hes thou forgotten the fifth commandment? That little laugh at thy - father’s saying his speeches to me first was more than a bit scornful. It - was far enough from the commandment ‘Honor thy father and thy mother.’ It - wasn’t honoring either of us.” - </p> - <p> - “I can never forgive myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay! nay! Give me a kiss and go and look after thy letters; also tell - Yates dinner must be on the table at one o’clock no matter what his watch - says.” Then Katherine walked silently away and Madam went to the lower - summer house, and the dinner was on the table at one o’clock. It was an - exceedingly quiet meal, and immediately after it, the squire’s horse was - brought to the door. - </p> - <p> - “So thou art going to ride, Antony!” said Mistress Annis, and the squire - answered, “Ay, I hev a purpose in riding, Annie.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou art quite right,” was the reply, for she thought she divined his - purpose and the shadow of a smile passed between them. Then he looked at - his watch, mounted his horse and rode swiftly away. His wife watched him - out of sight and, as she turned into the house, she told herself with a - proud and happy smile, “He is the best and the handsomest man in the West - Riding, and the horse suits him! He rides to perfection! God bless him!” - </p> - <p> - It was a point with the squire to be rigidly punctual. He was never either - too soon, or too late. He knew that one fault was as bad as the other, - though he considered the early mistake as the worst. It began to strike - two as he reached the door of the Methodist Chapel, and saw Jonathan - Hartley waiting there for him; and they walked at once to a rude platform - that had been prepared for the speakers. There were several gentlemen - standing there in a group, and the Chapel was crowded with anxious - hungry-looking men. - </p> - <p> - It was the first time that Squire Annis had ever stepped inside a - Methodist Chapel. The thought was like the crack of a whip in his - conscience but at that moment he would not listen to any claim or reproof; - for either through liking or disliking, he was sensitive at once to - Bradley’s tall, burly predominance; and could not have said, whether it - was pleasant or unpleasant to him. However, the moment he appeared, there - was loud handclapping, and cries of “Squire Annis! Squire Annis! Put him - in the chair! He’s our man!” - </p> - <p> - Then into the squire’s heart his good angel put a good thought, and he - walked to the front of the platform and said, “My men, and my friends, - I’ll do something better for you. I’ll put the Reverend Samuel Foster in - the chair. God’s servant stands above all others, and Mr. Foster knows all - about your poverty and affliction. I am a bit ashamed to say, I do not.” - This personal accusation was cut short by cries of “No! No! No! Thou hes - done a great deal,” and then a cheer, that had in it all the Yorkshire - spirit, though not its strength. The men were actually weak with hunger. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Foster took the chair to which the squire led him without any - affectations of demur, and he was gladly welcomed. Indeed there were few - things that would have pleased the audience more. They were nearly all - Methodists, and their preacher alone had searched out their misery, and - helped them to bear it with patience and with hope. He now stretched out - his hands to them and said—“Friends, just give us four lines, and we - will go at once to business”; and in a sweet, ringing voice, he began - Newman’s exquisite hymn— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Leave God to order all thy ways, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And hope in Him whate’er betide, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Thoul’t find Him in the evil days, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - An all sufficient Strength and Guide.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - The words came fresh and wet with tears from every heart, and it was a - five minutes’ interlude of that complete surrender, which God loves and - accepts. - </p> - <p> - After a moment of intense silence, the preacher said, “We are met to-day - to try and find out if hand-loom weaving must go, or if both hand-loom - weaving and power-loom weaving have a chance for the weaver in them. There - are many hand-loom weavers here present. They know all its good points and - all points wherein it fails but they do not know either the good or bad - points of power-loom weaving, and Mr. John Thomas Bradley has come to tell - you something about this tremendous rival of your household loom. I will - now introduce Mr. John.” He got no further in his introduction, for - Bradley stepped forward, and with a buoyant good-nature said, “No need, - sir, of any fine mastering or mistering between the Annis lads and mysen. - We hev thrashed each ither at football, and chated each ither in all kinds - of swapping odds too often, to hev forgotten what names were given us at - our christening. There’s Israel Swale, he hes a bigger mill than I hev - now-a-days, but he’s owing me three pence half-penny and eleven marbles, - yet whenever I ask him for my brass and my marbles he says—‘I’ll pay - thee, John Thomas, when we play our next game.’ Now listen, lads, next - Whitsunday holidays I’ll ask him to come and see me, and I’ll propose - before a house full of company—and all ready for a bit of fun—that - we hev our game of marbles in the bowling alley, and I’ll get Jonathan - Hartley to give you all an invitation to come and see fair play between - us. Will you come?” - </p> - <p> - Noisy laughing acceptances followed and one big Guisely weaver said, “He’d - come too, and see that Israel played a straight game for once in his - life.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m obliged to thee, Guisely,” answered Bradley, “I hope thou’lt come. - Now then, lads, I hev to speak to you about business, and if you think - what I say is right, go and do what I say, do it boldly; and if you aren’t - sure, then let it alone:—till you are driven to it. I am told that - varry few of the men here present iver saw a power loom. And yet you - mostly think ill o’ it. That isn’t a bit Yorkshire. You treat a man as you - find him, you ought to do the same to a machine, that is almost a man in - intelligence—that is the most perfect bit of beauty and contrivance - that man iver made since man himsen was fitted wi’ fingers and thumbs by - the Great Machinist of heaven and earth.” - </p> - <p> - “What is it fashioned like, Bradley?” - </p> - <p> - “It is an exceedingly compact machine and takes up little room. It is - easily worked and it performs every weaving operation with neatness and - perfection. It makes one hundred and seventy picks a minute or six pieces - of goods in a week—you know it was full work and hard work to make - one piece a week with the home loom, even for a strong man. It is made - mostly of shining metal, and it is a perfect darling. <i>Why-a!</i> the - lads and lassies in Bradley mill call their looms after their sweethearts, - or husbands, or wives, and I wouldn’t wonder if they said many a sweet or - snappy word to the looms that would niver be ventured on with the real - Bessie or the real Joe. - </p> - <p> - “Think of your old cumbersome wooden looms, so hard and heavy and dreary - to work, that it wasn’t fit or right to put a woman down to one. Then go - and try a power loom, and when you hev done a day’s work on it, praise God - and be thankful! I tell you God saw the millions coming whom Yorkshire and - Lancashire would hev to clothe, and He gave His servant the grave, gentle, - middle-aged preacher Edmund Cartwright, the model of a loom fit for God’s - working men and women to use. I tell you men the power loom is one of - God’s latest Gospels. We are spelling yet, with some difficulty, its first - good news, but the whole world will yet thank God for the power loom!” - </p> - <p> - Here the preacher on the platform said a fervent “Thank God!” But the - audience was not yet sure enough for what they were to thank God, and the - few echoes to the preacher’s invitation were strangely uncertain for a - Yorkshire congregation. A few of the Annis weavers compromised on a solemn - “Amen!” All, however, noticed that the squire remained silent, and they - were “not going”—as Lot Clarke said afterwards—“to push - themsens before t’ squire.” - </p> - <p> - Then Jonathan Hartley stepped into the interval, and addressing Bradley - said, “Tha calls this wonderful loom a power-loom. I’ll warrant the power - comes from a steam engine.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou art right, Jonathan. I wish tha could see the wonderful engine at - Dalby’s Mill in Pine Hollow. The marvelous creature stands in its big - stone stable like a huge image of Destiny. It is never still, but never - restless, nothing rough; calm and steady like the waves of the full sea at - Scarboro’. It is the nervous center, the life, I might say, of all going - on in that big building above it. It moves all the machinery, it gives - life to the devil, * and speeds every shuttle in every loom.” - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * The devil, a machine containing a revolving cylinder armed - with knives or spikes for tearing, cutting, or opening raw - materials. -</pre> - <p> - “It isn’t looms and engines we are worrying about, Bradley,” said a man - pallid and fretful with hunger. “It is flesh and blood, that can’t stand - hunger much longer. It’s our lile lads and lasses, and the babies at the - mother’s breast, where there isn’t a drop o’ milk for their thin, white - lips! O God! And you talk o’ looms and engines”—and the man sat down - with a sob, unable to say another word. - </p> - <p> - Squire Annis could hardly sit still, but the preacher looked at him and he - obeyed the silent wish, as in the meantime Jonathan Hartley had asked - Bradley a question, to partly answer the request made. - </p> - <p> - “If you want to know about the workers, all their rooms are large and - cheerful, with plenty of fresh air in them. The weaving rooms are as light - and airy as a bird cage. The looms are mostly managed by women, from - seventeen to thirty, wi’ a sprinkling o’ married men and women. A solid - trade principle governs t’ weaving room—so much work, for so much - money—but I hev girls of eighteen in my mill, who are fit and able - to thread the shuttles, and manage two looms, keeping up the pieces to - mark, without oversight or help.” - </p> - <p> - Here he was interrupted by a man with long hair parted in the middle of - the forehead, and dressed in a suit of fashionable cut, but cheap - tailoring. “I hev come to this meeting,” he cried out, “to ask your - parliamentary representative if he intends to vote for the Reform Bill, - and to urge the better education of the lower classes.” - </p> - <p> - “Who bid thee come to this meeting?” asked Jonathan Hartley. “Thou has no - business here. Not thou. And we weren’t born in Yorkshire to be fooled by - thee.” - </p> - <p> - “I was told by friends of the people, that your member would likely vote - against Reform.” - </p> - <p> - “Put him out! Put him out!” resounded from every quarter of the building, - and for the first time since the meeting opened, there was a touch of - enthusiasm. Then the squire stepped with great dignity to the front of the - platform. - </p> - <p> - “Young men,” he said with an air of reproof, “this is not a political - meeting. It is not even a public meeting. It is a gathering of friends to - consider how best to relieve the poverty and idleness for which our - weavers are not to blame—and we do not wish to be interrupted.” - </p> - <p> - “The blame is all wi’ you rich landowners,” he answered; “ivery one o’ you - stand by a government that robs the poor man and protects the rich. I am a - representative of the Bradford Socialists.” - </p> - <p> - “Git out! Git out! Will tha? If tha doesn’t, I’ll fling thee out like any - other rubbish;” and as the man made no attempt to obey the command given, - Hartley took him by the shoulder, and in spite of his protestations—received - with general jeers and contempt—put him outside the chapel. - </p> - <p> - Squire Annis heartily approved the word, act and manner of Hartley’s - little speech. The temperature of his blood rose to fighting heat, and he - wanted to shout with the men in the body of the chapel. Yet his - countenance was calm and placid, for Antony Annis was <i>Master at Home</i>, - and could instantly silence or subdue whatever his Inner Man prompted that - was improper or inconvenient. - </p> - <p> - He thought, however, that it was now a fit time-for him to withdraw, and - he was going to say the few words he had so well considered, when a very - old man rose, and leaning on his staff, called out, “Squire Annis, my - friend, I want thee to let me speak five minutes. It will varry likely be - t’ last time I’ll hev the chance to say a word to so many lads altogether - in this life.” And the squire smiled pleasantly as he replied, “Speak, - Matthew, we shall all be glad to listen to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ill be ninety-five years old next month, Squire, and I hev been busy wi’ - spinning and weaving eighty-eight o’ them. I was winding bobbins when I - was seven years old, and I was carding, or combing, or working among wool - until I was twenty. Then I got married, and bought from t’ squire, on easy - terms, my cottage and garden plot, and I kept a pig and some chickens, and - a hutch full o’ rabbits, which I fed on the waste vegetables from my - garden. I also had three or four bee skeps, that gave us honey for our - bread, with a few pounds over to sell; t’ squire allays bought the - overbit, and so I was well paid for a pretty bed of flowers round about - the house. I was early at my loom, but when I was tired I went into my - garden, and I smoked a pipe and talked to the bees, who knew me well - enough, ivery one o’ them. If it was raining, I went into t’ kitchen, and - smoked and hed a chat wi’ Polly about our awn concerns. I hev had four - handsome lassies, and four good, steady lads. Two o’ the lads went to - America, to a place called Lowell, but they are now well-to-do men, wi’ - big families. My daughters live near me, and they keep my cottage as - bright as their mother kept it for over fifty years. I worked more or less - till I was ninety years old, and then Squire Annis persuaded me to stop my - loom, and just potter about among my bees and flowers. Now then, lads, - thousands hev done for years and years as much, even more than I hev done - and I hev never met but varry few Home-loom weavers who were dissatisfied. - They all o’ them made their awn hours and if there was a good race - anywhere near-by they shut off and went to it. Then they did extra work - the next day to put their ‘piece’ straight for Saturday. If their ‘piece’ - was right, the rest was nobody’s business.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Matthew,” said the squire, “for many a year you seldom missed a - race.” - </p> - <p> - “Not if t’ horses were good, and well matched. I knew the names then of a’ - the racers that wer’ worth going to see. I love a fine horse yet. I do - that! And the Yorkshire roar when the victor came to mark! You could hear - it a mile away! O squire, I can hear it yet! - </p> - <p> - “Well, lads, I hev hed a happy, busy life, and I hev been a good Methodist - iver sin’ I was converted, when I was twelve years old. And I bear - testimony this day to the goodness and the faithfulness of God. He hes - niver broken a promise He made me. Niver one! - </p> - <p> - “Thousands of Home-loom spinners can live, and have lived, as I did and - they know all about t’ life. I know nothing about power-loom weaving. I - dare say a man can make good or bad o’ it, just as he feels inclined; but - I will say, it brings men down to a level God Almighty niver intended. It - is like this—when a man works in his awn home, and makes his awn - hours, all the world, if he be good and honest, calls him <i>A Man</i>; - when he works in a factory he’s nobbut ‘<i>one o’ the hands</i>.’” - </p> - <p> - At these words Matthew sat down amid a little subdued inexpressible - mixture of tense feeling and the squire said—“In three weeks or - less, men, I am going to London, and I give you my word, that I shall - always be found on the side of Reform and Free Trade. When I return you - will surely have made up your minds and formed some sort of decision; then - I will try and forward your plans to my last shilling.” With these words - he bowed to the gentlemen on the platform, and the audience before him, - and went rapidly away. His servant was at the Chapel door with his horse; - he sprang into the saddle, and before anyone could interrupt his exit, he - was beyond detention. - </p> - <p> - A great disturbance was in his soul. He could not define it. The condition - of his people, the changing character of his workers and weavers, the very - village seemed altered, and then the presence of Bradley! He had found it - impossible to satisfy both his offense with the man and his still vital - affection for him. He had often told himself that “Bradley was dead and - buried as far as he was concerned”; but some affections are buried alive, - and have a distressing habit of being restless in their coffins. It was - with the feeling of a fugitive flying for a place of rest that he went - home. But, oh, how refreshing was his wife’s welcome! What comfort in her - happy smile! What music in her tender words! He leaped to the ground like - a young man and, clasping her hand, went gratefully with her to his own - fireside. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV—LONDON AND AUNT JOSEPHA - </h2> - <p class="indent20"> - “Still in Immortal Youth we dream of Love.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - London—“Together let us beat this ample field - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Try what the open and the covert yield.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>ATHERINE’S letters - bore little fruit. Lady Brierley sent fifty pounds to buy food, but said - “she was going to Bourmouth for the spring months, being unable to bear - the winds of the Yorkshire wolds at that time.” Mrs. Craven and Mrs. - Courtney were on their way to London, and Mrs. Benson said her own large - family required every hour of her time, especially as she was now only - able to keep one servant. So the village troubles were confided to the - charge of Faith Foster and her father. The squire put a liberal sum of - money with the preacher, and its application was left entirely to his - judgment. - </p> - <p> - Nor did Annis now feel himself able to delay his journey until April. He - was urged constantly by the leaders of the Reform Bill to hasten his visit - to the House. Letters from Lord Russell, Sir James Grahame and Lord Grey - told him that among the landlords of the West Riding his example would - have a great influence, and that at this “important crisis they looked - with anxiety, yet certainty, for his support.” - </p> - <p> - He could not withhold it. After his enlightenment by Mr. Foster, he hardly - needed any further appeal. His heart and his conscience gave him no rest, - and in ten days he had made suitable arrangements, both for the care of - his estate, and the relief of the village. In this business he had been - greatly hurried and pressed, and the Hall was also full of unrest and - confusion, for all Madam’s domestic treasures were to pack away and to put - in strict and competent care. For, then, there really were women who - enjoyed household rackets and homes turned up and over from top to bottom. - It was their relief from the hysteria of monotony and the temper that - usually attends monotony. They knew nothing of the constant changes and - pleasures of the women of today—of little chatty lunches and theater - parties; of their endless societies and games, and clubs of every - description; of fantastic dressing and undressing from every age and - nation; beside the appropriation of all the habits and pursuits and - pleasures of men that seemed good in their eyes, or their imaginations. - </p> - <p> - So to the woman of one hundred years ago—and of much less time—a - thorough house-cleaning, or a putting away of things for a visit or a - journey was an exciting event. There was even a kind of pleasure in the - discomfort and disorder it caused. The unhappy looks of the men of the - house were rather agreeable to them. For a few days they had legitimate - authority to make everyone miserable, and in doing so experienced a very - actual nervous relief. - </p> - <p> - Madam Annis was in some measure influenced by similar conditions, for it - takes a strong and powerfully constituted woman to resist the spirit and - influence of the time and locality in which she lives. So the Hall was - full of unrest, and the peaceful routine of life was all broken up. - Ladies’ hide-covered trunks—such little baby trunks to those of the - present day—and leather bags and portmanteaus littered the halls; - and the very furniture had the neglected plaintive look of whatever is to - be left behind. - </p> - <p> - At length, however, on the twenty-third of March, all was ready for the - journey, and the squire was impatient to begin it. He was also continually - worrying about his son. “Whereiver is Dick, I wonder? He ought to be here - helping us, ought he not, mother?” he asked Madam reproachfully, as if he - held her responsible for Dick’s absence and Madam answered sharply—“Indeed, - Antony, thou ought to know best. Thou told Dick to stay in London and - watch the ways of that wearisome Reform Bill and send thee daily word - about its carryings on. The lad can’t be in two places at once, can he?” - </p> - <p> - “I hed forgotten mysen, Annie. How near art thou and Katherine ready to - start?” - </p> - <p> - “Katherine and I are now waiting on your will and readiness.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, then, Annie, if ta hes got to thy London English already, I’ll be - quiet, I will.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t like thee to be unjust to Dick. He is doing, and doing well, - just what thou told him to do. I should think thou couldn’t ask more than - that—if thou was in thy right mind.” - </p> - <p> - “Dick is the best lad in Yorkshire, he is all that! Doan’t thee care if I - seem a bit cross, Annie. I’ve been that worrited all morning as niver was. - Doan’t mind it!” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t, not in the least, Antony.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, can thou start to-morrow morning?” - </p> - <p> - “I can start, with an hour’s notice, any time.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t be too good, Annie. I’m not worth it.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou art worth all I can do for thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Varry good, dearie! Then we’ll start at seven to-morrow morning. We will - drive to Leeds, and then tak t’ mail-coach for London there. If t’ roads - don’t happen to be varry bad we may hev time enough in Leeds to go to the - Queen’s Hotel and hev a plate o’ soup and a chop. I hev a bit o’ business - at the bank there but it won’t keep me ten minutes. I hope we may hev a - fairish journey, but the preacher tells me the whole country is in a varry - alarming condition.” - </p> - <p> - “Antony, I am a little tired of the preacher’s alarm bell. He is always - prophesying evil. Doan’t thee let him get too much influence over thee. - Before thou knows what thou art doing thou wilt be going to a class - meeting. What does the curate say? He has been fifty miles south, if not - more.” - </p> - <p> - “He told me the roads were full of hungry, angry men, who were varry - disrespectful to any of the Quality they met.” - </p> - <p> - Here Katherine entered the room. “Mother dear,” she said in an excited - voice, “mother dear! My new traveling dress came home a little while ago, - and I have put it on, to let you admire it. Is it not pretty? Is it not - stylish? Is it not everything a girl would like? O Daddy! I didn’t see - you.” - </p> - <p> - “I couldn’t expect thee to see me when tha hed a new dress on. I’ll tell - thee, howiver, I doan’t like it as well as I liked thy last suit.” - </p> - <p> - “The little shepherd plaid? Oh, that has become quite common! This is the - thing now. What do you say, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “I think it is all right. Put it on in the morning. We leave at seven - o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, delightful! I am so glad! Life is all in a mess here and I hate a - tossed-up house.” - </p> - <p> - At this point the Reverend Mr. Yates entered. He had called to bid the - squire and his family good-bye, but the ladies quickly left the room. They - knew some apology was due the curate for placing the money intended for - relieving the suffering in the village in the preacher’s care, and at his - disposal. But the curate was reasonable, and readily acknowledged that - “nearly all needing help were members of Mr. Foster’s church, and would - naturally take relief better from him than from a stranger.” - </p> - <p> - The journey as far as Leeds was a very sad one, for the squire stopped - frequently to speak to groups of despairing, desperate men and women:—“Hev - courage, friends!” he said cheerfully to a gathering of about forty or - more on the Green of a large village, only fourteen miles south of Annis. - “Hev courage a little longer! I am Antony Annis, and I am on my way to - London, with many more gentlemen, to see that the Reform Bill goes through - the Lords, this time. If it does not then it will be the duty of - Englishmen to know the reason why. God knows you hev borne up bravely. Try - it a bit longer.” - </p> - <p> - “Squire,” said a big fellow, white with hunger, “Squire, I hevn’t touched - food of any kind for forty hours. You count hours when you are hungry, - squire.” - </p> - <p> - “We’re all o’ us,” said his companion, “faint and clemmed. We hevn’t - strength to be men any longer. Look at me! I’m wanting to cry like a - bairn.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m ready to fight, squire,” added a man standing near by; “I hev a bit - o’ manhood yet, and I’d fight for my rights, I would that!—if I - nobbnd hed a slice or two o’ bread.” - </p> - <p> - At the same time a young woman, little more than a child, came tottering - forward, and stood at the side of Mistress Annis. She had a little baby in - her arms, she did not speak, she only looked in the elder woman’s face - then cast her eyes down upon the child. It was tugging at an empty breast - with little sharp cries of hungry impatience. Then she said, “I hev no - milk for him! The lile lad is sucking my blood!” Her voice was weak and - trembling, but she had no tears left. - </p> - <p> - Madam covered her face, she was weeping, and the next moment Katherine - emptied her mother’s purse into the starving woman’s hand. She took it - with a great cry, lifting her face to heaven—“Oh God, it is money! - Oh God, it is milk and bread!” Then looking at Katherine she said, “Thou - hes saved two lives. God sent thee to do it”—and with the words, she - found a sudden strength to run with her child to a shop across the street, - where bread and milk were sold. - </p> - <p> - “It’s little Dinas Sykes,” said a man whose voice was weak with hunger. - “Eh! but I’m glad, God hes hed mercy on her!” and all watched Dinas - running for milk and bread with a grateful sympathy. The squire was - profoundly touched, his heart melted within him, and he said to the little - company with the voice of a companion, not of a master, “Men, how many of - you are present?” - </p> - <p> - “About forty-four men—and a few half grown lads. They need food - worse than men do—they suffer more—poor lile fellows!” - </p> - <p> - “And you all hev women at home? Wives and daughters?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, squire, and mothers, too! Old and gray and hungry—some varry - patient, and just dying on their feet, some so weak they are crying like - t’ childer of two or four years old. My God! Squire, t’ men’s suffering - isn’t worth counting, against that of t’ women and children.” - </p> - <p> - “Friends, I hev no words to put against your suffering and a ten pound - note will be better than all the words I could give you. It will at least - get all of you a loaf of bread and a bit of beef and a mug of ale. Who - shall I give it to?” - </p> - <p> - “Ben Shuttleworth,” was the unanimous answer, and Ben stepped forward. He - was a noble-looking old man just a little crippled by long usage of the - hand loom. “Squire Annis,” he said, “I’ll gladly take the gift God hes - sent us by thy hands and I’ll divide it equally, penny for penny, and may - God bless thee and prosper thy journey! We’re none of us men used to - saying ‘thank’ee’ to any man but we say it to thee. Yes, we say it to - thee.” - </p> - <p> - Kindred scenes occurred in every village and they did not reach Leeds in - time for the mail coach they intended to take. The squire was not troubled - at the delay. He said, “he hed a bit of his awn business to look after, - and he was sure Katherine hed forgotten one or two varry necessary things, - that she could buy in Leeds.” - </p> - <p> - Katherine acknowledged that she had forgotten her thimble and her hand - glass, and said she had “been worrying about her back hair, which she - could not dress without one.” - </p> - <p> - Madam was tired and glad to rest. “But Antony,” she said, “Dick will meet - this coach and when we do not come by it, he will have wonders and worries - about us.” - </p> - <p> - “Not he! Dick knows something about women, and also, I told him we might - sleep a night or two at some town on the way, if you were tired.” - </p> - <p> - The next day they began the journey again, half-purposing to stop and rest - at some half-way town. The squire said Dick understood them. He would be - on hand if they loitered a week. And Madam was satisfied; she thought it - likely Dick had instructions fitting his father’s uncertainty. - </p> - <p> - Yet though the coach prevented actual contact with the miserable famine - sufferers, it could not prevent them witnessing the silent misery sitting - on every door step, and looking with such longing eyes for help from God - or man. Upon the whole it was a journey to break a pitiful heart, and the - squire and his family were glad when the coach drew up with the rattle of - wheels and the blowing of the guard’s horn at its old stand of Charing - Cross. - </p> - <p> - The magic of London was already around them, and the first face they saw - was the handsome beaming face of Dick Annis. He nodded and smiled to his - father, who was sitting—where he had sat most of the journey—at - the side of the driver. Dick would have liked to help him to the street, - but he knew that his father needed no help and would likely be vexed at - any offer of it, but Dick’s mother and sister came out of the coach in his - arms, and the lad kissed them and called them all the fond names he could - think of. Noticing at the same time his father’s clever descent, he put - out his left hand to him, for he had his mother guarded with his right - arm. “You did that jump, dad, better than I could have done it. Are you - tired?” - </p> - <p> - “We are all tired to death, Dick. Hev you a cab here?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, I have! Your rooms at the Clarendon are in order, and there - will be a good dinner waiting when you are ready for it.” - </p> - <p> - In something less than an hour they were all ready for a good dinner; - their faces had been washed, Katherine’s hair smoothed and Madam’s cap - properly adjusted. The squire was standing on the hearthrug in high - spirits. The sight of his son, the touch of the town, the pleasant light - and comfort of his surroundings, the prospect of dinner, made him forget - for a few minutes the suffering he had passed through, until his son - asked, “And did you have a pleasant journey, father?” - </p> - <p> - “A journey, Dick, to break a man’s heart. It hes turned me from a Tory - into a Radical. This government must feed the people or—we will kick - them back——” - </p> - <p> - “Dear father, we will talk of that subject by ourselves. It isn’t fit for - two tired women, now is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Mebbe not; but I hev seen and I hev heard these last two or three days, - Dick, what I can niver forget. Things hev got to be altered. They hev - that, or——” - </p> - <p> - “We will talk that over after mother and Kitty have gone to sleep. We - won’t worry them to-night. I have ordered mother’s favorite Cabinet - pudding for her, and some raspberry cream for Kitty. It wouldn’t be right - to talk of unhappy things with good things in our mouths, now would it?” - </p> - <p> - “They are coming. I can hear Kitty’s laugh, when I can hear nothing else. - Ring the bell, Dick, we can hev dinner now.” - </p> - <p> - There were a few pleasant moments spent in choosing their seats, and as - soon as they were taken, a dish of those small delicious oysters for which - England has been famous since the days of the Roman Emperors were placed - before them. “I had some scalloped for mother and Kitty,” Dick said. “Men - can eat them raw, alive if they choose, but women—Oh no! It isn’t - womanlike! Mother and Kitty wouldn’t do it! Not they!” - </p> - <p> - “And what else hes ta got for us, Dick?” asked the squire. “I’m mortal - hungry.” - </p> - <p> - The last word shocked him anew. He wished he had not said it. What made - him do it? Hungry! He had never been really hungry in all his life; and - those pallid men and women, with that look of suffering on their faces, - and in their dry, anxious eyes, how could he ever forget them? - </p> - <p> - He was suddenly silent, and Katherine said: “Father is tired. He would - drive so much. I wonder the coachman let him.” - </p> - <p> - “Father paid for the privilege of doing the driver’s work for him. I have - no doubt of that, my dears,” said Madam. “Well, Dick, when did you see - Jane?” - </p> - <p> - “Do you not observe, mother, that I am in evening dress? Jane has a dance - and supper to-night. Members from the government side will be dropping in - there after midnight, for refreshment. Both Houses are in all-night - sittings now.” - </p> - <p> - “How does Leyland vote?” - </p> - <p> - “He is tremendously royal and loyal. You will have to mind your p’s and - q’s with him now, father.” - </p> - <p> - “Not I! I take my awn way. Leyland’s way and mine are far apart. How is - your Aunt Josepha?” - </p> - <p> - “She is all right. She is never anything else but all right. Certainly she - is vexed that Katherine is not to stay with her. Jane has been making a - little brag about it, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - “Katherine could stay part of the time with her,” said the squire. - </p> - <p> - “She had better be with Jane. Aunt will ask O’Connell to her dinners, and - others whom Katherine would not like.” - </p> - <p> - “Why does she do it? She knows better.” - </p> - <p> - “I suspect we all know better than we do. She says, ‘O’Connell keeps the - dinner table lively.’ So he does. The men quarrel all the time they eat - and the women really admire them for it. They say ‘<i>Oh!</i>’ at a very - strong word, but they would love to see them really fighting. Women affect - tenderness and fearfulness; they are actually cruel creatures. Aunt says, - ‘that was what her dear departed told her, and she had no doubt he had had - experiences.’ Jane sent her love to all of you, and she purposes coming - for Katherine about two o’clock to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said Madam, in a rather indifferent way, “Katherine and I can find - plenty to do, and to see, in London. Jane told me recently, she had a new - carriage.” - </p> - <p> - “One of the finest turn-outs Long Acre could offer her. The team is good - also. Leyland is a judge of horses, and he has chosen a new livery with - his new honors—gray with silver trimmings. It looks handsome and - stylish.” - </p> - <p> - “And will spoil quickly,” said Madam. “Jane asked me about the livery, and - I told her to avoid light colors.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you should have told her to choose light colors. Jane lives and - votes with the opposition.” In pleasant domestic conversation the hours - slipped happily away, but after the ladies had retired, Dick did not stay - long. The squire was really weary, though he “<i>pooh-poohed</i>” the - idea. “A drive from Leeds to London, with a rest between, what is that to - tire a man?” he asked, adding, “I hev trotted a Norfolk cob the distance - easy in less time, and I could do it again, if I wanted to.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course you could, father. Oh, I wish to ask you if you know anything - of the M.P. from Appleby?” - </p> - <p> - “A little.” - </p> - <p> - “What can you say about him?” - </p> - <p> - “He made a masterly speech last session, in favor of Peel’s ministry. I - liked it then. I hevn’t one good word for it now.” - </p> - <p> - “He is a very fine looking man. I suppose he is wealthy. He lives in good - style here.” - </p> - <p> - “I know nothing about his money. The De Burgs are a fine family—among - the oldest in England—Cumberland, I believe, down Furness way. Why - art thou bothering thysen about him?” - </p> - <p> - “He is one of Jane’s favorites. He goes to Ley-land’s house a deal. I was - thinking of Katherine.” - </p> - <p> - “What about Katherine? What about Katherine?” the squire asked sharply. - </p> - <p> - “You know Katherine is beautiful, and this De Burg is very handsome—in - his way.” - </p> - <p> - “What way?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, the De Burgs are of Norman descent and Stephen De Burg shows it. He - has indeed the large, gray eyes of our own North Country, but his hair is - black—very black—and his complexion is swarthy. However, he is - tall and well-built, and remarkably graceful in speech and action—quite - the young man to steal a girl’s heart away.” - </p> - <p> - “Hes he stolen any girl’s heart from thee?” - </p> - <p> - “Not he, indeed! I am Annis enough to keep what I win; but I was wondering - if our little Kitty was a match for Stephen De Burg.” - </p> - <p> - “Tha needn’t worry thysen about Kitty Annis. I’ll warrant her a match for - any man. Her mother says she hes a fancy for Harry Bradley, but I——” - </p> - <p> - “Harry is a fine fellow.” - </p> - <p> - “Nobody said he wasn’t a fine fellow, and there is not any need for thee - to interrupt thy father in order to tell him that! Harry Bradley, indeed! - I wouldn’t spoil any plan of De Burg’s to please or help Harry Bradley! - Not I! Now I hope tha understands that! To-morrow thou can tell me about - thy last goddess, and if she be worthy to sit after thy mother in Annis - Court, I’ll help thee to get wedded to her gladly. For I’m getting - anxious, Dick, about my grandsons and their sisters. I’d like to see them - that are to come after me.” - </p> - <p> - Then Dick went away with a laugh, but as the father and son stood a moment - hand-clasped, their resemblance was fitting and beautiful; and no one - noticing this fact could wonder at the Englishman’s intense affection and - anxious care for the preservation of his family type. - </p> - <p> - The squire then put out the candles and covered the fire just as he would - have done at Annis and while he did so he pondered what Dick had told him - and resolved to say nothing at all about it. “Then,” he reflected, “I - shall get Katherine’s real opinions about De Burg. Women are so queer, - they won’t iver tell you the truth about men unless they believe you don’t - care what they think:—and I won’t tell Annie either. Annie would - take to warning and watching, and, for anything I know, advising her to be - faithful and true to her first love. Such simplicity! Such nonsense!” - </p> - <p> - Then he went to his room and found Mistress Annis sitting with her feet on - the fender, sipping a glass of wine negus, and as she dipped her little - strips of dry toast into it, she said, “I am so glad to see thee, Antony. - I am too excited to sleep and I wanted a few words with thee and thee - only. For three days I hev missed our quiet talks with each other. I heard - Dick laughing; what about?” - </p> - <p> - “I told him I was getting varry anxious about my grandsons, eh?” - </p> - <p> - Then both laughed and the squire stooped and kissed his wife and in that - moment he sat down by her side and frankly told her all he had heard about - De Burg. They talked about it for half-an-hour and then the squire went - calmly off to sleep without one qualm of conscience for his broken - resolution. In fact he assured himself that “he had done right. - Katherine’s mother was Katherine’s proper guardian and he was only doing - his duty in giving her points that might help her to do her duty.” That - reflection was a comfortable one on which to sleep and he took all the - rest it gave him. - </p> - <p> - Madam lay awake worrying about Katherine’s wardrobe. After hearing of her - sister’s growing social importance she felt that it should have been - attended to before they left Yorkshire. For in those days there were no - such things as ready-made suits, and any dress or costume lacking had to - be selected from the web, the goods bought, the dressmaker interviewed, - and after several other visits for the purpose of “trying-on” the gown - might be ready for use. These things troubled Madam. Katherine felt more - confidence in her present belongings. “I have half a dozen white frocks - with me, mother,” she said, “and nothing could be prettier or richer than - my two Dacca muslins. The goods are fine as spider webs, the embroidery on - them is nearly priceless, and they are becoming every year more and more - scarce. I have different colored silk skirts to wear under them, and - sashes and beads, and bows, with which to adorn them.” - </p> - <p> - There was a little happy pause, then Katherine said, “Let us go and see - Aunt Josepha. I have not seen her for six years. I was counting the time - as I lay in bed this morning. I was about twelve years old.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a good idea. We can shop better after we hev hed a talk with - her.” - </p> - <p> - “There, mother! You had two Yorkshireisms in that sentence. Father would - laugh at you.” - </p> - <p> - “Niver mind, when my heart talks, my tongue talks as my heart does, and - Yorkshire is my heart’s native tongue. When I talk to thee my tongue - easily slips into Yorkshire.” - </p> - <p> - Then a carriage was summoned, and Madam An-nis and her daughter went to - call on Madam Josepha Temple. They had to ride into the city and through - St. James Park to a once very fashionable little street leading from the - park to the river. Madam Temple could have put a fortune in her pocket for - a strip of this land bordering the river, but no money could induce her to - sell it. Even the city’s offer had been refused. - </p> - <p> - “Had not Admiral Temple,” she asked, “found land enough for England, and - fought for land enough for England, for his widow to be allowed to keep in - peace the strip of land at the foot of the garden he planted and where he - had also erected a Watergate so beautiful that it had become one of the - sights of London?” And her claim had been politely allowed and she had - been assured that it would be respected. - </p> - <p> - The house itself was not remarkable outwardly. It was only one of those - square brick mansions introduced in the Georgian era, full of large square - rooms and wide corridors and, in Madam Temple’s case, of numerous - cupboards and closets; for in her directions to the Admiral she had said - with emphasis: - </p> - <p> - “Admiral, you may as well live in a canvas tent without a convenience of - any kind as in a house without closets for your dresses and mantuas; and - cupboards for your china and other things you must have under lock and - key:” and the Admiral had seen to the closet and cupboard subject with - such strict attention that even his widow sometimes grew testy over their - number. - </p> - <p> - Whatever faults the house might have, the furnishing had been done with - great judgment. It was solid and magnificent and only the best tapestries - and carpets found a place there. To Madam Temple had been left the choice - of silver, china, linen and damask, and the wisdom and good taste of her - selection had a kind of official approbation. Artists and silversmiths - asked her to permit them to copy the shapes of her old silver and she - possessed many pieces of Wedgwood’s finest china of which only a very - small number had been made ere the mold was broken. - </p> - <p> - After the house was finished the Admiral lived but five years and Madam - never allowed anything to be changed or renewed. If told that anything was - fading or wearing, she replied—“I am fading also, just wearing away. - They will last my time.” However the house yet had an air of comfortable - antique grandeur and it was a favorite place of resort to all who had had - the good fortune to win the favor of the Admiral’s widow. - </p> - <p> - As they were nearing the Temple house, Madam said: “The old man who opens - the door was the Admiral’s body servant. He has great influence with your - aunt; speak pleasantly to him.” At these words the carriage stopped and - the old man of whom Madam had spoken threw open the door and stood waiting - their approach. He recognized Madam Annis and said with a pleasant respect—“Madam - will take the right-hand parlor,” but ere Madam could do so, Mistress - Temple appeared. She came hastily forward, talking as she came and full of - pleasure at the visit. - </p> - <p> - “You dear ones!” she cried. “How welcome you are! Where is Antony? Why - didn’t he come with you? How is he going to vote? Take off your cloaks and - bonnets. So this is the little girl I left behind me! You are now a young - lady, Kate. Who is the favored sweetheart?” These interjectory remarks - were not twaddle, they were the overflow of the heart. Josepha Temple - meant everything she said. - </p> - <p> - Physically she was a feminine portrait of her brother, but in all other - respects she was herself, and only herself, the result of this world’s - training on one particular soul, for who can tell how many hundred years? - She had brought from her last life most of her feelings and convictions - and probably they had the strength and persistence of many reincarnations - behind them. Later generations than Josepha do not produce such - characters; alas! their affections for anyone and their beliefs in - anything are too weak to reincarnate; so they do not come back from the - grave with them. Josepha was different. Death had had no power over her - higher self, she was the same passionate lover of Protestantism and the - righteous freedom of the people that she had been in Cromwell’s time; and - she declared that she had loved her husband ever since he had fought with - Drake and been Cromwell’s greatest naval officer. - </p> - <p> - She was near sixty but still a very handsome woman, for she was alive from - the crown of her head to the soles of her feet and disease of any kind had - not yet found a corner in her body to assail. Her hair was untouched by - Time, and the widow’s cap—so disfiguring to any woman—she wore - with an air that made it appear a very proper and becoming head covering. - Her gowns were always black merino or cloth in the morning, silk or satin - or velvet in the afternoon; but they were brightened by deep cuffs and - long stomachers of white linen, or rich lace, and the skirts of all, - though quite plain, were of regal length and amplitude. - </p> - <p> - “Off with your bonnets!” she cried joyfully as she kissed Katherine and - began to untie the elaborate bow of pink satin ribbon under her chin. - “Why, Kate, how lovely you have grown! I thought you would be just an - ordinary Yorkshire girl—I find you extraordinary. Upon my word! You - are a beauty!” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, aunt. Mother never told me so.” - </p> - <p> - “Annie, do you hear Kate?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought it wiser not to tell her such things.” - </p> - <p> - “What trumpery nonsense! Do you say to your roses as they bloom, ‘Do not - imagine, Miss Rose, that you are lovely, and have a fine perfume. You are - well enough and your smell isn’t half-bad, but there are roses far - handsomer and sweeter than you are’?” - </p> - <p> - “In their own way, Josepha, all roses are perfect.” - </p> - <p> - “In their own way, Annie, all women are perfect. Have you had your - breakfast?” - </p> - <p> - “An hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Then let us talk. Where is Antony? What is he doing?” - </p> - <p> - “He is doing well. I think he went to see Lord John Russell.” - </p> - <p> - “What can he have to say to Russell? He hasn’t sense enough to be on - Russell’s side. Russell is an A. D. 1832 man, Antony dates back two or - three hundred years.” - </p> - <p> - “He does nothing of that kind. He has been wearing a pair o’ seven leagued - boots the past two weeks. Antony’s now as far forward as Russell, or Grey, - or any other noncontent. They’ll find that out as soon as he opens his - mouth in The House of Commons.” - </p> - <p> - “We call it ‘t’ Lower House’ here, Annie.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see why. As good men are in it as sit in t’ Upper House or any - ither place.” - </p> - <p> - “It may be because they speak better English there than thou art speaking - right now, Annie.” - </p> - <p> - Then Annie laughed. “I had forgot, Josepha,” she said, “forgive me.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, there’s nothing to forgive, Annie. I can talk Yorkshire as well as - iver I did, if I want to. After all, it’s the best and purest English - going and if you want your awn way or to get your rights, or to make your - servants do as they’re told, a mouthful of Yorkshire will do it—or - nothing will. And I was telling Dick only the other day, to try a bit o’ - Yorkshire on a little lass he is varry bad in love with—just at - present.” - </p> - <p> - Katherine had been standing at her aunt’s embroidery frame admiring its - exquisite work but as soon as she heard this remark, she came quickly to - the fireside where the elder ladies had sat down together. They had lifted - the skirts of their dresses across their knees to prevent the fire from - drawing the color and put their feet comfortably on the shining fender and - Katherine did not find them indisposed to talk. - </p> - <p> - “Who is it, aunt?” she asked with some excitement. “What is her name? Is - she Yorkshire?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, I doan’t think she hes any claim on Yorkshire. I think she comes - Westmoreland way. She is a sister to a member of the Lower House called De - Burg. He’s a handsome lad to look at. I hevn’t hed time yet to go - further.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you seen this little girl, aunt?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. She was here once with her brother. He says she has never been much - from home before, and Dick says, that as far as he can make out, her home - is a gray old castle among the bleak, desolate, Westmoreland Mountains. It - might be a kindness for Katherine to go and see her.” - </p> - <p> - “If you will go with me, aunt, I will do so.” - </p> - <p> - “Not I. Take Dick with thee. He will fill the bill all round.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, I will ask Dick;” and to these words the squire entered. - </p> - <p> - He appeared to be a little offended because no one had seen him coming and - all three women assumed an air of contrition for having neglected to be on - the lookout for him. “We were all so interested about Dick’s new - sweetheart,” said Madam Annis, “and somehow, thou slipped out of mind for - a few minutes. It <i>was</i> thoughtless, Antony, it was that.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you had a good meal lately, Antony?” asked his sister. - </p> - <p> - “No, Josepha, I hevn’t. I came to ask thee to give me a bit of lunch. I - hev an appointment at three o’clock for The House and I shall need a good - substantial bite, for there’s no saying when I’ll get away from there. - What can thou give me?” - </p> - <p> - “Oysters, hare soup, roast beef, and a custard pudding.” - </p> - <p> - “All good enough. I suppose there’ll be a Yorkshire pudding with thy beef; - it would seem queer and half-done without it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Antony, I suppose I do know how to roast beef before t’ fire and - put a pudding under it. I’d be badly educated, if I didn’t.” - </p> - <p> - “If Yorkshire pudding is to be the test, Josepha, then thou art one of the - best educated women in England.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, Dick’s new love is Miss De Burg. What do you think of that?” - </p> - <p> - “He might do worse than marry a De Burg, and he might do better. I’m not - in a mood to talk about anyone’s marriage.” - </p> - <p> - “Not even of mine, father?” - </p> - <p> - “Thine, least of all. And thou hes to get a decent lover before thou hes - to ask me if he can be thy husband.” - </p> - <p> - “I hev a very good lover, father.” - </p> - <p> - “No, thou hes not. Not one that can hev a welcome in my family and home. - Not one! No doubt thou wilt hev plenty before we leave London. Get thy - mother to help thee choose the right one. <i>There now!</i> That’s enough - of such foolishness! My varry soul is full of matters of life or death to - England. I hev not one thought for lovers and husbands at this time. Why, - England is varry near rebellion, and I tell you three women there is no - Oliver Cromwell living now to guide her over the bogs of misgovernment and - anarchy. Russell said this morning, ‘it was the Reform Bill or - Revolution.’” Then lunch was brought in and the subject was dropped until - the squire lit his pipe for “a bit of a smoke.” Katherine was, however, - restless and anxious; she was watching for her sister’s arrival and when - the squire heard of the intended visit, he said: “I doan’t want to see - Jane this afternoon. Tell her I’ll see her at her home this evening and, - Josepha, I’ll smoke my pipe down the garden to the Watergate and take a - boat there for Westminster. Then I can smoke all the way. I’m sure I can’t - tell what I would do without it.” - </p> - <p> - And as they watched him down to the Watergate, they heard Jane’s carriage - stop at the street entrance. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V—THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE - </h2> - <p class="indent20"> - “She was good as she was fair - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - None on earth above her! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - As pure in thought as angels are, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - To know her was to love her!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE three ladies - had reached the open door in time to watch Lady Jane leave her carriage, a - movement not easy to describe, for it was the result of an action - practiced from early childhood, and combining with the unconscious grace - and ease of habitual action, a certain decisive touch of personality, that - made for distinction. She was dressed in the visiting costume of the - period, a not more ungraceful one than the fashion of the present time. - Its material was rich violet poplin and it appeared to be worn over a - small hoop. It was long enough to touch the buckles on her sandaled shoes - and its belt line was in the proper place. The bodice was cut low to the - shoulders and the sleeves were large and full to the elbows, then tight to - the wrists. A little cape not falling below the belt and handsomely - trimmed with ermine, completed the costume. The bonnets of that time were - large and very high and open, adorned with ostrich feathers much curled - and standing fancifully upright. Jane’s was of this shape and the open - space across the head was filled with artificial flowers, but at the sides - were loose, long curls of her own splendid hair, falling below her throat, - and over the ermine trimmed cape. This bonnet was tied under the chin with - a handsome bow of violet ribbon. All the smaller items of her dress were - perfect in their way, not only with the mode, but also in strict propriety - with her general appearance. - </p> - <p> - She was warmly welcomed and responded to it with hearty acquiescence, her - attitude towards Katherine being specially lovely and affectionate. “My - little sister is a beauty!” she said. “I am so proud of her. And now let - us have a little talk about her gowns and bonnets! She must have some - pretty ones, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “She shall have all that is needful, Jane,” said Mrs. Annis. “Their cost - will not break her father, just yet.” - </p> - <p> - “You must ask me to go with you to shop, mother. I think I can be of great - use.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course. We have calculated on your help. Will you come to the hotel - for me?” - </p> - <p> - “Here! Hold on bit!” cried Aunt Josepha. “Am I invited, or not?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, Josepha,” answered Mistress Annis very promptly. “We cannot do - without you. You will go with us, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, as to-morrow is neither Wednesday, nor Friday, I may do so—but - I leave myself free. I may not go.” - </p> - <p> - “Why would Wednesday and Friday be objectionable, Josepha?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Annie, if thou hed done as much business with the world as I hev - done, thou’d know by this time of thy life that thou couldn’t make a good - bargain on either o’ them days. There’s some hope on a Friday because if - Friday isn’t the worst day in the week it’s the very best. There is no - perhaps about Wednesday. I allays let things bide as they are on - Wednesday.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall I come here for you, aunt?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no, Jane. If I go with you I will be at the Clarendon with Annie at - half-past nine. If I’m not there at that time I will not be going—no, - not for love or money.” - </p> - <p> - “But you will go the next day—sure?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit of sureness in me. I doan’t know how I’ll be feeling the next - day. Take off your bonnet and cape, Jane, and sit down. I want to see how - you look. We’ll hev our little talk and by and by a cup of tea, and then - thou can run away as soon as tha likes.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot stay very long. I have a dinner tonight, and my servants need - overlooking.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope that cynical De Burg is not going to eat with you. He’ll niver - break bread at my table.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, aunt, he is a man of the highest culture and one of the best - speakers in The House!” - </p> - <p> - “Let him talk as much as he likes in t’ House; there’s a few men to match - him there.” - </p> - <p> - “How has he offended you, aunt? He is quite a favorite with Leyland and - myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever does tha see in his favor?” - </p> - <p> - “He has such a fine bearing and such graceful manners. Leyland says that - in the most excited hubbubs of The House, he carries himself with all the - serenity and aristocratic poise of an English gentleman—I should - say, nobleman.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s no wonder tha forgets his nobility. It only counts to his - grandfather. I’ll tell thee something, Jane—a gentleman is allays a - nobleman, a nobleman may be a gentleman, and he may be varry far from it; - but there, now! I’ll say no more, or I’ll mebbe say too much! How many - dresses does our beauty want?” - </p> - <p> - This question opened a discussion of such interest that a servant entered - with the tea service and hot crumpets before they were thinking of the - time; and half an hour afterwards Katherine was ready to accompany her - sister to the Leyland home. - </p> - <p> - During the first two weeks, the early part of Katherine’s days were spent - either in shopping, or in “trying on,” and such events rarely need more - than an allusion. Every woman has some, or all of the experiences incident - to this trial; but though they may be of personal importance, they have no - general interest. We may pass Katherine’s dressmaking trials, by knowing - that they were in the hands of four or five women capable of arranging - them in the most satisfactory manner. Katherine herself left them as early - as possible, and spent the most of her time in her father’s company, and - Lady Jane approved transiently of this arrangement. She did not wish - Katherine to be seen and talked about until she was formally introduced - and could make a proper grand entry into the society she wished her to - enter. Of course there were suppositions floating about concerning the - young lady seen so much with Lady Leyland; but as long as the talk - remained indefinite, it was stimulating and working for a successful - début. - </p> - <p> - This interval was in many ways very pleasant to Katherine for the squire - took her to all those sights of London which people are expected to know - all about—the Tower—the British Museum—St. Paul’s Church - and Westminster Abbey; and so forth. Sometimes the squire met an old - acquaintance from his own neighborhood and they went somewhere and had a - cup of tea together, the squire simply saying, “This is my little girl, - Denby; my youngest.” Such an introduction demanded nothing but a smile and - a few courteous words, and these civilities Katherine managed with - retiring modesty and simplicity. - </p> - <p> - Now, one morning, as they were walking down High Holborn, they met a near - neighbor, a very shrewd, cheerful gentleman, called Samuel Wade, the - squire of Everdeen. Annis and Katherine had turned into a pretty white - dairy for a plate of Devonshire cream and Samuel Wade was slowly and - thoughtfully partaking of the same dainty. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Wade! Whatever hes brought thee away from thy hounds and kennels - this fine spring weather?” asked Annis. - </p> - <p> - “I will tell thee, Annis, if tha’ will give me a halfhour and I know no - man I could be so glad to see as thysen. I’m in a quandary, squire, and I - would be glad of a word or two with thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, then, thou hes it! What does t’a want to say to me?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why-a</i>, Annis, I want to tell thee I am building a mill.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Niver! Niver!</i> Thee building a mill! I niver thought of such a - to-do as that.” - </p> - <p> - “Nor I, either, till I was forced to do it, but when that hour arrived, my - weavers and I came to the conclusion that we weren’t bound to starve to - save anybody’s trade feelings. So I agreed to put up a factory and they - hev got work here and there just to learn the ways of this new-fangled - loom, so that when I hev t’ factory ready they’ll be ready for it and glad - enough to come home.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not the man to blame thee, Samuel; I hev hed some such thoughts - mysen.” - </p> - <p> - “It was our preacher that put it into my mind. He said to us one night - when the men had been complaining of machine labor—‘Brothers, when - God is on the side of civilization and the power-loom, how are you going - to use the hand loom? The hand loom is dead and buried,’ he said, ‘and - what is the use of keeping up a constant burying of this same old - Defuncter. It’ll cost you all the brass you hev and you’ll die poor and - good for nothing. The world is moving and you can’t hold it back. It will - just kick you off as cumberers of the ground.’ And after that talk three - men went out of t’ chapel and began to build factories; and I was one of - t’ three and I’m none sorry for it—<i>yet</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “And where is tha building?” - </p> - <p> - “Down t’ Otley road a few miles from my awn house, but my three lads are - good riders and it would be hard to beat me unless it was with better - stock than I hev; and I niver let anyone best me in that way if I can help - it. So the few miles does not bother us.” - </p> - <p> - “What made you build so far from Wade House?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why-a</i>, squire, I didn’t want to hev the sight of the blamed thing - before my eyes, morning, noon and night, and t’ land I bought was varry - cheap and hed plenty of water-power on it.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. I hed forgot. Well then what brought thee to London? It is a - rayther dangerous place now, I can tell thee that; or it will be, if - Parliament doesn’t heed the warnings given and shown.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Annis, I came on my awn business and I’m not thinking of bothering - Parliament at present. A factory is enough for all the brains I hev, for - tha knows well that my brains run after horses—but I’ll tell thee - what, factories hey a wonderful way of getting into your pocket.” - </p> - <p> - “That is nothing out of the way with thee. Thy pocket is too full, but I - should think a factory might be built in Yorkshire without coming to - London about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Annis, tha knaws that if I meddle wi’ anything, I’ll do what I do, - tip-top or not at all. I hed the best of factory architects Leeds could - give me and I hev ordered the best of power looms and of ivery other bit - of machinery; but t’ ither day a man from Manchester went through Wade - Mill and he asked me how many Jacquard looms I was going to run. I hed - niver heard of that kind of a loom, but I felt I must hev some. Varry soon - I found out that none of the weavers round Otley way knew anything about - Jacquard looms and they didn’t seem to want to know either, but my eldest - lad, Sam, said he would like to hev some and to know all about them. So I - made good inquiry and I found out the best of all the Jacquard weavers in - England lived in a bit of London called Spitalfields. He is a Frenchman, I - suppose, for his name is Pierre Delaney.” - </p> - <p> - “And did you send your son to him?” - </p> - <p> - “I did that and now Sam knows all about Jacquard looms, for he sent me - word he was coming home after a week in London just to look about him and - then I thought I would like to see the machine at work and get the name of - the best maker of it. So I came at once and I’m stopping at the hotel - where t’ mail coach stopped, but I’m fairly bewildered. Sam has left his - stopping place and I rayther think is on his way home. I was varry glad to - see thy face among so many strange ones. I can tell thee that!” - </p> - <p> - “How can I help thee, Wade?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, thou can go with me to see this Jacquard loom and give me thy - opinion.” - </p> - <p> - “I hev niver seen a Jacquard loom mysen and I would like to see one; but I - could not go now, for as tha sees I hev my little lass with me.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, I want to see this loom at this place called Spitalfields. Let me - go with you. Please, father, let me go with you; do!” - </p> - <p> - “There’s nothing to hinder,” said Squire Wade. “I should think, Annis, - that thou and mysen could take care of t’ little lass.” - </p> - <p> - “Let me go, father!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, we will go at once. The day is yet early and bright, but no - one can tell what it will be in an hour or two.” - </p> - <p> - So Wade called a coach and they drove to London’s famous manufacturing - district noted for the excellence of its brocaded silks and velvet, and - the beauty and variety of its ribbons, satins and lutestrings. The ride - there was full of interest to Katherine and she needed no explanation - concerning the groups of silent men standing at street corners sullen and - desperate-looking, or else listening to some passionate speaker. Annis and - Wade looked at each other and slightly shook their heads but did not make - any remark. The locality was not a pleasant one; it spoke only of labor - that was too urgent to have time for “dressing up,” as Pierre Delaney—the - man they were visiting—explained to them. - </p> - <p> - They found Delaney in his weaving shop, a large many-windowed room full of - strange looking looms and of men silent and intensely pre-occupied. No one - looked round when they entered, and as Wade and Annis talked to the - proprietor, Katherine cast her eyes curiously over the room. She saw that - it was full of looms, large ponderous looms, with much slower and heavier - movements than the usual one; and she could not help feeling that the - long, dangling, yellow harness which hung about each loom fettered and in - some way impeded its motion. The faces of all the workers were turned from - the door and they appeared to be working slowly and with such strict - attention that not one man hesitated, or looked round, though they must - have known that strangers had entered the room. - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes Katherine’s curiosity was intense. She wanted to go close - to the looms, and watch the men at what seemed to be difficult work. - However, she had scarcely felt the thrill of this strong desire ere her - father took her hand and they went with Delaney to a loom at the head of - the room. He said “he was going to show them the work of one of his - pupils, who had great abilities for patterns requiring unwavering - attention and great patience; but in fact,” he added, “every weaver in - this room has as much as he can manage, if he keeps his loom going.” - </p> - <p> - The man whose work they were going to examine must have heard them - approaching, but he made no sign of such intelligence until they stood at - his side. Then he lifted his head, and as he did so, Katherine cried out—“Father! - Father! It is Harry! It is Harry Bradley! Oh Harry! Harry! Whatever are - you doing here?” And then her voice broke down in a cry that was full both - of laughter and tears. - </p> - <p> - Yes, it was really Harry Bradley, and with a wondering happy look he - leaped from his seat, threw off his cap and so in a laughing hurry he - stood before them. Squire Annis was so amazed he forgot that he was no - longer friends with Harry’s father and he gave an honest expression of his - surprise. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why-a</i>, Harry! Harry! Whativer is tha up to? Does thy father know - the kind of game thou art playing now, lad?” - </p> - <p> - “Squire, dear! It is business, not play, that I am up to. I am happy - beyond words to see you, squire! I have often walked the road you take to - The House, hoping I might do so.” And the young man put out his hand, and - without thinking, the squire took it. Acting on impulse, he could not help - taking it. Harry was too charming, too delightful to resist. He wore his - working apron without any consciousness of it and his handsome face and - joyful voice and manner made those few moments all his own. The squire was - taken captive by a happy surprise and eagerly seconded Katherine’s desire - to see him at such absorbing work as his loom appeared to require. - </p> - <p> - Harry took his seat again without parleying or excuse. He was laughing as - he did so, but as soon as he faced the wonderful design before him, he - appeared to be unconscious of everything else. His watchers were quickly - lost in an all absorbing interest as they saw an exquisite design of - leaves and flowers growing with every motion of the shuttle, while the - different threads of the harness rose and fell as if to some perfectly - measured tune. - </p> - <p> - And as he worked his face changed, the boyish, laughing expression - disappeared, and it was a man’s face full of watchful purpose, alert and - carefully bent on one object and one end. The squire noticed the change - and he admired it. He wished secretly that he could see the same manly - look on Dick’s face, forgetting that he had never seen Dick under the same - mental strain. - </p> - <p> - But this reflection was only a thread running through his immense pleasure - in the result of Harry’s wonderful manipulation of the forces at his - command and his first impulse was to ask Harry to take dinner with him and - Wade, at the Clarendon. He checked himself as regarded dinner, but he - asked Harry: - </p> - <p> - “Where art thou staying, Harry? I shouldn’t think Spitalfields quite the - place for thy health.” - </p> - <p> - “I am only here for working hours, squire. I have a good room at the - Yorkshire Club and I have a room when I want it at Mistress Temple’s. I - often stay there when Dick is in London.” - </p> - <p> - “My word!” ejaculated the squire. He felt at once that the young man had - no need of his kindness, and his interest in him received a sudden chill. - </p> - <p> - This conversation occurred as Wade and Delaney were walking down the room - together talking about Jacquard looms and their best maker. Katherine had - been hitherto silent as far as words were concerned, but she had slipped - her hand into Harry’s hand when he had finished his exhibition at the - loom. It was her way of praising him and Harry had held the little hand - fast and was still doing so when the squire said: - </p> - <p> - “Harry, looms are wonderful creatures—ay, and I’ll call them - ‘creatures.’ They hev sense or they know how to use the sense of men that - handle them properly. I hev seen plenty of farm laborers that didn’t know - that much; but those patterns you worked from, they are beyond my making - out.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, squire, many designs are very elaborate, requiring from twenty - thousand to sixty thousand cards for a single design. Weaving like that is - a fine art, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou art right. Is tha going to stay here any longer to-day or will tha - ride back with us?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, if I only might go back with you! In five minutes, I will be - ready.” - </p> - <p> - The squire turned hastily away with three short words, “Make haste, then.” - He was put out by the manner in which Harry had taken his civil offer. He - had only meant to give him a lift back to his club but Harry appeared to - have understood it as an invitation to dinner. He was wondering how he - could get out of the dilemma and so did not notice that Harry kissed - Katherine’s hand as he turned away. Harry had found few opportunities to - address her, none at all for private speech, yet both Katherine and Harry - were satisfied. For every pair of lovers have a code of their own and no - one else has the key to it. - </p> - <p> - In a short time Harry reappeared in a very dudish walking suit, but Wade - and Delaney were not ready to separate and the squire was hard set to hide - his irritability. Harry also looked too happy, and too handsome, for the - gentlemen’s dress of A. D. 1833 was manly and becoming, with its high hat, - pointed white vest, frock coat, and long thin cane, always carried in the - left hand. However, conversation even about money comes to an end and at - length Wade was satisfied, and they turned city-ward in order to leave - Wade at his hotel. On arriving there, Annis was again detained by Wade’s - anxieties and fears, but Harry had a five minutes’ heavenly interlude. He - was holding Katherine’s hand and looking into her eyes and saying little - tender, foolish words, which had no more meaning than a baby’s prattle, - but Katherine’s heart was their interpreter and every syllable was sweet - as the dropping of the honey-comb. - </p> - <p> - Through all this broken conversation, however, Harry was wondering how he - could manage to leave the coach with Katherine. If he could only see Lady - Jane, he knew she would ask him to remain, but how was he to see Lady Jane - and what excuse could he make for asking to see her? It never struck the - young man that the squire was desirous to get rid of him. He was only - conscious of the fact that he did not particularly desire an evening with - Katherine’s father and mother and that he did wish very ardently to spend - an evening with Katherine and Lady Jane; and the coach went so quick, and - his thoughts were all in confusion, and they were at the Leyland mansion - before he had decided what to say, or do. Then the affair that seemed so - difficult, straightened itself out in a perfectly natural, commonplace - manner. For when Katherine rose, as a matter of course, Harry also rose; - and without effort, or consideration, said— - </p> - <p> - “I will make way for you, squire, or if you wish no further delay, I will - see Katherine into Lady Leyland’s care.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall be obliged to you, Harry, if you will do so,” was the answer. “I - am a bit tired and a bit late, and Mistress Annis will be worrying hersen - about me, no doubt. I was just thinking of asking you to do me this - favor.” Then the squire left a message for his eldest daughter and drove - rapidly away, but if he had turned his head for a moment he might have - seen how happily the lovers were slowly climbing the white marble steps - leading them to Lady Leyland’s door. Hand in hand they went, laughing a - little as they talked, because Harry was telling Katherine how he had been - racking his brains for some excuse to leave the coach with her and how the - very words had come at the moment they were wanted. - </p> - <p> - At the very same time the squire was telling himself “how cleverly he had - got rid of the young fellow. He would hev bothered Annie above a bit,” he - reflected, “and it was a varry thoughtless thing for me to do—asking - a man to dinner, when I know so well that Annie likes me best when I am - all by mysen. Well, I got out of that silly affair cleverly. It is a good - thing to hev a faculty for readiness and I’m glad to say that readiness is - one thing that Annie thinks Antony Annis hes on call. Well, well, the lad - was glad to leave me and I was enough pleased to get rid of him.” And if - any good fellow should read this last paragraph he will not require me to - tell him how the little incident of “getting rid of Harry” brightened the - squire’s dinner, nor how sweetly Annie told her husband that he was “the - kindest-hearted of men and could do a disagreeable thing in such an - agreeable manner, as no other man, she had ever met, would think of.” - </p> - <p> - Then he told Annie about the Jacquard loom and Harry’s mastery of it, and - when this subject was worn out, Annie told her husband that Jane was going - to introduce Katherine to London society on the following Tuesday evening. - She wanted to make it Wednesday evening, but “Josepha would not hear of - it”—she said, with an air of injury, “and Josepha always gets what - she desires.” - </p> - <p> - “Why shouldn’t Josepha get all she desires? When a woman hes a million - pounds to give away beside property worth a fortune the world hes no more - to give her but her awn way. I should think Josepha is one of the richest - women in England.” - </p> - <p> - “However did the Admiral get so much money?” - </p> - <p> - “All prize money, Annie. Good, honest, prize money! The Admiral’s money - was the price of his courage. He threshed England’s enemies for every - pound of it; and when we were fighting Spain, Spanish galleons, loaded - with Brazilian gold, were varry good paymasters even though Temple was - both just and generous to his crews.” - </p> - <p> - “No wonder then, if Josepha be one of the richest women in England. Who is - the richest man, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “I am, Annie! I am! Thou art my wife and there is not gold enough in - England to measure thy worth nor yet to have made me happy if I had missed - thee.” What else could a wise and loving husband say? - </p> - <p> - In the meantime Katherine and Harry had been gladly received by Lady Jane, - who at once asked Harry to stay and dine with them. - </p> - <p> - “What about my street suit?” asked Harry. - </p> - <p> - “We have a family dinner this evening and expect no one to join us. De - Burg may probably call and he may bring his sister with him. However, - Harry, you know your old room on the third floor. I will send Leyland’s - valet there and he will manage to make you presentable.” - </p> - <p> - These instructions Harry readily obeyed, and soon as he had left the room - Lady Jane asked—“Where did you pick him up, Kitty? He is quite a - detrimental in father’s opinion, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “I picked him up in a weaving room in the locality called Spitalfields. He - was working there on a Jacquard loom.” - </p> - <p> - “What nonsense you are talking!” - </p> - <p> - “I am telling you facts, Jane. I will explain them later. Now I must go - and dress for dinner, if you are expecting the De Burgs.” - </p> - <p> - “They will only pay an evening call, but make yourself as pretty as is - proper for the occasion. If De Burg does not bring his sister you will not - be expected to converse.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Jane dear! I am not thinking, or caring, about the De Burgs. My mind - was on Harry and of course I shall dress a little for Harry. I have always - done that.” - </p> - <p> - “You will take your own way, Kitty, that also you have always done.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, is there any reason why I should not take my own way now?” - </p> - <p> - She asked this question in a pleasant, laughing manner that required no - answer; and with it disappeared not returning to the parlor, until the - dinner hour was imminent. She found Harry and Lady Jane already there, and - she fancied they were talking rather seriously. In fact, Harry had eagerly - seized this opportunity to try and enlist Jane’s sympathy in his love for - Katherine. He had passionately urged their long devotion to each other and - entreated her to give him some opportunities to retain his hold on her - affection. - </p> - <p> - Jane had in no way compromised her own position. She was kind-hearted and - she had an old liking for Harry, but she was ambitious, and she was - resolved that Katherine should make an undeniably good alliance. De Burg - was not equal to her expectations but she judged he would be a good - auxiliary to them. “My beautiful sister,” she thought, “must have a - splendid following of lovers and De Burg will make a prominent member of - it.” - </p> - <p> - So she was not sorry to see Katherine enter in a pretty, simple frock of - flowered silk, pale blue in color, and further softened by a good deal of - Valenciennes lace and a belt and long sash of white ribbon. Her hair was - dressed in the mode, lifted high and loosely, and confined by an exquisite - comb of carved ivory; the frontal curls were pushed behind the ears, but - fell in bright luxuriance almost to her belt. So fair was she, so fresh - and sweet and lovely, that Leyland—who was both sentimental and - poetic, within practical limits—thought instantly of Ben Jonson’s - exquisite lines, and applied them to his beautiful sister-in-law: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Have you seen but a bright lily grow - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Before rude hands have touched it? - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Have you marked but the fall of the snow - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Before the soil hath smutched it? - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Have you smelt of the bud of the brier, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Or the nard in the fire? - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Or tasted the bag of the bee, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - And then he felt a decided obligation to his own good judgment, for - inducing him to marry into so handsome a family. - </p> - <p> - It was a comfortable mood in which to sit down to dinner and Harry’s - presence also added to his pleasure, for it promised him some conversation - not altogether feminine. Indeed, though the dinner was a simple family - one, it was a very delightful meal. Leyland quoted some of his shortest - and finest lines, Lady Jane merrily recalled childish episodes in which - Harry and herself played the principal rôles, and Katherine made funny - little corrections and additions to her sister’s picturesque childish - adventures; also, being healthily hungry, she ate a second supply of her - favorite pudding and thus made everyone comfortably sure that for all her - charm and loveliness, she was yet a creature - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Not too bright and good, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For human nature’s daily food. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - They lingered long at the happy table and were still laughing and cracking - nuts round it when De Burg was announced. He was accompanied by a new - member of Parliament from Carlisle and the conversation drifted quickly to - politics. De Burg wanted to know if Leyland was going to The House. He - thought there would be a late sitting and said there was a tremendous - crowd round the parliament buildings, “but,” he added, “my friend was - amazed at the dead silence which pervaded it, and, indeed, if you compare - this voiceless manifestation of popular feeling with the passionate - turbulence of the same crowd, it is very remarkable.” - </p> - <p> - “And it is much more dangerous,” answered Ley-land. “The voiceless anger - of an English crowd is very like the deathly politeness of the man who - brings you a challenge. As soon as they become quiet they are ready for - action. We are apt to call them uneducated, but in politics they have been - well taught by their leaders who are generally remarkably clever men, and - it is said also that one man in seventeen among our weavers can read and - perhaps even sign his name.” - </p> - <p> - “That one is too many,” replied De Burg. “It makes them dangerous. Yet men - like Lord Brougham are always writing and talking about it being our duty - to educate them.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Sir Brougham formed a society for ‘The Diffusion of Useful - Knowledge’ four or five years ago—an entirely new sort of knowledge - for working men—knowledge relating to this world, personal and - municipal. That is how he actually described his little sixpenny books. - Then some Scotchman called Chambers began to publish a cheap magazine. I - take it. It is not bad at all—but things like these are going to - make literature cheap and common.” - </p> - <p> - “And I heard my own clergyman say that he considered secular teaching of - the poor classes to be hostile to Christianity.” - </p> - <p> - Then Lady Jane remarked—as if to herself—“How dangerous to - good society the Apostles must have been!” - </p> - <p> - Leyland smiled at his wife and answered, “They were. They changed it - altogether.” - </p> - <p> - “The outlook is very bad,” continued De Burg. “The tide of democracy is - setting in. It will sweep us all away and break down every barrier raised - by civilization. And we may play at Canute, if we like, but—” and De - Burg shook his head and was silent in that hopeless fashion that - represents circumstances perfectly desperate. - </p> - <p> - Leyland took De Burg’s prophetic gloom quite cheerfully. He had a verse - ready for it and he gave it with apparent pleasure— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Yet men will still be ruled by men, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - And talk will have its day, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And other men will come again - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To chase the rogues away.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “That seems to be the way things are ordered, sir.” - </p> - <p> - After Leyland’s poetic interval, Lady Jane glanced at her husband and - said: “Let us forget politics awhile. If we go to the drawing-room, - perhaps Miss Annis or Mr. Bradley will give us a song.” - </p> - <p> - Everyone gladly accepted the proposal and followed Lady Jane to the - beautiful, light warm room. - </p> - <p> - It was so gay with flowers and color, it was so softly lit by wax candles - and the glow of the fire, it was so comfortably warmed by the little blaze - on the white marble hearth, that the spirits of all experienced a sudden - happy uplift. De Burg went at once to the fireside. “Oh!” he exclaimed, - “how good is the fire! How cheerful, how homelike! Every day in the year, - I have fires in some rooms in the castle.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, De Burg, how is that?” - </p> - <p> - “You know, Leyland, my home is surrounded by mountains and I may say I am - in the clouds most of the time. We are far north from here and I am so - much alone I have made a friend of the fire.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought, sir, your mother lived with you.” - </p> - <p> - “I am unhappy in her long and frequent absences. My cousin Agatha cannot - bear the climate. She is very delicate and my mother takes her southward - for the winters. They are now in the Isle of Wight but they will be in - London within a week. For a short time they will remain with me then they - return to De Burg Castle until the cold drives them south again.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Jane offered some polite sympathies and De Burg from his vantage - ground of the hearth-rug surveyed the room. Its beauty and fitness - delighted him and he at once began to consider how the De Burg - drawing-room would look if arranged after its fashion. He could not help - this method of looking at whatever was beautiful and appropriate; he had - to place the thing, whatever it was, in a position which related itself - either to De Burg, or the De Burg possessions. So when he had placed the - Ley-land drawing-room in the gloomy De Burg Castle, he took into his - consideration Katherine Annis as the mistress of it. - </p> - <p> - Katherine was sitting with Harry near the piano and her sister was - standing before her with some music in her hand. “You are now going to - sing for us, Katherine,” she said, “and you will help Katherine, dear - Harry, for you know all her songs.” - </p> - <p> - “No, dear lady, I cannot on any account sing tonight.” - </p> - <p> - No entreaties could alter Harry’s determination and it was during this - little episode De Burg approached. Hearing the positive refusal, he - offered his services with that air of certain satisfaction which insured - its acceptance. Then the songs he could sing were to be selected, and this - gave him a good opportunity of talking freely with the girl whom he might - possibly choose for the wife of a De Burg and the mistress of his ancient - castle. He found her sweet and obliging and ready to sing whatever he - thought most suitable to the compass and quality of his voice, and as Lord - and Lady Leyland assisted in this choice, Harry was left alone; but when - the singing began Harry was quickly at Katherine’s side, making the - turning of the music sheets his excuse for interference. It appeared quite - proper to De Burg that someone should turn the leaves for him and he - acknowledged the courtesy by a bend of his head and afterwards thanked - Harry for the civility, saying, “it enabled him to do justice to his own - voice and also to the rather difficult singing of the fair songstress.” He - put himself first, because at the moment he was really feeling that his - voice and personality had been the dominating quality in the two songs - they sang together. - </p> - <p> - But though De Burg did his best and the Leylands expressed their pleasure - charmingly and Harry bowed and smiled, no one was enthusiastic; and - Ley-land could not find any quotation to cap the presumed pleasure the - music had given them. Then Harry seized the opportunity that came with the - rise of Katherine to offer his arm and lead her to their former seat on - the sofa leaving De Burg to the society of Leyland and his wife. He had - come, however, to the conclusion that Katherine was worthy of further - attentions, but he did not make on her young and tender heart any fixed or - favorable impression. For this man with all his considerations had not yet - learned that the selfish lover never really succeeds; that the woman he - attempts to woo just looks at him and then turns to something more - interesting. - </p> - <p> - After all, the music had not united the small gathering, indeed it had - more certainly divided them. Lord Leyland remained at De Burg’s side and - Lady Jane through some natural inclination joined them. For she had no - intention in the matter, it merely pleased her to do it, and it certainly - pleased Katherine and Harry that she had left them at liberty to please - each other. - </p> - <p> - Katherine had felt a little hurt by her lover’s refusal to sing but he had - promised to explain his reason for doing so to Jane and herself when they - were alone; and she had accepted this put-off apology in a manner so sweet - and confiding that it would have satisfied even De Burg’s idea of a wife’s - subordination to her husband’s feelings or caprices. - </p> - <p> - De Burg did not remain much longer; he made some remark about his duty - being now at The House, as it was likely to be a very late sitting but he - did not forget in taking leave to speak of Katherine’s début on the - following Tuesday and to ask Lady Leyland’s permission to bring with him - his cousin Agatha De Burg if she was fortunate enough to arrive in time; - and this permission being readily granted he made what he told himself was - a very properly timed and elegant exit. This he really accomplished for he - was satisfied with his evening and somehow both his countenance and - manners expressed his content. - </p> - <p> - Leyland laughed a little about De Burg’s sense of duty to The House, and - made his usual quotation for the over-zealous—about new brooms - sweeping clean—and Lady Jane praised his fine manner, and his - correct singing, but Katherine and Harry made no remark. Leyland, however, - was not altogether pleased with the self-complacent, faithful member of - parliament. “Jane,” he asked, “what did the man mean by saying, ‘his - political honesty must not be found wanting’?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I think, Frederick, that was a very honorable feeling!” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, but members of parliament do not usually make their political - honesty an excuse for cutting short a social call. I wish our good father - Antony Annis had heard him. He would have given him a mouthful of - Yorkshire, that he would never have been able to forget. How does the man - reckon himself? I believe he thinks he is honoring <i>us</i> by his - presence. No doubt, he thinks it only fit that you call your social year - after him.” - </p> - <p> - “The De Burg Year? Eh, Fred!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, the happy year in which you made the De Burg acquaintance. My dear, - should that acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?” Then they - all laughed merrily, and Leyland asked: “Why did you refuse to sing, - Harry? It was so unlike you that I would not urge your compliance. I knew - you must have a good reason for the refusal.” - </p> - <p> - “I had the best of reasons, sir, a solemn promise that I made my father. I - will tell you all about it. We gave our factory hands a dinner and dance - last Christmas and I went with father to give them a Christmas greeting. A - large number were already present and were passing the time in singing and - story-telling until dinner was served. One of the men asked—‘if - Master Harry would give them a song,’—and I did so. I thought a - comic song would be the most suitable and I sang ‘The Yorkshire Man.’ I - had sung it at the Mill Owners’ quarterly dinner, amid shouts of laughter, - and I was sure it was just the thing for the present occasion. Certainly, - I was not disappointed by its reception. Men and women both went wild over - it but I could see that my father was annoyed and displeased, and after I - had finished he hardly spoke until the dinner was served. Then he only - said grace over the food and wished all a good New Year, and so speedily - went away. It wasn’t like father a bit, and I was troubled about it. As - soon as we were outside, I said, ‘Whatever is the matter, father? Who, or - what, has vexed you?’ And he said, ‘Thou, thysen, Harry, hes put me out - above a bit. I thought thou would hev hed more sense than to sing that - fool song among t’ weavers. It was bad enough when tha sung it at t’ - Master dinner but it were a deal worse among t’ crowd we have just left.’ - I said I did not understand and he answered—‘Well, then, lad, I’ll - try and make thee understand. It is just this way—if ta iver means - to be a man of weight in business circles, if ta iver means to be - respected and looked up to, if ta iver thinks of a seat i’ parliament, or - of wearing a Lord Mayor’s gold chain, then don’t thee sing a note when - there’s anybody present but thy awn family. It lets a man down at once to - sing outside his awn house. It does that! If ta iver means to stand a bit - above the ordinary, or to rule men in any capacity, don’t sing to them, or - iver try in any way to amuse them. Praise them, or scold them, advise - them, or even laugh at them, but don’t thee sing to them, or make them - laugh. The moment tha does that, they hev the right to laugh at thee, or - mimic thee, or criticise thee. Tha then loses for a song the respect due - thy family, thy money, or thy real talents. Singing men aren’t money men. - Mind what I say! It is true as can be, dear lad.’ - </p> - <p> - “That is the way father spoke to me and I promised him I would never sing - again except for my family and nearest friends. De Burg was not my friend - and I felt at once that if I sang for him I would give him opportunities - to say something unpleasant about me.” - </p> - <p> - Leyland laughed very understandingly. “You have given me a powerful - weapon, Harry,” he said. “How did you feel when De Burg sang?” - </p> - <p> - “I felt glad. I thought he looked very silly. I wondered if he had ever - practiced before a looking-glass. O Leyland, I felt a great many scornful - and unkind things; and I felt above all how right and proper my father’s - judgment was—that men who condescend to amuse and especially to - provoke laughter or buffoonery will never be the men who rule or lead - other men. Even more strongly than this, I felt that the social reputation - of being a fine singer would add no good thing to my business reputation.” - </p> - <p> - “You are right, Harry. It is not the song singers of England who are - building factories and making railroads and who are seeking and finding - out new ways to make steam their servant. Your father gave you excellent - advice, my own feelings and experience warrant him.” - </p> - <p> - “My father is a wise, brave-hearted man,” said Harry proudly, and - Katherine clasped his hand in sweet accord, as he said it. - </p> - <p> - That night Harry occupied his little room on the third floor in Leyland’s - house and the happy sleeping place was full of dreams of Katherine. He - awakened from them as we do from fortunate dreams, buoyant with courage - and hope, and sure of love’s and life’s final victory and happiness: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Then it does not seem miles, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Out to the emerald isles, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Set in the shining smiles, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Of Love’s blue sea. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Happy are the good sleepers and dreamers I Say that they spend nearly a - third part of their lives in sleep, their sleeping hours <i>are not dead - hours</i>. Their intellects are awake, their unconscious self is busy. In - reality we always dream, but many do not remember their dreams any more - than they remember the thoughts that have passed through their minds - during the day. Real dreams are rare. They come of design. They are never - forgotten. They are always helpful because the incompleteness of this life - asks for a larger theory than the material needs— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - A deep below the deep, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - And a height beyond the height; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For our hearing is not hearing, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - And our seeing is not sight. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Harry had been wonderfully helped by his dreamful sleep. If he had been at - home he would have sung all the time he dressed himself. He remembered - that his father often did so but he did not connect that fact with one - that was equally evident—that his father was a great dreamer. It is - so easy to be forgetful and even ungrateful for favors that minister to - the spiritual rather than the material side of life. - </p> - <p> - Yet he went downstairs softly humming to himself some joyous melody, he - knew not what it was. Katherine was in the breakfast room and heard him - coming, timing his footsteps to the music his heart was almost whispering - on his lips. So when he opened the door he saw her standing expectant of - his entrance and he uttered an untranslatable cry of joy. She was standing - by the breakfast table making coffee and she said, “Good morning, Harry! - Jane is not down yet. Shall I serve you until she comes?” - </p> - <p> - “Darling!” he said, “I shall walk all day in the clouds if you serve me. - Nothing could be more delightful.” - </p> - <p> - So it fell out that they breakfasted at once, and Love sat down between - them. And all that day, Harry ate, and talked, and walked, and did his - daily work to the happy, happy song in his heart—the song he had - brought back from the Land of Dreams. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI—FASHION AND FAMINE - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Lord of Light why so much darkness? Bread of Life - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - why so much hunger?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “The great fight, the long fight, the fight that must be - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - won, without any further delay.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T is not necessary - for me to describe the formal introduction of Katherine to London society. - A large number of my readers may have a personal experience of that - uncertain step, which Longfellow says, the brook takes into the river, - affirming also that it is taken “with reluctant feet”; but Longfellow must - be accepted with reservations. Most girls have all the pluck and courage - necessary for that leap into the dark and Katherine belonged to this - larger class. She felt the constraints of the upper social life. She was - ready for the event and wished it over. - </p> - <p> - The squire also wished it over. He could not help an uneasy regret about - the days and the money spent in preparing for its few hours of what seemed - to him unnecessary entertaining; not even free from the possibility of - being rudely broken up—the illuminated house, the adjoining streets - filled with vehicles, the glimpses of jewelry and of rich clothing as the - guests left their carriages; the sounds of music—the very odors of - cooking from the open windows of the kitchens—the calls of footmen—all - the stir of revelry and all the paraphernalia of luxury. How would the - hungry, angry, starving men gathering all over London take this spectacle? - The squire feared there would be some demonstration and if it should be - made against his family’s unfeeling extravagance how could he bear it? He - knew that Englishmen usually, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Through good and evil stand, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - By the laws of their own land. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - But he knew also, that Hunger knows no law, and that men too poor to have - where to lay their heads do not have much care regarding the heads of more - fortunate men. - </p> - <p> - Squire Annis was a thoroughly informed man on all historical and political - subjects and he knew well that the English people had not been so much in - earnest since the time of Oliver Cromwell as they then were; and when he - called to remembrance the events between the rejection of the first Reform - Bill and its present struggle, he was really amazed that people could - think or talk of any other thing. Continually he was arranging in his mind - the salient points of moral dispute, as he had known them, and it may not - be amiss for two or three minutes to follow his thoughts. - </p> - <p> - They generally went back to the dramatic rejection of the first Reform - Bill, on the sixteenth of August, A. D. 1831. Parliament met again on the - sixth of December, and on the twelfth of December Lord John Russell - brought in a second Reform Bill. It was slightly changed but in all - important matters the same as the first Bill. On the eighteenth of - December, Parliament adjourned for the Christmas holidays but met again on - January the seventeenth, A. D. 1832. This Parliament passed The Bill ready - for the House of Lords on March the twenty-sixth, just two days after his - own arrival in London. He had made a point of seeing this ceremony, for a - very large attendance of peeresses and strangers of mark were expected to - be present. He found the space allotted to strangers crowded, but he also - found a good standing place and from it saw the Lord Chancellor Brougham - take his seat at the Woolsack and the Deputy usher of the Black Rod - announce—“A message from the Commons.” Then he saw the doors thrown - open and Lord Althorp and Lord John Russell, bearing the Reform Bill in - their hands, appeared at the head of one hundred members of Parliament, - and Russell delivered the Bill to the Lord Chancellor, saying: - </p> - <p> - “My Lords, the House of Commons have passed an act to amend the - representation of England and Wales to which they desire your Lordship’s - concurrence.” - </p> - <p> - The great question now was, whether the Lords would concur or not, for if - the populace were ready to back their determination with their lives the - Lords were in the same temper though they knew well enough that the one - stubborn cry of the whole country was “The Bill, The Bill, and nothing but - The Bill.” They knew also that The House of Commons sympathized with the - suffering of the poor and the terrible deeds of the French Revolution were - still green in their memories. Yet they dared to argue and dispute and put - off the men standing in dangerous patience, waiting, waiting day and night - for justice. - </p> - <p> - During the past week, also, all thoughtful persons had been conscious of a - change in these waiting men, a change which Lord Grey told The Commons was - “to be regarded as ominous and dangerous.” It was, that the crowds - everywhere had become portentously silent. They no longer discussed the - subject. They had no more to say. They were now full ready to do all their - powerful Political Unions threatened. These unions were prepared to march - to London and bivouac in its squares. The powerful Birmingham Union - declared “two hundred thousand men were ready to leave their forges and - shops, encamp on Hampstead Heath, and if The Bill did not speedily become - a law, compel that event to take place.” - </p> - <p> - At this time also, violent expressions had become common in The House. - Members spoke with the utmost freedom about a fighting duke, and a - military government, and the Duke of Wellington was said to have pledged - himself to the King to quiet the country, if necessary, in ten days. It - was also asserted that, at his orders, the Scots Greys had been employed - on a previous Sabbath Day in grinding their swords. - </p> - <p> - “As if,” cried the press and the people as with one voice, “as if - Englishmen could be kept from their purpose by swords and bayonets.” - </p> - <p> - Throughout this period the King was obstinate and ill-tempered and so - ignorant about the character of the people he had been set to govern, as - to think their sudden quietness predicted their submission; though Lord - Grey had particularly warned the Lords against this false idea. “Truly,” - he virtually said, “we have not heard for a few days the thrilling - outcries of a desperate crowd of angry suffering men but I warn you, my - Lords, to take no comfort on that account.” - </p> - <p> - When Englishmen are ready to fight they don’t scream about it but their - weapons are drawn and they are prepared to strike. The great body of - Englishmen did not consider these poor, unlettered men were any less - English men than themselves. They knew them to be of the same class and - kidney, as fought with Cromwell, Drake, and Nelson, and which made - Wellington victorious; they knew that neither the men who wielded the big - hammers at the forges of Birmingham, nor the men who controlled steam, nor - the men that brought up coal from a thousand feet below sight and light, - nor yet the men who plowed the ground would hesitate much longer to fight - for their rights; for there was not now a man in all England who was not - determined to be a recognized citizen of the land he loved and was always - ready to fight for. - </p> - <p> - Sentiments like these could not fall from the lips of such men as Grey and - Brougham without having great influence; and in the soul of Antony Annis - they were echoing with potent effect, whatever he did, or wherever he - went. For he was really a man of fine moral and intellectual nature, who - had lived too much in his own easy, simple surroundings, and who had been - suddenly and roughly awakened to great public events. And, oh, how quickly - they were rubbing the rust from his unused talents and feelings! - </p> - <p> - He missed his wife’s company much at this time, for when he was in The - House he could not have it and when he got back to the hotel Annie was - seldom there. She was with Jane or Josepha, and her interests at this - period were completely centered on her daughter Katherine. So Annis, - especially during the last week, had felt himself neglected; he could get - his wife to talk of nothing but Katherine, and her dress, and the - preparations Jane was making to honor the beauty’s début. - </p> - <p> - Yet, just now he wanted above all other comforts his wife’s company and on - the afternoon of the day before the entertainment was to take place he was - determined to have it, even if he had to go to Jane’s or Josepha’s house - to get what he wished. Greatly to his satisfaction he found her in the - dressing-room of her hotel apartments. She had been trying on her own new - dress for the great occasion and seemed to be much pleased and in very - good spirits; but the squire’s anxious mood quickly made itself felt and - after a few ineffectual trials to raise her husband’s spirits, she said, - with just a touch of irritability: - </p> - <p> - “Whatever is the matter with thee, Antony? I suppose it is that wearisome - Bill.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Annie, however wearisome it is we aren’t done with it yet, mebbe we - hev only begun its quarrel. The Whole country is in a bad way and I do - wonder how tha can be so taken up with the thoughts of dressing and - dancing. I will tell thee one thing, I am feared for the sound of music - and merry-making in any house.” - </p> - <p> - “I never before knew that Antony Annis was cowardly.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t thee say words like them to me, Annie. I will not hev them. And I - think thou hes treated me varry badly indeed iver since we came here. I - thought I would allays be sure of thy company and loving help and thou hes - disappointed me. Thou hes that. Yet all my worry hes been about thee and - Kitty.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou has not shown any care about either of us. Thou has hardly been at - thy home here for ten days; and thou has not asked a question about - Kitty’s plans and dress.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, then, I was thinking of her life and of thy life, too. I was - wondering how these angry, hungry men, filling the streets of London will - like the sight and sounds of music and dancing while they are starving and - fainting in our varry sight. I saw a man fall down through hunger - yesterday, and I saw two men, early this morning, helping one another to - stagger to a bench in the park.” - </p> - <p> - “And I’ll warrant thou helped them to a cup of coffee and——” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I did! Does tha think thy husband, Antony Annis, is without - feeling as well as without courage! I am afraid for thee and for all women - who can’t see and feel that the riot and bloodshed that took place not - long ago in Bristol can be started here in London any moment by some - foolish word or act. And I want thee to know if tha doesn’t already know, - that this new disease, that no doctor understands or ever saw before, hes - reached London. It came to Bristol while the city was burning, it came - like a blow from the hand of God, and every physician is appalled by it. A - man goes out and is smitten, and never comes home again, and—and—oh, - Annie! Annie! I cannot bear it! There will be-some tragedy—and it is - for thee and Kitty I fear—not for mysen, oh no!” And he leaned his - elbows on the chimney piece and buried his face in his hands. - </p> - <p> - Then Annie went swiftly to his side, and in low, sweet, cooing words said, - “Oh, my love! My husband! Oh, my dear Antony, if tha hed only told me thy - fears and thy sorrow, I could hev cleared thy mind a bit. Sit thee down - beside me and listen to what thy Annie can tell thee.” Then she kissed him - and took his hands in her hands, and led him to his chair and drew her own - chair close to his side and said— - </p> - <p> - “I knew, my dear one, that thou was bothered in thy mind and that thy - thoughts were on Bristol and other places that hev been fired by the - rioters; and I wanted to tell thee of something that happened more than a - week ago. Dost thou remember a girl called Sarah Sykes?” - </p> - <p> - “I do that—a varry big, clumsy lass.” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind her looks. When Josepha was at Annis last summer she noticed - how much the girl was neglected and she took her part with her usual - temper, gave her nice clothes, and told her she would find something for - her to do in London. So when we were all very busy and I was tired out, - Josepha sent her a pound and bid her come to us as quick as she could. - Well, the first thing we knew the lass was in Jane’s house and she soon - found out that Joshua Swale was the leader of the crowd that are mostly - about the Crescent where it stands. And it wasn’t long before Sarah had - told Israel all thou hed done and all thou was still doing for thy - weavers; and then a man, who had come from the little place where thou - left a ten-pound note, told of that and of many other of thy kind deeds, - and so we found out that thy name stood very high among all the Political - Unions; and that these Unions have made themselves well acquainted with - the sayings and doings of all the old hand loom employers; and are - watching them closely, as to how they are treating their men, and if any - are in The House, how they are voting.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish thou hed told me this when thou first heard it. I wonder thou - didn’t do so.” - </p> - <p> - “If I could have managed a quiet talk with thee I would have done that; - but thou has lived in The House of Commons all of the last week, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “And been varry anxious and unhappy, Annie. Let me tell thee that!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, dearie, happiness is a domestic pleasure. Few people find her - often outside their own home. Do they, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “My duty took me away from thee and my own home. There hev been constant - night sessions for the last week and more.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, and it has been close to sun-up when thou tumbled sleepy and - weary into thy bed. And I couldn’t wait until thou got thy senses again. I - hed to go with Josepha about something or other, or I had to help Jane - with her preparations, and so the days went by. Then, also, when I did get - a sight of thee, thou could not frame thysen to talk of anything but that - weary Bill and it made me cross. I thought thou ought to care a little - about Katherine’s affairs, they were as important to her as The Bill was - to thee.” - </p> - <p> - “I was caring, Annie. I was full of care and worry about Kitty. I was - that. And I needn’t hev been so miserable if thou hed cared for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, I was cross enough to say to myself, ‘Antony can just tell - his worries to The Bill men and I’ll be bound he does.’ So he got no - chance for a good talk and I didn’t let Sarah Sykes trouble my mind at - all; but I can tell thee that all thy goodness to the Annis weavers is - written down on their hearts, and thou and thine are safe whatever - happens.” - </p> - <p> - “I am thankful for thy words. Will tha sit an hour with me?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll not leave thee to-night if thou wants to talk to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my joy! How good thou art! There is not a woman in England to marrow - thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Come then to the parlor and we will have a cup of tea and thou will tell - me all thy fears about The Bill and I’ll sit with thee until thou wants to - go back to The House.” - </p> - <p> - So he kissed her and told her again how dear she was to him and how much - he relied on her judgment, and they went to the parlor like lovers, or - like something far better. For if they had been only lovers, they could - not have known the sweetness, and strength, and unity of a married love - twenty-six years old. And as they drank their tea, Annis made clear to his - wife the condition of affairs in The Commons, and she quickly became as - much interested in the debate going on as himself. “It hes been going on - now,” he said, “for three nights, and will probably continue all this - night and mebbe longer.” - </p> - <p> - “Then will it be settled?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing is settled, Annie, till it is settled right, and if The Commons - settle it right the lords may turn it out altogether again—<i>if - they dare</i>. However, thou hes given me a far lighter heart and I’ll - mebbe hev a word or two to say mysen to-night, for the question of - workmen’s wages is coming up and I’d like to give them my opinion on that - subject.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be a good thing if the government fixed the wages of the - workers. It might put a stop to strikes.” - </p> - <p> - “Not it! Workingmen’s wages are as much beyond the control of government - as the fogs of the Atlantic. Who can prevent contractors from underselling - one another? Who can prevent workmen from preferring starvation wages, - rather than no wages at all? The man who labors knows best what his work - is worth and you can’t blame him for demanding what is just and fair. - Right is right in the devil’s teeth. If you talk forever, you’ll niver get - any forrarder than that; but I have always noticed that when bad becomes - bad enough, right returns.” - </p> - <p> - “The last time we talked about The Bill, Antony, you said you were anxious - that the Scotch Bill should take exactly the same position that the - English Bill does. Will the Scotch do as you wish them?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s hard to get a Scotchman to confess that he is oppressed by anyone, - or by any law. He doesn’t mind admitting a sentimental grievance about the - place that the lion hes on the flag; but he’s far too proud to allow that - anything wrong with the conditions of life is permissible in Scotland. Yet - there are more socialists in Scotland than anywhere else, which I take as - a proof that they are as dissatisfied as any other workingmen are.” - </p> - <p> - “What is it that the socialists are continually talking about?” - </p> - <p> - “They are talking about a world that does not exist, Annie, and that niver - did exist, and promising us a world that couldn’t by any possibility - exist. But I’ll tell thee what I hev found out just since I came here; - that is, that if we are going to continue a Protective Government we’re - bound to hev Socialism flourish. Let England stop running a government to - protect rich and noble land owners, let her open her ports and give us - Free Trade, and we’ll hear varry little more of socialism.” - </p> - <p> - “Will you go to The House to-night, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t miss going for a good deal. Last night’s session did not close - till daylight and I’ll niver forget as long as I live the look of The - House at that time. Grey had been speaking for an hour and a half, though - he is now in his sixty-eighth year; and I could not help remembering that - forty years previously, he had stood in the same place, pleading for the - same Bill, Grey being at that date both its author and its advocate. My - father was in The House then and I hev often heard him tell how Lord - Wharncliffe moved that Grey’s Reform Bill should be rejected altogether; - and how Lord Brougham made one of the grandest speeches of his life in its - favor, ending it with an indescribable relation of the Sybil’s offer to - old Rome. Now, Annie, I want to see the harvest of that seed sowed by Grey - and Brougham forty years ago, and that harvest may come to-night. Thou - wouldn’t want me to miss it, would thou?” - </p> - <p> - “I would be very sorry indeed if thou missed it; but what about the - Sybil?” - </p> - <p> - “Why-a! this old Roman prophetess was called up by Brougham to tell - England the price she would hev to pay if her rulers persisted in their - abominable husbandry of sowing injustice and reaping rebellion. ‘Hear the - parable of the Sybil!’ he cried. ‘She is now at your gate, and she offers - you in this Bill wisdom and peace. The price she asks is reasonable; it is - to restore the franchise, which you ought voluntarily to give. You refuse - her terms and she goes away. But soon you find you cannot do without her - wares and you call her back. Again she comes but with diminished treasures—the - leaves of the book are partly torn away by lawless hands, and in part - defaced with characters of blood. But the prophetic maid has risen in her - demands—it is Parliament by the year—it is vote by the ballot—it - is suffrage by the million now. From this you turn away indignant, and for - the second time she departs. Beware of her third coming, for the treasure - you must have, and who shall tell what price she may demand? It may even - be the mace which rests upon that woolsack. Justice deferred enhances the - price you must pay for peace and safety and you cannot expect any other - crop than they had who went before you and who, in their abominable - husbandry, sowed injustice and reaped rebellion.’” - </p> - <p> - Antony was declaiming the last passages of this speech when the door - opened and Mrs. Temple entered. She sat down and waited until her brother - ceased, then she said with enthusiasm: - </p> - <p> - “Well done, Antony! If thou must quote from somebody’s fine orations, - Brougham and the Sybil woman were about the best thou could get, if so be - thou did not go to the Scriptures. In that book thou would find all that - it is possible for letters and tongues to say against the men who oppress - the poor, or do them any injustice; and if I wanted to make a speech that - would beat Brougham’s to a disorganized alphabet, I’d take ivery word of - it out of the sacred Scriptures. I would that!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Josepha, I hope I may see The Bill pass the Commons to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Then thou hes more to wish for than to hope for. Does Brougham and - Palmerston iver speak to each other now?” - </p> - <p> - “It is as much as they can do to lift their hats. They niver speak, I - think. Why do you ask me?” - </p> - <p> - “Because I heard one water man say to another, as I was taking a boat at - my awn water house— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “‘If the Devil hes a son, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Then his name is Palmerston.’” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Such rhymes against a man do him a deal of harm, Josepha. The rhyme - sticks and fastens, whether it be true or false, but there is nothing - beats a mocking, scornful story for cutting nation wide and living for - centuries after it. That rhyme about Palmerston will not outlive him in - any popular sense, but the mocking scornful story through which Canon - Sydney Smith of St. Paul’s derided the imbecility of The Lords will live - as long as English history lives.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not remember that story, Antony. Do you, Josepha?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, I remember it; but I’ll let Antony tell it to thee and then thou will - be sure to store it up as something worth keeping. What I tell thee hes - not the same power of sticking.” - </p> - <p> - “It may be that you are right, Josepha. Men do speak with more authority - than women do. What did Canon Sydney Smith say, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “He said the attempt of the Lords to stop Reform reminded him of the great - storm at Sidmouth and of the conduct of Mrs. Partington on that occasion. - Six or seven winters ago there was a great storm upon that town, the tide - rose to an incredible height, and the waves rushed in upon the beach, and - in the midst of this terrible storm she was seen at the door of her house - with her dress pinned up, and her highest pattens on her feet, trundling - her mop, squeezing out the sea water, and vigorously pushing away the - Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic Ocean was roused. Mrs. Partington’s spirit - was up, but I need not tell you the contest was unequal. The Atlantic - Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. You see, Annie, the Canon really compared the - Lords to a silly old woman and all England that were not in the House of - Lords screamed with laughter. In that day, The House of Lords lost more of - its dignity and prestige than it has yet regained; and Mrs. Partington did - far more for Reform than all the fine speeches that were made.” - </p> - <p> - “Annie,” said Josepha, “we may as well take notice that it was a woman who - went, or was sent, to the old Roman world with the laws of justice and - peace; and Sydney Smith knew enough about Reform to be aware it would be - best forwarded by putting his parable in the pluck and spirit of Dame - Partington. It seems, then, that both in the old and the present world, - there were men well aware of womanly influence in politics.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, dear women, I must away. I want to be in at the finish.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing will finish to-night. And thou will lose thy sleep.” - </p> - <p> - “I lost it last night. The day was breaking when I left The House. The - candles had been renewed just before daylight and were blazing on after - the sunshine came in at the high windows, making a varry singular effect - on their crimson draperies and on the dusky tapestries on the wall. I may - be as late home to-morrow morning. Good night!” and he bent and kissed - both ladies, and then hurried away, anxious and eager. - </p> - <p> - And the women were silent a moment watching him out of sight in the twilight - and then softly praising his beauty, manliness, and his loving nature. On - this subject Annie and Josepha usually agreed, though at last Josepha said - with a sigh—“It is a pity, however, that his purse strings are so - loose. He spends a lot of money.” And Annie replied: “Perhaps so, but he - is such a good man I had forgotten that he had a fault.” - </p> - <p> - “And as a politician it is very eccentric—not to say foolish—for - him to vote for justice and principle, not to speak of feelings, instead - of party.” - </p> - <p> - “If those things in any shape are faults, I am glad he has them. I could - not yet live with a perfect man.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t suppose thou could. It would be a bit beyond thee. Is all ready - for to-morrow?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but I have lost heart on the subject. Are you going to Jane’s now?” - </p> - <p> - “I may do that. I heard that Agatha De Burg was home and I would like to - warn Katherine to take care of every word she says in Agatha’s presence. - She tells all she hears to that cousin of hers.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you seen De Burg lately?” - </p> - <p> - “Two or three times at Jane’s house. He seems quite at home there now. He - is very handsome, and graceful, and has such fine manners.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I hev no more to say and it is too late for me to take the water way - home. Will tha order me a carriage?” - </p> - <p> - Annie’s readiness to fulfill this request did not please Josepha and she - stood at the window and was nearly silent until she saw a carriage stop at - the hotel door. Then she said, “I think I’ll go and see if Jane hes - anything like a welcome to offer me. Good-by to thee, Annie.” - </p> - <p> - “We shall see you early to-morrow, I hope, Josepha.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, then, thou hopes for nothing of that kind but I’ll be at Jane’s - sometime before I am wanted.” - </p> - <p> - “You should not say such unkind words, Josepha. You are always welcome - wherever you go. In some way I have lost myself the last ten minutes. I do - not feel all here.” - </p> - <p> - “Then thou hed better try and find thysen. Thou wilt need all there is of - thee to bother with Antony about t’ House of Commons, and to answer - civilly the crowd of strangers that will come to see thy daughter - to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “It is neither the Bill nor the strangers that trouble me. My vexations - lie nearer home.” - </p> - <p> - “I must say that thou ought to hev learned how to manage them by this - time. It is all of twenty-seven years since Antony married thee.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not Antony. Antony has not a fault. Not one!” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad thou hes found that out at last. Well, the carriage is waiting - and I’ll bid thee good-bye; and I hope thou may get thysen all together - before to-morrow at this time.” - </p> - <p> - With these words Josepha went and Annie threw herself into her chair with - a sense of relief. “I know she intended to stay for dinner,” she mentally - complained, “and I could not bear her to-night. She is too overflowing—she - is too much every way. I bless myself for my patience for twenty-seven - years. Is it really twenty-seven years?” And with this last suggestion she - lost all consciousness of the present hour. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime Josepha was not thinking any flattering things of her - sister-in-law. “She wanted me to go away! What a selfish, cross woman she - is! Poor Antony! I wonder how he bears her,” and in a mood of such - complaining, Josepha with all her kindly gossiping hopes dashed, went - almost tearfully home. - </p> - <p> - Annie, however, was not cross. She was feeling with her husband the - gravity of public affairs and was full of anxious speculation concerning - Katherine. A change had come over the simple, beautiful girl. Without - being in the least disobedient or disrespectful, she had shown in late - days a thoroughly natural and full grown Annis temper. No girl ever knew - better just what she wanted and no girl ever more effectually arranged - matters in such wise as would best secure her all she wanted. About Harry - Bradley she had not given way one hair’s breadth, and yet evidently her - father was as far as ever from bearing the thought of Harry as a - son-in-law. His kindness to him in the weaving shop was founded initially - on his appreciation of good work and of a clever business tactic and he - was also taken by surprise, and so easily gave in to the old trick of - liking the lad. But he was angry at himself for having been so weak and he - felt that in some way Harry had bested him, and compelled him to break the - promises he had made to himself regarding both the young man and his - father. - </p> - <p> - For a couple of hours these subjects occupied her completely, then she - rose and went to her room and put away her new gown. It was a perfectly - plain one of fawn-colored brocade with which she intended to wear her - beautiful old English laces. As she was performing this duty she thought - about her own youth. It had been a very commonplace one, full of small - economies. She had never had a formal “coming out,” and being the eldest - of five girls she had helped her mother to manage a household, constantly - living a little above its income. Yet she had many sweet, loving thoughts - over this life; and before she was aware her cheeks were wet with tears, - uncalled, but not unwelcome. - </p> - <p> - “My dear mother,” she whispered, “in what land of God art thou now - resting? Surely thou art thinking of me! We are near to each other, though - far, far apart. Now, then, I will do as thou used to advise, ‘let worries - alone, and don’t worry over them.’ Some household angel will come and put - everything right. Oh, mother of many sorrows, pray for me. Thou art nearer - to God than I am.” This good thought slipped through her tears like a soft - strain of music, or a glint of sunshine, and she was strengthened and - comforted. Then she washed her face and put on her evening cap and went to - the parlor and ordered dinner. - </p> - <p> - Just as she sat down to her lonely meal the door was hastily opened, and - Dick Annis and Harry Bradley entered. And oh! how glad she was to see - them, to seat them at the table, and to plentifully feed the two hungry - young men who had been traveling all day. - </p> - <p> - “Dick, wherever have you been, my dear lad? I hevn’t had a letter from you - since you were in Edinburgh.” - </p> - <p> - “I wrote you lots of letters, mother, but I had no way of posting them to - you. After leaving Edinburgh we sailed northward to Lerwick and there I - mailed you a long letter. It will be here in a few days, no doubt, but - their mail boat only carries mail ‘weather permitting,’ and after we left - Lerwick, all the way to Aberdeen we had a roaring wind in our teeth. I - don’t think it was weather the ill-tempered Pentland Firth would permit - mail to be carried over it. How is father?” - </p> - <p> - “As well as he will be until the Reform Bill is passed. You are just in - time for Katherine’s party.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought I might be so, for father told me he was sure dress and - mantua-makers would not have you ready for company in two weeks.” - </p> - <p> - “Father was right. We may get people to weave the cloth by steam but when - it comes to sewing the cloth into clothes, there is nothing but fingers - and needles and some woman’s will.” - </p> - <p> - Then they talked of the preparations made and the guests that were - expected, and the evening passed so pleasantly that it was near midnight - when the youths went away. And before that time the squire had sent a note - to his wife telling her he would not leave The House until the sitting - broke up. This note was brought by a Commons Messenger, for the telegraph - was yet a generation away. - </p> - <p> - So Mistress Annis slept well, and the next day broke in blue skies and - sunshine. After breakfast was over she went to the Leyland Mansion to see - if her help was required in any way. Not that she expected it, for she - knew that Jane was far too good an organizer to be unready in any - department. Indeed she found her leisurely drinking coffee and reading <i>The - Court Circular</i>. Its news also had been gratifying, for she said to her - mother as she laid down the paper, “All is very satisfactory. There are no - entertainments to-night that will interfere with mine.” - </p> - <p> - Katherine was equally prepared but much more excited and that pleased her - mother. She wished Katherine to keep her girlish enthusiasms and - extravagant expectations as long as possible; Jane’s composure and - apparent indifference seemed to her unnatural and later she reflected that - “Jane used to flurry and worry more than enough. Why!” she mentally - exclaimed, “I have not forgot how she routed us all out of our beds at - five o’clock on the morning of her wedding day, and was so nervous herself - that she made the whole house restless as a whirlpool. But she says it is - now fashionable to be serenely unaffected by any event, and whatever is - the fashionable insanity, Jane is sure to be one of the first to catch - it.” - </p> - <p> - On this occasion her whole household had been schooled to the same calm - spirit, and while it had a decided air of festivity, there was also one of - order, and of everything going on as it ought to do. No hurrying servants - or belated confectionery vans impeded the guests’ arrival. The rooms were - in perfect order. The dinner would be served at the minute specified, and - the host and hostess were waiting to perform every hospitable duty with - amiable precision. - </p> - <p> - Katherine did not enter the reception parlors until the dinner guests had - arrived and expectation was at a pleasant point of excitement. Then the - principal door was thrown open with obvious intent and Squire Annis and - his family were very plainly announced. Katherine was walking between her - father and mother, and Mrs. Josepha Temple, leaning on the arm of her - favorite nephew Dick, was a few steps behind them. - </p> - <p> - There was a sudden silence, a quick assurance of the coming of Katherine, - and immediately the lovely girl made a triumphant entry into their eyes - and consciousness. She was dressed in white radiant gauze, * dotted with - small silver stars. It fell from her belt to her feet without any break of - its beauty by ruffle or frill. The waist slightly covered the shoulders, - the sleeves were full and gathered into a band above the elbows. Both - waist and sleeves were trimmed with lace traced out with silver thread, - and edged with a thin silver cord. Her sandals were of white kid - embroidered with silver stars, her gloves matched them. She was without - jewelry of any kind, unless the wonderfully carved silver combs for the - hair which Admiral Temple had brought from India can be so called. Thus - clothed, all the mystery and beauty of the flesh was accentuated. Her fine - eyes were soft and shining, with that happy surprise in them that belongs - only to the young enthusiast, and yet her eyes were hardly more lambent - than the rest of her face, for at this happy hour all the ancient ecstasy - of Love and Youth transfigured her and she looked as if she had been born - with a smile. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * An almost transparent material first made in Gaza, - Palestine, from which it derived its name. -</pre> - <p> - Without intent Katherine’s association with her father and mother greatly - added to the impression she made. The squire was handsomely attired in a - fashionable suit of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with large gilt buttons, - a white satin vest, and a neck piece of soft mull and English lace. And - not less becoming to Katherine as a set off was her mother’s plain, dark, - emphatic costume. Yes, even the rather showy extravagance of the aunt as a - background was an advantage, and could hardly have been better considered, - for Madam Temple on this occasion had discarded her usual black garments - and wore a purple velvet dress and all her wonderful diamonds. Consistent - with this luxury, her laces were of old Venice <i>point de rose</i>, - arranged back and front in a Vandyke collar with cuffs of the same lace, - high as the elbows, giving a cachet to her whole attire, which did not - seem to be out of place on a woman so erect and so dignified that she - never touched the back of a chair, and with a temper so buoyant, so - high-spirited, and so invincible. - </p> - <p> - When dinner was served, Katherine noticed that neither De Burg nor Harry - Bradley were at the table and after the meal she questioned her sister - with some feeling about this omission. “I do not mind De Burg’s absence,” - she said, “he is as well away as not, but poor Harry, what has he done!” - </p> - <p> - “Harry is all right, Kitty, but we have to care for father’s feelings - first of all and you know he has no desire to break bread with Harry - Bradley. <i>Why!</i> he considers ‘by bread and salt’ almost a sacred - obligation, and if he eats with Harry, he must give him his hand, his good - will, and his help, when the occasion asks for it. Father would have felt - it hard to forgive me if I had forced such an obligation on him.” - </p> - <p> - “And De Burg? Is he also beyond the bread and salt limit?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe father might think so, but that is not the reason in his case. - He sent an excuse for dinner but promised to join the dancers at ten - o’clock and to bring his cousin Agatha with him.” - </p> - <p> - “How interesting! We shall all be on the <i>qui-vive</i> for her début.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t be foolish, Kitty. And do not speak French, until you can speak it - with a proper accent.” - </p> - <p> - “I have no doubt it is good enough for her.” - </p> - <p> - “As for her début, it occurred six or seven years ago. Agatha had the run - of society when you were in short frocks. Come, let us go to the ballroom. - Your father is sure to be prompt.” - </p> - <p> - When they reached the ballroom, they found Lord Leyland looking for - Katherine. “Father is waiting,” he said, “and we have the quadrilles - nearly set,” and while Leyland was yet speaking, Squire Annis bowed to his - daughter and she laid her hand in his with a smile, and they took the - place Leyland indicated. At the same moment, Dick led his mother to a - position facing them and there was not a young man or a young woman in the - room who might not have learned something of grace and dignity from the - dancing of the elderly handsome couple. - </p> - <p> - After opening the ball the squire went to his place in The House of - Commons and Madam went to the card room and sat down to a game of whist, - having for her partner Alexander Macready, a prominent London banker. His - son had been in the opening quadrille with Katherine and in a moment had - fallen in love with her. Moreover, it was a real passion, timid yet full - of ardor, sincere, or else foolishly talkative, and Katherine felt him to - be a great encumbrance. Wearily listening to his platitudes of admiration, - she saw Harry Bradley and De Burg and his cousin enter. Harry was really - foremost, but courtesy compelled him for the lady’s sake to give - precedence to De Burg and his cousin; consequently they reached - Katherine’s side first. But Katherine’s eyes, full of love’s happy - expectation, looked beyond them, and Miss De Burg saw in their expression - Katherine’s preference for the man behind her brother. - </p> - <p> - “Stephen need not think himself first,” she instantly decided, “this new - girl was watching for the man Stephen put back. A handsome man! He’ll get - ahead yet! He’s made that way.” - </p> - <p> - Then Lady Leyland joined them and De Burg detained her as long as - possible, delighting himself with the thought of Harry’s impatience. When - they moved forward he explained his motive and laughed a little over it; - but Agatha quickly damped his self-congratulation. - </p> - <p> - “Stephen,” she said, “the young man waiting was not at all uncomfortable. - I saw Miss Annis give him her hand and also a look that some men would - gladly wait a day for.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Gath, I saw nothing of the kind. You are mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - “You were too much occupied in reciting to her the little speech you had - composed for the occasion. You know! I heard you saying it over and over, - as you walked about your room last night.” - </p> - <p> - “What a woman you are! You hear and see everything.” - </p> - <p> - “That I am not wanted to hear and see, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “In this house I want you to see and hear all you can. What do you think - of the young lady?” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I think of her at all?” - </p> - <p> - “For my sake.” - </p> - <p> - “That plea is worn out.” She smiled as she spoke and then some exigency of - the ball separated them. - </p> - <p> - Miss De Burg was not a pretty woman and yet people generally looked twice - at her. She had a cold, washed-out face, a great deal of very pale brown - hair and her hair, eyebrows, and eyes were all the same color. There was - usually <i>no look</i> in her eyes and her mouth told nothing. It was a - firm and silent mouth and if her face had any expression it was one of - reserve or endurance. And Katherine in the very flush of her own happy - excitement divined some tragedy below this speechless face, and she held - Agatha’s hand and looked into her eyes with that sympathy which is one of - youth’s kindest moods. This feeling hesitated a moment between the two - women; then Agatha surrendered, and took it into her heart and memory. - </p> - <p> - Now balls are so common and so natural an expression of humanity that they - possess both its sameness and its variability. They are all alike and all - different, all alike in action, all different in the actors; and the only - importance of this ball to Katherine Annis was that it introduced her to - the mere physical happiness that flows from fresh and happy youth. In this - respect it was perhaps the high tide of her life. The beautiful room, the - mellow transfiguring light of wax candles, the gayly gowned company, the - intoxicating strains of music, and the delight of her motion to it, the - sense of her loveliness, and of the admiration it brought, made her heart - beat high and joyfully, and gave to her light steps a living grace no - artist ever yet copied. She was queen of that company and took out what - lovers she wished with a pretty despotism impossible to describe; but - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Joy’s the shyest bird, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Mortals ever heard. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - And ere anyone had asked “What time is it?” daylight was stealing into the - candle light and then there was only the cheerful hurry of cloaking and - parting left, and the long-looked-for happiness was over. Yet after all it - was a day by itself and the dower of To-morrow can never be weighed by the - gauge of Yesterday. - </p> - <p> - <i>“Right! There is a battle cry in the word. You feel as if you had drawn - a sword. A royal word, a conquering word, which if the weakest speak, they - straight grow strong.”</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII—IN THE FOURTH WATCH - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY LEYLAND had - ordered breakfast at ten o’clock and at that hour her guests were ready - for it. Mistress Temple and Katherine showed no signs of weariness, but - Lord Ley-land looked bored and Mistress Annis was silent concerning the - squire and his manner of passing the night. Then Leyland said: - </p> - <p> - “By George! Madam, you are very right to be anxious. The company of ladies - always makes me anxious. I will go to my club and read the papers. I feel - that delay is no longer possible.” - </p> - <p> - “Your breakfast, Fred,” cried Katherine, but Fred was as one that heard - not, and with a smile and a good-by which included all present, Leyland - disappeared, and as his wife smilingly endorsed his - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Love puts out all other cares.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - and anxious but soon voiced her trouble in a wish forget everything else - but now if I can be excused apologies, no one made the slightest attempt - to detain him. Certainly Mistress Annis looked curiously at her daughter - and, when the door was closed, said: - </p> - <p> - “I wonder at you, Jane—Leyland had not drank his first cup of coffee - and as to his breakfast it is still on his plate. It is not good for a man - to go to politics fasting.” - </p> - <p> - “O mother! you need not worry about Fred’s breakfast. He will order one - exactly to his mind as soon as he reaches his club and he will be ten - times happier with the newspapers than with us.” - </p> - <p> - Just at this point the squire and his son entered the room together and - instantly the social temperature of the place rose. - </p> - <p> - “I met Leyland running away from you women,” said the squire. “Whatever - hev you been doing to him?” - </p> - <p> - “He wanted to see the papers, father,” said Katherine. - </p> - <p> - “It was a bit of bad behavior,” said Madam Temple. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear, no,” Jane replied. “Fred is incapable of anything so vulgar. Is - he not, father?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure he is. No doubt it was a bit of fine feeling for the women - present that sent him off. He knew you would want to discuss the affair of - last night and also the people mixed up in it and he felt he would be in - everybody’s way, and so he was good-natured enough to leave you to the - pleasure of describing one another. It was varry agreeable and polite for - Fred to do so. I hedn’t sense enough to do the same.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay, Antony, that isn’t the way to put it. Dick, my dear lad, say a - word for me.” - </p> - <p> - “I could not say a word worthy of you, mother, and now I came to bid you - good-by. I am off as quick as possible for Annis. Father had a letter from - Mr. Foster this morning. It is best that either father or I go there for a - few days and, as father cannot leave London at this crisis, I am going in - his place.” - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter now, Dick?” - </p> - <p> - “Some trouble with the weavers, I believe.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course! and more money needed, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure,” answered the squire, with a shade of temper; “and if needed, - Dick will look after it, eh, Dick?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course Dick will look after it!” added Madam Temple, but her “of - course” intimated a very different meaning from her sister-in-law’s. They - were two words of hearty sympathy and she emphasized them by pushing a - heavy purse across the table. “Take my purse as well as thy father’s, - Dick; and if more is wanted, thou can hev it, and welcome. I am Annis - mysen and I was born and brought up with the men and women suffering - there.” - </p> - <p> - She spoke with such feeling that her words appeared to warm the room and - the squire answered: “Thy word and deed, Josepha, is just like thee, my - dear sister!” He clasped her hand as he spoke, and their hands met over - the purse lying on the table and both noticed the fact and smiled and - nodded their understanding of it. Then the squire with a happy face handed - the purse to Dick, telling him to “kiss his mother,” and be off as soon as - possible. “Dick,” he said in a voice full of tears—“Dick, my lad, it - is hard for hungry men to wait.” - </p> - <p> - “I will waste no time, father, not a minute,” and with these words he - clasped his father’s hand, leaned over and kissed his mother, and with a - general good-by he went swiftly on his errand of mercy. - </p> - <p> - Then Jane said: “Let us go to the parlor. We were an hour later than usual - this morning and must make it up if we can.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, Jane,” answered Mistress Temple. “We can talk as well in one - room as another. Houses must be kept regular or we shall get into the same - muddle as old Sarum—we shall be candidates for dinner and no dinner - for us.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you will all excuse me an hour while I give some orders about - household affairs.” The excuse was readily admitted and the squire, his - wife, sister and daughter, took up the question which would intrude into - every other question whether they wished it or not. - </p> - <p> - The parlor to which they went looked precisely as if it was glad to see - them; it was so bright and cheerful, so warm and sunny, so everything that - the English mean by the good word “comfortable.” And as soon as they were - seated, Annie asked: “What about The Bill, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, dearie, The Bill passed its third reading at seven o’clock this - morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou saw it pass, eh, Antony?” - </p> - <p> - “That I did! <i>Why-a!</i> I wouldn’t hev missed Lord Grey’s final speech - for anything. He began it at five o’clock and spoke for an hour and a half—which - considering his great age and the long night’s strain was an astonishing - thing to do. I was feeling a bit tired mysen.” - </p> - <p> - “But surely the people took its passing very coldly, Antony.” - </p> - <p> - “The people aren’t going to shout till they are sure they hev something to - shout for. Nobody knows what changes the lords may make in it. They may - even throw it out again altogether.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>They dare not! They dare not for their lives</i> try any more such - foolishness,” said Josepha Temple with a passion she hardly restrained. - “Just let them try it! The people will not allow that step any more! Let - them try it! They will quickly see and feel what will come of such folly.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Josepha, what will come of it? What can the people do?” - </p> - <p> - “Iverything they want to do! Iverything they ought to do! One thing is - sure—they will send the foreigners back to where they belong. The - very kith and kin of the people now demanding their rights founded, not - many generations ago, a glorious Republic of their own, and they gave - themsens all the rights they wanted and allays put the man of their choice - at the head of it. Do you think our people don’t know what their fathers - hev done before them? They know it well. They see for themsens that varry - common men can outrank noble men when it comes to intellect and courage. - What was it that Scotch plowboy said:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “A king can mak’ a belted knight, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - A marquis, duke and a’ that, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But an honest man’s aboon his might— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - and a God’s mercy it is, for if he tried it, he would waste and spoil the - best of materials in the making.” - </p> - <p> - “All such talk is sheer nonsense, Josepha.” - </p> - <p> - “It is nothing of the kind. Josepha has seen how such sheer nonsense turns - out. I should think thou could remember what happened fifty years ago. - People laughed then at the sheer nonsense of thirteen little colonies in - the wilds of America trying to make England give them exactly what - Englishmen are this very day ready to fight for— representation in - parliament. And you need not forget this fact also, that the majority of - Englishmen at that day, both in parliament and out of it, backed with all - the power they hed these thirteen little colonies. Why, the poor button - makers of Sheffield refused to make buttons for the soldiers’ coats, lest - these soldiers should be sent to fight Englishmen. It was then all they - could do but their children are now two hundred thousand strong, and king - and parliament <i>hev</i> to consider them. They <i>hev to do it</i> or to - take the consequences, Antony Annis! Your father was hand and purse with - that crowd and I knew you would see things as they are sooner or later. - For our stock came from a poor, brave villager, who followed King Richard - to the Crusades, and won the Annis lands for his courage and fidelity. - That is why there is allays a Richard in an Annis household.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe all you say, Josepha, and our people, the rich and the poor, - both believe it. They hev given the government ivery blessed chance to do - fairly by them. Now, if it does so, well and good. If it does not do so, - the people are full ready to make them do it. I can tell you that.” - </p> - <p> - “I am so tired of it all,” said Annie wearily. “Why do poor, uneducated - men want to meddle with elections for parliament? I can understand and - feel with them in their fight about their looms—it means their daily - bread; but why should they care about the men who make our laws and that - sort of business?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll tell thee why. They hev to do it or else go on being poor and - ignorant and of no account among men. Our laws are made to please the men - who have a vote or a say-so in any election. The laboring men of England - hev no vote at all. They can’t say a word about their rights in the - country for through the course of centuries the nobles and the rich men - hev got all the votes in their awn pockets.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe there is something right in that arrangement, Antony. They are - better educated.” - </p> - <p> - “Suppose that argument stood, Annie; still a poor man might like one rich - man better than another, and he ought to be able to hev his chance for - electing his choice; but that, however, is only the tag-end of the - question.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what is the main end?” - </p> - <p> - “This:—In the course of centuries, places once of some account hev - disappeared, as really as Babylon or Nineveh, and little villages hev - grown to be big cities. There is no town of Sarum now, not a vestige, but - the Chatham family represent it in parliament to-day or they sell the - position or give it away. The member for the borough of Ludgershall is - himself the only voter in the borough and he is now in parliament on his - <i>awn</i> nomination. Another place has two members and only seven - voters; and what do you think a foreigner visiting England would say when - told that a green mound without a house on it sent two members to - Parliament, or that a certain green park without an inhabitant also sent - two members to Parliament? Then suppose him taken to Manchester, Bradford, - Sheffield, and other great manufacturing cities, and told they had <i>no</i> - representative in Parliament; what do you suppose he would think and say?” - </p> - <p> - “He would advise them to get a few paper caps among their coronets,” said - Josepha. - </p> - <p> - “And so it goes all over England,” said the squire. “Really, my dears, - two-thirds of the House of Commons are composed of the nominees of the - nobles and the great landowners. What comes of the poor man’s rights under - such circumstances? He hes been robbed of them for centuries; doesn’t tha - think, Annie, it is about time he looked after them?” - </p> - <p> - “I should think it was full time,” Josepha said hotly. - </p> - <p> - “It is a difficult question,” replied Annie. “It must have many sides that - require examination.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever is right needs no examination, Annie.” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, women, I have but told you one-half of the condition. There is - another side of it, for if some places hev been growing less and less - during the past centuries, other places, once hardly known, have become - great cities, like Birmingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Sheffield, and so forth, - and have no representation at all. What do you think of that? Not a soul - in parliament to speak for them. Now if men hev to pay taxes they like to - know a little bit about their whys and wherefores, eh, women?” - </p> - <p> - “Did they always want to know, father?” asked Katherine. - </p> - <p> - “I should say so. It would only be natural, Kitty, but at any rate since - the days of King John; and I don’t believe but what the ways of men and - the wants of men hev been about the same iver since God made men. They hev - allays wanted a king and they hev allays been varry particular about - hev-ing some ways and means of making a king do what they want him to do.” - </p> - <p> - “Suppose the lords pass The Bill but alter it so much that it is <i>not - The Bill</i>, what then, father?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Kitty, they could do that thing but as your aunt said, they had - better not. Nothing but the whole Bill will now satisfy. No! they dare not - alter it. Now you can talk over what I hev told you. I must go about my - awn business and the first thing I hev to do is to take my wife home. - Come, Annie, I am needing thee.” - </p> - <p> - Annie rose with a happy alacrity. She was glad to go. To be alone with her - husband after the past days of society’s patented pleasures was an - unspeakable rest and refreshment. They drove to the Clarendon in silent - contentment, holding each other’s hand and putting off speech until they - could talk without restraint of any kind. And if anyone learned in the - expression of the flesh had noticed their hands they would have seen that - Annie’s thumb in the clasp was generally the uppermost, a sure sign that - she had the strongest will and was made to govern. The corollary of this - fact is, that if the clasping thumb in both parties is the right thumb, - then complications are most likely to frequently occur. - </p> - <p> - Indeed Annie did not speak until she had thrown aside her bonnet and cloak - and was comfortably seated in the large soft chair she liked best; then - she said with an air of perfect satisfaction, “O Antony! It was so kind - and thoughtful of thee to come for me. I was afraid there might be some - unpleasant to-do before I got away. Josepha was ready for one, longing for - one, and Jane hed to make that excuse about getting dinner ready, in order - to avoid it. Jane, you know, supports the whole House of Lords, and she - goes on about ‘The Constitution of the British Government’ as if it was an - inspired document.” - </p> - <p> - “Well tha knows, Leyland is a Tory from his head to his feet. I doan’t - think his mind hes much to do with his opinions. He inherited them from - his father, just as he inherited his father’s face and size and money. And - a woman hes to think as her husband thinks—if she claims to be a - good wife.” - </p> - <p> - “That idea is an antiquated lie, Antony. A good wife, Antony, thinks not - only for herself, she thinks also for her husband.” - </p> - <p> - “I niver noticed thee making thysen contrary. As I think, thou thinks. - Allays that is so.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, it is not. There is many a thing different in my mind to what is in - thy mind, and thou knows it, too; and there are subjects we neither of us - want to talk of because we cannot agree about them. I often thank thee for - thy kind self-denial in this matter.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure I doan’t know what thou art so precious civil about. I think of - varry little now but the Reform Bill and the poor weavers; and thou thinks - with me on both of them subjects. Eh, Joy?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I do—with some sub-differences.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t meddle with what thou calls thy ‘subdifferences.’ I’ll warrant - they are innocent as thysen and thy son Dick is a good son and he thinks - just as I think on ivery subject. That’s enough, Annie, on - sub-differences. Let us hev a bit of a comfortable lunch. Jane’s breakfast - was cold and made up of fancy dishes like oysters and chicken minced with - mushrooms, and muffins and such miscarriages of eatable dishes. I want - some sensible eating at one o’clock and I feel as if it was varry near one - now.” - </p> - <p> - “What shall I order for you?” - </p> - <p> - “Some kidney soup and cold roast beef and a good pudding, or some Christ - Church tartlets, the best vegetables they hev and a bottle of Bass’ best - ale or porter, but thou can-hev a cup of sloppy tea if tha fancies it.” - </p> - <p> - “I think no better of sloppy things than thou does, Antony. I’ll hev a - glass of good, pale sherry wine, and the same would be better for thee - than anything Bass brews. Bass makes a man stout, and thou art now just - the right weight; an ounce more flesh would spoil thy figure and take the - spring out of thy step and put more color in thy face and take the music - out of thy voice; but please thy dear self about thy eating; perhaps I am - a bit selfish about thy good looks, but when a woman gets used to showing - herself off with a handsome man she can’t bear to give up that bit of - pride.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, Annie dear, whativer pleases thee, pleases me. Send for - number five, and order what thou thinks best.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Antony, thou shalt have thy own wish. It is little enough to give - thee.” - </p> - <p> - “It is full and plenty, if thou puts thy wish with it.” - </p> - <p> - Then Annie happily ordered the kidney soup and cold roast and the - particular tarts he liked and the sherry instead of the beer, and the fare - pleased both, and they ate it with that smiling cheerfulness which is of - all thanksgiving the most acceptable to the Bountiful Giver of all good - things. And as they ate they talked of Katherine’s beauty and loving heart - and of Dick’s ready obedience and manly respect for his father, and food - so seasoned and so cheerfully eaten is the very best banquet that mortals - can ever hope to taste in this life. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime, Dick, urged both by his father’s desire and his own - wistful longing to see Faith Foster, lost no time in reaching his home - village. He was shocked by its loneliness and silence. He did not meet or - see a single man. The women were shut up in their cottages. Their trouble - had passed all desire for company and all hope of any immediate - assistance. Talking only enervated them and they all had the same - miserable tale to tell. It might have been a deserted village but for the - musical chime of the church clock and the sight of a few little children - sitting listlessly on the doorsteps of the cottages. Hunger had killed in - them the instinct of play. “It hurts us to play. It makes the pain come,” - said one little lad, as he looked with large suffering eyes into Dick’s - face; but never asked from him either pity or help. Yet his very silence - was eloquence. No words could have moved to sympathy so strongly as the - voiceless appeal of his sad suffering eyes, his thin face, and the patient - helplessness of his hopeless quiet. Dick could not bear it. He gave the - child some money, and it began to cry softly and to whimper “Mammy! - Mammy!” and Dick hurried homeward, rather ashamed of his own emotion, yet - full of the tenderest pity. - </p> - <p> - He found Britton pottering about the stable and his wife Sarah trying with - clumsy fingers to fashion a child’s frock. “Oh, Master Dick!” she cried. - “Why did tha come back to this unhappy place? I think there is pining and - famishing in ivery house and sickness hard following it.” - </p> - <p> - “I have come, Sarah, to see what can be done to help the trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “A God’s mercy, sir! We be hard set in Annis village this day.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you a room ready for me, Sarah? I may be here for a few days.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be a varry queer thing if I hedn’t a room ready for any of the - family, coming in a hurry like. Your awn room is spick and span, sir. And - I’ll hev a bit of fire there in ten minutes or thereby, but tha surely - will hev summat to eat first.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing to eat just yet, Sarah. I shall want a little dinner about five - o’clock if you will have it ready.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, sir. We hev no beef or mutton in t’ house, sir, but I will - kill a chicken and make a rice pudding, if that will do.” - </p> - <p> - “That is all I want.” - </p> - <p> - Then Dick went to the stables and interviewed Britton, and spoke to every - horse in it, and asked Britton to turn them into the paddock for a couple - of hours. “They are needing fresh air and a little liberty, Britton,” he - said, and as Britton loosened their halters and opened the door that led - into the paddock they went out prancing and neighing their gratitude for - the favor. - </p> - <p> - “That little gray mare, sir,” said Britton, “she hes as much sense as a - human. She knew first of all of them what was coming, and she knew it was - your doing, sir, that’s the reason she nudged up against you and fairly - laid her face against yours.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she knew me, Britton. Lucy and I have had many a happy day - together.” Then he asked Britton about the cattle and the poultry, and - especially about the bulbs and the garden flowers, which had always had - more or less the care of Mistress Annis. - </p> - <p> - These things attended to, he went to his room and dressed himself with - what seemed to be some unnecessary care. Dick, however, did not think so. - He was going to see Mr. Foster and he might see Faith, and he could not - think of himself as wearing clothing travel-soiled in her presence. In an - hour, however, he was ready to go to the village, fittingly dressed from - head to feet, handsome as handsome Youth can be, and the gleam and glow of - a true love in his heart. “It may be—it may be!” he told himself as - he walked speedily down the nearest way to the village. - </p> - <p> - When about half-way there, he met the preacher. “I heard you were here, - Mr. Annis,” he said. “Betty Bews told me she saw you pass her cottage.” - </p> - <p> - “I came in answer to your letter, sir. The Bill is at a great crisis, and - my father’s vote on the right side is needed. And I was glad to come, if I - can do good in any way.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, sir, there are things to do, and words to say that I cannot do - or say—and the need is urgent.” - </p> - <p> - “Then let us go forward. I was shocked by the village as I passed through - it. I did not meet a single man. I saw only a few sickly looking women, - and some piteous children.” - </p> - <p> - “The men have gone somewhere four days ago. I suppose they were called by - their society. They did not tell me where they were going and I thought it - was better not to ask any questions. The women are all sick and - despairing, the children suffer all they can bear and live. That is one - phase of the trouble; but there is another coming that I thought you would - like to be made acquainted with.” - </p> - <p> - “Not the cholera, I hope? It has reached London, you know, and the doctors - are paralyzed by their ignorance of its nature and can find no remedy for - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Our people think it a judgment of God. I am told it broke out in Bristol - while the city was burning and outrages of all kinds rampant.” - </p> - <p> - “You know, sir, that Bristol is one of our largest seaports. It is more - likely to have been brought here by some traveler from a strange country. - I heard a medical man who has been in India with our troops say that it - was a common sickness in the West Indies.” - </p> - <p> - “It was never seen nor heard of in England before. Now it is going up the - east coast of Britain as far north as the Shetland Isles. These coast - people are nearly all fishermen, very good, pious men, and they positively - declare that they saw a gigantic figure of a woman, shadowy and gray, with - a face of malignant vengeance, passing through the land.” - </p> - <p> - “God has sent such messengers many times—ministers of His Vengeance. - His Word is full of such instances.” - </p> - <p> - “But a woman with a malignant face! Oh, no!” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever is evil, must look evil—but here we are at Jonathan - Hartley’s. Will you go in?” - </p> - <p> - “He is coming to us. I will give him my father’s letter. That will be - sufficient.” - </p> - <p> - But Jonathan had much to say and he seemed troubled beyond outside affairs - to move him, and the preacher asked—“What is personally out of the - right way with you, Jonathan?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, my mother is down at the ford; she may cross any hour—she’s - only waiting for the guide—and my eldest girl had a son last night—the - little lad was born half-starved. We doan’t know yet whether either of - them can be saved—or not. So I’ll not say ‘Come in,’ but if you’ll - sit down with me on the garden bench, I’ll be glad of a few minutes fresh - air.” He opened the little wicket gate as he spoke and they sat down on a - bench under a cherry tree full dressed in perfumed white for Easter tide. - </p> - <p> - As soon as they were seated the young squire delivered his father’s letter - and then they talked of the sudden disappearance of the men of the - village. “What does it mean, Jonathan?” asked Dick, and Jonathan said— - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, I hevn’t been much among the lads for a week now. My mother - hes been lying at the gate of the grave and I couldn’t leave her long at a - time. They were all loitering about the village when I saw them last. - Suddenly they all disappeared, and the old woman at the post office told - me ivery one of them hed received a letter four mornings ago, from the - same Working Man’s Society. I hed one mysen, for that matter, and that - afternoon they all left together for somewhere.” - </p> - <p> - “But,” asked Dick, “where did they get the money necessary for a journey?” - </p> - <p> - “Philip Sugden got the money from Sugbury Bank. He hed an order for it, - that was cashed quick enough. What do you make of that, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I think there may be fighting to do if parliament fails the people this - time.” - </p> - <p> - “And in the very crisis of this trouble,” said Dick, “I hear from Mr. - Foster that a man has been here wanting to build a mill. Who is he, - Jonathan? And what can be his motive?” - </p> - <p> - “His name is Jonas Boocock. He comes from Shipley. His motive is to mak’ - money. He thinks this is the varry place to do it. He talked constantly - about its fine water power, and its cheap land, and thought Providence hed - fairly laid it out for factories and power-looms; for he said there’s talk - of a branch of railway from Bradley’s place, past Annis, to join the main - track going to Leeds. He considered it a varry grand idea. Mebbe it is, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - “My father would not like the plan at all. It must be prevented, if - possible. What do you think, Jonathan?” - </p> - <p> - “I think, sir, if it would be a grand thing for Jonas Boocock, it might - happen be a good thing for Squire Antony Annis. The world is moving - for-rard, sir, and we must step with it, or be dragged behind it. Old as I - am, I would rayther step for-rard with it. Gentlemen, I must now go to my - mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Is she worse, Jonathan?” - </p> - <p> - “She is quite worn out, worn out to the varry marrow. I would be thankful, - sir, if tha would call and bid her good-by.” - </p> - <p> - “I will. I will come about seven o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “That will be right. I’ll hev all the household present, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Then they turned away from Jonathan’s house and went to look at the land - Boocock hankered for. The land itself was a spur descending from the wold, - and was heathery and not fit for cultivation; but it was splendidly - watered and lay along the river bank. “Boocock was right,” said Mr. - Foster. “It is a bit of land just about perfect for a factory site. Does - the squire own it, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot say. I was trying to fix its position as well as I could, and I - will write to my father tonight. I am sorry Jonathan did not know more - about the man Boocock and his plans.” - </p> - <p> - “Jonathan’s mother is a very old woman. While she lives, he will stay at - her side. You must remember her?” - </p> - <p> - “I do. She was exceedingly tall and walked quite erect and was so white - when I met her last that she looked like a ghost floating slowly along the - road.” - </p> - <p> - “She had always a sense of being injured by being here at all—wondered - why she had been sent to this world, and though a grand character was - never really happy. Jonathan did not learn to read until he was over forty - years of age; she was then eighty, and she helped him to remember his - letters, and took the greatest pride in his progress. There ought to be - schools for these people, there are splendid men and women mentally among - them. Here we are at home. Come in, sir, and have a cup of tea with us - before you climb the brow.” - </p> - <p> - Dick was very glad to accept the invitation and the preacher opened the - door and said: “Come in, sir, and welcome!” and they went into a small - parlor plainly furnished, but in perfect order, and Dick heard someone - singing softly not far away. Before the preacher had more than given his - guest a chair the door opened and Faith entered the room. If he had not - been already in love with her he would have fallen fathoms deep in the - divine tide that moment, for his soul knew her and loved her, and was - longing to claim its own. What personal charm she had he knew not, he - cared not, he had been drawn to her by some deep irresistible attraction, - and he succumbed absolutely to its influence. At this moment he cast away - all fears and doubts and gave himself without reservation to the wonderful - experience. - </p> - <p> - Faith had answered her father’s call so rapidly, that Dick was not seated - when she entered the room. She brought with her into the room an - atmosphere of light and peace, through which her loveliness shone with a - soft, steady glow. There was something unknown and unseen in her very - simplicity. All that was sweet and wise, shone in her heavenly eyes, and - their light lifted her higher than all his thoughts; they were so soft and - deep and compelling. Very singularly their influence seemed to be - intensified by the simple dress she wore. It was of merino and of the - exact shade of her eyes, and it appeared in some way to increase their - mystical power by the prolongation of the same color. There was nothing of - intention in this arrangement. It was one of those coincidences that are - perhaps suggested or induced by the angel that guards our life and - destiny. For there are angels round all of us. Earth is no strange land to - them. The dainty neatness of her clothing delighted Dick. After a season - of ruffles and flounces and extravagant trimming, its soft folds falling - plainly and unbrokenly to her feet, charmed him. Something of white lace, - very narrow and unpretentious, was around the neck and sleeves which were - gathered into a band above the elbows. Her hair, parted in the center of - the forehead, lay in soft curls which fell no lower than the tip of the - ears and at the back was coiled loosely on the crown of the head, where it - was fastened by a pretty shell comb. The purity and peace of a fervent - transparent soul was the first and the last impression she made, and these - qualities revealed themselves in a certain homely sweetness, that drew - everyone’s affection and trust like a charm. - </p> - <p> - She had in her hands a clean tablecloth and some napkins, but when she saw - Dick, she laid them down, and went to meet him. He took her hand and - looked into her eyes, and a rush of color came into her face and gave - splendor to her smile and her beauty. She hastened to question him about - his mother and Katherine, but even as they talked of others, she knew he - was telling her that he loved her, and longed for her to love him in - return. - </p> - <p> - “Faith, my dear,” said Mr. Foster, “our friend, Mr. Annis, will have a cup - of tea with us before he goes up the brow,” and she looked at Dick and - smiled, and began to lay the round table that stood in the center of the - room. Dick watched her beautiful white arms and hands among the white - china and linen and a very handsome silver tea service, with a pleasure - that made him almost faint. Oh, if he should lose this lovely girl! How - could he bear it? He felt that he might as well lose life itself. - </p> - <p> - For though Dick had loved her for some months, love not converted into - action, becomes indolent and unbelieving. So he had misgivings he could - not control and amid the distractions of London, his love, instead of - giving a new meaning to his life, had infected him rather with a sense of - dreamland. But in this hour, true honest love illumined life, he saw - things as they were, he really fell in love and that is a wonderful - experience, a deep, elemental thing, beyond all reasoning with. In this - experience he had found at last the Key to Life, and he understood in a - moment, as it were, that this Key is in the Heart, and not in the Brain. - He had been very wise and prudent about Faith and one smile from her had - shattered all his reasoning, and the love-light now in his eyes, and - shining in his face, was heart-work and not brain work. For love is a - state of the soul; anger, grief and other passions can change their mental - states; but love? No! Love absorbs the whole man, and if not satisfied, - causes a state of great suffering. So in that hour Love was Destiny and - fashioned his life beyond the power of any other passion to change. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime Faith brought in tea and some fresh bread and butter, and - a dish of broiled trout. “Mr. Braithwaite was trout fishing among the - fells to-day,” she said, “and as he came home, he left half a dozen for - father. He is one of the Chapel Trustees and very fond of line fishing. - Sometimes father goes with him. You know,” she added with a smile, - “fishing is apostolical. Even a Methodist preacher may fish.” - </p> - <p> - For a short time they talked of the reel and line, and its caprices, but - conversation quickly drifted to the condition of the country and of Annis - particularly, and in this conversation an hour drifted speedily away. Then - Faith rose and brought in a bowl of hot water, washed the china and silver - and put them away in a little corner cupboard. - </p> - <p> - “That silver is very beautiful,” said Dick. - </p> - <p> - “Take it in your hand, Mr. Annis, and read what is engraved on the tea - pot.” So Dick took it in his hand and read that the whole service had been - given by the Wesleyans of Thirsk to Reverend Mr. Foster, as a proof of - their gratitude to him as their spiritual teacher and comforter. Then Dick - noticed the china and said his mother had a set exactly like it and Mr. - Foster answered—“I think, Mr. Annis, every family in England has - one, rich and poor. Whoever hit upon this plain white china, with its - broad gold band round all edges, hit on something that fitted the English - taste universally. It will be a wedding gift, and a standard tea set, for - many generations yet; unless it deteriorates in style and quality—but - I must not forget that I am due at Hartley’s at seven o’clock, so I hope - you will excuse me, Mr. Annis.” - </p> - <p> - “May I ask your permission to remain with Miss Foster until your return, - sir? I have a great deal to tell her about Katherine and many messages - from my sister to deliver.” - </p> - <p> - For a moment Mr. Foster hesitated, then he answered frankly, “I will be - glad if you stay with Faith until I return.” Then Faith helped him on with - his top coat and gave him his hat and gloves and walking stick and both - Dick and Faith stood at the open door, and watched him go down the street - a little way. But this was Dick’s opportunity and he would not lose it. - </p> - <p> - “Come into the parlor, dear, dear Faith! I have something to tell you, - something I must tell you!” And all he said in the parlor was something he - had never dared to say before, except in dreams. - </p> - <p> - Faith knew what he wished to say. He had wooed her silently for months, - but she had not suffered him to pass beyond the horizon of her thoughts. - Yet she knew well, that though they were in many things dissimilar as two - notes of music, they were made for each other. She told herself that he - knew this fact as well as she did and that at the appointed hour he would - come to her. Until that hour she would not provoke Destiny by her - impatience. A change so great for her would doubtless involve other - changes and perhaps their incidentals were not yet ready. So she never - doubted but that Dick would tell her he loved her, as soon as he thought - the right hour had come. - </p> - <p> - And now the hour had come, and Dick did tell her how he loved her with a - passionate eloquence that astonished himself. She did not try to resist - its influence. It was to her heart all that cold water would be to - parching thirst; it was the coming together of two strong, but different - temperaments, and from the contact the flashing forth of love like fire. - His words went to her head like wine, her eyes grew soft, tender, - luminous, her form was half mystical, half sensuous. Dick was creating a - new world for them, all their own. Though her eyes lifted but an instant, - her soul sought his soul, gradually they leaned closer to each other in - visible sweetness and affection and then it was no effort, but a supreme - joy, to ask her to be his wife, to love and counsel and guide him, as his - mother had loved and guided his father; and in the sweet, trembling patois - of love, she gave him the promise that taught him what real happiness - means. And her warm, sweet kisses sealed it. He felt they did so and was - rapturously happy. Is there anything more to be said on this subject? No, - the words are not yet invented which could continue it. Yet Faith wrote in - her Diary that night—“To-day I was born into the world of Love. That - is the world God loves best.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII—LOVE’S TENDER PHANTASY - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “No mortal thing can bear so high a price, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But that with mortal thing it may be bought; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - No pearls, no gold, no gems, no corn, no spice, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Divine is Love and scorneth worldly pelf, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And can be bought with nothing but itself.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> MAN in love sees - miracles, as well as expects them. Outsiders are apt to think him an - absurd creature, he himself knows that he is seeking the only love that - can complete and crown his life. Dick was quite sure of his own wisdom. - Whenever he thought of Faith, of her innocence, her high hopes, her pure - eyes, and flowerlike beauty, he felt that his feet were on a rock and his - soul went after her and everything was changed in his life. - </p> - <p> - It was not until great London was on his horizon, that any fear touched - his naturally high spirit. His father’s good will, he was sure, could be - relied on. He himself had made what his father called “a varry - inconsiderate marriage,” but it had proved to be both a very wise and a - very happy union, so Dick expected his father would understand and - sympathize with his love for Faith Foster. - </p> - <p> - About the women of his family he felt more uncertain, his mother and - sister and aunt would doubtless be harder to please. Yet they must see - that Faith was everyway exceptional. Was she not the very flower and pearl - of womanhood? He could not understand how they could find any fault with - his wonderfully fortunate choice. Yet he kindly considered the small - frailties of the ordinary woman and made some allowances for their - jealousies and for the other interferences likely to spring from family - and social conditions. - </p> - <p> - But Dick was no coward and he was determined to speak of his engagement to - Faith as soon as he had rid his mind of the business which had sent him to - Annis. Nor had he any love-lorn looks or attitudes; he appeared to be an - exceedingly happy man, when he opened the parlor door of his father’s - apartments in the Clarendon. Breakfast was on the table and the squire and - his wife were calmly enjoying it. They cried out joyfully when they saw - him. The squire hastily stood up with outstretched hands, while Dick’s - mother cried out, “O Dick! Dick! how good it is to see thee!” - </p> - <p> - Dick was soon seated between them and as he ate he told the news he had - brought from the home village. It was all interesting and important to - them—from the change in its politics—which Dick said had - become nearly Radical—to the death of Jonathan Hartley’s mother, who - had been for many years a great favorite of Mistress Annis. - </p> - <p> - Dick was a little astonished to find that his father pooh-pooh’d Boocock’s - design of building a mill in Annis. “He can’t build ef he can’t get land - and water,” he answered with a scornful laugh; “and Antony Annis will not - let him hev either. He is just another of those once decent weavers, who - hev been turned into arrant fools by making brass too easy and too quick. - I hev heard them talk. They are allays going to build another mill - somewhere, they are going to mak’ a bid for all Yorkshire and mebbe tak’ - Lancashire into their plans. Boocock does not trouble me. And if Squire - Annis puts him in Cold Shoulder Lane, there will not be a man in t’ - neighborhood poor and mean enough to even touch his cap to him. This is - all I hev to say about Boocock at the present time and I don’t want him - mentioned again. Mind that!” - </p> - <p> - “I think, then, father, that you will have to get rid of Jonathan - Hartley.” - </p> - <p> - “Rid of Jonathan! Whativer is tha talking about? I could spare him as - little as my right hand.” - </p> - <p> - “Jonathan told me to tell you that you had better build a mill yourself, - than let Boocock, or some other stranger, in among Annis folk. He said the - world was stepping onward and that we had better step with the world, than - be dragged behind it. He said that was his feeling.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he hes a right to his feeling, but he need not send it to me. Let - him go. I see how it is. I am getting a bit older than I was and men that - are younger five or ten years are deserting me. They fear to be seen with - an old fogy, like Squire Annis. God help me, but—I’m not downed yet. - If they can do without me, I can jolly well do without them. <i>Why-a!</i> - Thy mother is worth iverybody else to me and she’ll love and cherish me if - I add fifty years more to my present fifty-five.” - </p> - <p> - “I want no other love, Antony, than yours. It is good enough for life—and - thereafter.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear, dear Annie! And don’t fear! When I am sure it is time to move, I’ll - move. I’ll outstrip them all yet. By George, I’ll keep them panting after - me! How is it, Dick? Wilt thou stand with thy father? If so, put thy hand - in thy father’s and we will beat them all at their awn game”—and - Dick put his hand in his father’s hand and answered, “I am your loving and - obedient son. Your will is my pleasure, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Good, dear lad! Then we two will do as we want to do, we’ll do it in our - awn time, and in our awn way, and we hev sense enough, between us, to tak’ - our awn advice, whativer it be. For first of all, we’ll do whativer is - best for the village, and then for oursens, without anybody’s advice but - our awn. Just as soon as The Bill is off my mind we will hev a talk on - this subject. Annis Hall and Annis land and water is our property—mine - and thine—and we will do whativer is right, both to the land and - oursens.” - </p> - <p> - And Dick’s loving face, and the little sympathizing nod of his head, was - all the squire needed. Then he stood up, lifting himself to his full - height, and added, “Boocock and his mill will have to wait on my say-so, - and I haven’t room in my mind at present to consider him; so we will say - no more on that subject, until he comes and asks me for the land and water - he wants. What is tha going to do with thysen now?” - </p> - <p> - “That depends upon your wish, father. Are you going to—The House?” - </p> - <p> - “The House! Hes tha forgotten that the English Government must hev its - usual Easter recreation whativer comes or goes? I told thee—I told - thee in my first letter to Annis, that parliament hed given themsens three - weeks’ holiday. They feel a good bit tired. The Bill hed them all worn - out.” - </p> - <p> - “I remember! I had forgotten The Bill!” - </p> - <p> - “Whativer hes tha been thinking of to forget that?” - </p> - <p> - “Where then are you going to-day, father?” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t just know yet, Dick, but——” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I know where I am going,” said Mistress Annis. “I have an - engagement with Jane and Katherine at eleven and I shall have to hurry if - I am to keep it.” - </p> - <p> - “Somewhere to go, or something to do. Which is it, Annie?” - </p> - <p> - “It is both, Antony. We are going to Exeter Hall, to a very aristocratic - meeting, to make plans for the uplifting of the working man. Lord Brougham - is to be chairman. He says very few can read and hardly any write their - names. Shocking! Lord Brougham says we ought to be ashamed of such a - condition and do something immediately to alter it.” - </p> - <p> - “Brougham does not know what he is talking about. He thinks a man’s - salvation is in a spelling book and an inkhorn. There is going to be a - deal of trouble made by fools, who want to uplift the world, before the - world is ready to be uplifted. They can’t uplift starving men. It is - bread, not books, they want; and I hev allays seen that when a man gets - bare enough bread to keep body and soul together, the soul, or the mind, - gets the worst of it.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot help that,” said Mistress Annis. “Lord Brougham will prove to - us, that body and mind must be equally cared for or the man is not - developed.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, run away to thy developing work. It is a new kind of job for - thee; and I doan’t think it will suit thee—not a bit of it. I would - go with thee but developing working men is a step or two out of my way. - And I’ll tell thee something, the working men—and women, too—will - develop theirsens if we only give them the time and the means, and the - brass to do it. But go thy ways and if thou art any wiser after Brougham’s - talk I’ll be glad to know what he said.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall stay and dine with Jane and thou hed better join us. We may go to - the opera afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, then, I’ll not join thee. I wouldn’t go to another opera for - anything—not even for the great pleasure of thy company. If I hev to - listen to folk singing, I want them to sing in the English language. It is - good enough, and far too good, for any of the rubbishy words I iver heard - in any opera. What time shall I come to Jane’s for thee?” - </p> - <p> - “About eleven o’clock, or soon after.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s a nice time for a respectable squire’s wife to be driving about - London streets. I wish I hed thee safe at Annis Hall.” - </p> - <p> - With a laugh Annie closed the door and hurried away and Dick turned to his - father. - </p> - <p> - “I want to talk with you, sir,” he said, “on a subject which I want your - help and sympathy in, before I name it to anyone else. Suppose we sit - still here. The room is quiet and comfortable and we are not likely to be - disturbed.” - </p> - <p> - “Why then, Dick! Hes tha got a new sweetheart?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, and she is the dearest and loneliest woman that ever lived. I - want you to stand by me in any opposition likely to rise.” - </p> - <p> - “What is her name? Who is she?” asked the squire not very cordially. - </p> - <p> - “Her name is Faith Foster. You know her, father?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know her. She is a good beautiful girl.” - </p> - <p> - “I felt sure you would say that, sir. You make me very happy.” - </p> - <p> - “A man cannot lie about any woman. Faith Foster is good and beautiful.” - </p> - <p> - “And she has promised to be my wife. Father, I am so happy! So happy! And - your satisfaction with Faith doubles my pleasure. I have been in love with - her for nearly a year but I was afraid to lose all by asking all; and I - never found courage or opportunity to speak before this to her.” - </p> - <p> - “That is all buff and bounce. Thou can drop the word ‘courage,’ and - opportunity will do for a reason. I niver knew Dick Annis to be afraid of - a girl but if thou art really afraid of this girl—let her go. It is - the life of a dog to live with a woman that you fear.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, you have seen Faith often. Do you fear her in the way your words - seem to imply?” - </p> - <p> - “Me! Does tha think I fear any woman? What’s up with thee to ask such a - question as that?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought from your kind manner with Faith and your admiring words both - to her and about her that you would have congratulated me on my success in - winning her love.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t know as thou deserves much congratulation on that score. I think - it is mebbe, to me mysen, and to thy mother thou art mainly indebted for - what success there is in winning Miss Foster’s favor. We gave thee thy - handsome face and fine form, thy bright smile and that coaxing way thou - hes—a way that would win any lass thou choose to favor—it is - just the awful way young men hev, of choosing the wrong time to marry even - if they happen to choose the right woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Was that your way, father?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, was it! I chose the right time, but the girl was wrong enough in some - ways.” - </p> - <p> - “My mother wrong! Oh, no, father!” - </p> - <p> - “My father thought she was not rich enough for me. He was a good bit - disappointed by my choice but I knew what I was doing.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, I also know what I am doing. I suppose you object to Faith’s want - of fortune.” - </p> - <p> - “Mebbe I do, and I wouldn’t be to blame if I did, but as it happens I - think a man is better without his wife’s money. A wife’s money is a - quarrelsome bit of either land or gold.” - </p> - <p> - “I consider Faith’s goodness a fortune far beyond any amount of either - gold or land.” - </p> - <p> - “Doan’t thee say anything against either land or gold. When thou hes lived - as long as I hev thou wilt know better than do that.” - </p> - <p> - “Wisdom is better than riches. I have heard you say that often.” - </p> - <p> - “It was in Solomon’s time. I doan’t know that it is in Victoria’s. The - wise men of this day would be a deal wiser if they hed a bit of gold to - carry out all the machines and railroads and canals they are planning; and - what would the final outcome be, if they hed it? Money, money, and still - more money. This last year, Dick, I hev got some new light both on poverty - and riches and I have seen one thing plainly, it is that money is a varry - good, respectable thing, and a thing that goes well with lovemaking; but - poverty is the least romantic of all misfortunes. A man may hide, or cure, - or forget any other kind of trouble, but, my lad, there is no Sanctuary - for Poverty.” - </p> - <p> - “All you say is right, father, but if Faith’s want of fortune is no great - objection, is there any other reason why I should not marry her? We might - as well speak plainly now, as afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - “That is my way. I hate any backstair work, especially about marrying. - Well, then, one thing is that Faith’s people are all Chapel folk. The - Squire of Annis is a landed gentleman of England, and the men who own - England’s land hev an obligation to worship in England’s Church.” - </p> - <p> - “You know, father, that wives have a duty laid on them to make their - husbands’ church their church. Faith will worship where I worship and that - is in Annis Parish Church.” - </p> - <p> - “What does tha know of Faith’s father and mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Her grandfather was a joiner and carpenter and a first class workman. He - died of a fever just before the birth of Faith’s mother. Her grandmother - was a fine lace maker, and supported herself and her child by making lace - for eight years. Then she died and the girl, having no kindred and no - friends willing to care for her, was taken to the Poor House.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Dick! Dick! that is bad—very bad indeed!” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, father. At the Poor House Sunday school she learned to read, and - later was taught how to spin, and weave, and to sew and knit. She was a - silent child, but had fine health and a wonderfully ambitious nature. At - eleven years of age she took her living into her own hands. She went into - a woolen mill and made enough to pay her way in the family of Samuel - Broadbent, whose sons now own the great Broadbent mill with its six - hundred power-looms. When she was fifteen she could manage two looms, and - was earning more than a pound a week. Every shilling nearly of this money - went for books. She bought, she borrowed, she read every volume she could - reach; and in the meantime attended the Bradford Night School of the - Methodist Church. At seventeen years of age she was a very good scholar - and had such a remarkable knowledge of current literature and authors that - she was made the second clerk in the Public Library. Soon after, she - joined the Methodist Church, and her abilities were quickly recognized by - the Preacher, and she finally went to live with his family, teaching his - boys and girls, and being taught and protected by their mother. One day - Mr. Foster came as the second preacher in that circuit and he fell in love - with her and they married. Faith is their child, and she has inherited not - only her mother’s beauty and intellect, but her father’s fervent piety and - humanity. Since her mother’s death she has been her father’s companion and - helped in all his good works, as you know.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know—hes her mother been long dead? - </p> - <p> - “About six years. She left to the young girls who have to work for their - living several valuable text-books to assist them in educating themselves, - a very highly prized volume of religious experiences and a still more - popular book of exquisite poems. Is there anything in this record to be - called objectionable or not honorable?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Ask thy mother</i> that question, Dick.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, father, I want your help and sympathy. I expect nothing favorable - from mother. You must stand by me in this strait. If you accept Faith my - mother will accept her. Show her the way. Do, father! Always you have been - right-hearted with me. You have been through this hard trial yourself, - father. You know what it is.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I do; and I managed it in a way that thou must not think of, - or I will niver forgive thee. I knew my father and mother would neither be - to coax nor to reason with, and just got quietly wedded and went off to - France with my bride. I didn’t want any browbeating from my father and I - niver could hev borne my mother’s scorn and silence, so I thought it best - to come to some sort of terms with a few hundred miles between us—but - mind what I say, Dick! I was niver again happy with them. They felt that I - hed not trusted their love and they niver more trusted my love. There was - a gulf between us that no love could bridge. Father died with a hurt - feeling in his heart. Mother left my house and went back to her awn home - as soon as he was buried. All that thy mother could do niver won her more - than mere tolerance. Now, Dick, my dear lad, I hev raked up this old grief - of mine for thy sake. If tha can win thy mother’s promise to accept Faith - as a daughter, and the future mistress of Annis Hall, I’ll put no stone in - thy way. Hes tha said anything on this subject to Mr. Foster? If so, what - answer did he give thee?” - </p> - <p> - “He said the marriage would be a great pleasure to him if you and mother - were equally pleased; but not otherwise.” - </p> - <p> - “That was right, it was just what I expected from him.” - </p> - <p> - “But, father, until our engagement was fully recognized by you and mother, - he forbid us to meet, or even to write to each other. I can’t bear that. I - really can not.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I doan’t believe Faith will help thee to break such a command. Not - her! She will keep ivery letter of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I shall die. I could not endure such cruelty! I will—I will——” - </p> - <p> - “Whativer thou shall, could, or will, do try and not make a fool of - thysen. <i>Drat it, man!</i> Let me see thee in this thy first trial <i>right-side-out</i>. - Furthermore, I’ll not hev thee going about Annis village with that look on - thy face as if ivery thing was on the perish. There isn’t a man there, who - wouldn’t know the meaning of it and they would wink at one another and say - ‘poor beggar! it’s the Methody preacher’s little lass!’ There it is! and - thou knows it, as well as I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Let them mock if they want to. I’ll thrash every man that names her.” - </p> - <p> - “Be quiet! I’ll hev none of thy tempers, so just bid thy Yorkshire devil - to get behind thee. I hev made thee a promise and I’ll keep it, if tha - does thy part fairly.” - </p> - <p> - “What is my part?” - </p> - <p> - “It is to win over thy mother.” - </p> - <p> - “You, sir, have far more influence over mother than I have. If I cannot - win mother, will you try, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I will not. Now, Dick, doan’t let me see thee wilt in thy first - fight. Pluck up courage and win or fail with a high heart. And if tha - should fail, just take the knockdown with a smile, and say, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “If she is not fair for me, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - What care I how fair she be! - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - That was the young men’s song in my youth. Now we will drop the subject - and what dost tha say to a ride in the Park?” - </p> - <p> - “All right, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The ride was not much to speak of. One man was too happy, and the other - was too unhappy and eventually the squire put a stop to it. “Dick,” he - said, “tha hed better go to thy room at The Yorkshire Club and sleep - thysen into a more respectable temper.” And Dick answered, “Thank you, - sir. I will take your advice”—and so raising his hand to his hat he - rapidly disappeared. - </p> - <p> - “Poor lad!” muttered his father; “he hes some hard days before him but it - would niver do to give him what he wants and there is no ither way to put - things right”—and with this reflection the squire’s good spirits - fell even below his son’s melancholy. Then he resolved to go back to the - Clarendon. “Annie may come back there to dress before her dinner and - opera,” he reflected—“but if she does I’ll not tell her a word of - Dick’s trouble. No, indeed! Dick must carry his awn bad news. I hev often - told her unpleasant things and usually I got the brunt o’ them mysen. So - if Annie comes home to dress—and she does do so varry often lately—I’ll - not mention Dick’s affair to her. I hev noticed that she dresses hersen - varry smart now and, by George, it suits her well! In her way she looks as - handsome as either of her daughters. I did not quite refuse to dine at - Jane’s, I think she will come to the Clarendon to dress and to beg me to - go with her and I might as well go—here she comes! I know her step, - bless her!” - </p> - <p> - When Dick left his father he went to his sister’s residence. He knew that - Jane and his mother were at the lecture but he did not think that - Katherine would be with them and he felt sure of Katherine’s sympathy. He - was told that she had just gone to Madam Temple’s and he at once followed - her there and found her writing a letter and quite alone. - </p> - <p> - “Kitty! Kitty!” he cried in a lachrymose tone. “I am in great trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever is wrong, Dick? Are you wanting money?” - </p> - <p> - “I am not thinking or caring anything about money. I want Faith and her - father will not let me see her or write to her unless father and mother - are ready to welcome her as a daughter. They ought to do so and father is - not very unwilling; but I know mother will make a stir about it and father - will not move in the matter for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Move?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I want him to go to mother and make her do the kind and the right - thing and he will not do it for me, though he knows that mother always - gives in to what he thinks best.” - </p> - <p> - “She keeps her own side, Dick, and goes as far as she can, but it is - seldom she gets far enough without father’s consent. Father always keeps - the decisive word for himself.” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I say. Then father could—if he would—say the - decisive word and so make mother agree to my marriage with Faith.” - </p> - <p> - “Well you see, Dick, mother is father’s love affair and why should he have - a dispute with his wife to make you and your intended wife comfortable and - happy? Mother has always been in favor of Harry Bradley and she does not - prevent us seeing or writing each other, when it is possible, but she will - not hear of our engagement being made public, because it would hurt - father’s feelings and she is half-right anyway. A wife ought to regard her - husband’s feelings. You would expect that, if you were married.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Kitty, I am so miserable. Will you sound mother’s feelings about - Faith for me? Then I would have a better idea how to approach her on the - subject.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, I will.” - </p> - <p> - “How soon?” - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow, if possible.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, dearie! I love Faith so truly that I have forgotten all the - other women I ever knew. Their very names tire me now. I wonder at myself - for ever thinking them at all pretty. I could hardly be civil to any of - them if we met. I shall never care for any woman again, if I miss Faith.” - </p> - <p> - “You know, Dick, that you must marry someone. The family must be kept up. - Is the trouble Faith’s lack of money?” - </p> - <p> - “No. It is her father and mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Her father is a scholar and fine preacher.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but her mother was a working girl, really a mill hand,” and then - Dick told the story of Faith’s mother with enthusiasm. Kitty listened with - interest, but answered, “I do not see what you are going to do, Dick. Not - only mother, but Jane will storm at the degradation you intend to inflict - upon the house of Annis.” - </p> - <p> - “There are two things I can do. I will marry Faith, and be happier than - words can tell; or I will leave England forever.” - </p> - <p> - “Dick, you never can do that. Everything good forbids it—and there. - Jane’s carriage is coming.” - </p> - <p> - “Then good-by. When can I see you tomorrow?” - </p> - <p> - “In the afternoon, perhaps. I may speak to mother before three o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - Then Dick went away and a servant entered with a letter. It was from Lady - Jane, bidding Katherine return home immediately or she would not be - dressed in time for dinner. On her way home she passed Dick walking slowly - with his head cast down and carrying himself in a very dejected manner. - Katherine stopped the carriage and offered to give him a lift as far as - his club. - </p> - <p> - “No, thank you, Kitty,” he answered. “You may interview mother for me if - you like. I was coming to a resolution to take the bull by the horns, or - at least in some manner find a way that is satisfactory in the meantime.” - </p> - <p> - “That is right. There is nothing like patient watching and waiting. Every - ball finally comes to the hand held out for it.” - </p> - <p> - Then with a nod and a half-smile, Dick lifted his hat and went forward. - While he was in the act of speaking to Katherine an illuminating thought - had flashed through his consciousness and he walked with a purposeful - stride towards his club. Immediately he sat down and began to write a - letter, and the rapid scratching of the goose quill on the fine glazed - paper indicated there was no lack of feeling in what he was writing. The - firm, strong, small letters, the wide open long letters, the rapid fluency - and haste of the tell-tale quill, all indicated great emotion, and it was - without hesitation or consideration he boldly signed his name to the - following letter:— - </p> - <p> - To the Rev. John Foster. - </p> - <p> - Dear Sir: - </p> - <p> - You have made me the most wretched of men. You have made Faith the most - unhappy of women. Faith never wronged you in all her life. Do you imagine - she would do for me what she has never before done? I never wronged you by - one thought. Can you not trust my word and my honor? I throw myself and - Faith on your mercy. You are punishing us before we have done anything - worthy of punishment. Is that procedure just and right? If so, it is very - unlike you. Let me write to Faith once every week and permit her to answer - my letter. I have given you my word; my word is my honor. I cannot break - it without your permission, and until you grant my prayer, I am bound by a - cruel obligation to lead a life, that being beyond Love and Hope, is a - living death. And the terrible aching torture of this ordeal is that Faith - must suffer it with me. Sir, I pray your mercy for both of us. - </p> - <p> - Your sincere suppliant, - </p> - <p> - Richard Haveling Annis. - </p> - <p> - Dick posted this letter as soon as it was written and the following day it - was in the hands of the preacher. He received it as he was going home to - his tea, about half past five, and he read it, and then turned towards the - open country, and read it again and again. He had been in the house of - mourning all day. His heart was tender, his thoughts sadly tuned to the - sorrows and broken affections of life, and at the top of the Brow he sat - down on a large granite boulder and let his heart lead him. - </p> - <p> - “Richard Annis is right,” he said. “I have acted as if I could not trust. - Oh, how could I so wrong my good, sweet daughter I I have almost insulted - her, to her lover. Why did I do this evil thing? Self! Self! Only for - Self! I was determined to serve myself first. I did not consider others as - I ought to have done—and Pride! Yes, Pride! John Foster! You have - been far out of the way of the Master whom you serve. Go quickly, and put - the wrong right.” And he rose at the spiritual order and walked quickly - home. As he passed through the Green he saw Faith come to the door and - look up and down the street. “She is uneasy about my delay,” he thought, - “how careful and loving she is about me! How anxious, if I am a little - late! The dear one! How I wronged her!” - </p> - <p> - “I have been detained, Faith,” he said, as she met him at the door. “There - are four deaths from cholera this afternoon, and they talk of forbidding - me to visit the sick, till this strange sickness disappears.” During the - meal, Foster said nothing of the letter he had received, but as Faith - rose, he also rose, and laying his hand upon her shoulder said: “Faith, - here is a letter that I received this afternoon from Richard Annis.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, father, I am so sorry! I thought Richard would keep his word. He - promised me—” and her voice sunk almost to a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Richard has not broken a letter of his promise. The letter was sent to - me. It is my letter. I want you to read it, and to answer it for me, and - you might write to him once a week, without infringing on the time - necessary for your duties here. I wish to tell you also, that I think - Annis is right. I have put both of you under restraints not needful, not - supposable, even from my knowledge of both of you. Answer the letter - according to your loyal, loving heart. Annis will understand by my utterly - revoking the charge I gave you both, that I see my fault, and am sorry for - it.” - </p> - <p> - Then Faith’s head was on her father’s shoulder, and she was clasped to his - heart, and he kissed the silent happy tears from off her cheeks and went - to the chapel with a heart at peace. - </p> - <p> - Two days afterward the squire went to call upon his son and he found him - in his usual buoyant temper. “Mother was anxious about thee, Dick. She - says she has not seen thee for four or five days.” - </p> - <p> - “I have been under the weather for a week, but I am all right now. Tell - her I will come and dine with her to-night. What are you going to do with - yourself to-day?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’ll tell thee—Russell and Grey hev asked me to go to Hyde - Park Gate and talk to the people, and keep them quiet, till parliament can - fashion to get back to its place.” - </p> - <p> - “Are not the Easter holidays over yet?” - </p> - <p> - “The taking of holidays at this time was both a sin and a shame. The - streets are full of men who are only wanting a leader and they would give - king and lords and commons a long, long holiday. Earl Russell says I am - the best man to manage them, and he hes asked by proclamation Yorkshire - and Lancashire men to meet me, and talk over our program with me.” - </p> - <p> - “Can I go with you?” - </p> - <p> - “If tha wants to.” - </p> - <p> - “There may be quarreling and danger. I will not let you go alone. I must - be at your side.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, then, there is no ‘must be.’ I can manage Yorkshire lads without - anybody’s help.” - </p> - <p> - “What time do you speak?” - </p> - <p> - “About seven o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “All right. Tell mother I’ll have my dinner with her and you at the - Clarendon, and then we will go to interview the mob afterward.” - </p> - <p> - “They are not a mob. Doan’t thee call them names. They are ivery one - Englishmen, holding themsens with sinews of steel, from becoming mobs; but - if they should, by any evil chance, become a mob, then, bless thee, lad, - it would be well for thee and me to keep out of their way!” - </p> - <p> - “The trouble lies here,” the squire continued,—“these gatherings of - men waiting to see The Bill passed that shall give them their rights, have - been well taught by Earl Grey, Lord Russell, and Lord Brougham, but only - fitfully, at times and seasons; but by day and night ivery day and Sunday, - there hev been and there are chartists and socialist lecturers among them, - putting bitter thoughts against their awn country into their hearts. And - they’re a soft lot. They believe all they are told, if t’ speaker but - claim to be educated. Such precious nonsense!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, father, a good many really educated people go to lectures - about what they call science and they, too, believe all that they are - told.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll warrant them, Dick. Yet our Rector, when he paid us a visit last - summer, told me emphatically, that science was a new kind of sin—a - new kind of sin, that, and nothing more, or better! And I’ll be bound thy - mother will varry soon find it out and I’m glad she hed the sense to keep - Kitty away from such teachers. Just look at Brougham. He is making a - perfect fool of himsen about tunneling under the Thames River and lighting - cities with the gas we see sputtering out of our coal fires and carrying - men in comfortable coaches thirty, ay, even forty, miles an hour by steam. - Why Bingley told me, that he heard Brougham say he hoped to live to see - men heving their homes in Norfolk or Suffolk villages, running up or down - to London ivery day to do their business. Did tha iver hear such nonsense, - Dick? And when men who publish books and sit on the government benches - talk it, what can you expect from men who don’t know their alphabet?” - </p> - <p> - “You have an easier fight than I have, sir. Love and one woman, can be - harder to win, than a thousand men for freedom.” - </p> - <p> - “Tha knows nothing about it, if that is thy opinion,” and the squire - straightened himself, and stood up, and with a great deal of passion - recited three fine lines from Byron, the favorite men’s poet of that day:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “For Freedom’s battle once begun, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Though baffled oft, is always won!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Those lines sound grandly in your mouth, dad,” said Dick, as he looked - with admiring love into his father’s face. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, I think they do. I hev been reciting them a good deal lately. They - allays bring what t’ Methodists call ‘the Amen’ from the audience. I don’t - care whether it is made up of rich men, or poor men, they fetch a ringing - Amen from every heart.” - </p> - <p> - “I should think that climax would carry any meeting. - </p> - <p> - “No, it won’t. The men I am going to address to-night doan’t read; but - they do think, and when a man hes drawn his conclusions from what he hes - seen, and what he hes felt or experienced, they hev a bulldog grip on him. - I will tell thee now, and keep mind of what I say—when tha hes to - talk to fools, tha needs ivery bit of all the senses tha happens to hev.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, father, can I be of any use to you to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “Tha can not. Not a bit, not a word. Dick, thou belongs to the coming - generation and they would see it and make thee feel it. Thy up-to-date - dress would offend them. I shall go to t’ meeting in my leather breeches, - and laced-up Blucher shoes, my hunting coat and waistcoat with dog head - buttons, and my Madras red neckerchief. They will understand that dress. - It will explain my connection with the land that we all of us belong to. - Now be off with thee and I am glad to see thou hes got over thy last - sweet-hearting so soon, and so easy. I thought thou wert surely in for a - head-over-ears attack.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-by, dad I and do not forget the three lines of poetry.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not likely to forget them. No one loves a bit of poetry better than a - Yorkshire weaver. Tha sees they were mostly brought up on Wesley’s Hymn - Book,” and he was just going to recite the three lines again, but he saw - Dick had turned towards the door and he let him go. “Ah, well!” he - muttered, “it is easy to make Youth see, but you can’t make it believe.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX—LOVERS QUARREL AND THE SQUIRE MAKES A SPEECH - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “There are no little events with the Heart.” - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “The more we judge, the less we Love.” - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Kindred is kindred, and Love is Love.” - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “The look that leaves no doubt, that the last - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Glimmer of the light of Love has gone out.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Dick left his - father he hardly knew what to do with himself. He was not prepared to - speak to his mother, nor did he think it quite honorable to do so, until - he had informed his father of Mr. Foster’s change of heart, with regard to - Faith and himself. His father had been his first confidant, and in this - first confidence, there had been an implied promise, that his engagement - to Faith was not yet to be made public. - </p> - <p> - “Dick!” the squire had said: “Thou must for a little while do as most men - hev to do; that is, keep thy happiness to thysen till there comes a wiser - hour to talk about it. People scarcely sleep, or eat, the whole country is - full of trouble and fearfulness; and mother and Jane are worried about - Katherine and her sweethearts. She hes a new one, a varry likely man, - indeed, the nephew of an earl and a member of a very rich banking firm. - And Kitty is awkward and disobedient, and won’t notice him.” - </p> - <p> - “I think Kitty ought to have her own way, father. She has set her heart on - Harry Bradley and no one can say a word against Harry.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps not, from thy point of view. Dick, it is a bit hard on a father - and mother, when their children, tenderly loved and cared for, turn their - backs on such love and go and choose love for themsens, even out of the - house of their father’s enemies. I feel it badly, Dick. I do that!” And - the squire looked so hopeless and sorrowful, Dick could not bear it. He - threw his arm across his father’s shoulder, and their hands met, and a few - words were softly said, that brought back the ever ready smile to the - squire’s face. - </p> - <p> - “It is only thy mother,” continued the squire, “that I am anxious about. - Kitty and Harry are in the same box as thysen; they will mebbe help thee - to talk thy love hunger away. But I wouldn’t say a word to thy aunt. - However she takes it she will be apt to overdo hersen. It is only waiting - till the Bill is passed and that will soon happen. Then we shall go home, - and mother will be too busy getting her home in order, to make as big a - worry of Faith, as she would do here, where Jane and thy aunt would do all - they could to make the trouble bigger.” - </p> - <p> - Then Dick went to look for Harry. He could not find him. A clerk at the - Club told him he “believed Mr. Bradley had gone to Downham Market in - Norfolk,” and Dick fretfully wondered what had taken Harry to Norfolk? And - to Downham Market, of all the dull, little towns in that country. Finally, - he concluded to go and see Kitty. “She is a wise little soul,” he thought, - “and she may have added up mother by this time.” So he went to Lady - Leyland’s house and found Kitty and Harry Bradley taking lunch together. - </p> - <p> - “Mother and Jane are out with Aunt Josepha,” she said, “and Harry has just - got back from Norfolk. I was sitting down to my lonely lunch when he came - in, so he joined me. It is not much of a lunch. Jane asked me if a mutton - patty-pie, and some sweet stuff would do, and I told her she could leave - out the mutton pie, if she liked, but she said, ‘Nonsense! someone might - come in, who could not live on love and sugar.’ So the pies luckily came - up, piping hot, for Harry. Some good little household angel always - arranges things, if we trust to them.” - </p> - <p> - “What took you to Norfolk, Harry? Bird game on the Fens, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Business, only, took me there. We heard of a man who had some Jacquard - looms to sell. I went to see them.” - </p> - <p> - “I missed you very much. I am in a lot of trouble. Faith and I are - engaged, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “No! I did not know that things had got that far.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they have, and Mr. Foster behaved to us very unkindly at first, but - he has seen his fault, and repented. And father was more set and obdurate - than I thought he could be, under any circumstances; and I wanted your - advice, Harry, and could not find you anywhere.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it about Faith you wanted me?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I wanted to know what you would do if in my circumstances.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Dick, Kitty and I are in a similar case and we have done nothing at - all. We are just waiting, until Destiny does for us what we should only do - badly, if we tried to move in the matter before the proper time. I should - personally think this particular time would not be a fortunate hour for - seeking recognition for a marriage regarded as undesirable on either, or - both sides. I am sorry you troubled your father just at this time, for I - fear he has already a great trouble to face.” - </p> - <p> - “My father a great trouble to face! What do you mean, Harry? Have you - heard anything? Is mother all right? Kitty, what is it?” - </p> - <p> - “I had heard of nothing wrong when mother and Jane went out to-day. Harry - is not ten minutes in the house. We had hardly finished saying good - afternoon to each other.” - </p> - <p> - “I did not intend to say anything to Kitty, as I judged it to be a trouble - the squire must bear alone.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no! The squire’s wife and children will bear it with him. Speak out, - Harry. Whatever the trouble is, it cannot be beyond our bearing and - curing.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you see, Dick, the new scheme of boroughs decided on by the Reform - Bill will deprive the squire of his seat in Parliament, as Annis borough - has been united with Bradley borough, which also takes in Thaxton village. - Now if the Bill passes, there will be a general election, and there is a - decided move, in that case, to elect my father as representative for the - united seats.” - </p> - <p> - “That is nothing to worry about,” answered Dick with a nonchalant tone and - manner. “My dad has represented them for thirty years. I believe - grandfather sat for them, even longer. I dare be bound dad will be glad to - give his seat to anybody that hes the time to bother with it; it is - nothing but trouble and expense.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that so? I thought it represented both honor and profit,” said Harry. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it may do! I do not think father cares a button about what honor and - profit it possesses. However, I am going to look after father now, and, - Kitty, if the circumstances should in the least be a trouble to father, I - shall expect you to stand loyally by your father and the family.” With - these words he went away, without further courtesies, unless a proud - upward toss of his handsome head could be construed into a parting salute. - </p> - <p> - A few moments of intense silence followed. Katherine’s cheeks were flushed - and her eyes cast down. Harry looked anxiously at her. He expected some - word, either of self-dependence, or of loyalty to her pledge of a supreme - love for himself; but she made neither, and was—Harry considered—altogether - unsatisfactory. At this moment he expected words of loving constancy, or - at least some assurance of the stability of her affection. On the - contrary, her silence and her cold manner, gave him a heart shock. “Kitty! - My darling Kitty! did you hear, did you understand, what Dick said, what - he meant?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I both heard and understood.” - </p> - <p> - “Well then, what was it?” - </p> - <p> - “He meant, that if my father was hurt, or offended by his removal from his - seat in The House, he would make father’s quarrel his own and expect me to - do the same.” - </p> - <p> - “But you would not do such a thing as that?” - </p> - <p> - “I do not see how I could help it. I love my father. It is beyond words to - say how dear he is to me. It would be an impossibility for me to avoid - sympathizing with him. Mother and Dick would do the same. Aunt Josepha and - even Jane and Ley-land, would make father’s wrong their own; and you must - know how Yorkshire families stand together even if the member of it in - trouble is unworthy of the least consideration. Remember the Traffords! - They were all made poor by Jack, and Jack’s wife, but they would not - listen to a word against them. That is <i>our</i> way, you know it. To - every Yorkshire man and woman Kindred is Kin, and Love is Love.” - </p> - <p> - “But they put love before kindred.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps they do, and perhaps they do not. I have never seen anyone put - strangers before kindred. I would despise anyone who did such a thing. - Yes, indeed, I would!” - </p> - <p> - “Your father knows how devotedly we love each other, even from our - childhood.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, he has always treated our love as a very childish affair. He - looks upon me yet, as far too young to even think of marrying. He has been - expecting me during this season in London, to meet someone or other by - whom I could judge whether my love for you was not a childish imagination. - You have known this, Harry, all the time we have been sweethearts. When I - was nine, and you were twelve, both father and mother used to laugh at our - childish love-making.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if I understand you, Kitty! Are you beginning to break your - promise to me?” - </p> - <p> - “If I wished to break my promise to you, I should not do so in any - underhand kind of way. Half-a-dozen clear, strong words would do. I should - not understand any other way.” - </p> - <p> - “I am very miserable. Your look and your attitude frighten me.” - </p> - <p> - “Harry, I never before saw you act so imprudently and unkindly. No one - likes the bringer of ill news. I was expecting a happy hour with you and - Dick; and you scarcely allowed Dick to bid me a good afternoon, until you - out with your bad news—and there was a real tone of triumph in your - voice. I’m sure I don’t wonder that Dick felt angry and astonished.” - </p> - <p> - “Really, Kitty, I thought it the best opportunity possible to tell you - about the proposed new borough. I felt sure, both you and Dick would - remember my uncertain, and uncomfortable position, and give me your - assurance of my claim. It is a very hard position for me to be in, and I - am in no way responsible for it.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not think your position is any harder than mine and I am as innocent—perhaps - a great deal more innocent—of aiding on the situation as you can - be.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you intend to give me up if your father and Dick tell you to do so?” - </p> - <p> - “That is not the question. I say distinctly, that I consider your hurry to - tells the news of your father’s possible substitution in the squire’s - parliamentary seat, was impolite and unnecessary just yet, and that your - voice and manner were in some unhappy way offensive. I felt them to be so, - and I do not take offense without reason.” - </p> - <p> - “Let me explain.” - </p> - <p> - “No. I do not wish to hear any more on the subject at present. And I will - remind you that the supplanting of Squire Annis is as yet problematic. Was - there any necessity for you to rush news which is dependent on the passing - of a Bill, that has been loitering in parliament for forty years, and - before a general election was certain? It was this hurry and your - uncontrollable air of satisfaction, which angered Dick—and myself:”—and - with these words, said with a great deal of quiet dignity, she bid Harry - “good afternoon” and left the room. - </p> - <p> - And Harry was dumb with sorrow and amazement. He made no effort to detain - her, and when she reached the next floor, she heard the clash of the main - door follow his hurrying footsteps. “It is all over! All over!!” she said - and then tried to comfort herself, with a hearty fit of crying. - </p> - <p> - Harry went to his club and thought the circumstance over, but he hastily - followed a suggestion, which was actually the most foolish move he could - have made—he resolved to go and tell Madam Temple the whole - circumstance. He believed that she had a real liking for him and would be - glad to put his side of the trouble in its proper light. She had always - sympathized with his love for Katherine and he believed that she would see - nothing wrong in his gossip about the squire’s position. So he went to - Madam at once and found her in her office with her confidential lawyer. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then?” she asked, in her most authoritative manner, “what brings - thee here, in the middle of the day’s business? Hes thou no business in - hand? No sweetheart to see? No book or paper to read?” - </p> - <p> - “I came to you, Madam, for advice; but I see that you are too busy to care - for my perplexities.” - </p> - <p> - “Go into the small parlor and I will come to thee in ten minutes.” - </p> - <p> - Her voice and manner admitted of no dispute, and Harry—inwardly - chafing at his own obedience—went to the small parlor and waited. As - yet he could not see any reason for Dick’s and Katherine’s unkind - treatment of him. He felt sure Madam Temple would espouse his side of the - question, and also persuade Katherine that Dick had been unjustly - offended. But his spirits fell the moment she entered the room. The - atmosphere of money and the market-place was still around her and she - asked sharply—“Whativer is the matter with thee, Harry Bradley? Tell - me quickly. I am more than busy to-day, and I hev no time for nonsense.” - </p> - <p> - “It is more than nonsense, Madam, or I would not trouble you. I only want - a little of your good sense to help me out of a mess I have got into with——” - </p> - <p> - “With Katherine, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “With Dick also.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. If you offended one, you would naturally offend the other. - Make as few words as thou can of the affair.” This order dashed Harry at - the beginning of the interview, and Madam’s impassive and finally angry - face gave him no help in detailing his grievance. Throughout his complaint - she made no remark, no excuse, neither did she offer a word of sympathy. - Finally he could no longer continue his tale of wrong, its monotony grew - intolerable, even to himself, and he said passionately— - </p> - <p> - “I see that you have neither sympathy nor counsel to give me, Madam. I am - sorry I troubled you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, thou ought to be ashamed as well as sorry. Thou that reckons to know - so much and yet cannot see that tha hes been guilty of an almost - unpardonable family crime. Thou hed no right to say a word that would - offend anyone in the Annis family. The report might be right, or it might - be wrong, I know not which; but it was all wrong for thee to clap thy - tongue on it. The squire has said nothing to me about thy father taking - his place in the House of Commons, and I wouldn’t listen to anyone else, - not even thysen. I think the young squire and Katherine treated thee a - deal better than thou deserved. After a bit of behavior like thine, it - wasn’t likely they would eat another mouthful with thee.” - </p> - <p> - “The truth, Madam, is——” - </p> - <p> - “Even if it hed been ten times the truth, it should hev been a lie to - thee. Thou ought to hev felled it, even on the lips speaking it. I think - nothing of love and friendship that won’t threep for a friend, right or - wrong, for or against, true or untrue. I am varry much disappointed in - thee, Mr. Harry Bradley, and the sooner thou leaves me, the better I’ll be - pleased.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Madam, you utterly confound me.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou ought to be confounded and I would be a deal harder on thee if I did - not remember that thou hes no family behind thee whose honor——” - </p> - <p> - “Madam, I have my father behind me, and a nobler man does not exist. He is - any man’s peer. I know no other man fit to liken him to.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right. Stand by thy father. And remember that the Annis family hes - to stand up for a few centuries of Annis fathers. Go to thy father and - bide with him. His advice will suit thee better than mine.” - </p> - <p> - “I think Dick might have understood me.” - </p> - <p> - “Dick understood thee well enough. Dick was heart hurt by thy evident - pleasure with the news that was like a hot coal in thy mouth. It pleased - thee so well thou couldn’t keep it for a fitting hour. Not thou! Thy - vanity will make a heart ache for my niece, no doubt she will be worried - beyond all by thy behavior, but I’ll warrant she will not go outside her - own kith and kin for advice or comfort.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam, forgive my ignorance. I ask you that much.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that is a different thing. I can forgive thee, where I couldn’t - help thee—not for my life. But thou ought to suffer for such a bit - of falsity, and I hope thou wilt suffer. I do that! Now I can’t stay with - thee any longer, but I do wish thou hed proved thysen more right-hearted, - and less set up with a probability. In plain truth, that is so. And I’ll - tell the one sure thing—if thou hopes to live in Yorkshire, stand by - Yorkshire ways, and be leal and loyal to thy friends, rich or poor.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope, Madam, to be leal and loyal to all men.” - </p> - <p> - “That is just a bit of general overdoing. It was a sharp wisdom in Jesus - Christ, when he told us not to love all humanity, but to love our - neighbor. He knew that was about all we could manage. It is above what I - can manage this afternoon, so I’ll take my leave of thee.” - </p> - <p> - Harry left the house almost stupefied by the storm of anger his vanity and - his pride in his father’s probable honor, had caused him. But when he - reached his room in The Yorkshire Club and had closed the door on all - outside influences, a clear revelation came to him, and he audibly - expressed it as he walked angrily about the floor:— - </p> - <p> - “I hate that pompous old squire! He never really liked me—thought I - was not good enough for his daughter—and I’ll be glad if he hes to - sit a bit lower—and I’m right glad father is going a bit higher. - Father is full fit for it. So he is! but oh, Katherine! Oh, Kitty! Kitty! - What shall I do without you?” - </p> - <p> - In the meantime, Dick had decided that he would say nothing about the - squire’s probable rival for the new borough, until the speech to be made - that evening had been delivered. It might cause him to say something - premature and unadvised. When he came to this conclusion he was suddenly - aware that he had left his lunch almost untouched on his sister’s table, - and that he was naturally hungry. - </p> - <p> - “No wonder I feel out of sorts!” he thought. “I will go to The Yorkshire - and have a decent lunch. Kitty might have known better than offer me - anything out of a patty-pan. I’ll go and get some proper eating and then - I’ll maybe have some sensible thinking.” - </p> - <p> - He put this purpose into action at once by going to The Yorkshire Club and - ordering a beefsteak with fresh shalots, a glass of port wine, and bread - and cheese, and having eaten a satisfying meal, he went to his room and - wrote a long letter to Faith, illustrating it with his own suspicions and - reflections. This letter he felt to be a very clever move. He told himself - that Faith would relate the story to her father and that Mr. Foster would - say and do the proper thing much more wisely and effectively than anyone - else could. - </p> - <p> - He did not know the exact hour at which his father was to meet some of the - weavers and workers of Annis locality, but he thought if he reached the - rendezvous about nine o’clock he would be in time to hear any discussion - there might be, and walk to the Clarendon with his father after it. This - surmise proved correct, for as he reached the designated place, he saw the - crowd, and heard his father speaking to it. Another voice appeared to be - interrupting him. - </p> - <p> - Dick listened a moment, and then ejaculated, “Yes! Yes! That is father - sure enough! He is bound to have a threep with somebody.” Then he walked - quicker, and soon came in sight of the crowd of men surrounding the - speaker, who stood well above them, on the highest step of a granite - stairway leading into a large building. - </p> - <p> - Now Dick knew well that his father was a very handsome man, but he thought - he had never before noticed it so clearly, for at this hour Antony Annis - was something more than a handsome man—he was an inspired orator. - His large, beautiful countenance was beaming and glowing with life and - intellect; but it was also firm as steel, for he had a clear purpose - before him, and he looked like a drawn sword. The faces of the crowd were - lifted to him—roughly-sketched, powerful faces, with well-lifted - foreheads, and thick brown hair, crowned in nearly every case with labor’s - square, uncompromising, upright paper cap. - </p> - <p> - The squire had turned a little to the right, and was addressing an Annis - weaver called Jonas Shuttleworth. “Jonas Shuttleworth!” he cried, “does - tha know what thou art saying? How dare tha talk in this nineteenth - century of Englishmen fighting Englishmen? They can only do that thing at - the instigation of the devil. <i>Why-a!</i> thou might as well talk of - fighting thy father and mother! As for going back to old ways, and old - times, none of us can do it, and if we could do it, we should be far from - suited with the result. You hev all of you now seen the power loom at - work; would you really like the old cumbrous hand-loom in your homes - again? You know well you wouldn’t stand it. A time is close at hand when - we shall all of us hev to cut loose from our base. I know that. I shall - hev to do it. You will hev to do it. Ivery man that hes any <i>forthput</i> - in him will hev to do it. Those who won’t do it must be left behind, - sticking in the mud made by the general stir up.” - </p> - <p> - “That would be hard lines, squire.” - </p> - <p> - “Not if you all take it like ‘Mr. Content’ at your new loom. For I tell - you the even down truth, when I say—You, and your ways, and your - likings, will all hev to be <i>born over again!</i> Most of you here are - Methodists and you know what that means. The things you like best you’ll - hev to give them up and learn to be glad and to fashion yoursens to ways - and works, which just now you put under your feet and out of your - consideration.” - </p> - <p> - “Your straight meaning, squire? We want to understand thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Well and good! I mean this—You hev allays been ‘slow and sure’; in - the new times just here, you’ll hev to be ‘up and doing,’ for you will - find it a big hurry-push to keep step with your new work-fellows, steam - and machinery.” - </p> - <p> - “That is more than a man can do, squire.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it is not! A man can do anything he thinks it worth his while to do.” - </p> - <p> - “The <i>London Times</i>, sir, said yesterday that it would take all of - another generation.” - </p> - <p> - “It will do nothing of the kind, Sam Yates. What-iver has thou to do with - the newspapers? Newspapers! Don’t thee mind them! Their advice is meant to - be read, not taken.” - </p> - <p> - “Labor, squire, hes its rights——” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, labor also hes its duties. It isn’t much we hear about the - latter.” - </p> - <p> - “Rights and duties, squire. The Reform Bill happens to be both. When is - The Bill to be settled?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing is settled, Sam, until it is settled right.” - </p> - <p> - “Lord Brougham, in a speech at Manchester, told us he would see it settled - this session.” - </p> - <p> - “Lord Brougham thinks in impossibilities. He would make a contract with - Parliament to govern England, or even Ireland. Let me tell thee all - government is a thing of necessity, not of choice. England will not for - any Bill dig under her foundations. Like Time, she destroys even great - wrongs slowly. Her improvements hev to grow and sometimes they take a good - while about it. You hev been crying for this Bill for forty years, you - were not ready for it then. Few of you at that time hed any education. - Now, many of your men can read and a lesser number write. Such men as - Grey, Russell, Brougham and others hev led and taught you, and there’s no - denying that you hev been varry apt scholars. Take your improvements - easily, Sam. You won’t make any real progress by going over precipices.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir, we at least hev truth on our side.” - </p> - <p> - “Truth can only be on one side, Sam, I’m well pleased if you hev it.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, squire, but I can tell you this—if Parliament doesn’t - help us varry soon now we will help oursens.” - </p> - <p> - “That is what you ought to be doing right now. Get agate, men! Go to your - new loom, and make yersens masters of it. I will promise you in that case, - that your new life will be, on the whole, better than the old one. As for - going back to the old life, you can’t do it. Not for your immortal souls! - Time never runs back to fetch any age of gold; and as for making a living - in the old way and with the old hand loom, you may as well sow corn in the - sea, and hope to reap it.” - </p> - <p> - “Squire, I want to get out of a country where its rulers can stop minding - its desperate poverty, and can forget that it is on the edge of rebellion, - and in the grip of some death they call cholera, and go home for their - Easter holiday, quite satisfied with themsens. We want another Oliver - Cromwell.” - </p> - <p> - “No, we don’t either. The world won’t be ready for another Cromwell, not - for a thousand years maybe. Such men are only born at the rate of one in a - millennium.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s a millennium, squire?” - </p> - <p> - “A thousand years, lad.” - </p> - <p> - “There wer’ men of the right kind in Cromwell’s day to stand by him.” - </p> - <p> - “Our fathers were neither better nor worse than oursens, Sam, just about - thy measure, and my measure.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t know, sir. They fought King and Parliament, and got all they - wanted. Then they went over seas and founded a big republic, and all hes - gone well with them—and we could do the same.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you hev been doing something like the same thing iver since - Cromwell lived. Your people are busy at the same trade now. The English - army is made up of working men. They are usually thrown in ivery part of - the world, taking a sea port, or a state, or a few fertile islands that - are lying loose and uncivilized in the southern seas. They do this for the - glory and profit of England and in such ways they hev made pagans live - like Christians, and taught people to obey the just laws of England, that - hed niver before obeyed a decent law of any kind.” - </p> - <p> - “They don’t get for their work what Cromwell’s men got.” - </p> - <p> - “They don’t deserve it. Your mark can’t touch Cromwell’s mark; it was far - above your reach. Your object is mainly a selfish one. You want more - money, more power, and you want to do less work than you iver did. - Cromwell’s men wanted one thing first and chiefly—the liberty to - worship God according to their conscience. They got what they wanted for - their day and generation, and before they settled in America, they made a - broad path ready for John Wesley. Yes, indeed, Oliver Cromwell made John - Wesley possible. Now, when you go to the wonderful new loom that hes been - invented for you, and work it cheerfully, you’ll get your Bill, and all - other things reasonable that you want.” - </p> - <p> - “The Parliament men are so everlastingly slow, squire,” said an old man - sitting almost at the squire’s feet. - </p> - <p> - “That is God’s truth, friend. They <i>are</i> slow. It is the English way. - You are slow yoursens. So be patient and keep busy learning your trade in - a newer and cleverer way. I am going to bide in London till Parliament - says, <i>Yes or No</i>. Afterwards I’ll go back to Annis, and learn a new - life.” Then some man on the edge of the crowd put up his hand, and the - squire asked: - </p> - <p> - “Whose cap is speaking now?” - </p> - <p> - “Israel Kinsman’s, sir. Thou knaws me, squire.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I do. What does tha want to say? And when did tha get home - from America?” - </p> - <p> - “A matter of a year ago. I hev left the army and gone back to my loom. Now - I want to ask thee, if thou are against men when they are oppressed - fighting for their rights and their freedom?” - </p> - <p> - “Not I! Men, even under divine guidance, hev taken that sharp road many - times. The God who made iron knew men would make swords of it—just - as He also knew they would make plowshares. Making war is sometimes the - only way to make peace. If the cause is a just one the Lord calls himself - the God of battles. He knows, and we know, that - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Peace is no peace, if it lets the ill grow stronger, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Only cheating destiny a very little longer; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - War with its agonies, its horrors, and its crimes, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Is cheaper if discounted, and taken up betimes. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Foolish, indeed, are many other teachers; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Cannons are God’s preachers, when the time is ripe for - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - war. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Now, men, there is no use in discussing a situation not likely to trouble - England in this nineteenth century. I believe the world is growing better - constantly, and that eventually all men will do, or cause to be done, - whatever is square, straight and upright, as the caps on your heads. I - believe it, because the good men will soon be so immensely in excess that - bad men will <i>hev</i> to do right, and until that day comes, we will go - on fighting for freedom in ivery good shape it can come; knowing surely - and certainly, that - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Freedom’s battle once begun, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Though baffled oft, is always won. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “That is a truth, men, you may all of you cap to,” and as the squire - lifted his riding cap high above his head, more than two hundred paper - caps followed it, accompanied by a long, joyful shout for the good time - promised, and certainly coming. - </p> - <p> - “Now, men,” said the squire, “let us see what ‘cap money’ we can collect - for those who are poor and helpless. Israel Naylor and John Moorby will - collect it. It will go for the spreading of the children’s table in Leeds - and Israel will see it gets safely there.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ll hev thy cap, squire,” said Israel. “The man who proposes a cap - collection salts his awn cap with his awn money first.” And the squire - laughed good-humoredly, lifted his cap, and in their sight dropped five - gold sovereigns into it. Then Dick offered his hat to his father, saying - he had his opera hat in his pocket and the two happy men went away - together, just as some musical genius had fitted Byron’s three lines to a - Methodist long-metre, so they were followed by little groups straying off - in different directions, and all singing, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “For Freedom’s battle once begun, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Though baffled oft, is always won! - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Is always won! Is always won!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Dick did not enter the Clarendon with his father. He knew that he might be - a little superfluous. The squire had a certain childlike egotism which - delighted in praising himself, and in telling his own story; and Annie was - audience sufficient. If she approved, there was no more to be desired, the - third person was often in the way. In addition to this wish to give the - squire the full measure of his success, Dick was longing passionately to - be with his love and his hopes. The squire would not speak of Faith, and - Dick wanted to talk about her. Her name beat upon his lips, and oh, how he - longed to see her! To draw her to his side, to touch her hair, her eyes, - her lips! He told himself that the promise of silence until the Bill was - passed, or thrown out was a great wrong, that he never ought to have made - it, that his father never ought to have asked for it. He wondered how he - was to get the time over; the gayeties of London had disappeared, the - Leylands thought it prudent to live quietly, his mother and Katherine were - tired of the city, and longed to be at home; and Harry, whose sympathy he - had always relied on, was somewhere in Norfolk, and had not even taken the - trouble to write and tell him the reason for his visit, to such a tame, - bucolic county. - </p> - <p> - Yet with the hope of frequent letters, and his own cheerful optimistic - temper, he managed to reach the thirtieth of May. On that morning he took - breakfast with his parents, and the squire said in a positive voice that - he was “sure the Bill would pass the House of Lords before May became - June; and if you remember the events since the seventh of April, Dick, you - will also be sure.” - </p> - <p> - “But I do not remember much about public affairs during that time, father. - I was in Annis, and here and there, and in every place it was confusion - and anger and threats. I really do not remember them.” - </p> - <p> - “Then thou ought to, and thou may as well sit still, and let me tell thee - some things thou should niver forget.” But as the squire’s method was - discursive, and often interrupted by questions and asides from Mistress - Annis and Dick, facts so necessary may be told without such delay, and - also they will be more easily remembered by the reader. - </p> - <p> - Keeping in mind then that Parliament adjourned at seven o’clock in the - morning, on April fourteenth until the seventh of May, it is first to be - noted that during this three weeks’ vacation there was an incessant - agitation, far more formidable than fire, rioting, and the destruction of - property. Petitions from every populous place to King William entreated - him to create a sufficient number of peers to pass the Bill <i>in spite of - the old peers</i>. The Press, nearly a unit, urged as the most vital and - necessary thing the immediate passage of the Bill, predicting a United - Rebellion of England, Scotland and Ireland, if longer delayed. On the - seventh of May, the day Parliament reassembled, there was the largest - public meeting that had ever been held in Great Britain, and with heads - uncovered, and faces lifted to heaven, the crowd took the following oath:— - </p> - <p> - “<i>With unbroken faith through every peril and privation, we here devote - ourselves and our children to our country’s cause!</i>” - </p> - <p> - This great public meeting included all the large political unions, and its - solemn enthusiasm was remarkable for the same fervor and zeal of the old - Puritan councils. Its solemn oath was taken while Parliament was - reassembling in its two Houses. On that afternoon the House of Lords took - up first the disfranchising of the boroughs, and a week of such intense - excitement followed, as England had not seen since the Revolution of 1688. - </p> - <p> - On the eighth of May, Parliament asked the King to sanction a large - creation of new peers. The king angrily refused his assent. The ministers - then tendered their resignation. It was accepted. On the evening of the - ninth, their resignation was announced to the Lords and Commons. On the - eleventh Lord Ebrington moved that “the House should express to the King - their deep distress at a change of ministers, and entreat him only to call - to his councils such persons as would carry through <i>The Bill</i> with - all its demands unchanged and unimpaired.” - </p> - <p> - This motion was carried, and then for one week the nation was left to its - conjectures, to its fears, and to its anger at the attitude of the - government. Indeed for this period England was without a government. The - Cabinet had resigned, leaving not a single officer who would join the - cabinet which the king had asked the Duke of Wellington to form. In every - city and town there were great meetings that sent petitions to the House - of Commons, praying that it would grant no supplies of any kind to the - government until the Bill was passed without change or mutilation. A - petition was signed in Manchester by twenty-three thousand persons in - three hours, and the deputy who brought it informed the Commons that the - whole north of England was in a state of indignation impossible to - describe. Asked if the people would fight, he answered, “They will first - of all demand that Parliament stop all government supplies—the tax - gatherer will not be able to collect a penny. All civil tribunals will be - defied, public credit shaken, property insecure, the whole frame of - society will hasten to dissolution, and great numbers of our wealthiest - families will transfer their homes to America.” - </p> - <p> - Lord Wellington utterly failed in all his attempts to form a ministry, Sir - Robert Peel refused to make an effort to do so, and on the fifteenth of - May it was announced in both Houses, that “the ministers had resumed their - communication with his majesty.” On the eighteenth Lord Grey said in the - House of Lords that “he expected to carry the Reform Bill unimpaired and - immediately.” Yet on the day before this statement, Brougham and Grey had - an interview with the King, in which his majesty exhibited both rudeness - and ill-temper. He kept the two peers standing during the whole interview, - a discourtesy contrary to usage. Both Grey and Brougham told the King that - they would not return to office unless he promised to create the necessary - number of peers to insure the passage of the Reform Bill just as it stood; - and the King consented so reluctantly that Brougham asked for his - permission in writing. - </p> - <p> - The discussion of these facts occupied the whole morning and after an - early lunch the squire prepared to go to The House; then Dick noticed that - even after he was hatted and coated for his visit, he kept delaying about - very trivial things. So he resolved to carry out his part of their secret - arrangement, and remove himself from all temptation to tell his mother he - was going to marry Faith Foster. His father understood the lad so like - himself, and Dick knew what his father feared. So he bid his mother - good-by, and accompanied his father to the street. There the latter said - plainly, “Thou did wisely, Dick. If I hed left thee alone with thy mother, - thou would hev told her all that thou knew, and thought, and believed, and - hoped, and expected from Faith. Thou couldn’t hev helped it—and I - wouldn’t hev blamed thee.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X—THE GREAT BILL PASSES - </h2> - <p> - <i>“In relation to what is to be, all Work is sacred because it is the - work given us to do.”</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>“Their cause had been won, but the victory brought with it a new - situation and a new struggle.”</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>“Take heed to your work, your name is graven on it.”</i> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>LTHOUGH Dick - pretended an utter disbelief in Grey’s prophecy, it really came true; and - the Reform Bill passed the House of Lords on the last day of May. Then the - Annis family were in haste to return home. The feeling of being on a - pleasure visit was all past and gone, and the bare certainties and - perplexities of life confronted them. For the first time in all his days, - the squire felt anxious about money matters, and actually realized that he - was going to be scrimped in coin for his household expenses. This fact - shocked him, he could hardly believe it. Annie, however, knew nothing of - this dilemma and when her husband spoke of an immediate return home, said: - </p> - <p> - “I am glad we are going home. To-morrow, I will see my dressmaker and - finish my shopping;” and the squire looked at her with such anxious eyes - that she immediately added—“unless, Antony, thou would like me to - pack my trunks at once.” - </p> - <p> - “I would like that, Annie. It would help me above a bit.” - </p> - <p> - “All right. Kitty is ready to start at any hour. She wants to go home.” - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter with Kitty? She isn’t like hersen lately? Is she - sick?” - </p> - <p> - “I think there is a little falling out between Harry and her. That is - common enough in all love affairs.” - </p> - <p> - Here a servant entered with a letter and gave it to the squire. He looked - at it a moment and then said to his wife—“It is from Josepha. She - wants to see me varry particular, and hopes I will come to her at once. - She thinks I had better drop in for dinner and says she will wait for me - until half-past five.” - </p> - <p> - “That is just like her unreasonableness. If she knows the Bill is passed, - she must know also that we are packing, and as busy as we can be.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps she does not know that the great event has happened.” - </p> - <p> - “That is nonsense. Half a dozen people would send her word, or run with - the news themselves.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Annie, she is my only sister, and she is varry like my mother. I - must give her an hour. I could not be happy if I did not;” and there was - something in the tone of his voice which Annie knew she need not try to - alter. So she wisely acquiesced in his resolve, pitying him the while for - having the claims of three women to satisfy. But the squire went - cheerfully enough to his sister. The claims of kindred were near and dear - to him and a very sincere affection existed between him and his sister - Jo-sepha. She was waiting for him. She was resolved to have a talk with - him about the Bradleys, and she had a proposal to make, a proposal on - which she had set her heart. - </p> - <p> - So she met him at the open door, and said—with a tight clasp of his - big hand—“I am right glad to see thee, brother. Come in here,” and - she led him to a small parlor used exclusively by herself. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot stop to dinner, Josey,” he said kindly, but he kept her hand in - his hand, until he reached the chair his sister pointed out. Then she sat - down beside him and said, “Antony, my dear brother, thou must answer me a - few questions. If thou went home and left me in doubt, I should be a varry - unhappy woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Whativer art thou bothering thysen about?” - </p> - <p> - “About thee. I’ll speak out plain and thou must answer me in the same - fashion. What is tha going to do about thy living? Thou hes no business - left, and I know well thou hes spent lavishly iver since thou came here - with thy wife and daughter.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I hev. And they are varry welcome to ivery penny of the - outlay. And I must say, Josey, thou has been more extravagant about both - Annie and Kitty than I hev been.” - </p> - <p> - “Well then Kitty is such a darling—thou knows.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, she is that.” - </p> - <p> - “And Annie is more tolerant with me than she iver was before.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. Iveryone gets more kindly as he grows older. And she knaws - thee better, which is a great deal. Annie is good from the beginning to - the end.” - </p> - <p> - “Nobody will say different, but that is not what I am wanting to talk to - thee about. Listen to me now, my dear lad! What art thou going to do? I am - in earnest anxiety. Tell me, my brother.” - </p> - <p> - The squire was silent and looked steadily down on the table for a few - minutes. Josepha did not by the slightest movement interfere but her - steady, kindly gaze was fixed upon the silent man. Perhaps he felt, though - he did not see, the love that shone upon him, for he lifted his face with - a broad smile, and answered— - </p> - <p> - “My dear lass, I don’t know.” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t wonder. Now speak straight words to me as plain as thou spoke - to the Annis weavers last week.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear sister, I shall do right, and let come what will.” - </p> - <p> - “And what does tha call doing right?” - </p> - <p> - “I think of two ways and both seem right to me.” - </p> - <p> - “What are they? Perhaps I can help thee to decide that one is better than - the other. Dear lad, I want to help thee to do the best thing possible for - thysen, and thy children.” - </p> - <p> - There was no resisting the persuasion in her face, voice and manner, and - the squire could not resist its influence. “Josey,” he said, as he covered - her small plump hand with his own in a very masterful way—“Josey! - Josey! I am in the thick of a big fight with mysen. I did really promise a - crowd of Annis weavers that if the Reform Bill passed I would build a mill - and give them all work, and that would let them come home again. Tha sees, - they all own, or partly own, their cottages, and if I can’t find them - work, they will hev to give up their homes mebbe, to a varry great - disadvantage.” - </p> - <p> - “To be plain with thee, thou could in such a case, buy them all back for a - song.” - </p> - <p> - “Does tha really think thou hes an up and down blackguard for thy brother? - I’m not thinking of buying poor men’s houses for a song—nor yet of - buying them at any price.” - </p> - <p> - “A perfectly fair price, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “No. There could not be a fair price under such conditions. The poor would - be bound to get the worst of the bargain, unless I ruined mysen to be - square and just. I doan’t want to sit in hell, trying to count up what I - hed made by buying poor men’s homes at a bargain.” - </p> - <p> - “Hes tha any plan that will help thee to build a mill and give thy old - weavers a chance?” - </p> - <p> - “The government will loan to old employers money to help them build a - mill, and so give work and bread.” - </p> - <p> - “The government is not lending money, except with some excellent - security.” - </p> - <p> - “Land, I have plenty. I could spare some land.” - </p> - <p> - “No. Thou could not spare the government one acre.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I cannot build a mill and furnish it with looms and all necessary.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, thou can easily do it—if thou wilt take a partner.” - </p> - <p> - “Does tha know anyone suitable?” - </p> - <p> - “I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Do I know the person?” - </p> - <p> - “Varry well. It is mysen. It is Josepha Temple.” The squire fairly - started. He looked straight into Josepha’s eyes and she continued, “Take - me for thy partner, Antony. I will build thee the biggest, and most - completely finished mill in the West Riding—or anywhere else—cotton - or wool—whichiver thou likes. Bradley’s is mainly cotton, thou hed - better stick to wool. Thou hes two hundred sheep of thy awn, on thy awn - fells, and wold. Stick to the wool, dear lad.” - </p> - <p> - “Art thou in very earnest, Josepha?” - </p> - <p> - “Sure as life and death! I am in earnest. Say the word, and I’ll build, - and fit the mill, just as tha wants it.” - </p> - <p> - “And thy share in it will be——” - </p> - <p> - “We will divide equally—half and half. I want to buy a partnership - with my money. ‘<i>Annis and Temple</i>’ will suit me well. I will find - all the wherewithal required—money for building, looms, engines, - wool or cotton yarns, just as thou wishes. Thou must give the land, and - the varry best bit of land for the purpose, that thou hes on thy estate in - Annis, or elsewhere.” - </p> - <p> - “Dost tha knaw how much money tha will hev to spend for what thou - proposes?” - </p> - <p> - “I should think I do and it will every farthing of it be Annis money. I - hev speculated, and dealt wisely with the money the good Admiral left me. - I hev made, made mysen, more money than we shall require for the mill and - all its necessary furniture, and if it was not enough, I could double it - and not feel a pound poorer. The outlay is mine, all of it; the land, and - the management is thy affair. It is only by my name, which is well known - among monied men, that I shall appear in the business.” - </p> - <p> - “Josepha! Thou art my good angel!” - </p> - <p> - “I am thy sister. We are both Annis folk. We were both rooted in the soil - of this bit of England. We had the same good father and mother, the same - church, and the same dear old home. God forbid we should iver forget that! - No, we can not! These memories run with our blood, and throb in our - hearts. All that is mine is thine. Thou art dear to me as my awn life. Thy - son and daughter are my son and daughter. My money is thy money, to its - last penny. Now, wilt thou hev me for thy partner?” The squire had buried - his face in his hands, and Josepha knew he was hiding his feelings from - everyone but God, and she stepped to the window and drew up the shade, and - let the sunshine flood the room. As she did so, the squire called to - himself—“Be of good courage, Antony!” And he rose quickly, and so - met his sister coming back to her chair, and took her in his arms, and - kissed her and said: “Josey, dear, there was a load on my heart I was - hardly able to bear; thou hes lifted it, and I love and thank thee! We - will work together, and we will show Yorkshire that landed gentlefolk can - do a bit of business, above all their ideas, and above all thou can - imagine it pleases me, that I may then redeem my promises to the men that - hev worked so long, and so faithfully for me.” - </p> - <p> - And then it was Josepha that had to dry her eyes as she said: “Thy kiss, - Antony, was worth all I hev promised. It was the signing of our contract.” - </p> - <p> - “I felt, Josey, when I entered this house, that my life had come to an - end, and that I could only write ‘defeated’ over it.” - </p> - <p> - “Thy real life begins at this hour. Thy really fine business faculties, - corroded with rust and dust of inaction, will yet shine like new silver. - There is no defeat, except from within. And the glad way in which thou can - look forward, and take up a life so different to that thou hes known for - more than fifty years, shows plainly that you can, and will, redeem every - fault of the old life. As thou art so busy and bothered to-night, come - to-morrow and I will hev my lawyer, and banker, also a first rate factory - architect, here to meet thee.” - </p> - <p> - “At what hour?” - </p> - <p> - “From ten o’clock to half-past twelve are my business hours. If that time - is too short, we will lengthen it a bit. Dick has asked me to tell thee - something thou ought to know, but which he cannot talk to thee about.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it about Faith Foster?” - </p> - <p> - “Not it! Varry different.” - </p> - <p> - “What, or who, then?” - </p> - <p> - “John Thomas Bradley.” - </p> - <p> - “Then don’t thee say a word about the man. Thy words hev been so good, so - wonderfully good, that I will not hev meaner ones mixed up with them. They - may come to-morrow after law and money talk, but not after thy loving, - heartening promises. No! No!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, go home and tell Annie, and let that weary Reform Bill - business drop out of thy mind.” - </p> - <p> - “Reform was a great need. It was a good thing to see it come, and Grey and - Brougham hev proved themsens to be great men.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t deny it, and it is allays so ordered, that in all times, great - men can do great things.” - </p> - <p> - With a light heart and a quick step the squire hurried back to the - Clarendon. He had been given to drink of the elixir of life, the joy of - work, the pleasure of doing great good to many others, the feeling that he - was going to redeem his lost years. He had not walked with such a light - purposeful step for twenty years, and Annie was amazed when she heard it. - She was still more amazed when she heard him greet some acquaintance whom - he met in the corridor. Now Annie had resolved to be rather cool and - silent with her husband. He had overstayed his own time nearly two hours, - and she thought he ought to be made to feel the enormity of such a - delinquency; especially, when he was hurrying their departure, though she - had yet a great many little things to attend to. - </p> - <p> - She quickly changed her intentions. She only needed one glance at her - husband to make her rise to her feet, and go to meet him with a face full - of wonder. “Why! Antony! Antony, whativer hes come to thee? Thou looks—thou - looks——” - </p> - <p> - “How, Annie? How do I look?” - </p> - <p> - “Why! Like thou looked—on thy wedding day! Whativer is it, dear?” - </p> - <p> - “Annie! Annie! I feel varry like I did that day. Oh, Annie, I hev got my - life given back to me! I am going to begin it again from this varry hour! - I am going to work, to be a big man of business, Annie. I’m going to build - a factory for a thousand power looms. Oh, my wife! My wife! I’m so proud, - so happy, I seem to hev been dead and just come back to life again.” - </p> - <p> - “I am so glad for thee, dear. Who, or what, hes brought thee this - wonderful good?” - </p> - <p> - “Sit thee down beside me, and let me hold thy hand, or I’ll mebbe think I - am dreaming. Am I awake? Am I in my right mind? Or is it all a dream, - Annie? Tell me the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell thy wife what hes happened, then I can tell thee the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why-a!</i> thy husband, the squire of Annis, is going to build the - biggest and handsomest factory in the whole West Riding—going to - fill it with steam power looms—going to manufacture woolen goods for - the whole of England—if England will hev the sense to buy them; for - they will be well made, and of tip-top quality. Annis village is going to - be a big spinning and weaving town! O Annie! Annie! I see the vision. I - saw it as I came through Piccadilly. The little village seemed to be in - midair, and as I looked, it changed, and I saw it full of big buildings, - and high chimneys, and hurrying men and women, and I knew that I was - looking at what, please God, I shall live to see in reality. Annie, I hev - begun to live this varry day. I have been in a sweet, sweet sleep for more - than fifty years, but I hev been awakened, and now I am going to work for - the new Annis, and redeem all the years I hev loitered away through the - old.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad for thee, Antony. Glad for thee! How is tha going to manage it? - I am sorry Kitty and I hev made thee spend so much good gold on our - foolishness!” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay, I am glad you both hed all you wanted. This morning I was - feeling down in the depths. I hedn’t but just money enough to take us - home, and I was wondering how iver I was to make buckle and belt meet. - Then tha knows I got a letter from Jo-sepha, and I went to see her, and - she told me she was going to build the biggest factory in the West Riding. - She told me that she hed <i>made</i> money enough to do this: that it was - Annis money, ivery farthing of it, and it was coming to Annis, and Annis - only. Then she told me what her big plans were, bigger than I could fairly - swallow at first, and oh, dear lass, she asked me to be her partner. I hev - to give the land and my time. She does all the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “Thy sister hes a great heart. I found that out this winter.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, and she found out that thou were a deal sweeter than she thought - before, and she opened her heart to thee, and Dick, and Kitty.” - </p> - <p> - “Will she live in Annis?” - </p> - <p> - “Not she! No one could get her away from London, and the house her Admiral - built for her. She will come down to our regular meeting once a quarter. - She won’t bother thee.” - </p> - <p> - “No, indeed, she won’t! After this wonderful kindness to thee, she can’t - bother me. She is welcome to iverything that is mine, even to my warmest - and truest love. The best room at Annis Hall is hers, and we will both - love and honor her all the days of our lives.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, then, I am quite happy, as happy as God and His gift can make a man; - and if I was a Methodist, I would go to their chapel at once and tell them - all what a good and great thing God hed done for them, as well as mysen. - Thou sees they were thought of, no doubt, when I was thought of, for God - knew I’d do right by His poor men and women and little childer.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope, though, thou wilt stand by thy awn church. It hes stood by thee, - and all thy family for centuries. I wouldn’t like thee to desert the - mother church of England.” - </p> - <p> - “Howiver can thou speak to me in such a half-and-half way. My prayer book - is next to my Bible. <i>Why-a!</i> it is my soul’s mother. I hev my - collect for ivery day, and I say it. On the mornings I went hunting, - sometimes I was a bit hurried, but as I stood in my bare feet, I allays - said it, and I allays did my best to mean ivery word I said.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, my love—but thou hes lately seemed to hev a sneaking - respect for Mr. Foster, and Jonathan Hartley, and Methodists in general.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that is true. I hev a varry great respect for them. They do their - duty, and in the main they trusted in God through these past black years, - and behaved themsens like men. But I should as soon think of deserting - thee as of deserting my Mother Church.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe thee, yet we do hev varry poor sermons, and in that way Mr. - Foster is a great temptation.” - </p> - <p> - “I niver minded the sermon. I hed the blessed Book of Common Prayer. And - if the church is my soul’s mother, then the Book of Common Prayer is - mother’s milk; that it is, and I wonder that thou hes niver noticed how - faithfully I manage to say my collect. My mother taught me to say one - ivery morning. I promised her I would. I am a man of my word, Annie, even - to the living, and I would be feared to break a promise to the dead. I - can’t think of anything much worse a man could do.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear one! This day God hes chosen thee to take care of his poor. We - must get back to Annis as quickly as possible, and give them this hope.” - </p> - <p> - “So we must, but I hev a meeting to-morrow at ten o’clock with Josepha’s - banker, business adviser, her lawyer, and her architect. I may be most of - the day with his crowd. This is Monday, could tha be ready to start home - on Thursday, by early mail coach?” - </p> - <p> - “Easily.” - </p> - <p> - “That will do. Now then, Annie, I hed a varry good dinner, but I want a - cup of tea—I am all a quiver yet.” - </p> - <p> - Later in the evening Dick came in, and joined them at the supper table. He - looked at his father and mother and wondered. He saw and felt that - something good had happened, and in a few minutes the squire told him all. - His enthusiasm set the conversation to a still happier tone, though Dick - was for a moment dashed and silenced by his father’s reply to his question - as to what he was to look after in this new arrangement of their lives. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Dick,” answered the squire, “thy aunt did not name thee, and when I - did, she said: ‘We’ll find something for Dick when the time is fitting.’ - She said also that my time would be so taken up with watching the builders - at work, that Dick would hev to look after his mother and the household - affairs, till they got used to being alone all day long. Tha sees, Dick, - we hev spoiled our women folk, and we can’t stop waiting on them, all at - once.” - </p> - <p> - Dick took the position assigned him very pleasantly, and then remarked - that Kitty ought to have been informed. “The dear one,” he continued, “hes - been worried above a bit about the money we were all spending. She said - her father looked as if he had a heartache, below all his smiles.” - </p> - <p> - Then Dick thought of the political climax that Harry had spoken of, and - asked himself if he should now speak of it. No, he could not. He could not - do it at this happy hour. Nothing could be hindered, or helped, by the - introduction of this painful subject, and he told himself that he would - not be the person to fling a shadow over such a happy and hopeful - transition in the squire’s life. For Dick also was happy in a change which - would bring him so much nearer to his beautiful and beloved Faith. - </p> - <p> - Indeed it was a very charming return home. The squire seemed to have - regained his youth. He felt as if indeed such a marvelous change had - actually taken place, nor was there much marvel in it. His life had been - almost quiescent. He had been lulled by the long rust of his actually fine - business talents. Quite frequently he had had a few days of restlessness - when some fine railway offer presented itself, but any offer would have - implied a curtailment, which would not result in bettering his weavers’ - condition, and he hesitated until the opportunity was gone. For - opportunities do not wait, they are always on the wing. Their offer is - “take or leave me,” and so it is only the alert who bid quick enough. - </p> - <p> - After a pleasant, though fatiguing drive, they reached Annis village. - Their carriage was waiting at the coach office for them, and everyone - lifted his cap with a joyful air as they appeared. The squire was glad to - see that the caps were nearly all paper caps. It was likely then that many - of his old weavers were waiting on what he had promised in his speech to - them. And it filled his heart with joy that he could now keep that - promise, on a large and generous scale. He saw among the little crowd - watching the coach, Israel Naylor, and he called him in a loud, cheerful - voice, that was in itself a promise of good, and said: “Israel, run and - tell Jonathan Hartley to come up to the Hall, and see me as soon as iver - he can and thou come with him, if tha likes to, I hev nothing but good - news for the men. Tell them that. And tell thysen the same.” - </p> - <p> - In an hour the squire and his family and his trunks and valises and carpet - bags were all at home again. Weary they certainly were, but oh, so happy, - and Dick perhaps happiest of all, for he had seen Mr. Foster at his door, - and as he drove past him, had lifted his hat; and in that silent, smiling - movement, sent a message that he knew would make Faith as happy as - himself. - </p> - <p> - I need not tell any woman how happy Mistress Annis and her daughter were - to be home again. London was now far from their thoughts. It was the new - Annis that concerned them—the great, busy town they were to build up - for the future. Like the squire, they all showed new and extraordinary - energy and spirit, and as for the squire he could hardly wait with - patience for the arrival of Jonathan Hartley and Israel. - </p> - <p> - Actually more than twenty of the old weavers came with Jonathan, and Annie - found herself a little bothered to get sittings for them, until the squire - bethought him of the ballroom. Thither he led the way with his final cup - of tea still in his hand, as in loud cheerful words he bid them be seated. - Annie had caused the chairs to be placed so as to form a half circle and - the squire’s own chair was placed centrally within it. And as he took it - every man lifted his paper cap above his head, and gave him a hearty - cheer, and no man in England was happier at that moment than Antony Annis, - Squire of Annis and Deeping Hollow. - </p> - <p> - “My friends!” he cried, with all the enthusiasm of a man who has - recaptured his youth. “I am going to build the biggest and handsomest - factory in Yorkshire—or in any other place. I am going to fill it - with the best power looms that can be bought—a thousand of them. I - am going to begin it to-morrow morning. To-night, right here and now, I am - going to ask Jonathan to be my adviser and helper and general overseer. - For this work I am offering him now, one hundred and fifty pounds the - first year, or while the building is in progress. When we get to actual - weaving two hundred pounds a year, with increase as the work and - responsibility increases. Now, Jonathan, if this offer suits thee, I shall - want thee at eight o’clock in the morning. Wilt tha be ready, eh?” - </p> - <p> - Jonathan was almost too amazed to speak, but in a moment or two he almost - shouted— - </p> - <p> - “Thou fairly caps me, squire. Whativer can I say to thee? I am dumbfounded - with joy! God bless thee, squire!” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad to be His messenger of comfort to you all. These are the plans - for all who choose to take them, my old men having the preference wheriver - it can be given. To-morrow, Jonathan and I will go over my land lying - round Annis village within three miles, and we will pick the finest six - acres there is in that area for the mill. We will begin digging for the - foundation Monday morning, if only with the few men we can get round our - awn village. Jonathan will go to all the places near by, to get others, - and there will be hundreds of men coming from London and elsewhere, - builders, mechanics, and such like. The architect is hiring them, and will - come here with them. Men, these fresh mouths will all be to fill, and I - think you, that awn your awn cottages, can get your wives to cook and wash - for them, and so do their part, until we get a place put up for the main - lot to eat and sleep in. Jonathan will help to arrange that business; and - you may tell your women, Antony Annis will be surety for what-iver is just - money for their work. Bit by bit, we will soon get all into good working - order, and I am promised a fine factory ready for work and business in one - year. What do you think of that, men?” Then up went every paper cap with a - happy shout, and the squire smiled and continued: - </p> - <p> - “You need not fear about the brass for all I am going to do, being either - short or scrimpit. My partner has money enough to build two mills, aye, - and more than that. And my partner is Annis born, and loves this bit of - Yorkshire, and is bound to see Annis village keep step with all the other - manufacturing places in England; and when I tell you that my partner is - well known to most of you, and that her name is Josepha Annis, you’ll hev - no fear about the outcome.” - </p> - <p> - “No! No! Squire,” said Jonathan, speaking for all. “We all know the - Admiral’s widow. In one way or other we hev all felt her loving kindness; - and we hev often heard about her heving no end of money, and they know thy - word, added to her good heart, makes us all happy and satisfied. Squire, - thou hes kept thy promise thou hes done far more than keep it. God must - hev helped thee! Glory be to God!” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I hev kept my promise. I allays keep my promise to the poor - man, just as fully as to the rich man. Tell your women that my partner and - I are going to put in order all your cottages—we are going to put - wells or running water in all of them, and re-roof and paint and whitewash - and mend where mending is needed. And you men during your time of trouble, - hev let your little gardens go to the bad. Get agate quickly, and make - them up to mark. You knaw you can’t do rough work with your hands, you - that reckon to weave fine broadcloth; but there will be work of some kind - or other, and it will be all planned out, while the building goes on, as - fast as men and money can make it go.” - </p> - <p> - “Squire,” said Jonathan in a voice so alive with feeling, so strong and - happy, that it might almost have been seen, as well as heard, “Squire, - I’ll be here at eight in the morning, happy to answer thy wish and word.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, lads, I hev said enough for to-night. Go and make your - families and friends as happy as yoursens. I haven’t said all I wanted to - say, but I shall be right here with you, and I will see that not one of my - people suffer in any way. There is just another promise I make you for my - partner. She is planning a school—a good day school for the - children, and a hospital for the sick, and you’ll get them, sure enough.” - </p> - <p> - “Squire, we thank thee with all our hearts, and we will now go and ring t’ - chapel bell, and get the people together, and tell them all thou hes said - would come to pass.” - </p> - <p> - “Too late to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit too late. Even if we stop there till midnight, God loves the - midnight prayer. Oh, Squire Annis, thou hes done big things for workingmen - in London, and——” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, I did! I wouldn’t come home till I saw the workingmen got their - rights. And I shall see that my men get all, and more, than I hev promised - them. My word is my bond.” - </p> - <p> - Then the men with hearty good-bys, which is really the abbreviation of “<i>God - be with you!</i>” went quickly down the hill and in half-an-hour the - chapel bells were ringing and the squire stood at his open door and - listened with a glad heart to them. His wife and daughter watched him, and - then smiled at each other. They hardly knew what to say, for he was the - same man, and yet far beyond the same. His child-likeness, and his - pleasant bits of egotism, were, as usual, quite evident; and Annie was - delighted to see and hear the expressions of his simple self-appreciation, - but in other respects he was not unlike one who had just attained unto his - majority. To have had his breakfast and be ready for a day’s tramp at - eight o’clock in the morning was a wonderful thing for Antony Annis to - promise. Yet he faithfully kept it, and had been away more than an hour - when his wife and daughter came down to breakfast. - </p> - <p> - Dick soon joined them, and he was not only in high spirits, but also - dressed with great care and taste. His mother regarded him critically, and - then became silent. She had almost instantly divined the reason of his - careful dressing. She looked inquisitively at Katherine, who dropped her - eyes and began a hurried and irrelative conversation about the most - trifling of subjects. Dick looked from one to the other, and said with a - shrug of his shoulders, “I see I have spoiled a private conversation. I - beg pardon. I will be away in a few minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going so early, Dick?” - </p> - <p> - “I am going to Mr. Foster’s. I have a message to him from father, and I - have a very important message to Faith Foster from myself.” He made the - last remark with decision, drank off his coffee, and rose from the table. - </p> - <p> - “Dick, listen to your mother. Do not be in a hurry about some trivial - affair, at this most important period of your father’s—of all our - lives. Nothing can be lost, everything is to be gained by a little - self-denial on the part of all, who fear they are being neglected. Father - has the right of way at this crisis.” - </p> - <p> - “I acknowledge that as unselfishly as you do, mother. I intend to help - father all I can. I could not, would not, do otherwise. Father wants to - see Mr. Foster, and I want to see Miss Foster. Is there anything I can do - for yourself or Kitty when I am in the village?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing. Nothing at all.” - </p> - <p> - “Then good-by,” and with a rapid glance at his sister, Dick left the room. - Neither mother nor sister answered his words. Mistress Annis took rapid - spoonfuls of coffee; Katherine broke the shell of her egg with quite - superfluous noise and rapidity. For a few moments there was silence, full - of intense emotion, and Katherine felt no inclination to break it. She - knew that Dick expected her at this very hour to make his way easy, and - his intentions clear to his mother. She had promised to do so, and she did - not see how she was to escape, or delay this action. However, she - instantly resolved to allow her mother to open the subject, and stand as - long as possible on the defensive. - </p> - <p> - Mistress Annis made exactly the same resolve. Her lips quivered, her - dropped eyes did not hide their trouble and she nervously began to prepare - herself a fresh cup of coffee. Katherine glanced at her movements, and - finally said, with an hysterical little laugh, “Dear mammy, you have - already put four pieces of sugar in your cup,” and she laid her hand on - her mother’s hand, and so compelled her to lift her eyes and answer, “Oh, - Kitty! Kitty! don’t you see, dearie? Dick has gone through the wood to get - a stick, and taken a crooked one at the last. You know what I mean. Oh, - dear me! Dear me!” - </p> - <p> - “You fear Dick is going to marry Faith Foster. Some months ago I told you - he would do so.” - </p> - <p> - “I could not take into my consciousness such a calamity.” - </p> - <p> - “Why do you say ‘calamity’?” - </p> - <p> - “A Methodist preacher’s daughter is far enough outside the pale of the - landed aristocracy.” - </p> - <p> - “She is as good as her father and every landed gentleman, in or near this - part of England, loves and respects, Mr. Foster. They ask his advice on - public and local matters, and he by himself has settled disputes between - masters and men in a way that satisfied both parties.” - </p> - <p> - “That is quite a different thing. Politics puts men on a sort of equality, - the rules of society keep women in the state in which it has pleased God - to put them.” - </p> - <p> - “Unless some man out of pure love lifts them up to his own rank by - marriage. I don’t think any man could lift up Faith. I do not know a man - that is able to stand equal to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Your awn brother, I think, ought to be in your estimation far——” - </p> - <p> - “Dick is far below her in every way, and Dick knows it. I think, mother - dear, it is a good sign for Dick’s future, to find him choosing for a wife - a woman who will help him to become nobler and better every year of his - life.” - </p> - <p> - “I hev brought up my son to a noble standard. Dick is now too good, or at - least good enough, for any woman that iver lived. I don’t care who, or - what she was, or is. I want no woman to improve Dick. Dick hes no fault - but the one of liking women below him, and inferior to him, and unworthy - of him:—women, indeed, that he will hev to educate in ivery way, up - to his own standard. That fault comes his father’s way exactly—his - father likes to feel free and easy with women, and he can’t do it with the - women of his awn rank—for tha knaws well, the women of ivery station - in life are a good bit above and beyond the men, and so——” - </p> - <p> - “Dear mammy, do you think?—oh, you know you cannot think, father - married with that idea in his mind. You were his equal by birth, and yet I - have never seen father give up a point, even to you, that he didn’t want - to give up. I think father holds his awn side with everyone, and holds it - well. And if man or woman said anything different, I would not envy them - the words they would get from you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, of course, I could only expect that you would stand by Dick in any - infatuation he had; the way girls and young men spoil their lives, and - ruin their prospects, by foolish, unfortunate marriage is a miracle that - hes confounded their elders iver since their creation. Adam fell that way. - Poor Adam!” - </p> - <p> - “But, mammy dear, according to your belief, the woman in any class is - always superior to the man.” - </p> - <p> - “There was no society, and no social class in that time, and you know - varry well what came of Adam’s obedience to the woman. She must hev been - weaker than her husband. Satan niver thought it worth his while to try his - schemes with Adam.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if Adam scolded and ill-treated Eve for her foolishness!” - </p> - <p> - “He ought to have done so. He ought to hev scolded her well and hard, all - her life long.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, of course, John Tetley, who killed his wife with his persistent - brutality, did quite right; for his excuse was that she coaxed him to buy - railway shares that proved actual ruin to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I am tired of arguing with people who can only see one way. Your - sister Jane, who is just like me, and who always took my advice, hes done - well to hersen, and honored her awn kin, and——” - </p> - <p> - “Mother, do you really think Jane’s marriage an honor to her family?” - </p> - <p> - “Leyland is a peer, and a member of The House of Lords, and considered a - clever man.” - </p> - <p> - “A peer of three generations, a member of a House in which he dare not - open his mouth, for his cleverness is all quotation, not a line of it is - the breed of his own brain.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, he is not made after the image and likeness of Harry Bradley.” - </p> - <p> - “Mother, Harry is not our question now. I ask you to give Dick some good - advice and sympathy. If he will listen to anyone, you are the person that - can influence him. You must remember that Faith is very lovely, and beauty - goes wherever it chooses, and does what it wants to do.” - </p> - <p> - “And both Dick and you must remember that you can’t choose a wife, or a - husband, by his handsome looks. You might just as wisely choose your shoes - by the same rule. Sooner or later, generally sooner, they would begin to - pinch you. How long hev you known of this clandestine affair?” - </p> - <p> - “It was not clandestine, mother. I told you Dick was really in love with - Faith before we went to London.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith! Such a Methodist name.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith is not her baptismal name. She came to her father and mother as a - blessing in a time of great trouble, and they called her <i>Consola</i> - from the word Consolation. You may think of her as Consola. She will have - to be married by that name. Her father wished for some private reason of - his own to call her Faith. He never told her why.” - </p> - <p> - “The one name is as disagreeable as the other, and the whole subject is - disagreeable; and, in plain truth, I don’t care to talk any more about - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Can I help you in anything this morning, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I will go to my room, and put away all the lovely things you bought - me in London.” - </p> - <p> - “You had better do so. Your father is now possessed by one idea, and he - will be wanting every pound to further it.” - </p> - <p> - “I think, too, mother, we have had our share.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you really nothing to tell me about Harry and yourself?” - </p> - <p> - “I could not talk of Harry this morning, mother. I think you may hear - something from father tonight, that will make you understand.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. That will be soon enough, if it is more trouble,” and though - she spoke wearily, there was a tone of both pity and anxiety in her voice. - </p> - <p> - Indeed, it was only the fact of the late busy days of travel and change, - and the atmosphere of a great reconstruction of their whole life and - household, that had prevented Mistress Annis noticing, as she otherwise - would have done, the pallor and sorrow in her daughter’s appearance. Not - even the good fortune that had come to her father, could dispel the - sickheartedness which had caused her to maintain a stubborn silence to all - Harry’s pleas for excuse and pardon. Dick was his sister’s only confidant - and adviser in this matter, and Dick’s anger had increased steadily. He - was now almost certain that Harry deserved all the resentment honest love - could feel and show towards those who had deceived and betrayed it. And - the calamity that is not sure, is almost beyond healing. The soul has not - forseen, or tried to prevent it. It has come in a hurry without - credentials, and holds the hope of a “perhaps” in its hands; it may not - perhaps be as bad as it appears; it may not perhaps be true. There may - possibly be many mitigating circumstances yet not known. Poor Kitty! She - had but this one sad circumstance to think about, she turned it a hundred - ways, but it was always the same. However, as she trailed slowly up the - long stairway, she said to herself— - </p> - <p> - “Mother was talking in the dark, but patience, one more day! Either father - or Dick will bring the truth home with them.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI—AUNT JOSEPHA INTERFERES - </h2> - <p> - <i>“Nothing seems to have happened so long ago as an affair of Love.”</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>“To offend any person is the next foolish thing to being offended.”</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>“When you can talk of a new lover, you have forgotten the old one.”</i> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>IFE is full of - issues. Nothing happens just as we expect or prepare for it, and when the - squire returned home late in the afternoon, weary but full of enthusiasm, - he was yet ignorant concerning the likely nomination of Bradley for the - united boroughs of Annis and Bradley. He had walked all of fourteen miles, - and he told his wife proudly, that “Jonathan was more weary with the - exercise than he was.” - </p> - <p> - “All the same, Annie,” he added, as he kissed her fondly, “I was glad to - see Britton with the horse and gig at the foot of the hill. That was a bit - of thy thoughtfulness. God bless thee, dearie!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it was. I knew thou hed not walked as much as tha ought to hev done - while we were in London. I don’t want thy fine figure spoiled, but I - thought thou would be tired enough when thou got to the foot of the hill.” - </p> - <p> - “So I was, and Jonathan was fairly limping, but we hev settled on t’ mill - site—there’s nothing can lick Clitheroe Moor side, just where it - touches the river. My land covers twenty acres of it, and on its south - edge it is almost within touch of the new railway going to Leeds. Jonathan - fairly shouted, as soon as we stood on it. ‘Squire,’ he said, ‘here’s a - mill site in ten thousand. There cannot be a finer one found in England, - and it is the varry bit of land that man Boocock wanted—<i>and - didn’t get as tha knows?</i>’ Now I must write to Josepha, and tell her to - come quickly and see it. She must bring with her also her business - adviser.” - </p> - <p> - “Does tha reckon to be under thy sister?” - </p> - <p> - “Keep words like those behind thy lips, and set thy teeth for a barrier - they cannot pass. We are equal partners, equal in power and profit, equal - in loss or gain.” Then he was silent, and Annie understood that she had - gone far enough. Yet out of pure womanly wilfulness, she answered— - </p> - <p> - “I shall not presume to speak another word about thy partner,” and Antony - Annis looked at her over the rim of his tea cup, and the ready answer was - on his lips, but he could not say it. Her personal beauty smote the - reproving words back, her handsome air of defiance conquered his momentary - flash of anger. She had her husband at her feet. She knew it, and her - steady, radiant smile completed her victory. Then she leaned towards him, - and he put down his cup and kissed her fondly. He had intended to say “O - confound it, Annie! What’s up with thee? Can’t thou take a great kindness - with anything but bitter biting words?” And what he really said was—“Oh, - Annie! Annie! sweet, dear Annie!” And lo! there came no harm from this - troubling of a man’s feelings, because Annie knew just how far it was safe - for her to go. - </p> - <p> - This little breeze cleared the room that had been filled with unrestful - and unfair suspicions all the day long. The squire suddenly found out it - was too warm, and rose and opened the window. Then he asked—like a - man who has just recovered himself from some mental neglect—“Wheriver - hev Dick and Kitty gone to? I hevn’t seen nor heard them since I came - home.” - </p> - <p> - “They went to the village before two o’clock. They went to the Methodist - preacher’s house, I hev no doubt. Antony, what is to come of this - foolishness? I tell thee Dick acts as never before.” - </p> - <p> - “About Faith?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “What hes he said to thee about Faith? How does he act?” asked the squire. - </p> - <p> - “He hes not said so much to me as he usually does about the girl he is - carrying-on-with, but he really believes himself in love with her for iver - and iver.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll be bound, he thinks that very thing. Dick is far gone. But the girl - is fair and good. He might do worse.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t like her, far from it.” - </p> - <p> - “She is always busy in some kind of work.” - </p> - <p> - “Busy to a fault.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll tell thee what, my Joy. We shall hev to make the best we can of this - affair. If Dick is bound to marry her, some day their wedding will come - off. So there is no good in worrying about it. But I am sure in the long - run, all will be well.” - </p> - <p> - “My mind runs on this thing, and it troubles me. Thou ought to speak sharp - and firm to Dick. I am sure Josepha hes other plans for him.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll break no squares with my lad, about any woman.” - </p> - <p> - “The girls all make a dead set for Dick.” - </p> - <p> - “Not they! It hes allays been the other way about. We wanted him to marry - pretty Polly Raeburn, and as soon as he found that out, he gave her up. - That is Dick’s awful way. Tell him he ought to marry Faith, and he will - make easy shift to do without her. That is the short and the long of this - matter. Now, Annie, thou must not trouble me about childish, foolish love - affairs. I hev work for two men as strong as mysen to do, and I am going - to put my shoulder to the collar and do it. Take thy awn way with Dick. I - must say I hev a fellow feeling with the lad. Thou knows I suffered a - deal, before I came to the point of running away with thee.” - </p> - <p> - “What we did, is neither here nor there, the circumstances were different. - I think I shall let things take their chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, I would. Many a ship comes bravely into harbor, that hes no pilot on - board.” - </p> - <p> - “Did tha hear any political news? It would be a strange thing if Jonathan - could talk all day with thee, and the both of you keep off politics.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, tha sees, we were out on business and business means ivery faculty - a man hes. I did speak once of Josepha, and Jonathan said, ‘She is good - for any sum.’” - </p> - <p> - “Antony, hes thou ever thought about the House of Commons since thou came - home? What is tha going to do about thy business there?” - </p> - <p> - “I hevn’t thought on that subject. I am going to see Wetherall about it. I - cannot be in two places at one time, and I am going to stick to Annis - Mill.” - </p> - <p> - “Will it be any loss to thee to give up thy seat?” - </p> - <p> - “Loss or gain, I am going to stand firmly by the mill. I don’t think it - will be any money loss. I’ll tell Wetherall to sell the seat to any man - that is of my opinions, and will be bound to vote for the Liberal party.” - </p> - <p> - “I would see Wetherall soon, if I was thee.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the hurry? Parliament is still sitting. Grey told me it could not - get through its present business until August or later.” - </p> - <p> - “It will not be later. September guns and rods will call ivery man to the - hills or the waters.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s varry likely, and if so, they won’t go back to London until - December. So there’s no need for thee to worry thysen about December. It’s - only June yet, tha knows.” - </p> - <p> - “Will tha lose money by selling thy seat?” - </p> - <p> - “Not I! I rayther think I’ll make money. And I’ll save a bag of - sovereigns. London expenses hes been the varry item that hes kept us poor,—that - is, poorer than we ought to be. There now! That will do about London. I am - a bit tired of London. I hear Dick and Kitty’s voices, and there’s music - in them. O God, what a grand thing it is to be young!” - </p> - <p> - “I must order fresh tea for them, they are sure to be hungry.” - </p> - <p> - “Not they! There’s no complaining in their voices. Listen how gayly Dick - laughs. And I know Kitty is snuggling up to him, and saying some loving - thing or ither. Bless the children! It would be a dull house wanting - them.” - </p> - <p> - “Antony!” - </p> - <p> - “So it would, Annie, and thou knows it. Hev some fresh food brought for - them. Here they are!” And the squire rose to meet them, taking Kitty - within his arm, and giving his hand to Dick. - </p> - <p> - “Runaways!” he said. “Whativer kept you from your eating? Mother hes - ordered some fresh victuals. They’ll be here anon.” - </p> - <p> - “We have had our tea, mother—such a merry meal!” - </p> - <p> - “Wheriver then? - </p> - <p> - “At Mr. Foster’s,” said Dick promptly. “Mr. Foster came in while Kitty and - I were sitting with Faith, and he said ‘it was late, and he was hungry, - and we had better get tea ready.’ And ‘so full of fun and pleasure we all - four went to work. Mr. Foster and I set the table, and Faith and Kitty cut - the bread and butter, and all of us together brought on cold meat and - Christ-Church patties, and it was all done in such a joyous mood, that you - would have thought we were children playing at having a picnic. Oh! it was - such a happy hour! Was it not, Kitty?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed it was. I shall never forget it.” - </p> - <p> - But who can prolong a joy when it is over? Both Kitty and Dick tried to do - so, but the squire soon turned thoughtful, and Mistress Annis, though she - said only nice words, put no sympathy into them; and they were only words, - and so fell to the ground lifeless. The squire was far too genial a soul, - not to feel this condition, and he said suddenly—“Dick, come with - me. I hev a letter to write to thy aunt, and thou can do it for me. I’ll - be glad of thy help.” - </p> - <p> - “I will come gladly, father. I wish you would let me do all the writing - about business there is to be done. Just take me for your secretary.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a clever idea. We will talk it out a bit later. Come thy ways - with me, now. No doubt thy mother and sister hev their awn things to talk - over. Women hev often queer views of what seems to men folk varry - reasonable outcomes.” - </p> - <p> - So the two men went out very confidingly together, and Kitty remained with - her mother, who sat silently looking into the darkening garden. - </p> - <p> - Neither spoke for a few minutes, then Kitty lifted her cape and bonnet and - said, “I am tired, mother. I think I will go to my room.” - </p> - <p> - “Varry well, but answer me a few questions first. What do you now think of - Dick’s fancy for Faith?” - </p> - <p> - “It is not a fancy, mother. It is a love that will never fade or grow old. - He will marry Faith or he will never marry.” - </p> - <p> - “Such sentimentality! It is absurd!” - </p> - <p> - “Dick thinks his love for Faith Foster the great fact of his life. He will - never give her up. Her ways are his ways. He thinks as she thinks. He - would do anything she asked him to do. Dear mammy, try and make the best - of it. You cannot alter it. It is Destiny, and I heard Mr. Foster say, - that no person, nor yet any nation, could fight Destiny unless God was on - their side. I think it is Dick’s destiny to marry Faith.” - </p> - <p> - “Think as you like, Katherine, but be so kind as to omit quoting Mr. - Foster’s opinions in my presence.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “And I do wish you would make up your quarrel with Harry Bradley; it is - very unpleasant to have you go mourning about the house and darkening the - only bit of good fortune that has ever come to your father. Indeed, I - think it is very selfish and cruel. I do that!” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry. I try to forget, but—” and she wearily lifted her cape - and left the room. And her mother listened to her slow, lifeless steps on - the stairway, and sorrowfully wondered what she ought to do. Suddenly she - remembered that her husband had asked her not to trouble him about foolish - love affairs and Dick was sure to take Katherine’s view of the matter, - whatever the trouble was; and, indeed, she was quite aware that the squire - himself leaned to the side of the lovers, and there was no one else she - could speak to. It was all a mixed up anxiety, holding apparently no hope - of relief from outside help. - </p> - <p> - Yes, there was Aunt Josepha, and as soon as she stepped into the - difficulty, Katherine’s mother felt there would be some explanation or - help. It was only waiting a week, and Madam Temple would be in Annis, and - with this reflection she tried to dismiss the subject. - </p> - <p> - Indeed, everyone in Annis Hall was now looking forward to the visit of - Josepha. But more than a fortnight elapsed before she arrived, bringing - with her experts and advisers of various kinds. The latter were pleasantly - located in the village inn, and Josepha was delighted with the beautiful - and comfortable arrangements her sister-in-law had made for her. She came - into their life with overflowing good humor and spirits, and was soon as - busily interested in the great building work as her happy brother. - </p> - <p> - She had to ride all through the village to reach the mill site, and she - did not think herself a day too old to come down to breakfast in her - riding habit and accompany her brother. It was not long, however, before - the pair separated. Soon after her arrival, the village women, one by one, - renewed their acquaintance with her, and every woman looked to Miss - Josepha for relief, or advice about their special tribulations. Many of - them were women of her own age. They remembered her as Miss Josepha, and - prided themselves on the superiority of their claim. To the younger women - she was Madam, just Madam, and indeed it was a queer little incident that - quite naturally, and without any word of explanation, made all, both old - and young, avoid any other name than Miss Josepha. “Yorkshire is for its - awn folk, we doan’t take to strange people and strange names,” said Israel - Naylor, when questioned by some of the business experts Josepha had - brought down with her; “and,” he explained, “Temple is a Beverley name, or - I mistake, and Annis folk know nothing about Beverley names.” So Madam - Temple was almost universally Miss Josepha, to the villagers, and she - liked the name, and people who used it won her favor. - </p> - <p> - In a few weeks she had to hire a room in Naylor’s house, and go there at a - fixed hour to see any of the people who wanted her. All classes came to - this room, from the Episcopal curate and the Methodist preacher, to the - poor widow of a weaver, who had gone to Bradford for work, and died of - cholera there. “Oh, Miss Josepha!” she cried, “Jonathan Hartley told me to - come to thee, and he said, he did say, that thou hed both wisdom and money - in plenty, and that thou would help me.” - </p> - <p> - “What is thy trouble, Nancy?” - </p> - <p> - “My man died in Bradford, and he left me nothing but four helpless - childer, and I hev a sister in Bradford who will take care of them while I - go back to my old place as pastry cook at the Black Swan Hotel.” - </p> - <p> - “That would be a good plan, Nancy.” - </p> - <p> - “For sure it would, Miss Josepha, but we awned our cottage, and our bee - skeps, and two dozen poultry, and our old loom. I can’t turn them into - brass again, and so I’m most clemmed with it all.” - </p> - <p> - “How much do you want for the ‘all you awn’?” - </p> - <p> - “I would count mysen in luck, if I got one hundred and fifty pounds.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that sum its honest worth, not a penny too much, or a penny too - little?” - </p> - <p> - “It is just what it cost us; ivery penny, and not a penny over, or less.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I’ll buy it, if all is as thou says. I’ll hev my lawyer look it - over, and I’ll see what the squire says, and if thou hes been straight - with me, thou can go home, and pack what tha wants to take with thee.” - </p> - <p> - This incident was the initial purchase of many other cottages sold for - similar reasons, and when Josepha went back to London, she took with her - the title deeds of a large share of Annis village property. “But, Antony,” - she said, “I hev paid the full value of ivery deed I hold, ay, in some - cases more than their present value, but I do not doubt I shall get all - that is mine when the time is ripe for more, and more, and more mills.” - </p> - <p> - “Was this thy plan, when thou took that room in the Inn?” - </p> - <p> - “Not it! I took it for a meeting place. I know most of the women here, and - I saw plainly Annie would not be able to stand the constant visitations - that were certain to follow. It made trouble in the kitchen, and the voice - of the kitchen soon troubles the whole house. Annie must be considered, - and the comfort of the home. That is the great right. Then I hev other - business with Annis women, not to be mixed up with thy affairs. We are - going to plan such an elementary school as Annis needs for its children, - with classes at night for the women who doan’t want their boys and girls - to be ashamed of them. And there must be a small but perfectly fitted up - hospital for the workers who turn sick or get injured in the mill. And the - Reverend Mr. Bentley and the Reverend Mr. Foster come to me with their - cases of sorrow and sickness, and I can tell thee a room for all these - considerations was one of the necessities of our plans.” - </p> - <p> - “I hevn’t a bit of doubt of it. But it is too much for thee to manage. - Thou art wearying soul and body.” - </p> - <p> - “Far from it. It is as good and as great a thing to save a soul as it is - to make it. I am varry happy in my work, and as Mr. Foster would put it, I - feel a good deal nearer God, than I did counting up interest money in - London.” - </p> - <p> - In the meantime the home life at Annis Hall was not only changed but - constantly changing. There was always some stranger—some expert of - one kind or another—a guest in its rooms, and their servants or - assistants kept the kitchen in a racket of cooking, and eating, and - unusual excitement. Mistress Annis sometimes felt that it would be - impossible to continue the life, but every day the squire came home so - tired, and so happy, that all discomforts fled before his cheery “Hello!” - and his boyish delight in the rapidly growing edifice. Dick had become his - paid secretary, and in the meantime was studying bookkeeping, and learning - from Jonathan all that could be known, concerning long and short staple - wools. - </p> - <p> - Katherine was her mother’s right hand all the long day, but often, towards - closing time, she went down to the village on her pony, and then the - squire, or Dick, or both, rode home with her. Poor Kitty! Harry no longer - wrote to her, and Josepha said she had heard that he had gone to America - on a business speculation, “and it is a varry likely thing,” she said, - “for Harry knew a penny from a pound, before he learned how to count. I - wouldn’t fret about him, dearie.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not fretting, aunt, but how would you feel, if you had shut the door - of your heart, and your love lay dead on its threshold. Nothing is left to - me now, but the having loved.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, dearie, when we hevn’t what we love, we must love what we hev. Thou - isn’t a bit like thy sen.” - </p> - <p> - “I have never felt young since Harry left me.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a little thing to alter thee so much.” - </p> - <p> - “No trouble that touches the heart is a little thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Niver mind the past, dearie. Love can work miracles. If Harry really - loved thee he will come back to thee. Love is the old heartache of the - world, and then all in a minute some day, he is the Healing Love and The - Comforter. I hev a good mind to tell thee something, that I niver told to - any ither mortal sinner.” - </p> - <p> - “If it would help me to bear more cheerfully my great loss, I would be - glad to hear anything of that kind.” - </p> - <p> - Then Josepha sat down and spread her large capable hands one over each - knee and looking Kitty full in the eyes said—“I was at thy age as - far gone in love, with as handsome a youth as your Harry is. One morning - we hed a few words about the value of good birth, and out of pure - contradiction I set it up far beyond what I really thought of it; though - I’ll confess I am yet a bit weak about my awn ancestors. Now my lover was - on this subject varry touchy, for his family hed money, more than enough, - but hed no landed gentry, and no coat of arms, in fact, no family. And I - hed just hed a few words with mother, and Antony hedn’t stood up for me. - Besides, I wasn’t dressed fit to be seen, or I thought I wasn’t, and I was - out with mother, and out with Antony, well then, I was out with mysen, and - all the world beside; and I asked varry crossly: ‘Whativer brings thee - here at this time of day? I should hev thought thou knew enough to tell - thysen, a girl hes no liking for a lover that comes in the morning. He’s - nothing but in her way.’” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, auntie, how could you?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, there was a varry boisterous wind blowing, and they do say, - the devil is allays busy in a high wind. I suppose he came my road that - morning, and instead of saying ‘be off with thee’ I made him so - comfortable in my hot temper, he just bided at my side, and egged me on, - to snap out ivery kind of provoking thing.” - </p> - <p> - “I am very much astonished, aunt. The fair word that turneth away wrath is - more like you.” - </p> - <p> - “For sure it is, or else there hes been a great change for t’ better since - that time. Well, that day it was thus, and so; and I hev often wondered as - to the why and wherefore of that morning’s foolishness.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he go away forever that morning?” - </p> - <p> - “He did not come for a week, and during that week, Admiral Temple came to - see father, and he stayed until he took with him my promise to be his wife - early in the spring.” - </p> - <p> - “Were you very miserable, auntie?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my dear, I was sick in love, as I could be.” - </p> - <p> - “Why didn’t you make it up with him?” - </p> - <p> - “I hed several reasons for not doing so. My father hed sailed with Admiral - Temple, and they were friends closer than brothers, for they hed saved - each other’s lives—that was one reason. I was angry at my lover - staying away a whole week. That was reason number two. Ten years - afterwards I learned, quite accidentally, that his coming was prevented by - circumstances it was impossible for him to control. Then my mother hed - bragged all her fine words over the country-side, about the great marriage - I was to make. That was another reason;—and I am a bit ashamed to - say, the splendid jewels and the rich silks and Indian goods my new lover - sent me seemed to make a break with him impossible. At any rate, I felt - this, and mother and father niver spoke of the Admiral that they did not - add another rivet to the bond between us. So at last I married my sailor, - and I thank God I did so!” - </p> - <p> - “Did your lover break his heart?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit of it! He married soon after I was married.” - </p> - <p> - “Whom did he marry?” - </p> - <p> - “Sophia Ratcliffe, a varry pretty girl from the old town of Boroughbridge. - I niver saw her. I went with the Admiral, by permission, to various ports, - remaining at some convenient town, while he sailed far and wide after - well-loaded ships of England’s enemies, and picking up as he sailed, any - bit of land flying no civilized flag. I did not come back to Annis for - five years. My father was then dead, my mother hed gone back to her awn - folks, and my brother Antony was Squire of Annis.” - </p> - <p> - “Then did you meet your old lover?” - </p> - <p> - “One day, I was walking with Antony through the village, and we met the - very loveliest child I iver saw in all my life. He was riding a Shetland - pony, and a gentleman walked by his side, and watched him carefully, and I - found out at once by his air of authority that he was the boy’s tutor. I - asked the little fellow for a kiss, and he bent his lovely face and - smilingly let me take what I wanted. Then they passed on and Antony said, - ‘His mother died three months ago, and he nearly broke his heart for her.’ - ‘Poor little chap,’ I said, and my eyes followed the little fellow down - the long empty street. ‘His father,’ continued Antony, ‘was just as - brokenhearted. All Annis village was sorry for him.’ ‘Do I know him?’ I - asked. ‘I should think so!’ answered thy father with a look of surprise, - and then someone called, ‘Squire,’ and we waited, and spoke to the man - about his taxes. After his complaint had been attended to we went forward, - and I remembered the child, and asked, ‘What is the name of that lovely - child?’ And Antony said, “‘His name is Harry Bradley. His father is John - Thomas Bradley. Hes thou forgotten him?’ - </p> - <p> - “Then I turned and looked after the boy, but the little fellow was nearly - out of sight. I only got a last glimpse of some golden curls lying loose - over his white linen suit and black ribbons.” - </p> - <p> - Then Josepha ceased speaking and silently took the weeping girl in her - arms. She kissed her, and held her close, until the storm of sorrow was - over, then she said softly: - </p> - <p> - “There it is, Lovey! The lot of women is on thee. Bear it bravely for thy - father’s sake. He hes a lot to manage now, and he ought not to see - anything but happy people, or hear anything but loving words. Wash thy - face, and put on thy dairymaid’s linen bonnet and we will take a breath of - fresh air in the lower meadow. Its hedges are all full of the Shepherd’s - rose, and their delicious perfume gives my soul a fainty feeling, and - makes me wonder in what heavenly paradise I had caught that perfume - before.” - </p> - <p> - “I will, aunt. You have done me good, it would be a help to many girls to - have heard your story. We have so many ideas that, if examined, would not - look as we imagine them to be. Agatha De Burg used to say that - ‘unfaithfulness to our first love was treason to our soul.’” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t wonder, if that was her notion. She stuck through thick and thin - to that scoundrel De Burg, and she was afraid De Burg was thinking of - thee, and afraid thou would marry him. When girls first go into society - they are in a bit of a hurry to get married; if they only wait a year or - two, it does not seem such a pressing matter. Thou knows De Burg was - Agatha’s first love, and she hes not realized yet, that it is a God’s - mercy De Burg hes not kep the promises he made her.” - </p> - <p> - “The course of true love never yet ran smooth,” and Katherine sighed as - she poured out some water and prepared to wash her face. - </p> - <p> - “Kitty,” said her aunt, “the way my life hes been ordered for me, shows - that God, and only God, orders the three great events of ivery life—birth, - marriage and death; that is, if we will let Him do so. Think a moment, if - I hed married John Thomas Bradley, I would hev spent all my best days in a - lonely Yorkshire hamlet, in the midst of worrying efforts to make work - pay, that was too out-of-date to struggle along. Until I was getting to be - an old woman, I would hev known nothing but care and worry, and how John - Thomas would hev treated me, nobody but God knew. I hated poverty, and I - would hev been poor. I wanted to see Life and Society and to travel, and I - would hardly hev gone beyond Annis Village. Well, now, see how things came - about. I mysen out of pure bad temper made a quarrel with my lover, and - then perversely I wouldn’t make it up, and then the Admiral steps into my - life, gives me ivery longing I hed, and leaves me richer than all my - dreams. I hev seen Life and Society, and the whole civilized world, and - found out just what it is worth, and I hev made money, and am now giving - mysen the wonderful pleasure of helping others to be happy. Sit thee - quiet. If Harry is thine, he will come to thee sure as death! If he does - not come of his awn free will, doan’t thee move a finger to bring him. - Thou wilt mebbe bring nothing but trouble to thysen. There was that young - banker thou met at Jane’s house, he loved thee purely and sincerely. Thou - might easily hev done far worse than marry him. Whativer hed thou against - him?” - </p> - <p> - “His hair.” - </p> - <p> - “What was wrong with the lad’s hair?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, aunt, Jane called it ‘sandy’ but I felt sure it was turning towards - red.” - </p> - <p> - “Stuff and nonsense! It will niver turn anything but white, and it won’t - turn white till thy awn is doing the same thing. And tha knaws it doesn’t - make much matter what color a man’s hair is. Englishmen are varry seldom - without a hat of one kind or another. I doan’t believe I would hev known - the Admiral without his naval hat, or in his last years, his garden hat. - Does tha remember an old lady called Mrs. Sam Sagar? She used to come and - see thy mother, when thou was only a little lass about eight years old, - remember her, she was a queer old lady.” - </p> - <p> - “Queer, but Yorkshire; queer, but varry sensible. Her husband, like the - majority of Yorkshiremen, niver took off his hat, unless to put on his - nightcap, or if he was going inside a church, or hed to listen to the - singing of ‘God Save the King.’ When he died, his wife hed his favorite - hat trimmed with black crape, and it hung on its usual peg of the hat - stand, just as long as she lived. You see his hat was the bit of his - personality that she remembered best of all. Well, what I wanted to show - thee was, the importance of the hat to a man, and then what matters the - color of his hair.” - </p> - <p> - By this time they were in the thick green grass of the meadow, and Kitty - laughed at her aunt’s illustration of the Yorkshire man’s habit of - covering his head, and they chatted about it, as they gathered great - handfuls of shepherd’s roses. And after this, Josepha spoke only of her - plans for the village, and of Faith’s interest in them. She felt she had - said plenty about love, and she hoped the seed she had sown that afternoon - had fallen on good ground. Surely it is a great thing to know <i>how and - when to let go.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII—THE SQUIRE MAKES GOOD - </h2> - <p> - <i>“Busy, happy, loving people; talking, eating, singing, sewing, living - through every sense they have at the same time.”</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>“People who are happy, do not write down their happiness.”</i> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE summer went - quickly away, but during it the whole life of Annis Hall and Annis Village - changed. The orderly, beautiful home was tossed up by constant visitors, - either on business, or on simple social regulations; and the village was - full of strange men, who had small respect for what they considered such - an old-fashioned place. But in spite of all opinions and speculations, the - work for which all this change was permitted went on with unceasing - energy. The squire’s interest in it constantly increased, and Dick’s - enthusiasm and ability developed with every day’s exigencies. Then Josepha - was constantly bringing the village affairs into the house affairs, and - poor women with easy, independent manners, were very troublesome to - Britton and his wife. They were amazed at the tolerance with which - Mistress Annis permitted their frequent visits and they reluctantly - admitted such excuses as she made for them. - </p> - <p> - “You must remember, Betsy,” she frequently explained, “that few of them - have ever been in any home but their father’s and their own. They have - been as much mistress in their own home, as I have been in my home. Their - ideas of what is fit and respectful, come from their heart and are not in - any degree habits of social agreement. If they like or respect a person, - they are not merely civil or respectful, they are kind and free, and speak - just as they feel.” - </p> - <p> - “They do that, Madam—a good bit too free.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Betsy, they are Mistress Temple’s business at present. Thou need - not mind them.” - </p> - <p> - “I doan’t, not in the least.” - </p> - <p> - “They are finding out for her, things she wants to know about the village, - the number of children that will be to teach—the number of men and - women that know how to read and write.” - </p> - <p> - “Few of that kind, Madam, if any at all.” - </p> - <p> - “You know she is now making plans for a school, and she wants, of course, - to have some idea as to the number likely to go there, and other similar - questions. Everyone ought to know how to read and write.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Madam, Britton and mysen hev found our good common senses all we - needed. They were made and given to us by God, when we was born. He gave - us senses enough to help us to do our duty in that state of life it had - pleased Him to call us to. These eddicated lads are fit for nothing. - Britton won’t be bothered with them. He says neither dogs nor horses like - them. They understand Yorkshire speech and ways, but when a lad gets book - knowledge, they doan’t understand his speech, and his ways of pronouncing - his words; and they just think scorn of his perliteness—they kick up - their heels at it, and Britton says they do right. <i>Why-a!</i> We all - know what school teachers are! The varry childher feel suspicious o’ them, - and no wonder! They all hev a rod or a strap somewhere about them, and - they fairly seem to enjoy using it. I niver hed a lick from anybody in my - life. I wouldn’t hev stood it, except from dad, and his five senses were - just as God made them; and if dad gave any o’ the lads a licking, they - deserved it, and they didn’t mind taking it.” - </p> - <p> - “If they got one from a schoolmaster, I dare say they would deserve it.” - </p> - <p> - “No, Madam, begging your pardon, I know instances on the contrary. My - sister-in-law’s cousin’s little lad was sent to a school by Colonel - Broadbent, because he thought the child was clever beyond the usual run of - lads, and he got such a cruel basting as niver was, just because he - wouldn’t, or couldn’t, learn something they called parts of speech—hard, - long names, no meaning in them.” - </p> - <p> - “That was too bad. Did he try to learn them?” - </p> - <p> - “He tried himsen sick, and Britton he tried to help him. Britton learned - one word, called in-ter-jec-tions. He tried that word on both dogs and - horses——” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what followed?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing, Madam. He wanted the horses to go on, and they stood stock - still. The dogs just looked up at him, as if they thought he hed lost his - senses. And Britton, he said then and there, ‘the Quality can hev all my - share of grammar, and they are varry welcome to it.’ Our folk, young and - old, learn greedily to read. Writing hes equal favor with them, arithmatic - goes varry well with their natural senses, but grammar! What’s the use of - grammar? They talk better when they know nothing about it.” - </p> - <p> - So it must be confessed, Miss Josepha did not meet with the eager - gratitude she expected. She was indeed sometimes tempted to give up her - plans, but to give up was to Josepha so difficult and so hateful that she - would not give the thought a moment’s consideration. “I hev been taking - the wrong way about the thing,” she said to Annie. “I will go and talk to - them, mysen.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you will make them delighted to do all your will. Put on your bib - and tucker, and ask Mr. Foster’s permission to use the meeting room of the - Methodist Chapel. That will give your plans the sacred touch women approve - when the subject concerns themselves.” This advice was followed, and two - days afterward, Josepha dressed herself for a chapel interview with the - mothers of Annis. The special invitation pleased them, and they went to - the tryst with their usual up-head carriage, and free and easy manner, - decidely accentuated. - </p> - <p> - Josepha was promptly at the rendezvous appointed, and precisely as the - clock struck three, she stepped from the vestry door to the little - platform used by the officials of the church in all their secular - meetings. She smiled and bowed her head and then cried—“Mothers of - Annis, good afternoon to every one of you!” And they rose in a body, and - made her a courtesy, and then softly clapped their hands, and as soon as - there was silence, Jonathan Hartley’s daughter welcomed her. There was - nothing wanting in this welcome, it was brimful of honest pleasure. - Josepha was Annis. She was the sister of their squire, she was a very - handsome woman, and she had thought it worth while to dress herself - handsomely to meet them. She was known to every woman in the village, but - she had never become commonplace or indifferent. There was no other woman - just like her in their vicinity, and she had always been a ready helper in - all the times of their want and trouble. - </p> - <p> - As she stood up before them, she drew every eye to her. She wore or this - occasion, her very handsomest, deepest, mourning garments. Her long - nun-like crêpe veil would have fallen below her knees had it not been - thrown backward, and within her bonnet there was a Maria Stuart border of - the richest white crêpe. Her thick wavy hair was untouched by Time, and - her stately figure, richly clothed in long garments of silk poplin, was - improved, and not injured, by a slight <i>embonpoint</i> that gave her a - look of stability and strength. Her face, both handsome and benign, had a - rather austere expression, natural and approved,-though none in that - audience understood that it was the result of a strong will, tenaciously - living out its most difficult designs. - </p> - <p> - Without a moment’s delay she went straight to her point, and with vigorous - Yorkshire idioms soon carried every woman in the place with her; and she - knew so well the mental temperature of her audience, that she promptly - declined their vote. “I shall take your word, women,” she said in a - confident tone, “and I shall expect ivery one of you to keep it.” - </p> - <p> - Amid loud and happy exclamations, she left the chapel and when she reached - the street, saw that her coachman was slowly walking the ponies in an - opposite direction, in order to soothe their restlessness. She also was - too restless to stand still and wait their leisurely pace and she walked - in the same direction, knowing that they must very soon meet each other. - Almost immediately someone passed her, then turned back and met face to - face. - </p> - <p> - It was a handsome man of about the squire’s age, and he put out his hand, - and said with a charming, kindly manner:— - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why-a, Josepha! Josepha!</i> At last we hev met again.” - </p> - <p> - For just a moment Josepha hesitated, then she gave the apparent stranger - her hand, and they stood laughing and chatting together, until the ponies - were at hand, and had to be taken away for another calming exercise. - </p> - <p> - “I hevn’t seen you, Josepha, for twenty-four years and five months and - four days. I was counting the space that divided us yesterday, when - somebody told me about this meeting of Annis women, and I thought, ‘I will - just go to Annis, and hang round till I get a glimpse of her.’” - </p> - <p> - “Well, John Thomas,” she answered, “it is mainly thy awn fault. Thou hed - no business to quarrel with Antony.” - </p> - <p> - “It was Antony’s fault.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it was not.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, it was all my fault.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, thou must stick to that side of the quarrel, or I’ll not hev to know - thee,” and both laughed and shook hands again. Then she stepped into her - carriage, and Bradley said: - </p> - <p> - “But I shall see thee again, surely?” - </p> - <p> - “It might so happen,” she answered with a pretty wave of her hand. And all - the way home she was wandering what good or evil Fate had brought John - Thomas Bradley into her life again. - </p> - <p> - When she got back to the Hall, she noticed that her sister-in-law was - worried, and she asked, “What is bothering thee now, Annie?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Josepha, Antony hed a visit from Lawyer Wetherall and he told - Antony Annis that he hes not a particle of right to the seat in The House - of Commons, as matters stand now. He says the new borough will be - contested, and that Colonel Frobisher of Annis is spoken of for the - Liberals, and Sir John Conyers or John Thomas Bradley are likely - candidates for the Tory side of affairs. They hed a long talk and it - wasn’t altogether a pleasant one, and Wetherall went away in a huff, and - Antony came to me in one of his still passions, and I hev been heving a - varry disagreeable hour or two; and I do think Antony’s ignorance on this - matter quite shameful. He ought to hev known, on what right or title he - held such an honor. I am humiliated by the circumstance.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, thou needn’t be so touchy. A great many lords and earls and - men of high degree hev been as ignorant as Antony. Thy husband stands in - varry good company. Antony isn’t a bit to blame. Not he! Antony held his - right from the people of Annis—his awn people—he did not even - buy it, as some did. It had been his, with this authenticity, for - centuries. Thou shared with him all of the honor and profit it brought, - and if there was any wrong in the way it came, thou sanctioned and shared - it. And if I was Antony I would send Wetherall to the North Pole in his - trust or esteem. If he knew different he ought to hev told Antony - different long ago. I shall take ivery bit of business I hev given - Wetherall out of his hands to-morrow morning. And if he charges me a - penny-piece too much I’ll give him trouble enough to keep on the fret all - the rest of his life. I will that!” - </p> - <p> - “I hev no doubt of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is Antony now?” - </p> - <p> - “Wheriver that weary mill is building, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, thou ought to be a bit beyond ‘supposing.’ Thou ought to <i>know</i>. - It is thy place to know, and if he is in trouble, to be helping him to - bear it.” - </p> - <p> - “Josepha, there is no use in you badgering and blaming me. What would you - hev done if Wetherall hed said such and such things, in your presence, as - he did in mine?” - </p> - <p> - “I would hev told him he was a fool, as well as a rascal, to tell at the - end what he ought to hev told at the beginning. If Antony hed no right to - the seat, why did he take money, year after year, for doing business - connected with the seat; and niver open his false mouth? I shall get mysen - clear of him early to-morrow morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t go away now, Josepha. I will send someone to look for the squire.” - </p> - <p> - “I will go mysen, Annie. Thank you!” - </p> - <p> - She found the squire in a very troubled, despondent mood. “Josepha,” he - cried, “to think that I hev been filling a position on sufferance that I - thought was my lawful right!” - </p> - <p> - “And that rascal, Wetherall, niver said a word to thee?” - </p> - <p> - “It is my awn fault. I aught to hev inquired into the matter long ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Then so ought the rest of the legislators. Custom becomes right, through - length of years, and thou art not to blame, not in the least. Now, - however, I would give it up to the people, who gave it to thee. Not to - Wetherall! Put him out of the affair. <i>Entirely!</i> There is to be a - meeting on the village green to-night. Go to it, and then and there say - the words that will give thy heart satisfaction.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, I intend to go, but Annie is vexed, and she makes me feel as if I hed - done something that reflects on our honor and respectability.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou hes done nothing of the kind. No man in all England or Scotland will - say such a thing. Doan’t thee take blame from anyone. If women hed to - judge men’s political character, ivery one would be wrong but their awn - men folk.” - </p> - <p> - “Annie thinks I hev been wrong.” - </p> - <p> - “Annie is peculiar. There are allays exceptions to ivery proposition. - Annie is an exception. Dress thysen in thy handsomest field suit, and take - thy short dog whip in thy hands; it will speed thy words more than thou - could believe, and a crack with it will send an epithet straight to where - it should go.” The squire laughed and leaped to his feet. “God bless thee, - Josepha! I’ll do just what tha says.” - </p> - <p> - “Then thou’ll do right.” - </p> - <p> - This promise was not an easy one to keep, in the face of Annie’s air of - reproach and suffering; but, nevertheless, it was kept, and when the - squire came in sight of the Green he saw a very large gathering of men - already standing round a rude rostrum, on which sat or stood half-a-dozen - gentlemen. Annis put his horse in the care of his servant, and stood on - the edge of the crowd. Wetherall was talking to the newly made citizens, - and explaining their new political status and duties to them, and at the - close of his speech said, “he had been instructed to propose John Thomas - Bradley for the Protective or Tory government,” and this proposal was - immediately seconded by a wealthy resident of Bradley village. - </p> - <p> - The squire set his teeth firmly, his lips were drawn straight and tight, - and his eyes snapped and shone with an angry light. Then there was a - movement among the men on the platform, and Bradley walked to the front. - The clear soft twilight of an English summer fell all over him. It seemed - to Annis that his old friend had never before appeared so handsome and so - lovable. He looked at him until some unbidden tears quenched the angry - flame in his eyes, and he felt almost inclined to mount and ride away. - </p> - <p> - He was, however, arrested immediately by Bradley’s words.—“Gentlemen,” - he said with prompt decision—“I cannot, and will not, accept your - flattering invitation. Do any of you think that I would accept a position, - that puts me in antagonism to my old and well-loved friend, Antony Annis? - Not for all the honor, or power, or gold in England! Annis is your proper - and legitimate representative. Can any of you count the generations - through which the Annis family hes been your friends and helpers? You know - all that the present Squire Antony hes done, without me saying a word - about it: and I could not, and I would not, try to stand in his shoes for - anything king or country could give me. This, on my honor, is a definite - and positive refusal of your intended mark of respect. I accept the - respect which prompted the honor gratefully; the honor itself, I - positively decline. If I hev anything more to say, it is this—send - your old representative, Antony Annis, to watch over, and speak outright, - for your interests. He is the best man you can get in all England, and be - true to him, and proud of him!” - </p> - <p> - A prolonged cheering followed this speech, and during it Squire Antony - made his way through the crowd, and reached the platform. He went straight - to Bradley with outstretched hands—“John Thomas!” he said, in a - voice full of emotion, “My dear, dear friend! I heard ivery word!” and the - two men clasped hands, and stood a moment looking into each other’s - love-wet eyes; and knew that every unkind thought, and word, had been - forever forgiven. - </p> - <p> - Then Annis stepped forward, and was met with the heartiest welcome. Never - had he looked so handsome and gracious. He appeared to have thrown off all - the late sorrowful years, and something of the glory of that authority - which springs from love, lent a singular charm to this picturesque - appearance. - </p> - <p> - He stood at the side of Bradley, and still held his hand. “My friends and - fellow citizens!” he cried joyfully, giving the last two words such an - enthusiastic emphasis, as brought an instant shout of joyful triumph. “My - friends and fellow citizens! If anything could make it possible for me to - go back to the House of Commons, it would be the plea of the man whose - hand I have just clasped. As you all know, I hev pledged my word to the - men and women of Annis to give them the finest power-loom factory in the - West Riding. If I stick to my promise faithfully, I cannot take on any - other work or business. You hev hed my promise for some months. I will put - nothing before it—or with it. Men of Annis, you are my helpers, do - you really think I would go to London, and break my promise? Not you! Not - one of you! I shall stay right here, until Annis mill is weaving the varry - best broadcloths and woolen goods that can be made. Ask Colonel Frobisher - to go to London, and stand for Annis and her wool weavers. He hes little - else to do, we all know and love him, and he will be varry glad to go for - you. Antony Annis hes been a talking man hitherto, henceforward he will be - a working man, but there is a bit of advice I’ll give you now and probably - niver again. First of all, take care how you vote, and for whom you vote. - If your candidate proves unworthy of the confidence you gave him, mebbe - you are not quite innocent. Niver sell your vote for any price, nor for - any reason. Remember voting is a religious act.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay, squire!” someone in the crowd called out, with a dissenting - laugh. “There’s nothing but jobbery, and robbery, and drinking and - quarreling in it. There is no religion about it, squire, that I can see.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, Tommy Raikes, thou doesn’t see much beyond thysen.” - </p> - <p> - “And, squire, I heard that the Methodist preacher prayed last Sunday in - the varry pulpit about the election. Folks doan’t like to go to chapel to - pray about elections. It isn’t right. Mr. Foster oughtn’t to do such - things. It hurts people’s feelings.” - </p> - <p> - “Speak for thysen, Tommy; I’ll be bound the people were all of Mr. - Foster’s opinion. It is a varry important election, the varry first, that - a great many of the people iver took a part in. And I do say, that I hev - no doubt all of them were thankful for the prayer. There is nothing wrong - in praying about elections. It is a religious rite, just the same as - saying grace before your food, and thanking God when you hev eaten it. - Just the same as putting <i>Dei gratia</i> on our money, or taking oaths - in court, or when assuming important positions. Tommy, such simple - religious services proclaim the sacredness of our daily life; and so the - vote at an election, if given conscientiously, is a religious act.” - </p> - <p> - There was much hearty approval of the squire’s opinion, and Tommy Raikes - was plainly advised in various forms of speech to reserve his own. During - the altercation the squire turned his happy face to John Thomas Bradley, - and they said a few words to each other, which ended in a mutual smile as - the squire faced his audience and continued: - </p> - <p> - “The best thing I hev to say to you this night is, in the days of - prosperity fast coming to Annis, stick to your religion. Doan’t lose - yoursens in the hurry and flurry of the busy life before you all. Any - nation to become great must be a religious nation; for nationality is a - product of the soul. It is something for which ivery straight-hearted man - would die. There are many good things for which a good man would not die, - but a good man would willingly die for the good of his country. His hopes - for her will not tolerate a probability. They hev to be realized, or he’ll - die for them. - </p> - <p> - “If you are good Church of England men you are all right. She is your - spiritual mother, do what she tells you to do, and you can’t do wrong. If - you are a Dissenter from her, then keep a bit of Methodism in your souls. - It is kind and personal, and if it gets hold of a man, it does a lot for - him. It sits in the center. I am sorry to say there are a great many - atheists among weavers. Atheists do nothing. A man steeped in Methodism - can do anything! Its love and its honesty lift up them that are cast down; - it gives no quarter to the devil, and it hes a heart as big as God’s - mercy. If you hev your share of this kind of Methodist, you will be kind, - or at least civil to strangers. You knaw how you usually treat them. The - ither day I was watching the men budding, and a stranger passed, and one - of the bricklayers said to another near him, ‘Who’s that?’ and the other - looked up and answered, ‘I doan’t know. He’s a stranger.’ And the advice - promptly given was, ‘throw a brick at him!’” This incident was so common - and so natural, that it was greeted with a roar of laughter, and the - squire nodded and laughed also, and so in the midst of the pleasant - racket, went away with John Thomas Bradley at his side. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a fine night,” said Annis to Bradley. “Walk up the hill and hev a - bite of supper with me.” The invitation was almost an oath of renewed - friendship, and Bradley could on no account refuse it. Then the squire - sent his man ahead to notify the household, and the two men took the hill - at each other’s side, talking eagerly of the election and its - probabilities. As they neared the Hall, Bradley was silent and a little - troubled. “Antony,” he said, “how about the women-folk?” - </p> - <p> - “I am by thy side. As they treat me they will treat thee. Josepha was - allays thy friend. Mistress Annis hed a kind side for thee, so hed my - little Kitty. For awhile, they hev been under the influence of a lie set - going by thy awn son.” - </p> - <p> - “By Harry?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. But Harry was misinformed, by that mean little lawyer that - lives in Bradley. I hev forgotten the whole story, and I won’t hev it - brought up again. It was a lie out of the whole cloth, and was varry - warmly taken up by Dick, and you know how our women are—they stand - by ivery word their men say.” - </p> - <p> - The men entered together. Josepha was not the least astonished. In fact, - she was sure this very circumstance would happen. Had she not advised and - directed John Thomas that very afternoon what to do, and had he not been - only too ready and delighted to follow her advice? When the door opened - she rose, and with some enthusiasm met John Thomas, and while she was - welcoming him the squire had said the few words that were sufficient to - insure Annie’s welcome. An act of oblivion was passed without a word, and - just where the friendship had been dropped, it was taken up again. Kitty - excused herself, giving a headache as her reason, and Dick was in - Liverpool with Hartley, looking over a large importation of South American - wool. - </p> - <p> - The event following this rearrangement of life was the return of Josepha - to her London home. She said a combination of country life and November - fogs was beyond her power of cheerful endurance; and then she begged - Katherine to go back to London with her. Katherine was delighted to do so. - Harry’s absence no longer troubled her. She did not even wish to see him - and the home circumstances had become stale and wearisome. The coming and - going of many strangers and the restlessness and uncertainty of daily life - was a great trial to a family that had lived so many years strictly after - its own ideals of reposeful, regular rule and order. Annie, very - excusably, was in a highly nervous condition, the squire was silent and - thoughtful, and in the evenings too tired to talk. Katherine was eager for - more company of her own kind, and just a little weary of Dick’s and - Faith’s devotion to each other. “I wish aunt would go to London and take - me with her,” she said to herself one morning, as she was rather - indifferently dressing her own hair. - </p> - <p> - And so it happened that Josepha that very day found the longing for her - own home and life so insistent that she resolved to indulge it. “What am I - staying here for?” she asked herself with some impatience. “I am not - needed about the business yet to be, and Antony is looking after the - preparations for it beyond all I expected. I’m bothering Annie, and varry - soon John Thomas will begin bothering me; and poor Kitty hes no lover now, - and is a bit tired of Faith’s perfections. As for Dick, poor lad! he is - kept running between the mill’s business, and the preacher’s daughter. And - Antony himsen says things to me, nobody else hes a right to say. I see - people iverywhere whom no one can suit, and who can’t suit themsens. I’ll - be off to London in two days—and I’ll take Kitty with me.” - </p> - <p> - Josepha’s private complaint was not without truth and her resolve was both - kind and wise. A good, plain household undertaking was lacking; every room - was full of domestic malaria, and the best-hearted person in the world, - can neither manage nor yet control this insidious unhappy element. It is - then surely the part of prudence, where combat is impossible, to run away. - </p> - <p> - So Josepha ran away, and she took her niece with her. They reached London - in time to see the reopening of Parliament, and Mrs. Temple’s cards for - dinner were in the hands of her favorites within two weeks afterwards. - Katherine was delighted to be the secretary for such writing, and she - entered heartily into her aunt’s plans for a busy, social winter. They - chose the parties to carry out their pleasant ideas together, and as Kitty - was her aunt’s secretary, it soon became evident to both that the name of - Edward Selby was never omitted. One or other of the ladies always - suggested it, and the proposal was readily accepted. - </p> - <p> - “He is a fine young man,” said Josepha, “and their bank hes a sound - enviable reputation. I intend, for the future, to deposit largely there, - and it is mebbe a good plan to keep in social touch with your banker.” - </p> - <p> - “And he is very pleasant to dance with,” added Kitty, “he keeps step with - you, and a girl looks her best with him; and then he is not always paying - you absurd compliments.” - </p> - <p> - “A varry sensible partner.” - </p> - <p> - “I think so.” - </p> - <p> - And during the long pleasant winter this satisfaction with Selby grew to a - very sweet and even intense affection. The previous winter Harry Bradley - had stood in his way, but the path of love now ran straight and smooth, - and no one had any power to trouble it. Selby was so handsome, so deeply - in love, so desirable in every way, that Katherine knew herself to be the - most fortunate of women. She was now also in love, really in love. Her - affection for her child lover had faded even out of her memory. Compared - with her passion for Selby, it was indeed a child love, just a sentimental - dream, nursed by contiguity, and the tolerance and talk of elder people. - Nothing deceives the young like the idea of first love—a conquering - idea if a true one, a pretty dangerous mirage, if it is not true. - </p> - <p> - While this affair was progressing delightfully in London things were not - standing still in Annis. The weather had been singularly propitious, and - the great, many-windowed building was beginning to show the length and - breadth of its intentions. Meanwhile Squire Annis was the busiest and - happiest man in all Yorkshire, and Annie was rejoicing in the restored - peace and order of her household. It did not seem that there could now - have been any cause of anxiety in the old Annis home. But there was a - little. Dick longed to have a more decided understanding concerning his - own marriage, but the squire urged him not to think of marriage until the - mill was opened and at work and Dick was a loyal son, as well as a true - lover. He knew also that in many important ways he had become a great help - to his father, and that if he took the long journey he intended to take - with his bride, his absence would be both a trial and a positive loss in - more ways than one. The situation was trying to all concerned, but both - Faith and her father made it pleasant and hopeful, so that generally - speaking his soul walked in a straight way. Sometimes he asked his father - with one inquiring look, “How long, father, how long now?” And the squire - had hitherto always under’ stood the look, and answered promptly, “Not - just yet, dear lad, not just yet!” - </p> - <p> - Josepha and Katherine had returned from London. So continually the days - grew longer, and brighter, and warmer, and the roses came and sent perfume - through the whole house, as the small group of women made beautiful - garments, and talked and wondered, and speculated; and the squire and Dick - grew more and more reticent about the mill and its progress, until one - night, early in July, they came home together, and the very sound of their - footsteps held a happy story. Josepha understood it. She threw down the - piece of muslin in her hand and stood up listening. The next moment the - squire and his son entered the room together. “What is it, Antony?” she - cried eagerly. “<i>The mill?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “The mill is finished! The mill is perfect! We can start work to-morrow - morning if we wish. It is thy doing!” Then he turned to his wife, and - opened his arms, and whispered his joy to her, and Annie’s cheeks were wet - when they both turned to Katherine. - </p> - <p> - And that day the women did not sew another stitch. - </p> - <p> - The next morning Annis village heard a startling new sound. It was the - factory bell calling labor to its duty. And everyone listened to its - fateful reverberations traveling over the surrounding hills and telling - the villages in their solitary places, “Your day also is coming.” The - squire sat up in his bed to listen, and his heart swelled to the impetuous - summons and he whispered in no careless manner, “<i>Thank God!</i>” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII—MARRIAGE BELLS AND GOOD-BY TO ANNIS - </h2> - <p class="indent20"> - “All will be well, though how or where - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Or when it will we need not care. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - We cannot see, and can’t declare: - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - ‘Tis not in vain and not for nought, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The wind it blows, the ship it goes, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Though where, or whither, no one knows.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>MMEDIATELY after - this event preparations for Katherine’s marriage were revived with eager - haste and diligence, and the ceremony was celebrated in Annis Parish - Church. She went there on her father’s arm, and surrounded by a great - company of the rich and noble relatives of the Annis and Selby families. - It was a glorious summer day and the gardens from the Hall to the end of - the village were full of flowers. It seemed as if all nature rejoiced with - her, as if her good angel loved her so that she had conniv’d with - everything to give her love and pleasure. There had been some anxiety - about her dress, but it turned out to be a marvel of exquisite beauty. It - was, of course, a frock of the richest white satin, but its tunic and - train and veil were of marvelously fine Spanish lace. There were orange - blooms in her hair and myrtle in her hands, and her sweetness, beauty and - happiness made everyone instinctively bless her. - </p> - <p> - Dick’s marriage to Faith Foster was much longer delayed; not because his - love had lost any of its sweetness and freshness, but because Faith had - taught him to cheerfully put himself in his father’s place. So without any - complaining, or any explanation, he remained at his father’s side. Then - the Conference of the Methodist Church removed Mr. Foster from Annis to - Bradford, and the imperative question was then whether Faith would go with - her father or remain in Annis as Dick’s wife. Dick was never asked this - question. The squire heard the news first and he went directly to his son:— - </p> - <p> - “Dick, my good son, thou must now get ready to marry Faith, or else thou - might lose her. I met Mr. Foster ten minutes ago, and he told me that the - Methodist Conference had removed him from Annis to Bradford.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever have they done that for? The people here asked him to remain, - and he wrote the Conference he wished to do so.” - </p> - <p> - “It is just their awful way of doing ‘according to rule,’ whether the rule - fits or not. But that is neither here nor there. Put on thy hat and go and - ask Faith how soon she can be ready to marry thee.” - </p> - <p> - “Gladly will I do that, father; but where are we to live? Faith would not - like to go to the Hall.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t ask her to do such a thing. Sir John Pomfret wants to go to - southern France for two or three years to get rid of rheumatism, and his - place is for rent. It is a pretty place, and not a mile from the mill. Now - get married as quick as iver thou can, and take Faith for a month’s - holiday to London and Paris and before you get home again I will hev the - Pomfret place ready for you to occupy. It is handsomely furnished, and - Faith will delight her-sen in keeping it in fine order.” - </p> - <p> - “What will mother say to that?” - </p> - <p> - “Just what I say. Not a look or word different. She knows thou hes stood - faithful and helpful by hersen and by me. Thou hes earned all we can both - do for thee.” - </p> - <p> - These were grand words to carry to his love, and Dick went gladly to her - with them. A couple of hours later the squire called on Mr. Foster and had - a long and pleasant chat with him. He said he had gone at once to see Sir - John Pomfret and found him not only willing, but greatly pleased to rent - his house to Mr. Richard Annis and his bride. “I hev made a good bargain,” - he continued, “and if Dick and Faith like the place, I doan’t see why they - should not then buy it. Surely if they winter and summer a house for three - years, they ought to know whether it is worth its price or not.” - </p> - <p> - In this conversation it seemed quite easy for the two men to arrange a - simple, quiet marriage to take place in a week or ten days, but when Faith - and Mrs. Annis were taken into the consultation, the simple, quiet - marriage became a rather difficult problem. Faith said that she would not - leave her father until she had packed her father’s books and seen all - their personal property comfortably arranged in the preacher’s house in - Bradford. Then some allusion was made to her wardrobe, and the men - remembered the wedding dress and other incidentals. Mistress Annis found - it hard to believe that the squire really expected such a wedding as he - and Mr. Foster actually planned. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why-a, Antony!</i>” she said, “the dear girl must have a lot to do - both for her father and hersen. A marriage within two or three months is - quite impossible. Of course she must see Mr. Foster settled in his new - home and also find a proper person to look after his comfort. And after - that is done, she will have her wedding dress to order and doubtless many - other garments. And where will the wedding ceremony take place?” - </p> - <p> - “In Bradford, I suppose. Usually the bridegroom goes to his bride’s home - for her. I suppose Dick will want to do so.” - </p> - <p> - “He cannot do so in this case. The future squire of Annis must be married - in Annis church.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps Mr. Foster might——” - </p> - <p> - “Antony Annis! What you are going to say is impossible! Methodist - preachers cannot marry anyone legally. I have known that for years.” - </p> - <p> - “I think that law has been abrogated. There was a law spoken of that was - to repeal all the disqualifications of Dissenters.” - </p> - <p> - “We cannot have any uncertainties about our son’s marriage. Thou knows - that well. And as for any hole-in-a-corner ceremony, it is impossible. We - gave our daughter Katherine a proper, public wedding; we must do the same - for Dick.” - </p> - <p> - It is easy under these circumstances to see how two loving, anxious women - could impose on themselves extra responsibilities and thus lengthen out - the interval of separation for nearly three months. For Faith, when the - decision was finally left to her, refused positively to be married from - the Hall. Thanking the squire and his wife for their kind and generous - intentions, she said without a moment’s hesitation, that “she could not be - married to anyone except from her father’s home.” - </p> - <p> - “It would be a most unkind slight to the best of fathers,” she said. “It - would be an insult to the most wise and tender affection any daughter ever - received. I am not the least ashamed of my simple home and simple living, - and neither father nor myself look on marriage as an occasion for mirth - and feasting and social visiting.” - </p> - <p> - “How then do you regard it?” asked Mistress Annis, “as a time of solemnity - and fear?” - </p> - <p> - “We regard it as we do other religious rites. We think it a condition to - be assumed with religious thought and gravity. Madam Temple is of our - opinion. She said dressing and dancing and feasting over a bridal always - reminded her of the ancient sacrificial festivals and its garlanded - victim.” - </p> - <p> - The squire gave a hearty assent to Faith’s opinion. He said it was not - only right but humane that most young fellows hated the show, and fuss, - and wastry over the usual wedding festival, and would be grateful to - escape it. “And I don’t mind saying,” he added, “that Annie and I did - escape it; and I am sure our married life has been as near to a perfectly - happy life as mortals can hope for in this world.” - </p> - <p> - “Dick also thinks as we do,” said Faith. - </p> - <p> - “<i>That</i>, of course,” replied Mistress Annis, just a little offended - at the non-acceptance of her social plans. - </p> - <p> - However, Faith carried out her own wishes in a strict but sweetly - considerate way. Towards the end of November, Mr. Foster had been - comfortably settled in his new home at Bradford. She had arranged his - study and put his books in the alphabetical order he liked, and every part - of the small dwelling was in spotless order and comfort. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime Annie was preparing with much love and care the Pomfret - house for Dick and Dick’s wife. It was a work she delighted herself in and - she grudged neither money nor yet personal attention to make it a House - Beautiful. - </p> - <p> - She did not, however, go to the wedding. It was November, dripping and - dark and cold, and she knew she had done all she could, and that it would - be the greatest kindness, at this time, to retire. But she kissed Dick and - sent him away with love and good hopes and valuable gifts of lace and gems - for his bride. The squire accompanied him to Bradford, and they went - together to The Black Swan Inn. A great political meeting was to occur - that night in the Town Hall, and the squire went there, while Dick spent a - few hours with his bride and her father. As was likely to happen, the - squire was immediately recognized by every wool-dealer present and he was - hailed with hearty cheers, escorted to the platform, and made what he - always considered the finest speech of his life. He was asked to talk of - the Reform Bill and he said: - </p> - <p> - “<i>Not I</i>! That child was born to England after a hard labor and will - hev to go through the natural growth of England, which we all know is a - tremendously slow one. But it will go on! It will go on steadily, till it - comes of full age. Varry few, if any of us, now present will be in this - world at that time; but I am sure wherever we are, the news will find us - out and will gladden our hearts even in the happiness of a better world - than this, though I’ll take it on me to say that this world is a varry - good world if we only do our duty in it and to it, and love mercy and show - kindness.” Then he spoke grandly for labor and the laboring man and woman. - He pointed out their fine, though uncultivated intellectual abilities, - told of his own weavers, learning to read after they were forty years old, - of their unlearning an old trade and learning a new one with so much ease - and rapidity, and of their great natural skill in oratory, both as - regarded religion and politics. “Working men and working women are <i>the - hands</i> of the whole world,” he said. “With such men as Cartwright and - Stevenson among them, I wouldn’t dare to say a word lessening the power of - their mental abilities. Mebbe it was as great a thing to invent the power - loom or conceive of a railroad as to run a newspaper or write a book.” - </p> - <p> - He was vehemently applauded. Some time afterwards, Faith said the - Yorkshire roar of approval was many streets away, and that her father went - to find out what had caused it. “He was told by the man at the door, ‘it’s - nobbut one o’ them Yorkshire squires who hev turned into factory men. A - great pity, sir!’ he added. ‘Old England used to pin her faith on her - landed gentry, and now they hev all gone into the money market.’ My father - then said that they might be just as useful there, and the man answered - warmly: ‘And thou art the new Methodist preacher, I suppose! I’m ashamed - of thee—I am that!’ When father tried to explain his meaning, the - man said: ‘Nay-a! I’m not caring what <i>tha means</i>. A man should stand - by what he <i>says</i>. Folks hevn’t time to find out his meanings. I’ve - about done wi’ thee!’ Father told him he had not done with him and would - see him again in a few days.” And then she smiled and added, “Father saw - him later, and they are now the best of friends.” The wedding morning was - gray and sunless, but its gloom only intensified the white loveliness of - the bride. Her perfectly plain, straight skirt of rich, white satin and - its high girlish waist looked etherially white in the November gloom. A - wonderful cloak of Russian sable which was Aunt Josepha’s gift, covered - her when she stepped into the carriage with her father, and then drove - with the little wedding party to Bradford parish church. There was no - delay of any kind. The service was read by a solemn and gracious - clergyman, the records were signed in the vestry, and in less than an hour - the party was back at Mr. Foster’s house. A simple breakfast for the eight - guests present followed, and then Faith, having changed her wedding gown - for one of light gray broadcloth of such fine texture that it looked like - satin, came into the parlor on her father’s arm. He took her straight to - Dick, and once more gave her to him. The tender little resignation was - made with smiles and with those uncalled tears which bless and consecrate - happiness that is too great for words. - </p> - <p> - After Dick’s marriage, affairs at Annis went on with the steady regularity - of the life they had invited and welcomed. The old church bells still - chimed away the hours, but few of the dwellers in Annis paid any attention - to their call. The factory bell now measured out the days and the majority - lived by its orders. To a few it was good to think of Christmas being so - nearly at hand; they hoped that a flavor of the old life might come with - Christmas. At Annis Hall they expected a visit from Madam Temple, and it - might be that Dick and Faith would remember this great home festival, and - come back to join in it. Yet the family were so scattered that such a hope - hardly looked for realization. Selby and Katherine were in Naples, and - Dick and Faith in Paris and Aunt Josepha in her London home where she - hastily went one morning to escape the impertinent clang of the factory - bell. At least that was her excuse for a sudden homesickness for her - London house. Annie, however, confided to the squire her belief that the - rather too serious attentions of John Thomas Bradley were the predisposing - grievances, rather than the factory bell. So the days slipped by and the - squire and Jonathan Hartley were in full charge of the mill. - </p> - <p> - It did exceedingly well under their care, but soon after Christmas the - squire began to look very weary, and Annie wished heartily that Dick would - return, and so allow his father to take a little change or rest. For Annie - did not know that Dick’s father had been constantly adding to Dick’s - honeymoon holiday. “Take another week, Dick! We can do a bit longer - without thee,” had been his regular postscript, and the young people, a - little thoughtlessly, had just taken another week. - </p> - <p> - However, towards the end of January, Dick and his wife returned and took - possession of their own home in the Pomfret place. The squire had made its - tenure secure for three years, and Annie had spared no effort to render it - beautiful and full of comfort, and it was in its large sunny parlor she - had the welcome home meal spread. It was Annie that met and kissed them on - the threshold, but the squire stood beaming at her side, and the evening - was not long enough to hear and to tell of all that happened during the - weeks in which they had been separated. - </p> - <p> - Of course they had paid a little visit to Mr. and Mistress Selby and had - found them preparing to return by a loitering route to London. “But,” said - Dick, “they are too happy to hurry themselves. Life is yet a delicious - dream; they do not wish to awaken just yet.” - </p> - <p> - “They cannot be ‘homed’ near a factory,” said Annie with a little laugh. - “Josepha found it intolerable. It made her run home very quickly.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought she liked it. She said to me that it affected her like the - marching call of a trumpet, and seemed to say to her, ‘Awake, Josepha! - There is a charge for thy soul to-day!’” - </p> - <p> - Hours full of happy desultory conversation passed the joyful evening of - reunion, but during them Dick noted the irrepressible evidences of mental - weariness in his father’s usually alert mind, and as he was bidding him - good night, he said as he stood hand-clasped with him: “Father, you must - be off to London in two days, and not later. Parliament opens on the - twenty-ninth, and you must see the opening of the First Reformed - Parliament.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Why-a</i>, Dick! To be sure! I would like to be present. I would like - nothing better. The noise of the mill hes got lately on my nerves. I niver - knew before I hed nerves. It bothered me above a bit, when that young - doctor we hev for our hands told me I was ‘intensely nervous.’ I hed niver - before thought about men and women heving nerves. I told him it was the - noise of the machinery and he said it was my nerves. I was almost ashamed - to tell thy mother such a tale.” - </p> - <p> - And Annie laughed and answered, “Of course it was the noise, Dick, and I - told thy father not to mind anything that young fellow said. The idea of - Squire Annis heving what they call ‘nerves.’ I hev heard weakly, sickly - women talk of their nerves, but it would be a queer thing if thy father - should find any nerves about himsen. Not he! It is just the noise,” and - she gave Dick’s hand a pressure that he thoroughly understood. - </p> - <p> - “Go to London, father, and see what sort of a job these new men make of a - parliamentary opening.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose Jonathan and thysen could manage for a week without me?” - </p> - <p> - “We would do our best. Nothing could go far wrong in a week. This is the - twenty-fifth of January, father. Parliament opens on the twenty-ninth. - London was getting crowded with the new fellows as Faith and I came - through it. They were crowding the hotels, and showing themselves off as - the ‘Reformed Parliament.’ I would have enjoyed hearing thee set them down - a peg or two.” - </p> - <p> - Then the old fire blazed in the squire’s eyes, and he said, “I’ll be off - to-morrow afternoon, Dick. I’m glad thou told me. If there’s anything I - hev a contempt for it is a conceited upstart. I’ll turn any of that crowd - down to the bottom of their class;” and the squire who left the Pomfret - house that night was a very different man from the squire who entered it - that afternoon. - </p> - <p> - Two days afterwards the squire was off to London. He went first to the - Clarendon and sent word to his sister of his arrival. She answered his - note in person within an hour. “My dear, dear lad!” she cried. “My - carriage is at the door and we will go straight home.” - </p> - <p> - “No, we won’t, Josepha. I want a bit of freedom. I want to go and come as - I like. I want to stay in the House of Commons all night long, if the new - members are passing compliments on each other’s records and abilities. I - hev come up to London to feel what it’s like to do as I please, and above - all, not to be watched and cared for.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, Antony! I know! Some men are too happily married. In my opinion, - it is the next thing to being varry—-” - </p> - <p> - “I mean nothing wrong, Josepha. I only want to be let alone a bit until I - find mysen.” - </p> - <p> - “Find thysen?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. Here’s our medical man at the mill telling me ‘I hev what he - calls nerves.’ I hevn’t! Not I! I’m a bit tired of the days being all - alike. I’d enjoy a bit of a scolding from Annie now for lying in bed half - the morning, and as sure as I hev a varry important engagement at the - mill, I hear the hounds, and the <i>view, holloa!</i> and it is as much as - I can do to hold mysen in my chair. It is <i>that</i> thou doesn’t - understand, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - “I do understand. I hev the same feeling often. I want to do things I - would do if I was only a man. Do exactly as thou feels to do, Antony, - while the mill is out of sight and hearing.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, I will.” - </p> - <p> - “How is our mill doing?” - </p> - <p> - “If tha calls making money doing well, then the Temple and Annis mill - can’t be beat, so far.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad to hear it. Wheniver the notion takes thee, come and see me. I - hev a bit of private business that I want to speak to thee about.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I’ll come and see thee—often.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I’ll leave thee to thysen” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll be obliged to thee, Josepha. Thou allays hed more sense than the - average woman, who never seems to understand that average men like now and - then to be left to their awn will and way.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll go back with thee to Annis and we can do all our talking there.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s sensible. We will take the early coach two weeks from to-day. I’ll - call for thee at eleven o’clock, and we’ll stay over at the old inn at - Market Harborough.” - </p> - <p> - “That is right. I’ll go my ways now. Take care of thysen and behave thysen - as well as tha can,” and then she clasped his hand and went good-naturedly - away. But as she rode home, she said to herself—“Poor lad! I’ll - forgive and help him, whativer he does. I hope Annie will be as loving. I - wonder why God made women so varry good. He knew what kind of men they - would mebbe hev to live with. Poor Antony! I hope he’ll hev a real good - time—I do that!” and she smiled and shrugged her shoulders and kept - the rest of her speculations to herself. - </p> - <p> - The two weeks the squire had specified went its daily way, and Josepha - received no letter from her brother, but at the time appointed he knocked - at her door promptly and decidedly. Josepha had trusted him. She met him - in warm traveling clothes, and they went away with a smile and a perfect - trust in each other. Josepha knew better than to ask a man questions. She - let him talk of what he had seen and heard, she made no inquiries as to - what he had <i>done</i>, and when they were at Market Harborough he told - her he had slept every hour away except those he spent in The House. “I - felt as if I niver, niver, could sleep enough, Josepha. It was fair - wonderful, and as it happened there were no night sessions I missed - nothing I wanted to see or hear. But tha knows I’ll hev to tell Annie and - mebbe others about The House, so I’ll keep that to mysen till we get all - together. It wouldn’t bear two talks over. Would it now?” - </p> - <p> - “It would be better stuff than usual if it did, Antony. Thou wilt be much - missed when it comes to debating.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I shall. I hev my word ready when it is the right time to say it, - that is, generally speaking.” - </p> - <p> - Josepha’s visit was unexpected but Annie took it with apparent enthusiasm, - and the two women together made such a fuss over the improvement in the - squire’s appearance that Josepha could not help remembering the plaintive - remarks of her brother about being too much cared for. However, nothing - could really dampen the honest joy in the squire’s return, and when the - evening meal had been placed upon the table and the fire stirred to a - cheering blaze, the room was full of a delightful sense of happiness. A - little incident put the finishing touch to Annie’s charming preparation. A - servant stirred the fire with no apparent effect. Annie then tried to get - blaze with no better result. Then the squire with one of his heartiest - laughs took the apparently ineffectual poker. - </p> - <p> - “See here, women!” he cried. “You do iverything about a house better than - a man except stirring a fire. Why? Because a woman allays stirs a fire - from the top. That’s against all reason.” Then with a very decided hand he - attacked the lower strata of coals and they broke up with something like a - big laugh, crackling and sputtering flame and sparks, and filling the room - with a joyful illumination. And in this happy atmosphere they sat down to - eat and to talk together. - </p> - <p> - Josepha had found a few minutes to wash her face and put her hair - straight, the squire had been pottering about his wife and the luggage and - the fire and was still in his fine broadcloth traveling suit, which with - its big silver buttons, its smart breeches and top boots, its line of - scarlet waistcoat and plentiful show of white cambric round the throat, - made him an exceedingly handsome figure. And if the husbands who may - chance to read of this figure will believe it, this good man, so carefully - dressed, had thought as he put on every garment, of the darling wife he - wished still to please above all others. - </p> - <p> - The first thing the squire noticed was the absence of Dick and Faith. - </p> - <p> - “Where are they?” he asked in a disappointed tone. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Antony,” said Josepha, “Annie was just telling me that Dick hed - gone to Bradford to buy a lot of woolen yarns; if so be he found they were - worth the asking price, and as Faith’s father is now in Bradford, it was - only natural she should wish to go with him.” - </p> - <p> - “Varry natural, but was it wise? I niver could abide a woman traipsing - after me when I hed any business on hand.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s where you made a mistake, Antony. If Annie hed been a business - woman, you would hev built yoursen a mill twenty years ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, I would, if Annie hed asked me. Not without. When is Dick to be - home?” - </p> - <p> - “Some time to-morrow,” answered Annie. “He is anxious to see thee. He - isn’t on any loitering business.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Josepha, there is no time for loitering. All England is spinning - like a whipped top at full speed. In Manchester and Preston the wheels of - the looms go merrily round. Oh, there is so much I want to do!” - </p> - <p> - They had nearly finished a very happy meal when there was a sound of men’s - voices coming nearer and nearer and the silver and china stopped their - tinkling and the happy trio were still a moment as they listened. “It will - be Jonathan and a few of the men to get the news from me,” said the - squire. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Antony, I thought of that and there is a roaring fire in the - ballroom and the chairs are set out, and thou can talk to them from the - orchestra.” And the look of love that followed this information made - Annie’s heart feel far too big for everyday comfort. - </p> - <p> - There were about fifty men to seat. Jonathan was their leader and - spokesman, and he went to the orchestra with the squire and stood by the - squire’s chair, and when ordinary courtesies had been exchanged, Jonathan - said, “Squire, we want thee to tell us about the Reform Parliament. The <i>Yorkshire - Post</i> says thou were present, and we felt that we might ask thee to - tell us about it.” - </p> - <p> - “For sure I will. I was there as soon as the House was opened, and John - O’Connell went in with me. He was one of the ‘Dan O’Connell household - brigade,’ which consists of old Dan, his three sons, and two sons-in-law. - They were inclined to quarrel with everyone, and impudently took their - seats on the front benches as if to awe the Ministerial Whigs who were - exactly opposite them. William Cobbett was the most conspicuous man among - them. He was poorly dressed in a suit of pepper and salt cloth, made - partly like a Quaker’s and partly like a farmer’s suit, and he hed a white - hat on. * His head was thrown backward so as to give the fullest view of - his shrewd face and his keen, cold eyes. Cobbett had no respect for - anyone, and in his first speech a bitter word niver failed him if he was - speaking of the landed gentry whom he called ‘unfeeling tyrants’ and the - lords of the loom he called ‘rich ruffians.’ Even the men pleading for - schools for the poor man’s children were ‘education-cantors’ to him, and - he told them plainly that nothing would be good for the working man that - did not increase his victuals, his drink and his clothing. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * A white hat was the sign of an extreme Radical. -</pre> - <p> - “Is that so, men?” asked the squire. He was answered by a “<i>No!</i>” - whose style of affirmation was too emphatic to be represented by written - words. - </p> - <p> - “But the Reform Bill, squire? What was said about the Reform Bill and the - many good things it promised us?” - </p> - <p> - “I niver heard it named, men. And I may as well tell you now that you need - expect nothing in a hurry. All that really has been given you is an - opportunity to help yoursens. Listen to me. The Reform Bill has taken from - sixty boroughs both their members, and forty-seven boroughs hev been - reduced to one member. These changes will add at least half a million - voters to the list, and this half-million will all come from the sturdy - and generally just, great middle class of England. It will mebbe take - another generation to include the working class, and a bit longer to hev - the laboring class educated sufficiently to vote. That is England’s slow, - sure way. It doan’t say it is the best way, but it is <i>our</i> way, and - none of us can hinder or hasten it. ** - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - ** In 1867, during Lord Derby’s administration, it was made - to include the artizans and mechanics, and in Gladstone’s - administration, A. D. 1884, the Reform Bill was made to - include agricultural and all day laborers. -</pre> - <p> - “In the meantime you have received from your own class of famous inventors - a loom that can make every man a master. Power-loom weaving is the most - healthy, the best paid, and the pleasantest of all occupations. With the - exception of the noise of the machinery, it has nothing disagreeable about - it. You that already own your houses take care of them. Every inch of your - ground will soon be worth gold. I wouldn’t wonder to see you, yoursens, - build your awn mills upon it. Oh, there is nothing difficult in that to a - man who trusts in God and believes in himsen. - </p> - <p> - “And men, when you hev grown to be rich men, doan’t forget your God and - your Country. Stick to your awn dear country. Make your money in it. Be - Englishmen until God gives you a better country, Which won’t be in this - world. But whether you go abroad, or whether you stay at home, niver - forget the mother that bore you. She’ll niver forget you. And if a man hes - God and his mother to plead for him, he is well off, both for this world - and the next.” - </p> - <p> - “That is true, squire.” - </p> - <p> - “God has put us all in the varry place he thought best for the day’s work - He wanted from us. It is more than a bit for’ardson in us telling Him we - know better than He does, and go marching off to Australia or New Zealand - or Canada. It takes a queer sort of a chap to manage life in a strange - country full of a contrary sort of human beings. Yorkshire men are <i>all</i> - Yorkshire. They hevn’t room in their shape and make-up for new-fangled - ways and ideas. You hev a deal to be proud of in England that wouldn’t be - worth a half-penny anywhere else. It’s a varry difficult thing to be an - Englishman and a Yorkshireman, which is the best kind of an Englishman, as - far as I know, and not brag a bit about it. There’s no harm in a bit of - honest bragging about being himsen a Roman citizen and I do hope a - straight for-ard Englishman may do what St. Paul did—brag a bit - about his citizenship. And as I hev just said, I say once more, don’t - leave England unless you hev a clear call to do so; but if you do, then - make up your minds to be a bit more civil to the strange people than you - usually are to strangers. It is a common saying in France and Italy that - Englishmen will eat no beef but English beef, nor be civil to any God but - their awn God. I doan’t say try to please iverybody, just do your duty, - and do it pleasantly. That’s about all we can any of us manage, eh, - Jonathan?” - </p> - <p> - “We are told, sir, to do to others as we would like them to do to us.” - </p> - <p> - “For sure! But a great many Yorkshire people translate that precept into - this—‘Tak’ care of Number One.’ Let strangers’ religion and politics - alone. Most—I might as well say <i>all</i>—of you men here, - take your politics as seriously as you take your religion, and that is - saying a great deal. I couldn’t put it stronger, could I, Jonathan?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir! I doan’t think you could. It is a varry true comparison. It is - surely.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, lads, in the future, it is to be work and pray, and do the varry - best you can with your new looms. It may so happen that in the course of - years some nation that hes lost the grip of all its good and prudent - senses, will try to invade England. It isn’t likely, but it might be. Then - I say to each man of you, without an hour’s delay, do as I’ve often heard - you sing— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “ ‘Off with your labor cap! rush to the van! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The sword is your tool, and the height of your plan - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Is to turn yoursen into a fighting man.’ - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Lads, I niver was much on poetry but when I was a varry young man, I - learned eleven lines that hev helped me in many hours of trial and - temptation to remember that I was an English gentleman, and so bound by - birth and honor to behave like one.” - </p> - <p> - “Will tha say them eleven lines to us, squire? Happen they might help us a - bit, too.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure of it, Jonathan.” With these words, the kind-hearted, - scrupulously honorable gentleman lifted his hat, and as he did so, fifty - paper caps were lifted as if by one hand and the men who wore them rose as - one man. - </p> - <p> - “You may keep your standing, lads, the eleven lines are worthy of that - honor; and then in a proud, glad enthusiasm, the squire repeated them with - such a tone of love and such a grandeur of diction and expression as no - words can represent:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - This other Eden, demi-Paradise; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - This fortress built by Nature for herself, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Against infection, and the hand of war, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - This happy breed of men, this little world, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - This precious stone set in the silver sea, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Which serves it in the office of a wall— - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Or as a moat defensive to a house— - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Against the envy of less happier lands. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - And the orator and his audience were all nearer crying than they knew, for - it was pride and love that made their hearts beat so high and their eyes - overflow with happy tears. The room felt as if it was on fire, and every - man that hour knew that Patriotism is one of the holiest sentiments of the - soul. With lifted caps, they went away in the stillness of that happiness, - which the language of earth has not one word to represent. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV—A RECALL - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>FTER this event I - never saw Squire Antony Annis any more. Within a week, I had left the - place, and I was not there again until the year A. D. 1884, a period of - fifty-one years. Yet the lovely village was clear enough in my memory. I - approached it by one of the railroads boring their way through the hills - and valleys surrounding the place, and as I did so, I recalled vividly its - pretty primitive cottages—each one set in its own garden of herbs - and flowers. I could hear the clattering of the looms in the loom sheds - attached to most of these dwellings. I could see the handsome women with - their large, rosy families, and the burly men standing in groups - discussing some recent sermon, or horse race, or walking with their - sweethearts; and perhaps singing “The Lily of the Valley,” or “There is a - Land of Pure Delight!” I could hear or see the children laughing or - quarreling, or busy with their bobbins at the spinning wheel, and I could - even follow every note of the melody the old church chimes were flinging - into the clear, sweet atmosphere above me. - </p> - <p> - In reality, I had no hopes of seeing or hearing any of these things again, - and the nearer I approached Annis Railroad Station, the more surely I was - aware that my expectation of disappointment was a certain presage. I found - the once lovely village a large town, noisy and dirty and full of red - mills. There were whole streets of them, their lofty walls pierced with - more windows than there are days in a year, and their enormously high - chimneys shutting out the horizon as with a wall. The street that had once - overlooked the clear fast-running river was jammed with mills, the river - had become foul and black with the refuse of dyeing materials and other - necessities of mill labor. - </p> - <p> - The village had totally disappeared. In whatever direction I looked there - was nothing but high brick mills, with enormously lofty chimneys lifted up - into the smoky atmosphere. However, as my visit was in the winter, I had - many opportunities of seeing these hundreds and thousands of mill windows - lit up in the early mornings and in the twilight of the autumn evenings. - It was a marvelous and unforget-able sight. Nothing could make commonplace - this sudden, silent, swift appearance of light from the myriad of windows, - up the hills, and down the hills, through the valleys, and following the - river, and lighting up the wolds, every morning and every evening, just - for the interval of dawning and twilight. As a spectacle it is - indescribable; there is no human vocabulary has a word worthy of it. - </p> - <p> - The operatives were as much changed as the place. All traces of that - feudal loyalty which had existed between Squire Annis and his weavers, had - gone forever, with home and hand-labor, and individual bargaining. The - power-loom weaver was even then the most independent of all workers. And - men, women and children were well educated, for among the first bills - passed by Parliament after the Reform Bill was one founding National - schools over the length and breadth of England; and the third generation - since was then entering them. “Now that you have given the people the - vote,” said Lord Brougham, “you must educate them. The men who say ‘yes’ - or ‘no’ to England’s national problems must be able to read all about - them.” So National Schools followed The Bill, and I found in Annis a large - Public Library, young men’s Debating Societies, and courses of lectures, - literary and scientific. - </p> - <p> - On the following Sunday night, I went to the Methodist chapel. The old one - had disappeared, but a large handsome building stood on its site. The - moment I entered it, I was met by the cheerful Methodist welcome and - because I was a stranger I was taken to the Preacher’s pew. Someone was - playing a voluntary, on an exceptionally fine organ, and in the midst of a - pathetic minor passage—which made me feel as if I had just lost Eden - over again—there was a movement, and with transfigured faces the - whole congregation rose to its feet and began to sing. The voluntary had - slipped into the grand psalm tune called “<i>Olivet</i>” and a thousand - men and women, a thousand West Riding voices, married the grand old Psalm - tune to words equally grand— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Lo! He comes with clouds descending, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Once for favored sinners slain; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Thousand, thousand saints attending, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Swell the triumph of his train. - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Halleluiah! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - God appears on the earth to reign. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Yea, Amen! let all adore thee, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - High on Thy eternal throne; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Savior, take the power and glory! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Claim the kingdom for Thine own. - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Halleluiah! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Everlasting God come down!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - And at this hour I am right glad, because my memory recalls that wonderful - congregational singing; even as I write the words, I hear it. It was not - Emotionalism. No, indeed! It was a good habit of the soul. - </p> - <p> - The next morning I took an early train to the cathedral city of Ripon, and - every street I passed through on my way to the North-Western Station was - full of mills. You could not escape the rattle of their machinery, nor the - plunging of the greasy piston rods at every window. It was not yet eight - o’clock, but the station was crowded with men carrying samples of every - kind of wool or cotton. They were neighbors, and often friends, but they - took no notice of each other. They were on business, and their hands were - full of bundles. So full that I saw several men who could not manage their - railway ticket, and let the conductor take it from their teeth. - </p> - <p> - Now when I travel, I like to talk with my company, but as I looked around, - I could not persuade myself that any of these business-saturated men would - condescend to converse with an inquisitive woman. However, a little - further on, a very complete clergyman came into my compartment. He looked - at me inquiringly, and I felt sure he was speculating about my social - position. So I hastened to put him at ease, by some inquiries about the - Annis family. - </p> - <p> - “O dear me!” he replied. “So you remember the old Squire Antony! How Time - does fly! The Annis people still love and obey Squire Antony. I suppose he - is the only person they do love and obey. How long is it since you were - here?” - </p> - <p> - “Over fifty years. I saw the great Reform Bill passed, just before I left - Annis in 1833.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean the first part of it?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, sir, had it more than one part?” - </p> - <p> - “I should say so. It seemed to need a deal of altering and repairing. The - Bill you saw pass was Grey’s bill. It cleaned up the Lords and Commons, - and landed gentlemen of England. Thirty-five years later, Derby and - Disraeli’s Reform Bill gave the Franchise to the great middle class, - mechanics and artizan classes, and this very year Gladstone extended the - Bill to take in more than two millions of agricultural and day laborers. - It has made a deal of difference with all classes.” - </p> - <p> - “I think it is quite a coincidence that I should be here at the finish of - this long struggle. I have seen the beginning and the end of it. Really - quite a coincidence,” and I laughed a little foolish laugh, for the - clergyman did not laugh with me. On the contrary he said thoughtfully: - “Coincidences come from higher intelligences than ourselves. We cannot - control them, but they are generally fortunate.” - </p> - <p> - “Higher intelligences than ourselves?” I asked. “Yes. This world is both - the workfield and the battlefield of those sent to minister unto souls who - are to be heirs of salvation, and who perhaps, in their turn, become - comforting and helpful spirits to the children of men. Yes. A coincidence - is generally a fortunate circumstance. Someone higher than ourselves, has - to do with it. Are you an American?” - </p> - <p> - “I have lived in America for half-a-century.” - </p> - <p> - “In what part of America?” - </p> - <p> - “In many parts, north and south and west. My life has been full of - changes.” - </p> - <p> - “Change is good fortune. Yes, it is. To change is to live, and to have - changed often, is to have had a perfect life.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think the weavers of Annis much improved by all the changes that - steam and machinery have brought to them?” - </p> - <p> - “No. Machinery confers neither moral nor physical perfection, and steam - and iron and electricity do not in any way affect the moral nature. Men - lived and died before these things were known. They could do so again.” - </p> - <p> - Here the guard came and unlocked our carriage, and my companion gathered - his magazines and newspapers together and the train began to slow up. He - turned to me with a smile and said, “Good-by, friend. Go on having - changes, and fear not.” - </p> - <p> - “But if I <i>do</i> fear?” - </p> - <p> - “Look up, and say: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “O Thou who changest not! Abide with me!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - With these words he went away forever. I had not even asked his name, nor - had he asked mine. We were just two wayfarers passing each other on life’s - highway. He had brought me a message, and then departed. But there are - other worlds beyond this. We had perhaps been introduced for this future. - For I do believe that no one touches our life here, who has not some - business or right to do so. For our lives before this life and our lives - yet to be are all one, separated only by the little sleep we call death. - </p> - <p> - I reached Ripon just at nightfall, and the quiet of the cathedral city, - its closed houses, and peaceful atmosphere, did not please me. After the - stress and rush of the West Riding, I thought the place must be asleep. On - the third morning I asked myself, “What are you doing here? What has the - past to give you? To-day is perhaps yours—Yesterday is as - unattainable as To-morrow.” Then the thought of New York stirred me, and I - hastened and took the fastest train for Liverpool, and in eight days I had - crossed the sea, and was in New York and happily and busily at work again. - </p> - <p> - But I did not dismiss Annis from my memory and when the first mutterings - of the present war was heard, I remembered Squire Antony, and his charge - to the weavers of Annis—“It may so happen,” he said, “that in the - course of years, some nation, that has lost the grip of all its good - senses, will try to invade England. It isn’t likely, but it might be so. - Then I say to each of you, and every man of you, without one hour’s delay, - do as I have often heard you sing, and say you would do:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “ ‘Off with your Labor Cap! rush to the van! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The sword for your tool, and the height of your plan - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To turn yoursen into a fighting man<i>! </i> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Would they do so? - </p> - <p> - As I repeated the squire’s order, I fell naturally into the Yorkshire form - of speech and it warmed my heart and set it beating high and fast. - </p> - <p> - Would the ‘Yorkshires’ still honor the charge Squire Annis had given them? - Oh, how could I doubt it! England had been in some war or other, nearly - ever since the squire’s charge, and the ‘Yorkshires’ had always been soon - and solid in rushing to her help. It was not likely that in this - tremendous struggle, they would either be too slow, or too cold. Not they! - Not they! They were early at the van, and doubly welcome; and they are - helping at this hour to fight a good fight for all humanity; and learning - the while, how to become of the highest type of manhood that can be - fashioned in this world. Not by alphabets and books, but by the crucial - living experiences that spring only from the courses of Life and Death—divine - monitions, high hopes and plans, that enlarge the judgment, and the - sympathies, the heart and the intellect, and that with such swift and - mysterious perfection, as can only be imparted while the mortal stands on - the very verge of Immortality. - </p> - <p> - Very soon, now, they will come home bringing a perfect peace with them, - then!<i> how good will be their quiet, simple lives, and their daily - labor, and their Paper Cap! </i> - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. 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- <head>
- <title>
- The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. Barr
- </title>
- <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
- <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
-
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- P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
- H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
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- border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center;
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- font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;}
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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. Barr
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Paper Cap
- A Story of Love and Labor
-
-Author: Amelia E. Barr
-
-Illustrator: Stockton Mulford
-
-Release Date: September 30, 2015 [EBook #50089]
-Last Updated: October 31, 2016
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PAPER CAP ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE PAPER CAP
- </h1>
- <h3>
- A Story Of Love And Labor
- </h3>
- <h2>
- By Amelia E. Barr
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- “A king may wear a golden crown,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- A Paper Cap is lighter;
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- And when the crown comes tumbling down
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- The Paper Cap sits tighter
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <h3>
- Frontispiece By Stockton Mulford
- </h3>
- <h4>
- D. Appleton And Company New York
- </h4>
- <h5>
- 1918.
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <h3>
- TO SAMUEL GOMPERS
- </h3>
- <p>
- THE WORKER’S FRIEND THIS STORY OF LABOR’S FORTY YEARS’ STRUGGLE FOR THE
- RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- This is the Gospel of Labor,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Ring it, ye bells of the Kirk,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The Lord of Love came down from above
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- To live with the people who work.
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Henry Van Dyke
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he headdress of
- nationalities, and of public and private societies, has been in all ages a
- remarkable point of interest. Religion, Poetry, Politics, superstitions,
- and so forth, have all found expression by the way they dressed or covered
- their heads. Priests, soldiers, sailors, lawyers, traders, professions of
- all kinds are known by some peculiar covering of the head which they
- assume. None of these symbols are without interest, and most of them
- typify the character or intents of their wearers.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Paper Cap has added to its evident story a certain amount of mystery,
- favorable in so far as it permits us to exercise our ingenuity in devising
- a probable reason for its selection as the symbol of Labor. A very
- industrious search has not yet positively revealed it. No public or
- private collection of old prints of the seventeenth century that I have
- seen or heard from has any representation of an English working man
- wearing a Paper Cap. There is nothing of the kind in any <i>Hone’s</i>
- four large volumes of curious matters; nor does <i>Notes and Queries</i>
- mention it. Not until the agitation and the political disturbance
- attending the Reform Bill, is it seen or mentioned. Then it may be found
- in the rude woodcuts and chap books of the time while in every town and
- village it soon became as familiar as the men who wore it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, if the working man was looking for a symbol, there are many reasons
- why the Paper Cap would appeal to him. It is square, straight, upright; it
- has no brim. It permits the wearer to have full sight for whatever he is
- doing. It adds five inches or more to his height. It is cool, light and
- clean, and it is made of a small square of brown paper, and costs nothing.
- Every man makes his own paper cap, generally while he smokes his first
- morning pipe. It was also capable of assuming all the expressions of more
- pretentious head coverings—worn straight over the brows, it imparted
- a steady, business-like appearance. Tilted to one side, it showed the
- wearer to be interested in his own appearance. If it was pushed backward
- he was worried or uncertain about his work. On the heads of large
- masterful men it had a very “hands off” look. Employers readily understood
- its language.
- </p>
- <p>
- I do not remember ever seeing anyone but working men wear a Paper Cap and
- they generally wore it with an “air” no pretender could assume. In the
- days of the Reform Bill a large company of Paper-Capped men were a company
- to be respected.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man whose clever fingers first folded into such admirable shape a
- piece of brown paper seems to be unknown. I was once told he was a
- Guiseley man, again he was located at Burnley, or Idle. No one pretended
- to know his name. It was perhaps some tired weaver or carpenter whose head
- was throbbing in the sultry room and who feared to expose it to the full
- draught from some open window near his loom or bench. No other affiliation
- ever assumed or copied this cap in any way and for a century it has stood
- bravely out as the symbol of Labor; and has been respected and recognized
- as the badge of a courageous and intelligent class.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, if we do not positively know the facts about a certain matter, we can
- consider the circumstances surrounding it and deduct from them a
- likelihood of the truth; and I cannot avoid a strong belief that the Paper
- Cap was invented early in the agitation for the Reform Bill of A. D. 1832
- and very likely directly after the immense public meeting at New Hall,
- where thousands of English working men took bareheaded and with a Puritan
- solemnity, a solemn oath to stand by the Reform Bill until it was passed.
- It was not fully passed until 1884, and during that interval the Paper Cap
- was everywhere in evidence. Might it not be the symbol of that oath and a
- quiet recognition of brotherhood and comradeship in the wearing of it?
- </p>
- <p>
- It is certain that after this date, 1884, its use gradually declined, yet
- it is very far from being abandoned. In Nova Scotia and Canada it is still
- common, and we all know how slowly any personal or household habit dies in
- England. I am very sure that if I went to-morrow to any weaving town in
- the West Riding, I would see plenty of Paper Caps round the great centers
- of Industry. Last week only, I received half-a-dozen from a large building
- firm in Bradford.
- </p>
- <p>
- As a symbol of a sacred obligation between men, it is fitting and unique.
- It has never been imitated or copied, and if the habit of making a clean
- one every day is observed, then whatever it promises will be kept clean
- and clear in the memory. Long live the Paper Cap!
- </p>
- <p>
- My theory that the Paper Cap is associated with the Reform Bill, may, or
- may not be correct, but the union seems to be a very natural one—the
- Bill deserved the friendship and long adherence of the Cap, and the Cap
- deserved the freedom and strength of the Bill.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE PAPER CAP</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—THE SQUIRE OF ANNIS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—THE PROSPECT OF LONDON LIFE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—THE REALIZATION OF TROUBLE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—LONDON AND AUNT JOSEPHA </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—FASHION AND FAMINE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—IN THE FOURTH WATCH </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—LOVE’S TENDER PHANTASY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—LOVERS QUARREL AND THE SQUIRE
- MAKES A SPEECH </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE GREAT BILL PASSES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—AUNT JOSEPHA INTERFERES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—THE SQUIRE MAKES GOOD </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—MARRIAGE BELLS AND GOOD-BY TO
- ANNIS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—A RECALL </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE PAPER CAP
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I—THE SQUIRE OF ANNIS
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The turning point in life arrives for all of us.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- A land of just and old renown,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Where Freedom slowly broadens down
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- From precedent to precedent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>EARLY ninety years
- ago, there was among the hills and wolds of the West Riding of Yorkshire a
- lovely village called Annis. It had grown slowly around the lords of the
- manor of Annis and consisted at the beginning of the nineteenth century of
- men and women whose time was employed in spinning and weaving. The looms
- were among their household treasures. They had a special apartment in
- every home, and were worthily and cheerfully worked by their owners. There
- were no mills in Annis then, and no masters, and no Trade Unions. They
- made their own work-hours and the Leeds Cloth Hall settled the worth of
- their work.
- </p>
- <p>
- Squire Antony Annis owned the greater part of the village. The pretty
- white stone cottages, each in its own finely cared-for garden, were,
- generally speaking, parts of his estate and he took a fatherly, masterly
- care of them. It was the squire who bought their work, and who had to
- settle with the Leeds Cloth Hall. It was the squire who found the wool for
- the women to spin and who supplied the men with the necessary yarns.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lived close to them. His own ancient Hall stood on a high hill just
- outside the village!—a many-gabled building that had existed for
- nearly three hundred years. On this same hilly plateau was the church of
- Annis, still more ancient, and also the Rectory, a handsome residence that
- had once been a monastery. Both were in fine preservation and both were
- influential in the village life, though the ancient church looked down
- with grave disapproval on the big plain Wesleyan Chapel that had stolen
- from it the lawful allegiance it had claimed for nearly five centuries.
- Yet its melodious chimes still called at all canonical hours to worship,
- and its grand old clock struck in clarion tones the hours of their labor
- and their rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were handsome men in this locality, strong and powerful, with a
- passion for horses and racing that not even Methodism could control. Their
- women were worthy of them, tall and fine-looking, with splendid coloring,
- abundant hair, and not unfrequently eyes like their Lancashire neighbors;
- gray and large, with long dark lashes, and that “look” in them which the
- English language has not yet been able to find a word for. They were busy
- wives, they spun the wool for their husbands’ looms and they reared large
- families of good sons and daughters.
- </p>
- <p>
- The majority of the people were Methodists—after their kind. The
- shepherds on the mountains around took as naturally to Methodism as a babe
- to its mother’s milk. They lived with their flocks of Merino sheep half
- their lives in the night and its aërial mysteries. The doctrine of
- “Assurance” was their own spiritual confidence, and John Wesley’s
- Communion with the other world they certified by their own experience. As
- to the weavers, they approved of a religion that was between God and
- themselves only. They had a kind of feudal respect for Squire Annis. He
- made their pleasant independent lives possible and they would take a word
- or two of advice or reproof from him; and also the squire knew what it was
- to take a glass of strong ale when he had been to a race and seen the
- horse he had backed, win it—but the curate! The curate knew nothing
- about horses.
- </p>
- <p>
- If they saw the curate approaching them they got out of his way; if they
- saw the squire coming they waited for him. He might call them idle lads,
- but he would walk to their looms with them and frankly admire the
- excellence of their work, and perhaps say: “I wonder at a fine lad like
- thee leaving a bit of work like that. If I could do it I would keep at it
- daylight through.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And the weaver would look him bravely in the face and answer—“Not
- thou, squire! It wouldn’t be a bit like thee. I see thee on t’ grandstand,
- at ivery race I go to. I like a race mysen, it is a varry democratic
- meeting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the squire would give the child at the spinning wheel a shilling and
- go off with a laugh. He knew that in any verbal contest with Jimmy Riggs,
- he would not be the victor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Also if the squire met any mother of the village he would touch his hat
- and listen to what she wished to say. And if one of her lads was in
- trouble for “catching a rabbit on the common”—though he suspected
- the animal was far more likely from his own woods—he always promised
- to help him and he always did so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our women have such compelling eyes,” he would remark in excuse, “and
- when they would look at you through a mist of tears a man that can say
- ‘no’ to them isn’t much of a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Naturally proud, the squire was nevertheless broadly affable. He could not
- resist the lifted paper cap of the humblest man and his lofty stature and
- dignified carriage won everyone’s notice. His face was handsome, and
- generally wore a kind thoughtful expression, constantly breaking into
- broad smiles. And all these advantages were seconded and emphasized by his
- scrupulous dress, always fit and proper for every occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was riding slowly through the village one morning when he met a
- neighbor with whom he had once been on intimate friendly terms. It was
- John Thomas Bradley, who had just built a large mill within three miles of
- Annis village and under the protecting power of the government had filled
- it with the latest power-looms and spinning jennies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good morning, Annis!” he said cheerfully. “How dost tha do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do none the better for thy late doings. I can tell thee that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is tha meaning my new building?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is tha ashamed to speak its proper name? It’s a factory, call it that.
- And I wouldn’t wonder, if tha hes been all through Annis, trying to get
- some o’ my men to help thee run it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, then. I wouldn’t hev a man that hes been in thy employ, unless it
- were maybe Jonathan Hartley. They are all petted and spoiled to death.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ask Jonathan to come to thy machine shop. He wouldn’t listen to thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, I wouldn’t listen to his Chartist talk. I would want to cut
- the tongue out o’ his head. I would that! O Annis, we two hev been friends
- for forty years, and our fathers were hand and glove before us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, Bradley, I know! But now thou art putting bricks and iron before
- old friendship and before all humanity; for our workers are men,
- first-rate men, too—and thou knows it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suppose they are, what by that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just this; thou can’t drive men by machines of iron tethered to steam! It
- is an awful mastership, that it is! It is the drive of the devil. The
- slaves we are going to set free in the West Indies are better off, far
- better off than factory slaves. They hed at any rate human masters, that
- like as not, hev a heart somewhere about them. Machines hev no heart, and
- no sympathy and no weakness of any make. They are regular, untiring,
- inexorable, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They do more work and better work than men can do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mebbe they do, and so men to keep up wi’ them, hev to work longer, and
- harder, and wi’ constantly increasing peril o’ their lives. Yes, for the
- iron master, the man must work, work, work, till he falls dead at its iron
- feet. It is a cruel bad do! A bad do! Bradley, how can thou fashion to do
- such things? Oh, it isn’t fair and right, and thou knows it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Annis, thou may come to see things a good deal different and tha
- knows well I can’t quarrel wi’ thee. Does ta think I can iver forget March
- 21, 1823, when thou saved me and mine, from ruin?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let that pass, Bradley. It went into God’s memory—into God’s memory
- only. Good morning to thee!” And the men parted with a feeling of kindness
- between them, though neither were able to put it into words.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still the interview made the squire unhappy and he instantly thought of
- going home and telling his wife about it. “I can talk the fret away with
- Annie,” he thought, and he turned Annisward.
- </p>
- <p>
- At this time Madam Annis was sitting in the morning sunshine, with her
- finest set of English laces in her hand. She was going carefully over
- them, lifting a stitch here and there, but frequently letting them fall to
- her lap while she rested her eyes upon the wealth of spring flowers in the
- garden which at this point came close up to the windows.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madam Annis was fifty years old but still a beautiful woman, full of life,
- and of all life’s sweetest and bravest sympathies. She wore an Indian
- calico—for Manchester’s printed calicoes were then far from the
- perfection they have since arrived at—and its bizarre pattern, and
- wonderfully brilliant colors, suited well her fine proportions and regal
- manner. A small black silk apron with lace pockets and trimmings of lace,
- and black silk bows of ribbon—a silver chatelaine, and a little lace
- cap with scarlet ribbons on it, were the most noticeable items of her
- dress though it would hardly do to omit the scarlet morocco slippers,
- sandaled and trimmed with scarlet ribbon and a small silver buckle on the
- instep.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she heard rapid footsteps descending the great stairway, and in
- the same moment she erected her position, and looked with kind but steady
- eyes at the door. It opened with a swift noiseless motion and a girl of
- eighteen years entered; a girl tall and slender, with masses of bright
- brown hair, a beautiful mouth and star-like eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother,” she said, “how am I to go to London this spring?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not yet in thy father’s intentions about the journey, Katherine. He
- promised to take thee when he went up to the House. If he forswears his
- promise, why then, child, I know not. Ask him when he is going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did so this morning and he said I must excuse him at present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then he will take thee, later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s a bit different, mother; and it isn’t what he promised me. It is
- my wish to go now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no way for thee to go now. Let London wait for its proper time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alura Percival, and Lady Capel, and Agatha Wickham, are already on their
- way there. Captain Chandos told me so an hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed! Has he learned how to speak the truth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like other people, he speaks as much of it as is profitable to him. If
- father is not going just yet cannot you go, dear mother? You know Jane
- will expect us to keep our promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jane knows enough of the times to understand why people are now often
- prevented from keeping their promises. Is Jane going much out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A great deal and she says Lord Leyland wishes her to keep open house for
- the rest of the season. Of course, I ought to be with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see no ‘ought’ in the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is my sister and can introduce me to noblemen and distinguished
- people. She desires me to come at once. I have just had a letter from her.
- And what about my frocks, mother? If father is not ready to go you could
- go with me, dear mother! That would be just as well, perhaps better!” And
- she said these flattering words from the very summit of her splendid eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are people here in Annis who are wanting bread and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is their own fault, mother, and you know it. The Annis weavers are a
- lot of stubborn old fogies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They have only taken this world as they found it. Isn’t that right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. It is all wrong. Every generation ought to make it better. You said
- that to father last night, I heard you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t always talk to thy father as I do to thee. It wouldn’t be a bit
- suitable. Whatever were thou talking to Captain Chandos for—if he is
- a captain—I doubt it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His uncle bought him a commission in The Scotch Greys. His mother is
- Scotch. I suppose he has as much right there, as the rest of the Hanover
- fools.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if thou are going to indulge thyself in describing people in the army
- and the court thou wilt get thy father into trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I saw father talking to Squire Bradley for a long time this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In what mood? I hope they were not—quarreling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They were disputing rather earnestly, father looked troubled, and so did
- Bradley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They were talking of the perishing poor and the dreadful state of.
- England no doubt. It’s enough to trouble anybody, I’m sure of that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So it is, but then father has a bad way of making things look worse than
- they are. And he isn’t friendly with Bradley now. That seems wrong,
- mother, after being friends all their live-long lives.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is wrong. It is a bit of silent treason to each other. It is that! And
- how did thou happen to see them talking this morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They met on the village green. I think Bradley spoke first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll warrant it. Bradley is varry good-natured, and he thought a deal o’
- thy father. How did thou happen to be on the green so early in the day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was sitting with Faith Foster, and her parlor window faces the Green.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith Foster! And pray what took thee to her house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was helping her to sew for a lot of Annis babies that are nearly naked,
- and perishing with cold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was a varry queer thing for thee to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought so myself even while I was doing it—but Faith works as
- she likes with everyone. You can’t say ‘No’ to anything she wants.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Such nonsense! I’m fairly astonished at thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever seen Faith, mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I! It is none o’ my place to visit a Methodist preacher’s daughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Everybody visits her—rich and poor. If you once meet her she can
- bring you back to her as often as she wishes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Such women are very dangerous people to know. I’d give her a wide border.
- Keep thyself to thyself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to London. Maybe, mother, I ought to tell you that our Dick is
- in love with Faith Foster. I am sure he is. I do not see how he can help
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick and his father will hev that matter to settle, and there is enough
- on hand at present—what with mills, and steam, and working men, not
- to speak of rebellion, and hunger, and sore poverty. Dick’s love affairs
- can wait awhile. He hes been in love with one and twenty perfect beauties
- already. Some of them were suitable fine girls, of good family, and Lucy
- Todd and Amy Schofield hed a bit of money of their awn. Father and I would
- hev been satisfied with either o’ them, but Dick shied off from both and
- went silly about that French governess that was teaching the Saville
- girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not think Dick will shy off from Faith Foster. I am sure that he has
- never yet dared to say a word of love to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dared! What nonsense! Dick wasn’t born in Yorkshire to take a dare from
- any man or woman living.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, mother, I have made you wise about Faith Foster. A word is all you
- want.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I the girl pretty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pretty She is adorable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that she is a fine looking girl?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that she is a little angel. You think of violets if she comes
- where you are. Her presence is above a charm and every door flies open to
- her. She is very small. Mary Saville, speaking after her French governess,
- calls her <i>petite</i>. She is, however, beautifully fashioned and has
- heavenly blue, deep eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me nothing more about her. I should never get along with such a
- daughter-in-law. How could thou imagine it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, mother, I have told you all my news, what have you to say to me
- about London?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will speak to thy father some time to-day. I shall hev to choose both a
- proper way and a proper time; thou knows that. Get thy frocks ready and I
- will see what can be done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If father will not take me, I shall write to Aunt Josepha.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou will do nothing of that kind. Thy Aunt Josepha is a very peculiar
- woman. We heard from the Wilsons that she hed fairly joined the radicals
- and was heart and soul with the Cobden set. In her rough, broad way she
- said to Mrs. Wilson, that steam and iron and red brick had come to take
- possession of England and that men and women who could not see that were
- blind fools and that a pinch of hunger would do them good. She even
- scolded father in her letter two weeks ago, and father her <i>eldest
- brother</i>. Think of that! I was shocked, and father felt it far more
- than I can tell thee. <i>Why!</i>—he wouldn’t hev a mouthful of
- lunch, and that day we were heving hare soup; and him so fond of hare
- soup.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember. Did father answer that letter?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think he did. He told Josepha Temple a little of her duty; he
- reminded her, in clear strong words, that he stood in the place of her
- father, and the head of the Annis family, and that he had a right to her
- respect and sympathy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did Aunt Josepha say to that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She wrote a laughable, foolish letter back and said: ‘As she was two
- years older than Antony Annis she could not frame her mouth to ‘father’
- him, but that she was, and always would be, his loving sister.’ You see
- Josepha Temple was the eldest child of the late squire, your father came
- two years after her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you know that Dick had been staying with her for a week?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Dick wrote us while there. Father is troubled about it. He says Dick
- will come home with a factory on his brain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must stand by Dick, mother. We are getting so pinched for money you
- know, and Lydia Wilson told me that everyone was saying: ‘Father was
- paying the men’s shortage out of his estate.’ They were sorry for father,
- and I don’t like people being sorry for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And pray what has Lydia Wilson to do with thy father’s money and
- business? Thou ought to have asked her that question. Whether thou
- understands thy father or not, whatever he does ought to be right in thy
- eyes. Men don’t like explaining their affairs to anyone; especially to
- women, and I doan’t believe they iver tell the bottom facts, even to
- themselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, if things come to the worst, would it do for me to ask Jane for
- money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder at thee. Jane niver gives or lends anything to anybody, but to
- Jane.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She says she is going to entertain many great people this winter and she
- wishes me to meet them so I think she might help me to make a good
- appearance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t wonder if she asked thy father to pay her for introducing thee
- into the titled set. She writes about them and talks about them and I dare
- warrant dreams about them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, mother!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does she ever forget that she has managed to become Lady Leyland? She
- thinks that two syllables before her name makes her better than her own
- family. <i>Chut!</i> Katherine! Leyland is only the third of the line. It
- was an official favor, too—what merit there is in it has not yet
- been discovered. We have lived in this old house three hundred years, and
- three hundred before that in old Britain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old Britain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure—in Glamorganshire, I believe. Ask thy father. He knows
- his genealogy by heart. I see him coming. Go and meet him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, mother, but I think I will write a short note to Aunt Josepha. I
- will not name business, nor money, nor even my desire to make a visit to
- London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Write such a letter if thou wishes but take the result—whatever it
- is—in a good humor. Remember that thy aunt’s temper, and her words
- also, are entirely without frill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That, of course. It is the Annis temper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the English temper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, mother, things seem to be ordered in a very unhappy fashion but I
- suppose we might as well take to them at once. Indeed, we shall be
- compelled to do it, if so be, it pleases them above.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just so,” answered Madam. “But, Katherine, The Hands of Compulsion
- generally turn out to be The Hands of Compassion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine smiled happily, the door opened, and the next moment she gave
- the smile in a kiss to her father, as he clasped her fondly in his arms,
- crying, “Eh, my joy! I am glad to see thee!” Then the two women made that
- charming fuss over his “tired look,” which is so consoling to men fresh
- from the slings and arrows of an outrageous world that will not do as they
- want it to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- In his family life the squire still retained many old-fashioned customs,
- and his dinner at one o’clock was a settled ceremony. This day, in the
- very middle of it, Katherine said, “I saw you, father, this morning when
- you were talking to Mr. Bradley on the Green—about ten o’clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I saw thee trailing through the low meadows with Bradley’s son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, he came home last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And went out t’ varry next morning, to meet thee in t’ low meadow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you say, he happened to meet me in the low meadow, it would be
- better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whativer hed the lad to do in my meadow so early in the morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you call half-past ten early, dad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I call it too early for thee to be traipsing through t’ wet grass with
- Henry Bradley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us keep to facts, dear father. The grass was quite dry—too dry.
- Joel was wishing for rain; he said, ‘Master so pampered his cattle, that
- they perfectly thought scorn of half-cured grass.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou art trying to slip by my question and I’m not going to let thee do
- it. What was John Henry Bradley doing wi’ thee in the low meadow this
- morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He brought me a letter from my brother Dick. Dick and Harry have been in
- London together, and they stayed four days with Aunt Josepha. They liked
- her very much. They took her to the opera and the play and she snubbed
- O’Connell and some other famous men and told them to let her alone, that
- she had two innocent lads in her care—and so on. You know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was he making love to thee?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should not ask me a question of that kind, dad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou need not tell me, what I should, or should not do. I hed learned all
- that, before thou wer born. And I’ll tell thee plainly that I will not hev
- any lovemaking between thee and Harry Bradley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, father. If you are going to the stable will you tell someone
- to have my saddle horse at the door in half-an-hour?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, I will. If tha wants a ride and will go to Yoden Bridge, I’ll
- go with thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would like that but I promised to help Faith Foster, who is making
- clothing for the naked, shivering babies in Annis village. When Oddy’s
- little girl died a week ago, there wasn’t a night-gown in the house to
- bury it in. Its mother tore a breadth out of her one petticoat and folded
- her baby in it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Katherine Annis! Surely that tale is not true!” cried Madam.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas, it is too true! The baby’s one little gown was not fit even for the
- grave.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Squire sat down and covered his face with his hands and when Katherine
- left the room he looked up pitifully at his wife. And she stooped and
- kissed him and as she did so comforted him with broken words of affection
- and assurances that it was not his fault—“thou hast pinched us all a
- bit to keep the cottage looms busy,” she said, “thou couldn’t do more than
- that, could thou, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought I was doing right. Is there any other way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou could build—like the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not answer the remark but stood up hurriedly, saying, “I must go
- and order Katherine’s mount and she will expect me to put her up. After
- that I may go to Yoden Bridge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madam sighed and turned hopelessly away. “When will he listen to reason?”
- she whispered, but there was no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II—THE PROSPECT OF LONDON LIFE
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Men who their duties know,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- But know their rights, and knowing dare maintain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The blind mole casts
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Copp’d hills toward heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- By man’s oppression and the poor worm doth die for’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T is during the
- hungry years of the thirties and forties of the nineteenth century that
- the great body of Englishmen and Englishwomen reveal themselves most nobly
- and clearly in their national character. They were years of hunger and
- strife but it is good to see with what ceaseless, persistent bravery they
- fought for their ideals year after year, generation after generation,
- never losing hope or courage but steadily working and waiting for the
- passage of that great Reform Bill, which would open the door for their
- recognition at least as members of the body politic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet this Reform Bill terrified the aristocracy and great land holders and
- they were sure that its passage would sweep away both the monarchy and the
- House of Lords. What else could be looked for if the franchise was given
- to the laborer and the mechanic? The Bill had been well received by the
- House of Commons, but rejected by the House of Lords on the twentieth day
- of the previous October; and the condition of the country was truly
- alarming.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madam Annis reminded her daughter of this fact but Katherine was not to be
- frightened. “Your father,” she said, “has just told us about the riot and
- outrages at Derby and the burning of Nottingham Castle by a frantic mob
- and the press says—‘the people in London are restless and full of
- passion.’ Still more to be wondered at is the letter which Thomas Attwood,
- the great banker, has just sent to the Duke of Wellington. In this letter
- he dared to threaten the government, to tell them he would march on London
- with a hundred thousand men, in order to inquire why the Reform Bill was
- hindered and delayed. This morning’s paper comments on this threat and
- says, The Duke of Wellington is not afraid of this visit, but would rather
- it was not paid.’ All the way up to London there is rioting. It is not a
- fit journey for thee to take. Mind what I say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, mother, only think! I might have been in the Ladies’ Gallery, in the
- House. I might have heard Mr. Macaulay’s answer to the Lord’s denial, with
- his grand question to the Commons, ‘Ought we to abandon the Reform Bill
- because the Lords have rejected it? No! We must respect the lawful
- privileges of their House, but we ought also to assert our own.’ No wonder
- the Commons cheered, and cheered, and cheered him. Oh, how gladly I would
- have helped them!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are going too far and too fast, Katherine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father ought to have been in the House on the third of February and it is
- now the seventh of March: Is that right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A great many landed men will not go to this session. The Reform Bill,
- re-written by Lord Russell, is to come up again and father does not want
- to vote either for, or against it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He hes his reasons. I doan’t know that his reasons are any business of
- thine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harry Bradley was explaining things to me this morning, and I am for the
- Reform Bill. I am sure the people are right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t say as much on thy opinion. Wisdom wasn’t born wi’ thee and I
- doan’t expect she will die wi’ thee. I think if thou went to London this
- spring thou would make more enemies than thou could manage. Father is
- following my advice in staying home, and London isn’t a fit place for a
- young girl like thee and the way there is full of rioters. Thy father is a
- landed man and he doesn’t believe in giving every weaver and hedger and
- ditcher a voice in the government of England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harry Bradley says, some of their leaders and speakers are very clever
- eloquent men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t talk nonsense after Harry Bradley. Who’s Harry Bradley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is my friend, mother. We have been friends nearly twenty years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not you! It is not yet eighteen years since thou showed thy face in this
- world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was speaking generally, mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eh, but there’s something wrong in that way! A lot o’ bother can come out
- of it. I wouldn’t mind anything Harry Bradley says, thy father won’t hev
- any nonsense about him. I can tell thee that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father is so set in his own way. No one suits him lately. We met Captain
- Chandos last Monday, and he would hardly notice him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, there are plenty of folk no one can suit, and varry often
- they can’t suit themselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don’t care about Chandos, mother; but I feel angry when Harry is
- slighted. You see, mother, I might come to marry Harry Bradley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do hope thou won’t be so far left to thysen, as that would mean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you would be wise to let me go to London. A girl must have a lover,
- or she feels out in the cold, and Harry is the best specimen of a man
- round about Annis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. Let me tell thee that I hev noticed that the girls who never
- throw a line into the sea of marriage, do a deal better than them that are
- allays fishing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps so, but then there is the pleasure of throwing the line.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And perhaps the pleasure of being caught by some varry undesireable
- fisherman for tha needn’t think that women are the only fishers. The men
- go reg’lar about that business and they will soon find out that thou hes a
- bit o’ money o’ thy awn and are well worth catching. See if they doan’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, I want to go to London and see the passing of the great Reform
- Bill. I am in love with those brave men Earl Grey and Lord Russell and Mr.
- Macaulay, who dared to speak up for the poor, before all England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I rather think they are all married men, Katherine, and marrying for love
- is an unwise and generally an unprofitable bit of business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Business and Love have nothing to do with each other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eh, but they hev!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall marry for love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, marry for love, but love wisely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Money is only one thing, mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, but it is a rayther important thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You might persuade father that he had better take me to London out of
- Harry’s way. Dear mammy, do this for your little girl, won’t you? You can
- always get round father in some way or other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will ask thy father again but I shall take no roundabout way.
- Straightforrard is the best. And I am above a bit astonished at thee, a
- Yorkshire lass, thinking of any crooked road to what thou wants! If tha
- can’t get thy way openly and fairly make up thy mind any other way isn’t
- worth while, for it will be full of ups and downs, and lonely bits, and
- stony bits, and all sorts and kinds of botherations. Keep these words in
- thy mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’ll ask thy father again, to take thee with him to London—if
- he goes himsen—if he does not go at all, then——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must find out some other way, and really the most straightforward way
- would be to marry Harry Bradley, and go to London with him as a wedding
- trip.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou must stop talking nonsense or else it will stop my talking one word
- for thy wish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was just joking, mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Always keep everything straight between thysen and thy mother. The first
- deception between me and thee opens the gates of Danger.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will never forget that, mother. And if I should go away I ask you to
- take my place with Faith Foster, who is making clothing for the poor in
- the village.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Katherine, what with one thing and what with another, I doan’t know
- what tha wants. Does tha know thysen?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I think it would look better if the Hall should trouble itself a
- little about the suffering in the village. Faith Foster is the only person
- doing anything. I was helping her, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think thou would have told thysen that it was varry forrard in a
- young person putting herself in my place without even a word to me on the
- matter. She ought to hev come and told me what was needed and offered her
- help to me. Thy father is Lord of the Manor of Annis, and it is his
- business to see the naked clothed. I wonder at thee letting any one take
- my place and then asking me to help and do service for them. That is a bit
- beyond civility, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was very thoughtless. I am sorry I did it. I was so touched by Faith’s
- description of the hunger and nakedness in Abram Oddy’s family, that I
- thought of nothing but how to relieve it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well! It is all right, someway or other. I see father coming
- towards the house. I wonder what he is wanting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he is walking so rapidly and looks so happy, something must have
- pleased him. I will go away, mother. This may be a good hour for our
- request.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why <i>our?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine had disappeared. She left the room by one door as the squire
- entered by the other. Madam rose to meet him but before she could speak
- the squire had kissed her and was saying in glad eager tones, “I hev
- hurried a bit, my Joy, to tell thee that both thysen and Katherine can go
- wi’ me to London. I had a lump of good fortune this afternoon. Mark
- Clitheroe sent me the thousand pounds he owed, when he broke up five years
- ago. He told me he wouldn’t die till he had paid it; and I believed him.
- The money came to-day and it came with a letter that does us both credit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “However has Clitheroe made a thousand pounds to spare since his smash-up?
- Thou said, it wer a varry complete ruin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was all of that, yet he tells me, he will be able to pay the last
- farthing he owes to anyone, during this year some time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It caps me! How hes he made the money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Annie, his father built a factory for him and filled it with the
- finest power-looms and he says he hes been doing a grand business. Old
- Clitheroe hed allays told him he was wasting time and good brass in hand
- weaving but Mark would hev his awn way, and somehow his awn way took him
- to ruin in three years. I was his main creditor. Well, well! I am both
- astonished and pleased, I am that! Now get thysen and Katherine ready for
- London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t really want to go, Antony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I cannot do without thee. Thou wilt hev to go, and there is
- Katherine, too! Ten to one, she will need a bit of looking after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When art thou going to start?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not for a month. I must see to the sowing of the land—the land
- feeds us. I thought, though, it would be right to give thee the bit o’
- change and pleasure to think about and talk about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where does thou intend to stay while in London?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am thinking of the Clarendon Hotel for thee and mysen. I suppose
- Katherine can be comfortable and welcome at her sister’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly she can. Jane isn’t anything but kind at heart. It is just her
- <i>you-shallness</i> that makes her one-sided to live with. But Katherine
- can hold her own side, without help, she can that! And if thou art bound
- for London, then London is the place where my heart will be and we will go
- together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou art a good wife to me, Annie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, I promised thee to be a good wife, and I’m Yorkshire enough
- to keep a promise—good or bad. I am glad thou art going to the
- Clarendon. It is a pleasant house but thy sister Josepha is a bit
- overbearing, isn’t she, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She does not overbear me. I am her eldest brother. I make her remember
- that. Howiver, I shall hev to listen to such a lot o’ strong language in
- the House that I must hev only thee about me when I can get away from
- committees, and divisions, taking of votes, and the like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time the squire had filled his pipe, and seated himself in his
- favorite corner on that side of the hearth, that had no draughts whichever
- way the wind blew. Then Madam said: “I’ll leave thee a few minutes,
- Antony. I am going to tell Katherine that thou art going to take her to
- London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Varry well. I’ll give thee five minutes, then thou must come back here,
- for I hev something important to tell thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Katherine will want to come back here with me. She will be impatient to
- thank thee for thy goodness and to coax some sovereigns in advance for a
- new dress and the few traveling things women need when they are on the
- road.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then thou hed better advise her to wait until supper time. When the day’s
- work is all done I can stand a bit of cuddling and petting and I doan’t
- mind waring a few sovereigns for things necessary. Of course, I know the
- little wench will be happy and full o’ what she is going to see, and to
- do, and to hear. Yet, Annie, I hev some important thoughts in my mind now
- and I want thy help in coming to their settlement.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Antony Annis! I <i>am</i> astonished at thee, I am that! When did thou
- ever need or take advice about thy awn business? Thou hes sense for all
- that can be put up against thy opinion, without asking advice from man or
- woman—‘specially woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be so, Annie, perhaps it <i>is</i> so, but thou art different.
- Thou art like mysen and it’s only prudent and kind to talk changes over
- together. For thou hes to share the good or the bad o’ them, so it is only
- right thou should hev time to prepare for whatever they promise. Sit thee
- down beside me. Now, then, this is what happened just as soon as I hed
- gotten my money—and I can assure thee, that a thousand pounds in a
- man’s pocket is a big set up—I felt all my six feet four inches and
- a bit more, too—well, as I was going past the Green to hev a talk
- wi’ Jonathan Hartley, I saw Mr. Foster come to his door and stand there.
- As he was bare-headed, I knew he was waiting to speak to me. I hev liked
- the man’s face and ways iver since he came to the village, and when he
- offered his hand and asked me to come in I couldn’t resist the kindness
- and goodness of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou went into the preacher’s house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I surely did, and I am glad of it. I think a deal o’ good may come from
- the visit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did thou see his daughter?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did and I tell thee she is summat to see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then she is really beautiful?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and more than that. She was sitting sewing in a plain, small parlor
- but she seemed to be sitting in a circle of wonderful peace. All round her
- the air looked clearer than in the rest of the room and something sweet
- and still and heavenly happy came into my soul. Then she told me all about
- the misery in the cottages and said it had now got beyond individual help
- and she was sure if thou knew it, and the curate knew it, some proper
- general relief could be carried out. She had began, she said, ‘with the
- chapel people,’ but even they were now beyond her care; and she hoped thou
- would organize some society and guide all with thy long and intimate
- knowledge of the people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did thou say to this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I said I knew thou would do iverything that it was possible to do. And I
- promised that thou would send her word when to come and talk the ways and
- means over with thee and a few others.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it would be right wi’ thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Katherine says that our Dick is in love wi’ the preacher’s daughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t wonder, and if a man hedn’t already got the only perfect woman
- in the world for his awn you could not blame him. No, you could not blame
- him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou must hev stayed awhile there for it is swinging close to five
- o’clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, but I wasn’t at the preacher’s long. I went from his house to
- Jonathan Hartley’s, and I smoked a pipe with him, and we hed a long talk
- on the situation of our weavers. Many o’ them are speaking of giving-in,
- and going to Bradley’s factory, and I felt badly, and I said to Jonathan,
- ‘I suppose thou is thinking of t’ same thing.’ And he looked at me, Annie,
- and I was hot wi’ shame, and I was going to tell him so, but he looked at
- me again, and said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘Nay, nay, squire, thou didn’t mean them words, and we’ll say nothing
- about them’; so we nodded to each other, and I wouldn’t be sure whether or
- not we wer’ not both nearer tears than we’d show. Anyway, he went on as if
- nothing had happened, telling me about the failing spirit of the workers
- and saying a deal to excuse them. ‘Ezra Dixon’s eldest and youngest child
- died yesterday and they are gathering a bit of money among the chapel folk
- to bury them.’ Then I said: ‘Wait a minute, Jonathan,’ and I took out of
- my purse a five pound note and made him go with it to the mother and so
- put her heart at ease on that score. You know our poor think a parish
- funeral a pitiful disgrace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Antony, if that was what kept thee, thou wert well kept. Faith
- Foster is right. I ought to be told of such sorrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure we both ought to know, but tha sees, Annie, my dearie, we hev
- been so much better off than the rest of weaving villages that the workers
- hev not suffered as long and as much as others. But what’s the use of
- making excuses? I am going to a big meeting of weavers on Saturday night.
- It is to be held in t’ Methodist Chapel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Antony! Whatever art thou saying? What will the curate say? What will all
- thy old friends say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Annie, I hev got to a place where I don’t care a button what they say. I
- hev some privileges, I hope, and taking my awn way is one o’ them. The
- curate hes been asked to lend his sanction to the meeting, and the men are
- betting as to whether he’ll do so or not. If I was a betting man I would
- say ‘No’!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His bishop. The bishops to a man were against the Reform Bill. Only one
- is said to have signed for it. That is not sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then do you blame him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, I’m sorry for any man, that hesn’t the gumption to please his awn
- conscience, and take his awn way. However, his career is in the bishop’s
- hand, and he’s varry much in love with Lucy Landborde.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lucy Landborde! That handsome girl! How can he fashion himself to make up
- to Lucy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She thinks he is dying of love for her, so she pities him. Women are a
- soft lot!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is mebbe a good thing for men that women are a soft lot. Go on with
- thy story. It’s fair wonderful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Foster will preside, and they’ll ask the curate to record
- proceedings. St. George Norris and Squire Charington and the Vicar of
- Harrowgate will be on the platform, I hear. The vicar is going to marry
- Geraldine Norris next week to a captain in the Guards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I declare, Antony, thou finds out iverything going on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. That is part o’ my business as Lord of the Manor. Well tha
- sees now, that it is going to be a big meeting, especially when they add
- to it a Member of Parliament, a Magistrate, and a Yorkshire Squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who art thou talking about now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mysen! Antony Annis! Member of Parliament, Squire of Annis and Deeping
- Wold, and Magistrate of the same district.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my word, I had forgotten I was such a big lady. And I am to go to
- London with thee. I am as set up about that as a child would be. I think I
- ought to go and tell Katherine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mebbe it would be the kind thing. Sharing a pleasure doubles it;” and as
- the squire uttered the words, Katherine rather impetuously opened the
- parlor door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “O daddy!” she cried as she pulled a chair to his side. “What are you
- talking about? I know it is about London; are you going to take me there
- with you? Say yes. Say it surely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me a kiss and I will take both thee and thy mother there with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How soon, daddy? How soon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As soon as possible. We must look after the poor and the land and then we
- can go with a good heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us talk it all over. Where are you going to stay?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, my dear lass. I am talking to thy mother now and she is on a
- different level to thee. Run away to thy room and make up thy mind about
- thy new dress and the other little tricks thou wants.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Such as a necklace and a full set of amber combs for my hair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay! I hev no money for jewelry, while little childer and women all
- round us are wanting bread. Thou wouldn’t suit it and it wouldn’t be lucky
- to thee. Run away now, I’ll talk all thou wants to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Verry well, dear daddy. Thy word is enough to build on. I can sit quiet
- and arrange my London plans, for a promise from thee is as sure as the
- thing itself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the squire laughed and took a letter out of his pocketbook. “It is
- good for a thousand pounds, honey,” he said, “and that is a bit of
- security for my promise, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a penny’s worth. Thy promise needs no security. It stands alone as it
- ought to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rose as she spoke and the squire rose and opened the door for her and
- then stood and watched her mount the darkening stairway. At the first
- reach, she turned and bent her lovely face and form towards him. The
- joyful anticipations in her heart transfigured her. She was radiant. Her
- face shone and smiled; her white throat, and her white shoulders, and her
- exquisite arms, and her firm quick feet seemed to have some new sense
- given them. You would have said that her body thought and that her very
- voice had a caress in it as she bridged the space between them with a
- “Thank you, dear, dear daddy! You are the very kindest father in all the
- world!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And thou art his pet and his darling!” With these words he went back to
- his wife. “She is justtip-on-top,” he said. “There’s no girl I know like
- her. She sits in the sunlight of my heart. Why, Annie, she ought to make a
- better marriage than Jane, and Jane did middling well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would thou think Harry Bradley a good match?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t put him even in a passing thought with Katherine. Harry
- Bradley, indeed! I am fairly astonished at thee naming the middle class
- fellow!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Katherine thinks him all a man should be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She will change her mind in London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doubt that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou lets her hev opinions and ideas of her awn. Thou shouldn’t do it.
- Jane will alter that. Jane will tell her how to rate men and women. Jane
- is varry clever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jane is no match for Katherine. Dost thou think Antony Annis will be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t doubt it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then don’t try conclusions with her about Harry Bradley, and happen then
- thou may keep thy illusion. Katherine’s fault is a grave one, though it
- often looks like a virtue.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t see what thou means. Faults are faults, and virtues are virtues.
- I hev niver seen a fault of any kind in her, unless it be wanting more
- guineas than I can spare her just now, but that is the original sin o’
- women as far as I can make out. Whativer is this fault that can look like
- a virtue?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She overdoes everything. She says too little, or too much; she does too
- little, or too much; she gives too little, or too much. In everything she
- exceeds. If she likes anyone, she is unreasonable about them; if she
- dislikes them, she is unjust.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t call that much of a fault—if thou knew anything about
- farming thou would make little of it. Thou would know that it is the
- richest land that hes the most weeds in its crop. The plow and the harrow
- will clear it of weeds and the experience of life will teach Katherine to
- be less generous with both her feelings and her opinions. Let her overdo,
- it is a fault that will cure itself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And in the meantime it makes her too positive and insisting. She thinks
- she is right and she wants others to be right. She is even a bit forceable——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I can tell thee that women as well as men need some force of
- character, if they mean to do anything with their lives. <i>Why-a!</i>
- Force is in daily life all that powder is to shot. If our weavers’ wives
- hed more force in their characters, they wouldn’t watch their children
- dying of hunger upon their knees and their hearths, they would make their
- stubborn men go to any kind of a loom. They wouldn’t be bothering
- themselves about any Bill in Parliament, they would be crying out for
- bread for their children. We must see about the women and children
- to-morrow or we shall not be ready for Faith Foster’s visit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, but we need not think of it to-night. I’m heart weary,
- Antony. Nobody can give sympathy long unless they turn kind words into
- kind actions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then just call Katherine and order a bit of supper in. And I’d like a
- tankard of home-brewed, and a slice or two of cold mutton. My word, but
- the mutton bred in our rich meadows is worth eating! Such a fine color, so
- tender and juicy and full of rich red gravy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think thou would be better without the tankard. Our ale is four years
- old, and tha knows what it is at that age. It will give thee a rattling
- headache. The cask on now is very strong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure it is. A man could look a lion in the face after a couple of
- glasses of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I advise thee to take a glass of water, with thy mutton to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I won’t. I’ll hev a glass of sherry wine, and thou can be my butler.
- And tell Katherine not to talk about London to-night. I hevn’t got my
- intentions ready. I’d be making promises it would not be right to keep.
- Tha knows——!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine had not yet been promoted to a seat at the late supper table,
- and only came to it when specially asked. So Madam found her ungowned, and
- with loosened hair, in a dressing-sacque of blue flannel. She was writing
- a letter to a school friend, but she understood her mother’s visit and
- asked with a smile—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Am I to come to supper, mother? Oh, I am so glad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, dearie, do not speak of London, nor the poor children, nor the
- selfish weavers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not selfish, mother. They believe they are fighting for their rights. You
- know that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t know it. I doan’t believe it. Their wives and children ought to
- be more to them than their awn way which is what they really want. Doan’t
- say a word about them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not. I am going to tell father about the Arkroyds, who owned Scar
- Top House so long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father will like to hear anything good about Colonel Arkroyd. He is the
- last of a fine Yorkshire family. Who told thee anything about him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before I came to my room I went to give Polly some sugar I had in my
- pocket for her, and I met Britton, who had just come from the stable. He
- turned and went with me and he was full of the story and so I had to
- listen to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, we will listen to it when thou comes down. Father is hungry,
- so don’t keep him waiting, or he will be put out of his way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will be down in five minutes, and father is never cross with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Indeed, when Madam went back to the parlor, a servant was bringing in the
- cold mutton and Madam had the bottle of sherry in her hand. A few minutes
- later Katherine had joined her parents, and they were sitting cozily round
- a small table, set in the very warmth and light of the hearthstone. Then
- Madam, fearing some unlucky word or allusion, said as quickly as possible—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever was it thou heard about Colonel Ark-royd, Katherine?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay! Ay! Colonel Arkroyd! Who has anything to say about him?” asked the
- squire. “One of the finest men alive to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard a strange thing about his old house, an hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he sold Scar Top House, and went to live in Kendal. A man from
- Bradford bought it, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, a man with a factory and six hundred looms, they say. Father, have
- you noticed how crowded our rookery is with the birds’ nests this spring?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t know that I hev noticed the number of the nests, but nobody can
- help hearing their noisy chattering all over Annis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you remember the rookery at Scar Top?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I often hed a friendly threep with Ark-royd about it. He would
- insist, that his rookery hed the largest congregation. I let him think so—he’s
- twenty years older than I am—and I did hear that the Bradford man
- had bought the place because of the rookery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So he did. And now, father, every bird has left it. There was not one
- nest built there this spring. Not one!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never heard the like. Whoever told thee such a story?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The whole village knows it. One morning very early every rook in Scar Top
- went away. They went altogether, just before daybreak. They went to
- Saville Court and settled in a long row of elm trees in the home meadow.
- They are building there now and the Bradford man——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give him his name. It is John Denby. He was born in Annis—in my
- manor—and he worked for the colonel, near twenty years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. John Denby and Colonel Arkroyd have quarreled about the birds,
- and there is likely to be a law suit over them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my word! That will be a varry interesting quarrel. What could make
- birds act in such a queer way? I niver knew them to do such a thing
- before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, father, rooks are very aristocratic birds. Denby could not get a <i>caw</i>
- out of the whole flock. They would not notice Denby, and they used to talk
- to Arkroyd, whenever he came out of the house. Denby used to work for
- Colonel Arkroyd, and the rooks knew it. They did not consider him a
- gentleman, and they would not accept his hospitality.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is going a bit too far, Katherine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no! Old Britton told me so, and the Yorkshire bird does not live who
- has not told Britton all about itself. He said further, that rooks are
- very vain and particularly so about their feathers. He declared they would
- go far out of their way in order to face the wind and so prevent ruffling
- their feathers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rooks are at least a very human bird,” said Madam; “our rooks make quite
- a distinction between thee and myself. I can easily notice it. The male
- birds are in a flutter when thou walks through the rookery, they moderate
- their satisfaction when I pay them a call and it is the female birds who
- do the honors then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That reminds me, mother, that Britton told me rooks intermarried
- generation after generation, and that if a rook brought home a strange
- bride, he was forced to build in a tree the community selected, at some
- distance from the rookery. If he did not do this, his nest was
- relentlessly torn down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, my Joy, I am glad to learn so much from thee. How do the rooks
- treat thee?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With but moderate notice, father, unless I am at Britton’s side. Then
- they ‘caw’ respectfully, as I take my way through their colony. Britton
- taught me to lift my hat now and then, as father does.” The squire
- laughed, and was a bit confused. “Nay, nay!” he said. “Britton hes been
- making up that story, though I vow, I would rayther take off my hat to
- gentlemanly rooks than to some humans I know; I would that! There is one
- thing I can tell thee about rooks, Britton seems to have forgot; they
- can’t make a bit of sunshine for themselves. If t’ weather is rainy, no
- bird in the world is more miserable. They sit with puffed out feathers in
- uncontrollable melancholy, and they hevn’t a caw for anybody. Yet I hev a
- great respect for rooks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I hev a great liking for rook pies,” said Madam. “There is not a pie
- in all the records of cookery, to come near it. <i>Par excellence</i> is
- its name. I shall miss my rook pies, if we go away this summer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But we shall have something better in their place, dear mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who can tell? In the meantime, sleep will be the best thing for all.
- To-morrow is a new day. Sleep will make us ready for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III—THE REALIZATION OF TROUBLE
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Beneath this starry arch,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Naught resteth, or is still;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And all things have their march,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As if by one great will.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Move on! Move all!
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Hark to the footfall!
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- On, on! forever!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning
- Katherine came to her mother full of enthusiasm. She had some letters in
- her hand and she said: “I have written these letters all alike, mother,
- and they are ready to send away, if you will give me the names of the
- ladies you wish them to go to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How many letters hast thou written?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Seven. I can write as many as you wish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou hes written too many already.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too many!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, tha must not forget, that this famine and distress is over all
- Yorkshire—over all England. Every town and village hes its awn sick
- and starving, and hes all it can do to look after them. Thy father told me
- last night he hed been giving to all the villages round us for a year back
- but until Mr. Foster told him yesterday he hed no idea that there was any
- serious trouble in Annis. Tha knows, dearie, that Yorkshire and Lancashire
- folk won’t beg. No, not if they die for want of begging. The preacher
- found out their need first and he told father at once. Then Jonathan
- Hartley admitted they were all suffering and that something must be done
- to help. That is the reason for the meeting this afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dear me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jonathan hes been preparing for it for a week but he did not tell father
- until yesterday. I will give thee the names of four ladies that may assist
- in the way of sending food—there is Mrs. Benson, the doctor’s wife—her
- husband is giving his time to the sick and if she hedn’t a bit of money of
- her awn, Benson’s family would be badly off, I fear. She may hev the heart
- to <i>do</i> as well as to pinch and suffer, but if she hesn’t, we can’t
- find her to blame. Send her an invitation. Send another to Mistress
- Craven. Colonel Craven is with his regiment somewhere, but she is wealthy,
- and for anything I know, good-hearted. Give her an opportunity. Lady
- Brierley can be counted on in some way or other and perhaps Mrs. Courtney.
- I can think of no others because everyone is likely to be looking for
- assistance just as we are. What day hev you named for the meeting?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Monday. Is that too soon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About a week too soon. None of these ladies will treat the invitation as
- a desirable one. They doubtless hev many engagements already made. Say,
- next Saturday. It is not reasonable to expect them to drop iverything else
- and hurry to Annis, to sew for the hungry and naked.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “O mother! Little children! Who would not hurry to them with food and
- clothing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hes thou been with Faith Foster to see any children hungry and naked?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, mother; but I do not need to <i>see</i> in order to <i>feel</i>. And
- I have certainly noticed how few children are on the street lately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Katherine, girls of eighteen shouldn’t need to <i>see</i> in order
- to feel. Thank God for thy fresh young feelings and keep them fresh as
- long as thou can. It will be a pity when thou begins to reason about them.
- Send letters to Mrs. Benson, Mrs. Craven, Lady Brierley, and Mrs.
- Courtney, and then we shall see what comes from them. After all, we are
- mere mortals!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you are friendly with all these four ladies?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good friends to come and go upon. By rights they ought to stand by Annis—but
- ‘ought’ stands for nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why <i>ought</i>, mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thy father hes done ivery one o’ them a good turn of one kind or the
- other but it isn’t his way to speak of the same. Now send off thy letters
- and let things slide until we see what road they are going to take. I’m
- afraid I’ll hev to put mysen about more than I like to in this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That goes without saying but you don’t mind it, do you, mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, your father took me on a sudden. I hedn’t time to think before I
- spoke and when my heart gets busy, good-by to my head.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Courtney has not been here for a long time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is a good deal away but I saw her in London last year every now and
- then. She is a careless woman; she goes it blind about everything, and yet
- she wants to be at the bottom of all county affairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, could we not do a little shopping today?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At the fag end of the week? What are you talking about? Certainly not.
- Besides, thy father is worried about the meeting this afternoon. He says
- more may come of it than we can dream of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Katherine, it might end in a factory here, or it might end in the
- weavers heving to leave Annis and go elsewhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cannot they get work of some other kind, in, or near by Annis?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, tha surely knows, that a weaver hes to keep his fingers soft, and
- his hands supple. Hard manual work would spoil his hands forever for the
- loom, and our men are born weavers. They doan’t fashion to any other work,
- and to be sure England hes to hev her weavers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, would it not be far better to have a factory? Lately, when I have
- taken a walk with father he always goes to the wold and looks all round
- considering just like a man who was wondering about a site for a building.
- It would be a good thing for us, mother, would it not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems so, but father does not want it. He says it will turn Annis into
- a rough village, full of strangers, with bad ways, and also that it will
- spoil the whole country-side with its smoke and dirt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But if it makes money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Money isn’t iverything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The want of it is dreadful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thy father got a thousand pounds this morning. If he does not put most of
- it into a factory, he will put it into bread, which will be eaten to-day
- and wanted again to-morrow. That would make short work of a thousand
- pounds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you reminded father of that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t need to. Father seems an easy-going man but he thinks of
- iverything; and when he <i>hes</i> to act no one strikes the iron quicker
- and harder. If thou saw him in London, if thou heard him in the House,
- brow-beating the Whigs and standing up for Peel and Wellington and others,
- thou would wonder however thou dared to tease, and contradict, and coax
- him in Annis. Thou would that! Now I am going to the lower summer house
- for an hour. Send away thy letters, and let me alone a bit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know. I saw father going down the garden. He is going to the summer
- house also; he intends to tell you, mother, what he is going to say
- to-night. He always reads, or recites his speeches to you. I have heard
- him sometimes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then thou ought to be ashamed to speak of it! I am astonished at thy want
- of honor! If by chance, thou found out some reserved way of thy father it
- should have been held by thee as a sacred, inviolable secret. Not even to
- me, should thou have dared to speak of it. I am sorry, indeed, to hev to
- teach thee this point of childhood’s honor. I thought it would be natural
- to the daughter of Antony and Annie Annis!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother! Forgive me! I am ashamed and sorry and oh, do not, for my sake,
- tell father! My dear, dear father! You have made it look like mocking him—I
- never thought how shameful it could look—oh, I never thought about
- it! I never spoke of it before! I never did!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, see thou never again listens to what was not intended for
- thee to hear. It would be a pretty state of things, if thy father hed to
- go somewhere out of the way of listeners to get a bit of private talk with
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, don’t be so cruel to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was thou trying to compliment me or was thou scorning a bit about thy
- father’s ways? If thou thought I would feel complimented by being set
- above him that thought was as far wrong as it could possibly get.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother! Mother! You will break my heart! You never before spoke this way
- to me—<i>Oh, dear! Oh, dear!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a few minutes Madam let her weep, then she bent over the crouching,
- sobbing girl, and said, “There now! There now!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so sorry! So sorry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, dearie, sorrow is good for sin. It is the only thing sorrow is good
- for. Dry thy eyes, and we will niver name the miserable subject again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it really a sin, mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hes thou forgotten the fifth commandment? That little laugh at thy
- father’s saying his speeches to me first was more than a bit scornful. It
- was far enough from the commandment ‘Honor thy father and thy mother.’ It
- wasn’t honoring either of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can never forgive myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay! nay! Give me a kiss and go and look after thy letters; also tell
- Yates dinner must be on the table at one o’clock no matter what his watch
- says.” Then Katherine walked silently away and Madam went to the lower
- summer house, and the dinner was on the table at one o’clock. It was an
- exceedingly quiet meal, and immediately after it, the squire’s horse was
- brought to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So thou art going to ride, Antony!” said Mistress Annis, and the squire
- answered, “Ay, I hev a purpose in riding, Annie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou art quite right,” was the reply, for she thought she divined his
- purpose and the shadow of a smile passed between them. Then he looked at
- his watch, mounted his horse and rode swiftly away. His wife watched him
- out of sight and, as she turned into the house, she told herself with a
- proud and happy smile, “He is the best and the handsomest man in the West
- Riding, and the horse suits him! He rides to perfection! God bless him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a point with the squire to be rigidly punctual. He was never either
- too soon, or too late. He knew that one fault was as bad as the other,
- though he considered the early mistake as the worst. It began to strike
- two as he reached the door of the Methodist Chapel, and saw Jonathan
- Hartley waiting there for him; and they walked at once to a rude platform
- that had been prepared for the speakers. There were several gentlemen
- standing there in a group, and the Chapel was crowded with anxious
- hungry-looking men.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the first time that Squire Annis had ever stepped inside a
- Methodist Chapel. The thought was like the crack of a whip in his
- conscience but at that moment he would not listen to any claim or reproof;
- for either through liking or disliking, he was sensitive at once to
- Bradley’s tall, burly predominance; and could not have said, whether it
- was pleasant or unpleasant to him. However, the moment he appeared, there
- was loud handclapping, and cries of “Squire Annis! Squire Annis! Put him
- in the chair! He’s our man!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then into the squire’s heart his good angel put a good thought, and he
- walked to the front of the platform and said, “My men, and my friends,
- I’ll do something better for you. I’ll put the Reverend Samuel Foster in
- the chair. God’s servant stands above all others, and Mr. Foster knows all
- about your poverty and affliction. I am a bit ashamed to say, I do not.”
- This personal accusation was cut short by cries of “No! No! No! Thou hes
- done a great deal,” and then a cheer, that had in it all the Yorkshire
- spirit, though not its strength. The men were actually weak with hunger.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Foster took the chair to which the squire led him without any
- affectations of demur, and he was gladly welcomed. Indeed there were few
- things that would have pleased the audience more. They were nearly all
- Methodists, and their preacher alone had searched out their misery, and
- helped them to bear it with patience and with hope. He now stretched out
- his hands to them and said—“Friends, just give us four lines, and we
- will go at once to business”; and in a sweet, ringing voice, he began
- Newman’s exquisite hymn—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Leave God to order all thy ways,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And hope in Him whate’er betide,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Thoul’t find Him in the evil days,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- An all sufficient Strength and Guide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- The words came fresh and wet with tears from every heart, and it was a
- five minutes’ interlude of that complete surrender, which God loves and
- accepts.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a moment of intense silence, the preacher said, “We are met to-day
- to try and find out if hand-loom weaving must go, or if both hand-loom
- weaving and power-loom weaving have a chance for the weaver in them. There
- are many hand-loom weavers here present. They know all its good points and
- all points wherein it fails but they do not know either the good or bad
- points of power-loom weaving, and Mr. John Thomas Bradley has come to tell
- you something about this tremendous rival of your household loom. I will
- now introduce Mr. John.” He got no further in his introduction, for
- Bradley stepped forward, and with a buoyant good-nature said, “No need,
- sir, of any fine mastering or mistering between the Annis lads and mysen.
- We hev thrashed each ither at football, and chated each ither in all kinds
- of swapping odds too often, to hev forgotten what names were given us at
- our christening. There’s Israel Swale, he hes a bigger mill than I hev
- now-a-days, but he’s owing me three pence half-penny and eleven marbles,
- yet whenever I ask him for my brass and my marbles he says—‘I’ll pay
- thee, John Thomas, when we play our next game.’ Now listen, lads, next
- Whitsunday holidays I’ll ask him to come and see me, and I’ll propose
- before a house full of company—and all ready for a bit of fun—that
- we hev our game of marbles in the bowling alley, and I’ll get Jonathan
- Hartley to give you all an invitation to come and see fair play between
- us. Will you come?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Noisy laughing acceptances followed and one big Guisely weaver said, “He’d
- come too, and see that Israel played a straight game for once in his
- life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m obliged to thee, Guisely,” answered Bradley, “I hope thou’lt come.
- Now then, lads, I hev to speak to you about business, and if you think
- what I say is right, go and do what I say, do it boldly; and if you aren’t
- sure, then let it alone:—till you are driven to it. I am told that
- varry few of the men here present iver saw a power loom. And yet you
- mostly think ill o’ it. That isn’t a bit Yorkshire. You treat a man as you
- find him, you ought to do the same to a machine, that is almost a man in
- intelligence—that is the most perfect bit of beauty and contrivance
- that man iver made since man himsen was fitted wi’ fingers and thumbs by
- the Great Machinist of heaven and earth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it fashioned like, Bradley?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is an exceedingly compact machine and takes up little room. It is
- easily worked and it performs every weaving operation with neatness and
- perfection. It makes one hundred and seventy picks a minute or six pieces
- of goods in a week—you know it was full work and hard work to make
- one piece a week with the home loom, even for a strong man. It is made
- mostly of shining metal, and it is a perfect darling. <i>Why-a!</i> the
- lads and lassies in Bradley mill call their looms after their sweethearts,
- or husbands, or wives, and I wouldn’t wonder if they said many a sweet or
- snappy word to the looms that would niver be ventured on with the real
- Bessie or the real Joe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Think of your old cumbersome wooden looms, so hard and heavy and dreary
- to work, that it wasn’t fit or right to put a woman down to one. Then go
- and try a power loom, and when you hev done a day’s work on it, praise God
- and be thankful! I tell you God saw the millions coming whom Yorkshire and
- Lancashire would hev to clothe, and He gave His servant the grave, gentle,
- middle-aged preacher Edmund Cartwright, the model of a loom fit for God’s
- working men and women to use. I tell you men the power loom is one of
- God’s latest Gospels. We are spelling yet, with some difficulty, its first
- good news, but the whole world will yet thank God for the power loom!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the preacher on the platform said a fervent “Thank God!” But the
- audience was not yet sure enough for what they were to thank God, and the
- few echoes to the preacher’s invitation were strangely uncertain for a
- Yorkshire congregation. A few of the Annis weavers compromised on a solemn
- “Amen!” All, however, noticed that the squire remained silent, and they
- were “not going”—as Lot Clarke said afterwards—“to push
- themsens before t’ squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Jonathan Hartley stepped into the interval, and addressing Bradley
- said, “Tha calls this wonderful loom a power-loom. I’ll warrant the power
- comes from a steam engine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou art right, Jonathan. I wish tha could see the wonderful engine at
- Dalby’s Mill in Pine Hollow. The marvelous creature stands in its big
- stone stable like a huge image of Destiny. It is never still, but never
- restless, nothing rough; calm and steady like the waves of the full sea at
- Scarboro’. It is the nervous center, the life, I might say, of all going
- on in that big building above it. It moves all the machinery, it gives
- life to the devil, * and speeds every shuttle in every loom.”
- </p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
- * The devil, a machine containing a revolving cylinder armed
- with knives or spikes for tearing, cutting, or opening raw
- materials.
-</pre>
- <p>
- “It isn’t looms and engines we are worrying about, Bradley,” said a man
- pallid and fretful with hunger. “It is flesh and blood, that can’t stand
- hunger much longer. It’s our lile lads and lasses, and the babies at the
- mother’s breast, where there isn’t a drop o’ milk for their thin, white
- lips! O God! And you talk o’ looms and engines”—and the man sat down
- with a sob, unable to say another word.
- </p>
- <p>
- Squire Annis could hardly sit still, but the preacher looked at him and he
- obeyed the silent wish, as in the meantime Jonathan Hartley had asked
- Bradley a question, to partly answer the request made.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you want to know about the workers, all their rooms are large and
- cheerful, with plenty of fresh air in them. The weaving rooms are as light
- and airy as a bird cage. The looms are mostly managed by women, from
- seventeen to thirty, wi’ a sprinkling o’ married men and women. A solid
- trade principle governs t’ weaving room—so much work, for so much
- money—but I hev girls of eighteen in my mill, who are fit and able
- to thread the shuttles, and manage two looms, keeping up the pieces to
- mark, without oversight or help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here he was interrupted by a man with long hair parted in the middle of
- the forehead, and dressed in a suit of fashionable cut, but cheap
- tailoring. “I hev come to this meeting,” he cried out, “to ask your
- parliamentary representative if he intends to vote for the Reform Bill,
- and to urge the better education of the lower classes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who bid thee come to this meeting?” asked Jonathan Hartley. “Thou has no
- business here. Not thou. And we weren’t born in Yorkshire to be fooled by
- thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was told by friends of the people, that your member would likely vote
- against Reform.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put him out! Put him out!” resounded from every quarter of the building,
- and for the first time since the meeting opened, there was a touch of
- enthusiasm. Then the squire stepped with great dignity to the front of the
- platform.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Young men,” he said with an air of reproof, “this is not a political
- meeting. It is not even a public meeting. It is a gathering of friends to
- consider how best to relieve the poverty and idleness for which our
- weavers are not to blame—and we do not wish to be interrupted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The blame is all wi’ you rich landowners,” he answered; “ivery one o’ you
- stand by a government that robs the poor man and protects the rich. I am a
- representative of the Bradford Socialists.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Git out! Git out! Will tha? If tha doesn’t, I’ll fling thee out like any
- other rubbish;” and as the man made no attempt to obey the command given,
- Hartley took him by the shoulder, and in spite of his protestations—received
- with general jeers and contempt—put him outside the chapel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Squire Annis heartily approved the word, act and manner of Hartley’s
- little speech. The temperature of his blood rose to fighting heat, and he
- wanted to shout with the men in the body of the chapel. Yet his
- countenance was calm and placid, for Antony Annis was <i>Master at Home</i>,
- and could instantly silence or subdue whatever his Inner Man prompted that
- was improper or inconvenient.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought, however, that it was now a fit time-for him to withdraw, and
- he was going to say the few words he had so well considered, when a very
- old man rose, and leaning on his staff, called out, “Squire Annis, my
- friend, I want thee to let me speak five minutes. It will varry likely be
- t’ last time I’ll hev the chance to say a word to so many lads altogether
- in this life.” And the squire smiled pleasantly as he replied, “Speak,
- Matthew, we shall all be glad to listen to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ill be ninety-five years old next month, Squire, and I hev been busy wi’
- spinning and weaving eighty-eight o’ them. I was winding bobbins when I
- was seven years old, and I was carding, or combing, or working among wool
- until I was twenty. Then I got married, and bought from t’ squire, on easy
- terms, my cottage and garden plot, and I kept a pig and some chickens, and
- a hutch full o’ rabbits, which I fed on the waste vegetables from my
- garden. I also had three or four bee skeps, that gave us honey for our
- bread, with a few pounds over to sell; t’ squire allays bought the
- overbit, and so I was well paid for a pretty bed of flowers round about
- the house. I was early at my loom, but when I was tired I went into my
- garden, and I smoked a pipe and talked to the bees, who knew me well
- enough, ivery one o’ them. If it was raining, I went into t’ kitchen, and
- smoked and hed a chat wi’ Polly about our awn concerns. I hev had four
- handsome lassies, and four good, steady lads. Two o’ the lads went to
- America, to a place called Lowell, but they are now well-to-do men, wi’
- big families. My daughters live near me, and they keep my cottage as
- bright as their mother kept it for over fifty years. I worked more or less
- till I was ninety years old, and then Squire Annis persuaded me to stop my
- loom, and just potter about among my bees and flowers. Now then, lads,
- thousands hev done for years and years as much, even more than I hev done
- and I hev never met but varry few Home-loom weavers who were dissatisfied.
- They all o’ them made their awn hours and if there was a good race
- anywhere near-by they shut off and went to it. Then they did extra work
- the next day to put their ‘piece’ straight for Saturday. If their ‘piece’
- was right, the rest was nobody’s business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Matthew,” said the squire, “for many a year you seldom missed a
- race.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if t’ horses were good, and well matched. I knew the names then of a’
- the racers that wer’ worth going to see. I love a fine horse yet. I do
- that! And the Yorkshire roar when the victor came to mark! You could hear
- it a mile away! O squire, I can hear it yet!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, lads, I hev hed a happy, busy life, and I hev been a good Methodist
- iver sin’ I was converted, when I was twelve years old. And I bear
- testimony this day to the goodness and the faithfulness of God. He hes
- niver broken a promise He made me. Niver one!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thousands of Home-loom spinners can live, and have lived, as I did and
- they know all about t’ life. I know nothing about power-loom weaving. I
- dare say a man can make good or bad o’ it, just as he feels inclined; but
- I will say, it brings men down to a level God Almighty niver intended. It
- is like this—when a man works in his awn home, and makes his awn
- hours, all the world, if he be good and honest, calls him <i>A Man</i>;
- when he works in a factory he’s nobbut ‘<i>one o’ the hands</i>.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- At these words Matthew sat down amid a little subdued inexpressible
- mixture of tense feeling and the squire said—“In three weeks or
- less, men, I am going to London, and I give you my word, that I shall
- always be found on the side of Reform and Free Trade. When I return you
- will surely have made up your minds and formed some sort of decision; then
- I will try and forward your plans to my last shilling.” With these words
- he bowed to the gentlemen on the platform, and the audience before him,
- and went rapidly away. His servant was at the Chapel door with his horse;
- he sprang into the saddle, and before anyone could interrupt his exit, he
- was beyond detention.
- </p>
- <p>
- A great disturbance was in his soul. He could not define it. The condition
- of his people, the changing character of his workers and weavers, the very
- village seemed altered, and then the presence of Bradley! He had found it
- impossible to satisfy both his offense with the man and his still vital
- affection for him. He had often told himself that “Bradley was dead and
- buried as far as he was concerned”; but some affections are buried alive,
- and have a distressing habit of being restless in their coffins. It was
- with the feeling of a fugitive flying for a place of rest that he went
- home. But, oh, how refreshing was his wife’s welcome! What comfort in her
- happy smile! What music in her tender words! He leaped to the ground like
- a young man and, clasping her hand, went gratefully with her to his own
- fireside.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV—LONDON AND AUNT JOSEPHA
- </h2>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Still in Immortal Youth we dream of Love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- London—“Together let us beat this ample field
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Try what the open and the covert yield.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">K</span>ATHERINE’S letters
- bore little fruit. Lady Brierley sent fifty pounds to buy food, but said
- “she was going to Bourmouth for the spring months, being unable to bear
- the winds of the Yorkshire wolds at that time.” Mrs. Craven and Mrs.
- Courtney were on their way to London, and Mrs. Benson said her own large
- family required every hour of her time, especially as she was now only
- able to keep one servant. So the village troubles were confided to the
- charge of Faith Foster and her father. The squire put a liberal sum of
- money with the preacher, and its application was left entirely to his
- judgment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nor did Annis now feel himself able to delay his journey until April. He
- was urged constantly by the leaders of the Reform Bill to hasten his visit
- to the House. Letters from Lord Russell, Sir James Grahame and Lord Grey
- told him that among the landlords of the West Riding his example would
- have a great influence, and that at this “important crisis they looked
- with anxiety, yet certainty, for his support.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not withhold it. After his enlightenment by Mr. Foster, he hardly
- needed any further appeal. His heart and his conscience gave him no rest,
- and in ten days he had made suitable arrangements, both for the care of
- his estate, and the relief of the village. In this business he had been
- greatly hurried and pressed, and the Hall was also full of unrest and
- confusion, for all Madam’s domestic treasures were to pack away and to put
- in strict and competent care. For, then, there really were women who
- enjoyed household rackets and homes turned up and over from top to bottom.
- It was their relief from the hysteria of monotony and the temper that
- usually attends monotony. They knew nothing of the constant changes and
- pleasures of the women of today—of little chatty lunches and theater
- parties; of their endless societies and games, and clubs of every
- description; of fantastic dressing and undressing from every age and
- nation; beside the appropriation of all the habits and pursuits and
- pleasures of men that seemed good in their eyes, or their imaginations.
- </p>
- <p>
- So to the woman of one hundred years ago—and of much less time—a
- thorough house-cleaning, or a putting away of things for a visit or a
- journey was an exciting event. There was even a kind of pleasure in the
- discomfort and disorder it caused. The unhappy looks of the men of the
- house were rather agreeable to them. For a few days they had legitimate
- authority to make everyone miserable, and in doing so experienced a very
- actual nervous relief.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madam Annis was in some measure influenced by similar conditions, for it
- takes a strong and powerfully constituted woman to resist the spirit and
- influence of the time and locality in which she lives. So the Hall was
- full of unrest, and the peaceful routine of life was all broken up.
- Ladies’ hide-covered trunks—such little baby trunks to those of the
- present day—and leather bags and portmanteaus littered the halls;
- and the very furniture had the neglected plaintive look of whatever is to
- be left behind.
- </p>
- <p>
- At length, however, on the twenty-third of March, all was ready for the
- journey, and the squire was impatient to begin it. He was also continually
- worrying about his son. “Whereiver is Dick, I wonder? He ought to be here
- helping us, ought he not, mother?” he asked Madam reproachfully, as if he
- held her responsible for Dick’s absence and Madam answered sharply—“Indeed,
- Antony, thou ought to know best. Thou told Dick to stay in London and
- watch the ways of that wearisome Reform Bill and send thee daily word
- about its carryings on. The lad can’t be in two places at once, can he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hed forgotten mysen, Annie. How near art thou and Katherine ready to
- start?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Katherine and I are now waiting on your will and readiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, then, Annie, if ta hes got to thy London English already, I’ll be
- quiet, I will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t like thee to be unjust to Dick. He is doing, and doing well,
- just what thou told him to do. I should think thou couldn’t ask more than
- that—if thou was in thy right mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick is the best lad in Yorkshire, he is all that! Doan’t thee care if I
- seem a bit cross, Annie. I’ve been that worrited all morning as niver was.
- Doan’t mind it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t, not in the least, Antony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, can thou start to-morrow morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can start, with an hour’s notice, any time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t be too good, Annie. I’m not worth it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou art worth all I can do for thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Varry good, dearie! Then we’ll start at seven to-morrow morning. We will
- drive to Leeds, and then tak t’ mail-coach for London there. If t’ roads
- don’t happen to be varry bad we may hev time enough in Leeds to go to the
- Queen’s Hotel and hev a plate o’ soup and a chop. I hev a bit o’ business
- at the bank there but it won’t keep me ten minutes. I hope we may hev a
- fairish journey, but the preacher tells me the whole country is in a varry
- alarming condition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Antony, I am a little tired of the preacher’s alarm bell. He is always
- prophesying evil. Doan’t thee let him get too much influence over thee.
- Before thou knows what thou art doing thou wilt be going to a class
- meeting. What does the curate say? He has been fifty miles south, if not
- more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He told me the roads were full of hungry, angry men, who were varry
- disrespectful to any of the Quality they met.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here Katherine entered the room. “Mother dear,” she said in an excited
- voice, “mother dear! My new traveling dress came home a little while ago,
- and I have put it on, to let you admire it. Is it not pretty? Is it not
- stylish? Is it not everything a girl would like? O Daddy! I didn’t see
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I couldn’t expect thee to see me when tha hed a new dress on. I’ll tell
- thee, howiver, I doan’t like it as well as I liked thy last suit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The little shepherd plaid? Oh, that has become quite common! This is the
- thing now. What do you say, mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it is all right. Put it on in the morning. We leave at seven
- o’clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, delightful! I am so glad! Life is all in a mess here and I hate a
- tossed-up house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point the Reverend Mr. Yates entered. He had called to bid the
- squire and his family good-bye, but the ladies quickly left the room. They
- knew some apology was due the curate for placing the money intended for
- relieving the suffering in the village in the preacher’s care, and at his
- disposal. But the curate was reasonable, and readily acknowledged that
- “nearly all needing help were members of Mr. Foster’s church, and would
- naturally take relief better from him than from a stranger.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The journey as far as Leeds was a very sad one, for the squire stopped
- frequently to speak to groups of despairing, desperate men and women:—“Hev
- courage, friends!” he said cheerfully to a gathering of about forty or
- more on the Green of a large village, only fourteen miles south of Annis.
- “Hev courage a little longer! I am Antony Annis, and I am on my way to
- London, with many more gentlemen, to see that the Reform Bill goes through
- the Lords, this time. If it does not then it will be the duty of
- Englishmen to know the reason why. God knows you hev borne up bravely. Try
- it a bit longer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Squire,” said a big fellow, white with hunger, “Squire, I hevn’t touched
- food of any kind for forty hours. You count hours when you are hungry,
- squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’re all o’ us,” said his companion, “faint and clemmed. We hevn’t
- strength to be men any longer. Look at me! I’m wanting to cry like a
- bairn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m ready to fight, squire,” added a man standing near by; “I hev a bit
- o’ manhood yet, and I’d fight for my rights, I would that!—if I
- nobbnd hed a slice or two o’ bread.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the same time a young woman, little more than a child, came tottering
- forward, and stood at the side of Mistress Annis. She had a little baby in
- her arms, she did not speak, she only looked in the elder woman’s face
- then cast her eyes down upon the child. It was tugging at an empty breast
- with little sharp cries of hungry impatience. Then she said, “I hev no
- milk for him! The lile lad is sucking my blood!” Her voice was weak and
- trembling, but she had no tears left.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madam covered her face, she was weeping, and the next moment Katherine
- emptied her mother’s purse into the starving woman’s hand. She took it
- with a great cry, lifting her face to heaven—“Oh God, it is money!
- Oh God, it is milk and bread!” Then looking at Katherine she said, “Thou
- hes saved two lives. God sent thee to do it”—and with the words, she
- found a sudden strength to run with her child to a shop across the street,
- where bread and milk were sold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s little Dinas Sykes,” said a man whose voice was weak with hunger.
- “Eh! but I’m glad, God hes hed mercy on her!” and all watched Dinas
- running for milk and bread with a grateful sympathy. The squire was
- profoundly touched, his heart melted within him, and he said to the little
- company with the voice of a companion, not of a master, “Men, how many of
- you are present?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About forty-four men—and a few half grown lads. They need food
- worse than men do—they suffer more—poor lile fellows!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you all hev women at home? Wives and daughters?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, squire, and mothers, too! Old and gray and hungry—some varry
- patient, and just dying on their feet, some so weak they are crying like
- t’ childer of two or four years old. My God! Squire, t’ men’s suffering
- isn’t worth counting, against that of t’ women and children.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Friends, I hev no words to put against your suffering and a ten pound
- note will be better than all the words I could give you. It will at least
- get all of you a loaf of bread and a bit of beef and a mug of ale. Who
- shall I give it to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ben Shuttleworth,” was the unanimous answer, and Ben stepped forward. He
- was a noble-looking old man just a little crippled by long usage of the
- hand loom. “Squire Annis,” he said, “I’ll gladly take the gift God hes
- sent us by thy hands and I’ll divide it equally, penny for penny, and may
- God bless thee and prosper thy journey! We’re none of us men used to
- saying ‘thank’ee’ to any man but we say it to thee. Yes, we say it to
- thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Kindred scenes occurred in every village and they did not reach Leeds in
- time for the mail coach they intended to take. The squire was not troubled
- at the delay. He said, “he hed a bit of his awn business to look after,
- and he was sure Katherine hed forgotten one or two varry necessary things,
- that she could buy in Leeds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine acknowledged that she had forgotten her thimble and her hand
- glass, and said she had “been worrying about her back hair, which she
- could not dress without one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madam was tired and glad to rest. “But Antony,” she said, “Dick will meet
- this coach and when we do not come by it, he will have wonders and worries
- about us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not he! Dick knows something about women, and also, I told him we might
- sleep a night or two at some town on the way, if you were tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day they began the journey again, half-purposing to stop and rest
- at some half-way town. The squire said Dick understood them. He would be
- on hand if they loitered a week. And Madam was satisfied; she thought it
- likely Dick had instructions fitting his father’s uncertainty.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet though the coach prevented actual contact with the miserable famine
- sufferers, it could not prevent them witnessing the silent misery sitting
- on every door step, and looking with such longing eyes for help from God
- or man. Upon the whole it was a journey to break a pitiful heart, and the
- squire and his family were glad when the coach drew up with the rattle of
- wheels and the blowing of the guard’s horn at its old stand of Charing
- Cross.
- </p>
- <p>
- The magic of London was already around them, and the first face they saw
- was the handsome beaming face of Dick Annis. He nodded and smiled to his
- father, who was sitting—where he had sat most of the journey—at
- the side of the driver. Dick would have liked to help him to the street,
- but he knew that his father needed no help and would likely be vexed at
- any offer of it, but Dick’s mother and sister came out of the coach in his
- arms, and the lad kissed them and called them all the fond names he could
- think of. Noticing at the same time his father’s clever descent, he put
- out his left hand to him, for he had his mother guarded with his right
- arm. “You did that jump, dad, better than I could have done it. Are you
- tired?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are all tired to death, Dick. Hev you a cab here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, I have! Your rooms at the Clarendon are in order, and there
- will be a good dinner waiting when you are ready for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In something less than an hour they were all ready for a good dinner;
- their faces had been washed, Katherine’s hair smoothed and Madam’s cap
- properly adjusted. The squire was standing on the hearthrug in high
- spirits. The sight of his son, the touch of the town, the pleasant light
- and comfort of his surroundings, the prospect of dinner, made him forget
- for a few minutes the suffering he had passed through, until his son
- asked, “And did you have a pleasant journey, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A journey, Dick, to break a man’s heart. It hes turned me from a Tory
- into a Radical. This government must feed the people or—we will kick
- them back——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear father, we will talk of that subject by ourselves. It isn’t fit for
- two tired women, now is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mebbe not; but I hev seen and I hev heard these last two or three days,
- Dick, what I can niver forget. Things hev got to be altered. They hev
- that, or——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will talk that over after mother and Kitty have gone to sleep. We
- won’t worry them to-night. I have ordered mother’s favorite Cabinet
- pudding for her, and some raspberry cream for Kitty. It wouldn’t be right
- to talk of unhappy things with good things in our mouths, now would it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are coming. I can hear Kitty’s laugh, when I can hear nothing else.
- Ring the bell, Dick, we can hev dinner now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There were a few pleasant moments spent in choosing their seats, and as
- soon as they were taken, a dish of those small delicious oysters for which
- England has been famous since the days of the Roman Emperors were placed
- before them. “I had some scalloped for mother and Kitty,” Dick said. “Men
- can eat them raw, alive if they choose, but women—Oh no! It isn’t
- womanlike! Mother and Kitty wouldn’t do it! Not they!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what else hes ta got for us, Dick?” asked the squire. “I’m mortal
- hungry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The last word shocked him anew. He wished he had not said it. What made
- him do it? Hungry! He had never been really hungry in all his life; and
- those pallid men and women, with that look of suffering on their faces,
- and in their dry, anxious eyes, how could he ever forget them?
- </p>
- <p>
- He was suddenly silent, and Katherine said: “Father is tired. He would
- drive so much. I wonder the coachman let him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father paid for the privilege of doing the driver’s work for him. I have
- no doubt of that, my dears,” said Madam. “Well, Dick, when did you see
- Jane?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you not observe, mother, that I am in evening dress? Jane has a dance
- and supper to-night. Members from the government side will be dropping in
- there after midnight, for refreshment. Both Houses are in all-night
- sittings now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How does Leyland vote?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is tremendously royal and loyal. You will have to mind your p’s and
- q’s with him now, father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I! I take my awn way. Leyland’s way and mine are far apart. How is
- your Aunt Josepha?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is all right. She is never anything else but all right. Certainly she
- is vexed that Katherine is not to stay with her. Jane has been making a
- little brag about it, I suppose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Katherine could stay part of the time with her,” said the squire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She had better be with Jane. Aunt will ask O’Connell to her dinners, and
- others whom Katherine would not like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why does she do it? She knows better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suspect we all know better than we do. She says, ‘O’Connell keeps the
- dinner table lively.’ So he does. The men quarrel all the time they eat
- and the women really admire them for it. They say ‘<i>Oh!</i>’ at a very
- strong word, but they would love to see them really fighting. Women affect
- tenderness and fearfulness; they are actually cruel creatures. Aunt says,
- ‘that was what her dear departed told her, and she had no doubt he had had
- experiences.’ Jane sent her love to all of you, and she purposes coming
- for Katherine about two o’clock to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” said Madam, in a rather indifferent way, “Katherine and I can find
- plenty to do, and to see, in London. Jane told me recently, she had a new
- carriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One of the finest turn-outs Long Acre could offer her. The team is good
- also. Leyland is a judge of horses, and he has chosen a new livery with
- his new honors—gray with silver trimmings. It looks handsome and
- stylish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And will spoil quickly,” said Madam. “Jane asked me about the livery, and
- I told her to avoid light colors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you should have told her to choose light colors. Jane lives and
- votes with the opposition.” In pleasant domestic conversation the hours
- slipped happily away, but after the ladies had retired, Dick did not stay
- long. The squire was really weary, though he “<i>pooh-poohed</i>” the
- idea. “A drive from Leeds to London, with a rest between, what is that to
- tire a man?” he asked, adding, “I hev trotted a Norfolk cob the distance
- easy in less time, and I could do it again, if I wanted to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course you could, father. Oh, I wish to ask you if you know anything
- of the M.P. from Appleby?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A little.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can you say about him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He made a masterly speech last session, in favor of Peel’s ministry. I
- liked it then. I hevn’t one good word for it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a very fine looking man. I suppose he is wealthy. He lives in good
- style here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know nothing about his money. The De Burgs are a fine family—among
- the oldest in England—Cumberland, I believe, down Furness way. Why
- art thou bothering thysen about him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is one of Jane’s favorites. He goes to Ley-land’s house a deal. I was
- thinking of Katherine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about Katherine? What about Katherine?” the squire asked sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know Katherine is beautiful, and this De Burg is very handsome—in
- his way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, the De Burgs are of Norman descent and Stephen De Burg shows it. He
- has indeed the large, gray eyes of our own North Country, but his hair is
- black—very black—and his complexion is swarthy. However, he is
- tall and well-built, and remarkably graceful in speech and action—quite
- the young man to steal a girl’s heart away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hes he stolen any girl’s heart from thee?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not he, indeed! I am Annis enough to keep what I win; but I was wondering
- if our little Kitty was a match for Stephen De Burg.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tha needn’t worry thysen about Kitty Annis. I’ll warrant her a match for
- any man. Her mother says she hes a fancy for Harry Bradley, but I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harry is a fine fellow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nobody said he wasn’t a fine fellow, and there is not any need for thee
- to interrupt thy father in order to tell him that! Harry Bradley, indeed!
- I wouldn’t spoil any plan of De Burg’s to please or help Harry Bradley!
- Not I! Now I hope tha understands that! To-morrow thou can tell me about
- thy last goddess, and if she be worthy to sit after thy mother in Annis
- Court, I’ll help thee to get wedded to her gladly. For I’m getting
- anxious, Dick, about my grandsons and their sisters. I’d like to see them
- that are to come after me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Dick went away with a laugh, but as the father and son stood a moment
- hand-clasped, their resemblance was fitting and beautiful; and no one
- noticing this fact could wonder at the Englishman’s intense affection and
- anxious care for the preservation of his family type.
- </p>
- <p>
- The squire then put out the candles and covered the fire just as he would
- have done at Annis and while he did so he pondered what Dick had told him
- and resolved to say nothing at all about it. “Then,” he reflected, “I
- shall get Katherine’s real opinions about De Burg. Women are so queer,
- they won’t iver tell you the truth about men unless they believe you don’t
- care what they think:—and I won’t tell Annie either. Annie would
- take to warning and watching, and, for anything I know, advising her to be
- faithful and true to her first love. Such simplicity! Such nonsense!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he went to his room and found Mistress Annis sitting with her feet on
- the fender, sipping a glass of wine negus, and as she dipped her little
- strips of dry toast into it, she said, “I am so glad to see thee, Antony.
- I am too excited to sleep and I wanted a few words with thee and thee
- only. For three days I hev missed our quiet talks with each other. I heard
- Dick laughing; what about?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told him I was getting varry anxious about my grandsons, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then both laughed and the squire stooped and kissed his wife and in that
- moment he sat down by her side and frankly told her all he had heard about
- De Burg. They talked about it for half-an-hour and then the squire went
- calmly off to sleep without one qualm of conscience for his broken
- resolution. In fact he assured himself that “he had done right.
- Katherine’s mother was Katherine’s proper guardian and he was only doing
- his duty in giving her points that might help her to do her duty.” That
- reflection was a comfortable one on which to sleep and he took all the
- rest it gave him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madam lay awake worrying about Katherine’s wardrobe. After hearing of her
- sister’s growing social importance she felt that it should have been
- attended to before they left Yorkshire. For in those days there were no
- such things as ready-made suits, and any dress or costume lacking had to
- be selected from the web, the goods bought, the dressmaker interviewed,
- and after several other visits for the purpose of “trying-on” the gown
- might be ready for use. These things troubled Madam. Katherine felt more
- confidence in her present belongings. “I have half a dozen white frocks
- with me, mother,” she said, “and nothing could be prettier or richer than
- my two Dacca muslins. The goods are fine as spider webs, the embroidery on
- them is nearly priceless, and they are becoming every year more and more
- scarce. I have different colored silk skirts to wear under them, and
- sashes and beads, and bows, with which to adorn them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a little happy pause, then Katherine said, “Let us go and see
- Aunt Josepha. I have not seen her for six years. I was counting the time
- as I lay in bed this morning. I was about twelve years old.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a good idea. We can shop better after we hev hed a talk with
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, mother! You had two Yorkshireisms in that sentence. Father would
- laugh at you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Niver mind, when my heart talks, my tongue talks as my heart does, and
- Yorkshire is my heart’s native tongue. When I talk to thee my tongue
- easily slips into Yorkshire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then a carriage was summoned, and Madam An-nis and her daughter went to
- call on Madam Josepha Temple. They had to ride into the city and through
- St. James Park to a once very fashionable little street leading from the
- park to the river. Madam Temple could have put a fortune in her pocket for
- a strip of this land bordering the river, but no money could induce her to
- sell it. Even the city’s offer had been refused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Had not Admiral Temple,” she asked, “found land enough for England, and
- fought for land enough for England, for his widow to be allowed to keep in
- peace the strip of land at the foot of the garden he planted and where he
- had also erected a Watergate so beautiful that it had become one of the
- sights of London?” And her claim had been politely allowed and she had
- been assured that it would be respected.
- </p>
- <p>
- The house itself was not remarkable outwardly. It was only one of those
- square brick mansions introduced in the Georgian era, full of large square
- rooms and wide corridors and, in Madam Temple’s case, of numerous
- cupboards and closets; for in her directions to the Admiral she had said
- with emphasis:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Admiral, you may as well live in a canvas tent without a convenience of
- any kind as in a house without closets for your dresses and mantuas; and
- cupboards for your china and other things you must have under lock and
- key:” and the Admiral had seen to the closet and cupboard subject with
- such strict attention that even his widow sometimes grew testy over their
- number.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whatever faults the house might have, the furnishing had been done with
- great judgment. It was solid and magnificent and only the best tapestries
- and carpets found a place there. To Madam Temple had been left the choice
- of silver, china, linen and damask, and the wisdom and good taste of her
- selection had a kind of official approbation. Artists and silversmiths
- asked her to permit them to copy the shapes of her old silver and she
- possessed many pieces of Wedgwood’s finest china of which only a very
- small number had been made ere the mold was broken.
- </p>
- <p>
- After the house was finished the Admiral lived but five years and Madam
- never allowed anything to be changed or renewed. If told that anything was
- fading or wearing, she replied—“I am fading also, just wearing away.
- They will last my time.” However the house yet had an air of comfortable
- antique grandeur and it was a favorite place of resort to all who had had
- the good fortune to win the favor of the Admiral’s widow.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they were nearing the Temple house, Madam said: “The old man who opens
- the door was the Admiral’s body servant. He has great influence with your
- aunt; speak pleasantly to him.” At these words the carriage stopped and
- the old man of whom Madam had spoken threw open the door and stood waiting
- their approach. He recognized Madam Annis and said with a pleasant respect—“Madam
- will take the right-hand parlor,” but ere Madam could do so, Mistress
- Temple appeared. She came hastily forward, talking as she came and full of
- pleasure at the visit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You dear ones!” she cried. “How welcome you are! Where is Antony? Why
- didn’t he come with you? How is he going to vote? Take off your cloaks and
- bonnets. So this is the little girl I left behind me! You are now a young
- lady, Kate. Who is the favored sweetheart?” These interjectory remarks
- were not twaddle, they were the overflow of the heart. Josepha Temple
- meant everything she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Physically she was a feminine portrait of her brother, but in all other
- respects she was herself, and only herself, the result of this world’s
- training on one particular soul, for who can tell how many hundred years?
- She had brought from her last life most of her feelings and convictions
- and probably they had the strength and persistence of many reincarnations
- behind them. Later generations than Josepha do not produce such
- characters; alas! their affections for anyone and their beliefs in
- anything are too weak to reincarnate; so they do not come back from the
- grave with them. Josepha was different. Death had had no power over her
- higher self, she was the same passionate lover of Protestantism and the
- righteous freedom of the people that she had been in Cromwell’s time; and
- she declared that she had loved her husband ever since he had fought with
- Drake and been Cromwell’s greatest naval officer.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was near sixty but still a very handsome woman, for she was alive from
- the crown of her head to the soles of her feet and disease of any kind had
- not yet found a corner in her body to assail. Her hair was untouched by
- Time, and the widow’s cap—so disfiguring to any woman—she wore
- with an air that made it appear a very proper and becoming head covering.
- Her gowns were always black merino or cloth in the morning, silk or satin
- or velvet in the afternoon; but they were brightened by deep cuffs and
- long stomachers of white linen, or rich lace, and the skirts of all,
- though quite plain, were of regal length and amplitude.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Off with your bonnets!” she cried joyfully as she kissed Katherine and
- began to untie the elaborate bow of pink satin ribbon under her chin.
- “Why, Kate, how lovely you have grown! I thought you would be just an
- ordinary Yorkshire girl—I find you extraordinary. Upon my word! You
- are a beauty!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, aunt. Mother never told me so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Annie, do you hear Kate?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought it wiser not to tell her such things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What trumpery nonsense! Do you say to your roses as they bloom, ‘Do not
- imagine, Miss Rose, that you are lovely, and have a fine perfume. You are
- well enough and your smell isn’t half-bad, but there are roses far
- handsomer and sweeter than you are’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In their own way, Josepha, all roses are perfect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In their own way, Annie, all women are perfect. Have you had your
- breakfast?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let us talk. Where is Antony? What is he doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is doing well. I think he went to see Lord John Russell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can he have to say to Russell? He hasn’t sense enough to be on
- Russell’s side. Russell is an A. D. 1832 man, Antony dates back two or
- three hundred years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He does nothing of that kind. He has been wearing a pair o’ seven leagued
- boots the past two weeks. Antony’s now as far forward as Russell, or Grey,
- or any other noncontent. They’ll find that out as soon as he opens his
- mouth in The House of Commons.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We call it ‘t’ Lower House’ here, Annie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t see why. As good men are in it as sit in t’ Upper House or any
- ither place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It may be because they speak better English there than thou art speaking
- right now, Annie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Annie laughed. “I had forgot, Josepha,” she said, “forgive me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, there’s nothing to forgive, Annie. I can talk Yorkshire as well as
- iver I did, if I want to. After all, it’s the best and purest English
- going and if you want your awn way or to get your rights, or to make your
- servants do as they’re told, a mouthful of Yorkshire will do it—or
- nothing will. And I was telling Dick only the other day, to try a bit o’
- Yorkshire on a little lass he is varry bad in love with—just at
- present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine had been standing at her aunt’s embroidery frame admiring its
- exquisite work but as soon as she heard this remark, she came quickly to
- the fireside where the elder ladies had sat down together. They had lifted
- the skirts of their dresses across their knees to prevent the fire from
- drawing the color and put their feet comfortably on the shining fender and
- Katherine did not find them indisposed to talk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is it, aunt?” she asked with some excitement. “What is her name? Is
- she Yorkshire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, I doan’t think she hes any claim on Yorkshire. I think she comes
- Westmoreland way. She is a sister to a member of the Lower House called De
- Burg. He’s a handsome lad to look at. I hevn’t hed time yet to go
- further.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you seen this little girl, aunt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. She was here once with her brother. He says she has never been much
- from home before, and Dick says, that as far as he can make out, her home
- is a gray old castle among the bleak, desolate, Westmoreland Mountains. It
- might be a kindness for Katherine to go and see her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you will go with me, aunt, I will do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I. Take Dick with thee. He will fill the bill all round.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, I will ask Dick;” and to these words the squire entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He appeared to be a little offended because no one had seen him coming and
- all three women assumed an air of contrition for having neglected to be on
- the lookout for him. “We were all so interested about Dick’s new
- sweetheart,” said Madam Annis, “and somehow, thou slipped out of mind for
- a few minutes. It <i>was</i> thoughtless, Antony, it was that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you had a good meal lately, Antony?” asked his sister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Josepha, I hevn’t. I came to ask thee to give me a bit of lunch. I
- hev an appointment at three o’clock for The House and I shall need a good
- substantial bite, for there’s no saying when I’ll get away from there.
- What can thou give me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oysters, hare soup, roast beef, and a custard pudding.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All good enough. I suppose there’ll be a Yorkshire pudding with thy beef;
- it would seem queer and half-done without it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Antony, I suppose I do know how to roast beef before t’ fire and
- put a pudding under it. I’d be badly educated, if I didn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Yorkshire pudding is to be the test, Josepha, then thou art one of the
- best educated women in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, Dick’s new love is Miss De Burg. What do you think of that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He might do worse than marry a De Burg, and he might do better. I’m not
- in a mood to talk about anyone’s marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not even of mine, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thine, least of all. And thou hes to get a decent lover before thou hes
- to ask me if he can be thy husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hev a very good lover, father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, thou hes not. Not one that can hev a welcome in my family and home.
- Not one! No doubt thou wilt hev plenty before we leave London. Get thy
- mother to help thee choose the right one. <i>There now!</i> That’s enough
- of such foolishness! My varry soul is full of matters of life or death to
- England. I hev not one thought for lovers and husbands at this time. Why,
- England is varry near rebellion, and I tell you three women there is no
- Oliver Cromwell living now to guide her over the bogs of misgovernment and
- anarchy. Russell said this morning, ‘it was the Reform Bill or
- Revolution.’” Then lunch was brought in and the subject was dropped until
- the squire lit his pipe for “a bit of a smoke.” Katherine was, however,
- restless and anxious; she was watching for her sister’s arrival and when
- the squire heard of the intended visit, he said: “I doan’t want to see
- Jane this afternoon. Tell her I’ll see her at her home this evening and,
- Josepha, I’ll smoke my pipe down the garden to the Watergate and take a
- boat there for Westminster. Then I can smoke all the way. I’m sure I can’t
- tell what I would do without it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And as they watched him down to the Watergate, they heard Jane’s carriage
- stop at the street entrance.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V—THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE
- </h2>
- <p class="indent20">
- “She was good as she was fair
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- None on earth above her!
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- As pure in thought as angels are,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- To know her was to love her!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE three ladies
- had reached the open door in time to watch Lady Jane leave her carriage, a
- movement not easy to describe, for it was the result of an action
- practiced from early childhood, and combining with the unconscious grace
- and ease of habitual action, a certain decisive touch of personality, that
- made for distinction. She was dressed in the visiting costume of the
- period, a not more ungraceful one than the fashion of the present time.
- Its material was rich violet poplin and it appeared to be worn over a
- small hoop. It was long enough to touch the buckles on her sandaled shoes
- and its belt line was in the proper place. The bodice was cut low to the
- shoulders and the sleeves were large and full to the elbows, then tight to
- the wrists. A little cape not falling below the belt and handsomely
- trimmed with ermine, completed the costume. The bonnets of that time were
- large and very high and open, adorned with ostrich feathers much curled
- and standing fancifully upright. Jane’s was of this shape and the open
- space across the head was filled with artificial flowers, but at the sides
- were loose, long curls of her own splendid hair, falling below her throat,
- and over the ermine trimmed cape. This bonnet was tied under the chin with
- a handsome bow of violet ribbon. All the smaller items of her dress were
- perfect in their way, not only with the mode, but also in strict propriety
- with her general appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was warmly welcomed and responded to it with hearty acquiescence, her
- attitude towards Katherine being specially lovely and affectionate. “My
- little sister is a beauty!” she said. “I am so proud of her. And now let
- us have a little talk about her gowns and bonnets! She must have some
- pretty ones, mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She shall have all that is needful, Jane,” said Mrs. Annis. “Their cost
- will not break her father, just yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must ask me to go with you to shop, mother. I think I can be of great
- use.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course. We have calculated on your help. Will you come to the hotel
- for me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here! Hold on bit!” cried Aunt Josepha. “Am I invited, or not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, Josepha,” answered Mistress Annis very promptly. “We cannot do
- without you. You will go with us, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, as to-morrow is neither Wednesday, nor Friday, I may do so—but
- I leave myself free. I may not go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why would Wednesday and Friday be objectionable, Josepha?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Annie, if thou hed done as much business with the world as I hev
- done, thou’d know by this time of thy life that thou couldn’t make a good
- bargain on either o’ them days. There’s some hope on a Friday because if
- Friday isn’t the worst day in the week it’s the very best. There is no
- perhaps about Wednesday. I allays let things bide as they are on
- Wednesday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I come here for you, aunt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no, Jane. If I go with you I will be at the Clarendon with Annie at
- half-past nine. If I’m not there at that time I will not be going—no,
- not for love or money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you will go the next day—sure?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a bit of sureness in me. I doan’t know how I’ll be feeling the next
- day. Take off your bonnet and cape, Jane, and sit down. I want to see how
- you look. We’ll hev our little talk and by and by a cup of tea, and then
- thou can run away as soon as tha likes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot stay very long. I have a dinner tonight, and my servants need
- overlooking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that cynical De Burg is not going to eat with you. He’ll niver
- break bread at my table.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, aunt, he is a man of the highest culture and one of the best
- speakers in The House!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let him talk as much as he likes in t’ House; there’s a few men to match
- him there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How has he offended you, aunt? He is quite a favorite with Leyland and
- myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever does tha see in his favor?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has such a fine bearing and such graceful manners. Leyland says that
- in the most excited hubbubs of The House, he carries himself with all the
- serenity and aristocratic poise of an English gentleman—I should
- say, nobleman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s no wonder tha forgets his nobility. It only counts to his
- grandfather. I’ll tell thee something, Jane—a gentleman is allays a
- nobleman, a nobleman may be a gentleman, and he may be varry far from it;
- but there, now! I’ll say no more, or I’ll mebbe say too much! How many
- dresses does our beauty want?”
- </p>
- <p>
- This question opened a discussion of such interest that a servant entered
- with the tea service and hot crumpets before they were thinking of the
- time; and half an hour afterwards Katherine was ready to accompany her
- sister to the Leyland home.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the first two weeks, the early part of Katherine’s days were spent
- either in shopping, or in “trying on,” and such events rarely need more
- than an allusion. Every woman has some, or all of the experiences incident
- to this trial; but though they may be of personal importance, they have no
- general interest. We may pass Katherine’s dressmaking trials, by knowing
- that they were in the hands of four or five women capable of arranging
- them in the most satisfactory manner. Katherine herself left them as early
- as possible, and spent the most of her time in her father’s company, and
- Lady Jane approved transiently of this arrangement. She did not wish
- Katherine to be seen and talked about until she was formally introduced
- and could make a proper grand entry into the society she wished her to
- enter. Of course there were suppositions floating about concerning the
- young lady seen so much with Lady Leyland; but as long as the talk
- remained indefinite, it was stimulating and working for a successful
- début.
- </p>
- <p>
- This interval was in many ways very pleasant to Katherine for the squire
- took her to all those sights of London which people are expected to know
- all about—the Tower—the British Museum—St. Paul’s Church
- and Westminster Abbey; and so forth. Sometimes the squire met an old
- acquaintance from his own neighborhood and they went somewhere and had a
- cup of tea together, the squire simply saying, “This is my little girl,
- Denby; my youngest.” Such an introduction demanded nothing but a smile and
- a few courteous words, and these civilities Katherine managed with
- retiring modesty and simplicity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, one morning, as they were walking down High Holborn, they met a near
- neighbor, a very shrewd, cheerful gentleman, called Samuel Wade, the
- squire of Everdeen. Annis and Katherine had turned into a pretty white
- dairy for a plate of Devonshire cream and Samuel Wade was slowly and
- thoughtfully partaking of the same dainty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, Wade! Whatever hes brought thee away from thy hounds and kennels
- this fine spring weather?” asked Annis.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will tell thee, Annis, if tha’ will give me a halfhour and I know no
- man I could be so glad to see as thysen. I’m in a quandary, squire, and I
- would be glad of a word or two with thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, then, thou hes it! What does t’a want to say to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Why-a</i>, Annis, I want to tell thee I am building a mill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Niver! Niver!</i> Thee building a mill! I niver thought of such a
- to-do as that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor I, either, till I was forced to do it, but when that hour arrived, my
- weavers and I came to the conclusion that we weren’t bound to starve to
- save anybody’s trade feelings. So I agreed to put up a factory and they
- hev got work here and there just to learn the ways of this new-fangled
- loom, so that when I hev t’ factory ready they’ll be ready for it and glad
- enough to come home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not the man to blame thee, Samuel; I hev hed some such thoughts
- mysen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was our preacher that put it into my mind. He said to us one night
- when the men had been complaining of machine labor—‘Brothers, when
- God is on the side of civilization and the power-loom, how are you going
- to use the hand loom? The hand loom is dead and buried,’ he said, ‘and
- what is the use of keeping up a constant burying of this same old
- Defuncter. It’ll cost you all the brass you hev and you’ll die poor and
- good for nothing. The world is moving and you can’t hold it back. It will
- just kick you off as cumberers of the ground.’ And after that talk three
- men went out of t’ chapel and began to build factories; and I was one of
- t’ three and I’m none sorry for it—<i>yet</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And where is tha building?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Down t’ Otley road a few miles from my awn house, but my three lads are
- good riders and it would be hard to beat me unless it was with better
- stock than I hev; and I niver let anyone best me in that way if I can help
- it. So the few miles does not bother us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What made you build so far from Wade House?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Why-a</i>, squire, I didn’t want to hev the sight of the blamed thing
- before my eyes, morning, noon and night, and t’ land I bought was varry
- cheap and hed plenty of water-power on it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. I hed forgot. Well then what brought thee to London? It is a
- rayther dangerous place now, I can tell thee that; or it will be, if
- Parliament doesn’t heed the warnings given and shown.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Annis, I came on my awn business and I’m not thinking of bothering
- Parliament at present. A factory is enough for all the brains I hev, for
- tha knows well that my brains run after horses—but I’ll tell thee
- what, factories hey a wonderful way of getting into your pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is nothing out of the way with thee. Thy pocket is too full, but I
- should think a factory might be built in Yorkshire without coming to
- London about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Annis, tha knaws that if I meddle wi’ anything, I’ll do what I do,
- tip-top or not at all. I hed the best of factory architects Leeds could
- give me and I hev ordered the best of power looms and of ivery other bit
- of machinery; but t’ ither day a man from Manchester went through Wade
- Mill and he asked me how many Jacquard looms I was going to run. I hed
- niver heard of that kind of a loom, but I felt I must hev some. Varry soon
- I found out that none of the weavers round Otley way knew anything about
- Jacquard looms and they didn’t seem to want to know either, but my eldest
- lad, Sam, said he would like to hev some and to know all about them. So I
- made good inquiry and I found out the best of all the Jacquard weavers in
- England lived in a bit of London called Spitalfields. He is a Frenchman, I
- suppose, for his name is Pierre Delaney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And did you send your son to him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did that and now Sam knows all about Jacquard looms, for he sent me
- word he was coming home after a week in London just to look about him and
- then I thought I would like to see the machine at work and get the name of
- the best maker of it. So I came at once and I’m stopping at the hotel
- where t’ mail coach stopped, but I’m fairly bewildered. Sam has left his
- stopping place and I rayther think is on his way home. I was varry glad to
- see thy face among so many strange ones. I can tell thee that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I help thee, Wade?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, thou can go with me to see this Jacquard loom and give me thy
- opinion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hev niver seen a Jacquard loom mysen and I would like to see one; but I
- could not go now, for as tha sees I hev my little lass with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, I want to see this loom at this place called Spitalfields. Let me
- go with you. Please, father, let me go with you; do!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s nothing to hinder,” said Squire Wade. “I should think, Annis,
- that thou and mysen could take care of t’ little lass.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me go, father!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, we will go at once. The day is yet early and bright, but no
- one can tell what it will be in an hour or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Wade called a coach and they drove to London’s famous manufacturing
- district noted for the excellence of its brocaded silks and velvet, and
- the beauty and variety of its ribbons, satins and lutestrings. The ride
- there was full of interest to Katherine and she needed no explanation
- concerning the groups of silent men standing at street corners sullen and
- desperate-looking, or else listening to some passionate speaker. Annis and
- Wade looked at each other and slightly shook their heads but did not make
- any remark. The locality was not a pleasant one; it spoke only of labor
- that was too urgent to have time for “dressing up,” as Pierre Delaney—the
- man they were visiting—explained to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- They found Delaney in his weaving shop, a large many-windowed room full of
- strange looking looms and of men silent and intensely pre-occupied. No one
- looked round when they entered, and as Wade and Annis talked to the
- proprietor, Katherine cast her eyes curiously over the room. She saw that
- it was full of looms, large ponderous looms, with much slower and heavier
- movements than the usual one; and she could not help feeling that the
- long, dangling, yellow harness which hung about each loom fettered and in
- some way impeded its motion. The faces of all the workers were turned from
- the door and they appeared to be working slowly and with such strict
- attention that not one man hesitated, or looked round, though they must
- have known that strangers had entered the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few minutes Katherine’s curiosity was intense. She wanted to go close
- to the looms, and watch the men at what seemed to be difficult work.
- However, she had scarcely felt the thrill of this strong desire ere her
- father took her hand and they went with Delaney to a loom at the head of
- the room. He said “he was going to show them the work of one of his
- pupils, who had great abilities for patterns requiring unwavering
- attention and great patience; but in fact,” he added, “every weaver in
- this room has as much as he can manage, if he keeps his loom going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man whose work they were going to examine must have heard them
- approaching, but he made no sign of such intelligence until they stood at
- his side. Then he lifted his head, and as he did so, Katherine cried out—“Father!
- Father! It is Harry! It is Harry Bradley! Oh Harry! Harry! Whatever are
- you doing here?” And then her voice broke down in a cry that was full both
- of laughter and tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, it was really Harry Bradley, and with a wondering happy look he
- leaped from his seat, threw off his cap and so in a laughing hurry he
- stood before them. Squire Annis was so amazed he forgot that he was no
- longer friends with Harry’s father and he gave an honest expression of his
- surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Why-a</i>, Harry! Harry! Whativer is tha up to? Does thy father know
- the kind of game thou art playing now, lad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Squire, dear! It is business, not play, that I am up to. I am happy
- beyond words to see you, squire! I have often walked the road you take to
- The House, hoping I might do so.” And the young man put out his hand, and
- without thinking, the squire took it. Acting on impulse, he could not help
- taking it. Harry was too charming, too delightful to resist. He wore his
- working apron without any consciousness of it and his handsome face and
- joyful voice and manner made those few moments all his own. The squire was
- taken captive by a happy surprise and eagerly seconded Katherine’s desire
- to see him at such absorbing work as his loom appeared to require.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harry took his seat again without parleying or excuse. He was laughing as
- he did so, but as soon as he faced the wonderful design before him, he
- appeared to be unconscious of everything else. His watchers were quickly
- lost in an all absorbing interest as they saw an exquisite design of
- leaves and flowers growing with every motion of the shuttle, while the
- different threads of the harness rose and fell as if to some perfectly
- measured tune.
- </p>
- <p>
- And as he worked his face changed, the boyish, laughing expression
- disappeared, and it was a man’s face full of watchful purpose, alert and
- carefully bent on one object and one end. The squire noticed the change
- and he admired it. He wished secretly that he could see the same manly
- look on Dick’s face, forgetting that he had never seen Dick under the same
- mental strain.
- </p>
- <p>
- But this reflection was only a thread running through his immense pleasure
- in the result of Harry’s wonderful manipulation of the forces at his
- command and his first impulse was to ask Harry to take dinner with him and
- Wade, at the Clarendon. He checked himself as regarded dinner, but he
- asked Harry:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where art thou staying, Harry? I shouldn’t think Spitalfields quite the
- place for thy health.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am only here for working hours, squire. I have a good room at the
- Yorkshire Club and I have a room when I want it at Mistress Temple’s. I
- often stay there when Dick is in London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My word!” ejaculated the squire. He felt at once that the young man had
- no need of his kindness, and his interest in him received a sudden chill.
- </p>
- <p>
- This conversation occurred as Wade and Delaney were walking down the room
- together talking about Jacquard looms and their best maker. Katherine had
- been hitherto silent as far as words were concerned, but she had slipped
- her hand into Harry’s hand when he had finished his exhibition at the
- loom. It was her way of praising him and Harry had held the little hand
- fast and was still doing so when the squire said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harry, looms are wonderful creatures—ay, and I’ll call them
- ‘creatures.’ They hev sense or they know how to use the sense of men that
- handle them properly. I hev seen plenty of farm laborers that didn’t know
- that much; but those patterns you worked from, they are beyond my making
- out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, squire, many designs are very elaborate, requiring from twenty
- thousand to sixty thousand cards for a single design. Weaving like that is
- a fine art, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou art right. Is tha going to stay here any longer to-day or will tha
- ride back with us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, if I only might go back with you! In five minutes, I will be
- ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The squire turned hastily away with three short words, “Make haste, then.”
- He was put out by the manner in which Harry had taken his civil offer. He
- had only meant to give him a lift back to his club but Harry appeared to
- have understood it as an invitation to dinner. He was wondering how he
- could get out of the dilemma and so did not notice that Harry kissed
- Katherine’s hand as he turned away. Harry had found few opportunities to
- address her, none at all for private speech, yet both Katherine and Harry
- were satisfied. For every pair of lovers have a code of their own and no
- one else has the key to it.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a short time Harry reappeared in a very dudish walking suit, but Wade
- and Delaney were not ready to separate and the squire was hard set to hide
- his irritability. Harry also looked too happy, and too handsome, for the
- gentlemen’s dress of A. D. 1833 was manly and becoming, with its high hat,
- pointed white vest, frock coat, and long thin cane, always carried in the
- left hand. However, conversation even about money comes to an end and at
- length Wade was satisfied, and they turned city-ward in order to leave
- Wade at his hotel. On arriving there, Annis was again detained by Wade’s
- anxieties and fears, but Harry had a five minutes’ heavenly interlude. He
- was holding Katherine’s hand and looking into her eyes and saying little
- tender, foolish words, which had no more meaning than a baby’s prattle,
- but Katherine’s heart was their interpreter and every syllable was sweet
- as the dropping of the honey-comb.
- </p>
- <p>
- Through all this broken conversation, however, Harry was wondering how he
- could manage to leave the coach with Katherine. If he could only see Lady
- Jane, he knew she would ask him to remain, but how was he to see Lady Jane
- and what excuse could he make for asking to see her? It never struck the
- young man that the squire was desirous to get rid of him. He was only
- conscious of the fact that he did not particularly desire an evening with
- Katherine’s father and mother and that he did wish very ardently to spend
- an evening with Katherine and Lady Jane; and the coach went so quick, and
- his thoughts were all in confusion, and they were at the Leyland mansion
- before he had decided what to say, or do. Then the affair that seemed so
- difficult, straightened itself out in a perfectly natural, commonplace
- manner. For when Katherine rose, as a matter of course, Harry also rose;
- and without effort, or consideration, said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will make way for you, squire, or if you wish no further delay, I will
- see Katherine into Lady Leyland’s care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be obliged to you, Harry, if you will do so,” was the answer. “I
- am a bit tired and a bit late, and Mistress Annis will be worrying hersen
- about me, no doubt. I was just thinking of asking you to do me this
- favor.” Then the squire left a message for his eldest daughter and drove
- rapidly away, but if he had turned his head for a moment he might have
- seen how happily the lovers were slowly climbing the white marble steps
- leading them to Lady Leyland’s door. Hand in hand they went, laughing a
- little as they talked, because Harry was telling Katherine how he had been
- racking his brains for some excuse to leave the coach with her and how the
- very words had come at the moment they were wanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the very same time the squire was telling himself “how cleverly he had
- got rid of the young fellow. He would hev bothered Annie above a bit,” he
- reflected, “and it was a varry thoughtless thing for me to do—asking
- a man to dinner, when I know so well that Annie likes me best when I am
- all by mysen. Well, I got out of that silly affair cleverly. It is a good
- thing to hev a faculty for readiness and I’m glad to say that readiness is
- one thing that Annie thinks Antony Annis hes on call. Well, well, the lad
- was glad to leave me and I was enough pleased to get rid of him.” And if
- any good fellow should read this last paragraph he will not require me to
- tell him how the little incident of “getting rid of Harry” brightened the
- squire’s dinner, nor how sweetly Annie told her husband that he was “the
- kindest-hearted of men and could do a disagreeable thing in such an
- agreeable manner, as no other man, she had ever met, would think of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he told Annie about the Jacquard loom and Harry’s mastery of it, and
- when this subject was worn out, Annie told her husband that Jane was going
- to introduce Katherine to London society on the following Tuesday evening.
- She wanted to make it Wednesday evening, but “Josepha would not hear of
- it”—she said, with an air of injury, “and Josepha always gets what
- she desires.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why shouldn’t Josepha get all she desires? When a woman hes a million
- pounds to give away beside property worth a fortune the world hes no more
- to give her but her awn way. I should think Josepha is one of the richest
- women in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “However did the Admiral get so much money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All prize money, Annie. Good, honest, prize money! The Admiral’s money
- was the price of his courage. He threshed England’s enemies for every
- pound of it; and when we were fighting Spain, Spanish galleons, loaded
- with Brazilian gold, were varry good paymasters even though Temple was
- both just and generous to his crews.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No wonder then, if Josepha be one of the richest women in England. Who is
- the richest man, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am, Annie! I am! Thou art my wife and there is not gold enough in
- England to measure thy worth nor yet to have made me happy if I had missed
- thee.” What else could a wise and loving husband say?
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime Katherine and Harry had been gladly received by Lady Jane,
- who at once asked Harry to stay and dine with them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about my street suit?” asked Harry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have a family dinner this evening and expect no one to join us. De
- Burg may probably call and he may bring his sister with him. However,
- Harry, you know your old room on the third floor. I will send Leyland’s
- valet there and he will manage to make you presentable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- These instructions Harry readily obeyed, and soon as he had left the room
- Lady Jane asked—“Where did you pick him up, Kitty? He is quite a
- detrimental in father’s opinion, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I picked him up in a weaving room in the locality called Spitalfields. He
- was working there on a Jacquard loom.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What nonsense you are talking!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am telling you facts, Jane. I will explain them later. Now I must go
- and dress for dinner, if you are expecting the De Burgs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They will only pay an evening call, but make yourself as pretty as is
- proper for the occasion. If De Burg does not bring his sister you will not
- be expected to converse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Jane dear! I am not thinking, or caring, about the De Burgs. My mind
- was on Harry and of course I shall dress a little for Harry. I have always
- done that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will take your own way, Kitty, that also you have always done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, is there any reason why I should not take my own way now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She asked this question in a pleasant, laughing manner that required no
- answer; and with it disappeared not returning to the parlor, until the
- dinner hour was imminent. She found Harry and Lady Jane already there, and
- she fancied they were talking rather seriously. In fact, Harry had eagerly
- seized this opportunity to try and enlist Jane’s sympathy in his love for
- Katherine. He had passionately urged their long devotion to each other and
- entreated her to give him some opportunities to retain his hold on her
- affection.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jane had in no way compromised her own position. She was kind-hearted and
- she had an old liking for Harry, but she was ambitious, and she was
- resolved that Katherine should make an undeniably good alliance. De Burg
- was not equal to her expectations but she judged he would be a good
- auxiliary to them. “My beautiful sister,” she thought, “must have a
- splendid following of lovers and De Burg will make a prominent member of
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So she was not sorry to see Katherine enter in a pretty, simple frock of
- flowered silk, pale blue in color, and further softened by a good deal of
- Valenciennes lace and a belt and long sash of white ribbon. Her hair was
- dressed in the mode, lifted high and loosely, and confined by an exquisite
- comb of carved ivory; the frontal curls were pushed behind the ears, but
- fell in bright luxuriance almost to her belt. So fair was she, so fresh
- and sweet and lovely, that Leyland—who was both sentimental and
- poetic, within practical limits—thought instantly of Ben Jonson’s
- exquisite lines, and applied them to his beautiful sister-in-law:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Have you seen but a bright lily grow
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Before rude hands have touched it?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Have you marked but the fall of the snow
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Before the soil hath smutched it?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Have you smelt of the bud of the brier,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Or the nard in the fire?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Or tasted the bag of the bee,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he felt a decided obligation to his own good judgment, for
- inducing him to marry into so handsome a family.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a comfortable mood in which to sit down to dinner and Harry’s
- presence also added to his pleasure, for it promised him some conversation
- not altogether feminine. Indeed, though the dinner was a simple family
- one, it was a very delightful meal. Leyland quoted some of his shortest
- and finest lines, Lady Jane merrily recalled childish episodes in which
- Harry and herself played the principal rôles, and Katherine made funny
- little corrections and additions to her sister’s picturesque childish
- adventures; also, being healthily hungry, she ate a second supply of her
- favorite pudding and thus made everyone comfortably sure that for all her
- charm and loveliness, she was yet a creature
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Not too bright and good,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For human nature’s daily food.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- They lingered long at the happy table and were still laughing and cracking
- nuts round it when De Burg was announced. He was accompanied by a new
- member of Parliament from Carlisle and the conversation drifted quickly to
- politics. De Burg wanted to know if Leyland was going to The House. He
- thought there would be a late sitting and said there was a tremendous
- crowd round the parliament buildings, “but,” he added, “my friend was
- amazed at the dead silence which pervaded it, and, indeed, if you compare
- this voiceless manifestation of popular feeling with the passionate
- turbulence of the same crowd, it is very remarkable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it is much more dangerous,” answered Ley-land. “The voiceless anger
- of an English crowd is very like the deathly politeness of the man who
- brings you a challenge. As soon as they become quiet they are ready for
- action. We are apt to call them uneducated, but in politics they have been
- well taught by their leaders who are generally remarkably clever men, and
- it is said also that one man in seventeen among our weavers can read and
- perhaps even sign his name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That one is too many,” replied De Burg. “It makes them dangerous. Yet men
- like Lord Brougham are always writing and talking about it being our duty
- to educate them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Sir Brougham formed a society for ‘The Diffusion of Useful
- Knowledge’ four or five years ago—an entirely new sort of knowledge
- for working men—knowledge relating to this world, personal and
- municipal. That is how he actually described his little sixpenny books.
- Then some Scotchman called Chambers began to publish a cheap magazine. I
- take it. It is not bad at all—but things like these are going to
- make literature cheap and common.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I heard my own clergyman say that he considered secular teaching of
- the poor classes to be hostile to Christianity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Lady Jane remarked—as if to herself—“How dangerous to
- good society the Apostles must have been!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Leyland smiled at his wife and answered, “They were. They changed it
- altogether.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The outlook is very bad,” continued De Burg. “The tide of democracy is
- setting in. It will sweep us all away and break down every barrier raised
- by civilization. And we may play at Canute, if we like, but—” and De
- Burg shook his head and was silent in that hopeless fashion that
- represents circumstances perfectly desperate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Leyland took De Burg’s prophetic gloom quite cheerfully. He had a verse
- ready for it and he gave it with apparent pleasure—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Yet men will still be ruled by men,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- And talk will have its day,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And other men will come again
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- To chase the rogues away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “That seems to be the way things are ordered, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After Leyland’s poetic interval, Lady Jane glanced at her husband and
- said: “Let us forget politics awhile. If we go to the drawing-room,
- perhaps Miss Annis or Mr. Bradley will give us a song.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Everyone gladly accepted the proposal and followed Lady Jane to the
- beautiful, light warm room.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was so gay with flowers and color, it was so softly lit by wax candles
- and the glow of the fire, it was so comfortably warmed by the little blaze
- on the white marble hearth, that the spirits of all experienced a sudden
- happy uplift. De Burg went at once to the fireside. “Oh!” he exclaimed,
- “how good is the fire! How cheerful, how homelike! Every day in the year,
- I have fires in some rooms in the castle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, De Burg, how is that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know, Leyland, my home is surrounded by mountains and I may say I am
- in the clouds most of the time. We are far north from here and I am so
- much alone I have made a friend of the fire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought, sir, your mother lived with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am unhappy in her long and frequent absences. My cousin Agatha cannot
- bear the climate. She is very delicate and my mother takes her southward
- for the winters. They are now in the Isle of Wight but they will be in
- London within a week. For a short time they will remain with me then they
- return to De Burg Castle until the cold drives them south again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Jane offered some polite sympathies and De Burg from his vantage
- ground of the hearth-rug surveyed the room. Its beauty and fitness
- delighted him and he at once began to consider how the De Burg
- drawing-room would look if arranged after its fashion. He could not help
- this method of looking at whatever was beautiful and appropriate; he had
- to place the thing, whatever it was, in a position which related itself
- either to De Burg, or the De Burg possessions. So when he had placed the
- Ley-land drawing-room in the gloomy De Burg Castle, he took into his
- consideration Katherine Annis as the mistress of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine was sitting with Harry near the piano and her sister was
- standing before her with some music in her hand. “You are now going to
- sing for us, Katherine,” she said, “and you will help Katherine, dear
- Harry, for you know all her songs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, dear lady, I cannot on any account sing tonight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No entreaties could alter Harry’s determination and it was during this
- little episode De Burg approached. Hearing the positive refusal, he
- offered his services with that air of certain satisfaction which insured
- its acceptance. Then the songs he could sing were to be selected, and this
- gave him a good opportunity of talking freely with the girl whom he might
- possibly choose for the wife of a De Burg and the mistress of his ancient
- castle. He found her sweet and obliging and ready to sing whatever he
- thought most suitable to the compass and quality of his voice, and as Lord
- and Lady Leyland assisted in this choice, Harry was left alone; but when
- the singing began Harry was quickly at Katherine’s side, making the
- turning of the music sheets his excuse for interference. It appeared quite
- proper to De Burg that someone should turn the leaves for him and he
- acknowledged the courtesy by a bend of his head and afterwards thanked
- Harry for the civility, saying, “it enabled him to do justice to his own
- voice and also to the rather difficult singing of the fair songstress.” He
- put himself first, because at the moment he was really feeling that his
- voice and personality had been the dominating quality in the two songs
- they sang together.
- </p>
- <p>
- But though De Burg did his best and the Leylands expressed their pleasure
- charmingly and Harry bowed and smiled, no one was enthusiastic; and
- Ley-land could not find any quotation to cap the presumed pleasure the
- music had given them. Then Harry seized the opportunity that came with the
- rise of Katherine to offer his arm and lead her to their former seat on
- the sofa leaving De Burg to the society of Leyland and his wife. He had
- come, however, to the conclusion that Katherine was worthy of further
- attentions, but he did not make on her young and tender heart any fixed or
- favorable impression. For this man with all his considerations had not yet
- learned that the selfish lover never really succeeds; that the woman he
- attempts to woo just looks at him and then turns to something more
- interesting.
- </p>
- <p>
- After all, the music had not united the small gathering, indeed it had
- more certainly divided them. Lord Leyland remained at De Burg’s side and
- Lady Jane through some natural inclination joined them. For she had no
- intention in the matter, it merely pleased her to do it, and it certainly
- pleased Katherine and Harry that she had left them at liberty to please
- each other.
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine had felt a little hurt by her lover’s refusal to sing but he had
- promised to explain his reason for doing so to Jane and herself when they
- were alone; and she had accepted this put-off apology in a manner so sweet
- and confiding that it would have satisfied even De Burg’s idea of a wife’s
- subordination to her husband’s feelings or caprices.
- </p>
- <p>
- De Burg did not remain much longer; he made some remark about his duty
- being now at The House, as it was likely to be a very late sitting but he
- did not forget in taking leave to speak of Katherine’s début on the
- following Tuesday and to ask Lady Leyland’s permission to bring with him
- his cousin Agatha De Burg if she was fortunate enough to arrive in time;
- and this permission being readily granted he made what he told himself was
- a very properly timed and elegant exit. This he really accomplished for he
- was satisfied with his evening and somehow both his countenance and
- manners expressed his content.
- </p>
- <p>
- Leyland laughed a little about De Burg’s sense of duty to The House, and
- made his usual quotation for the over-zealous—about new brooms
- sweeping clean—and Lady Jane praised his fine manner, and his
- correct singing, but Katherine and Harry made no remark. Leyland, however,
- was not altogether pleased with the self-complacent, faithful member of
- parliament. “Jane,” he asked, “what did the man mean by saying, ‘his
- political honesty must not be found wanting’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I think, Frederick, that was a very honorable feeling!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, but members of parliament do not usually make their political
- honesty an excuse for cutting short a social call. I wish our good father
- Antony Annis had heard him. He would have given him a mouthful of
- Yorkshire, that he would never have been able to forget. How does the man
- reckon himself? I believe he thinks he is honoring <i>us</i> by his
- presence. No doubt, he thinks it only fit that you call your social year
- after him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The De Burg Year? Eh, Fred!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, the happy year in which you made the De Burg acquaintance. My dear,
- should that acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?” Then they
- all laughed merrily, and Leyland asked: “Why did you refuse to sing,
- Harry? It was so unlike you that I would not urge your compliance. I knew
- you must have a good reason for the refusal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had the best of reasons, sir, a solemn promise that I made my father. I
- will tell you all about it. We gave our factory hands a dinner and dance
- last Christmas and I went with father to give them a Christmas greeting. A
- large number were already present and were passing the time in singing and
- story-telling until dinner was served. One of the men asked—‘if
- Master Harry would give them a song,’—and I did so. I thought a
- comic song would be the most suitable and I sang ‘The Yorkshire Man.’ I
- had sung it at the Mill Owners’ quarterly dinner, amid shouts of laughter,
- and I was sure it was just the thing for the present occasion. Certainly,
- I was not disappointed by its reception. Men and women both went wild over
- it but I could see that my father was annoyed and displeased, and after I
- had finished he hardly spoke until the dinner was served. Then he only
- said grace over the food and wished all a good New Year, and so speedily
- went away. It wasn’t like father a bit, and I was troubled about it. As
- soon as we were outside, I said, ‘Whatever is the matter, father? Who, or
- what, has vexed you?’ And he said, ‘Thou, thysen, Harry, hes put me out
- above a bit. I thought thou would hev hed more sense than to sing that
- fool song among t’ weavers. It was bad enough when tha sung it at t’
- Master dinner but it were a deal worse among t’ crowd we have just left.’
- I said I did not understand and he answered—‘Well, then, lad, I’ll
- try and make thee understand. It is just this way—if ta iver means
- to be a man of weight in business circles, if ta iver means to be
- respected and looked up to, if ta iver thinks of a seat i’ parliament, or
- of wearing a Lord Mayor’s gold chain, then don’t thee sing a note when
- there’s anybody present but thy awn family. It lets a man down at once to
- sing outside his awn house. It does that! If ta iver means to stand a bit
- above the ordinary, or to rule men in any capacity, don’t sing to them, or
- iver try in any way to amuse them. Praise them, or scold them, advise
- them, or even laugh at them, but don’t thee sing to them, or make them
- laugh. The moment tha does that, they hev the right to laugh at thee, or
- mimic thee, or criticise thee. Tha then loses for a song the respect due
- thy family, thy money, or thy real talents. Singing men aren’t money men.
- Mind what I say! It is true as can be, dear lad.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is the way father spoke to me and I promised him I would never sing
- again except for my family and nearest friends. De Burg was not my friend
- and I felt at once that if I sang for him I would give him opportunities
- to say something unpleasant about me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Leyland laughed very understandingly. “You have given me a powerful
- weapon, Harry,” he said. “How did you feel when De Burg sang?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I felt glad. I thought he looked very silly. I wondered if he had ever
- practiced before a looking-glass. O Leyland, I felt a great many scornful
- and unkind things; and I felt above all how right and proper my father’s
- judgment was—that men who condescend to amuse and especially to
- provoke laughter or buffoonery will never be the men who rule or lead
- other men. Even more strongly than this, I felt that the social reputation
- of being a fine singer would add no good thing to my business reputation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right, Harry. It is not the song singers of England who are
- building factories and making railroads and who are seeking and finding
- out new ways to make steam their servant. Your father gave you excellent
- advice, my own feelings and experience warrant him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father is a wise, brave-hearted man,” said Harry proudly, and
- Katherine clasped his hand in sweet accord, as he said it.
- </p>
- <p>
- That night Harry occupied his little room on the third floor in Leyland’s
- house and the happy sleeping place was full of dreams of Katherine. He
- awakened from them as we do from fortunate dreams, buoyant with courage
- and hope, and sure of love’s and life’s final victory and happiness:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Then it does not seem miles,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Out to the emerald isles,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Set in the shining smiles,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Of Love’s blue sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Happy are the good sleepers and dreamers I Say that they spend nearly a
- third part of their lives in sleep, their sleeping hours <i>are not dead
- hours</i>. Their intellects are awake, their unconscious self is busy. In
- reality we always dream, but many do not remember their dreams any more
- than they remember the thoughts that have passed through their minds
- during the day. Real dreams are rare. They come of design. They are never
- forgotten. They are always helpful because the incompleteness of this life
- asks for a larger theory than the material needs—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- A deep below the deep,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- And a height beyond the height;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For our hearing is not hearing,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- And our seeing is not sight.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Harry had been wonderfully helped by his dreamful sleep. If he had been at
- home he would have sung all the time he dressed himself. He remembered
- that his father often did so but he did not connect that fact with one
- that was equally evident—that his father was a great dreamer. It is
- so easy to be forgetful and even ungrateful for favors that minister to
- the spiritual rather than the material side of life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet he went downstairs softly humming to himself some joyous melody, he
- knew not what it was. Katherine was in the breakfast room and heard him
- coming, timing his footsteps to the music his heart was almost whispering
- on his lips. So when he opened the door he saw her standing expectant of
- his entrance and he uttered an untranslatable cry of joy. She was standing
- by the breakfast table making coffee and she said, “Good morning, Harry!
- Jane is not down yet. Shall I serve you until she comes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Darling!” he said, “I shall walk all day in the clouds if you serve me.
- Nothing could be more delightful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So it fell out that they breakfasted at once, and Love sat down between
- them. And all that day, Harry ate, and talked, and walked, and did his
- daily work to the happy, happy song in his heart—the song he had
- brought back from the Land of Dreams.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI—FASHION AND FAMINE
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Lord of Light why so much darkness? Bread of Life
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- why so much hunger?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The great fight, the long fight, the fight that must be
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- won, without any further delay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T is not necessary
- for me to describe the formal introduction of Katherine to London society.
- A large number of my readers may have a personal experience of that
- uncertain step, which Longfellow says, the brook takes into the river,
- affirming also that it is taken “with reluctant feet”; but Longfellow must
- be accepted with reservations. Most girls have all the pluck and courage
- necessary for that leap into the dark and Katherine belonged to this
- larger class. She felt the constraints of the upper social life. She was
- ready for the event and wished it over.
- </p>
- <p>
- The squire also wished it over. He could not help an uneasy regret about
- the days and the money spent in preparing for its few hours of what seemed
- to him unnecessary entertaining; not even free from the possibility of
- being rudely broken up—the illuminated house, the adjoining streets
- filled with vehicles, the glimpses of jewelry and of rich clothing as the
- guests left their carriages; the sounds of music—the very odors of
- cooking from the open windows of the kitchens—the calls of footmen—all
- the stir of revelry and all the paraphernalia of luxury. How would the
- hungry, angry, starving men gathering all over London take this spectacle?
- The squire feared there would be some demonstration and if it should be
- made against his family’s unfeeling extravagance how could he bear it? He
- knew that Englishmen usually,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Through good and evil stand,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- By the laws of their own land.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- But he knew also, that Hunger knows no law, and that men too poor to have
- where to lay their heads do not have much care regarding the heads of more
- fortunate men.
- </p>
- <p>
- Squire Annis was a thoroughly informed man on all historical and political
- subjects and he knew well that the English people had not been so much in
- earnest since the time of Oliver Cromwell as they then were; and when he
- called to remembrance the events between the rejection of the first Reform
- Bill and its present struggle, he was really amazed that people could
- think or talk of any other thing. Continually he was arranging in his mind
- the salient points of moral dispute, as he had known them, and it may not
- be amiss for two or three minutes to follow his thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- They generally went back to the dramatic rejection of the first Reform
- Bill, on the sixteenth of August, A. D. 1831. Parliament met again on the
- sixth of December, and on the twelfth of December Lord John Russell
- brought in a second Reform Bill. It was slightly changed but in all
- important matters the same as the first Bill. On the eighteenth of
- December, Parliament adjourned for the Christmas holidays but met again on
- January the seventeenth, A. D. 1832. This Parliament passed The Bill ready
- for the House of Lords on March the twenty-sixth, just two days after his
- own arrival in London. He had made a point of seeing this ceremony, for a
- very large attendance of peeresses and strangers of mark were expected to
- be present. He found the space allotted to strangers crowded, but he also
- found a good standing place and from it saw the Lord Chancellor Brougham
- take his seat at the Woolsack and the Deputy usher of the Black Rod
- announce—“A message from the Commons.” Then he saw the doors thrown
- open and Lord Althorp and Lord John Russell, bearing the Reform Bill in
- their hands, appeared at the head of one hundred members of Parliament,
- and Russell delivered the Bill to the Lord Chancellor, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Lords, the House of Commons have passed an act to amend the
- representation of England and Wales to which they desire your Lordship’s
- concurrence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The great question now was, whether the Lords would concur or not, for if
- the populace were ready to back their determination with their lives the
- Lords were in the same temper though they knew well enough that the one
- stubborn cry of the whole country was “The Bill, The Bill, and nothing but
- The Bill.” They knew also that The House of Commons sympathized with the
- suffering of the poor and the terrible deeds of the French Revolution were
- still green in their memories. Yet they dared to argue and dispute and put
- off the men standing in dangerous patience, waiting, waiting day and night
- for justice.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the past week, also, all thoughtful persons had been conscious of a
- change in these waiting men, a change which Lord Grey told The Commons was
- “to be regarded as ominous and dangerous.” It was, that the crowds
- everywhere had become portentously silent. They no longer discussed the
- subject. They had no more to say. They were now full ready to do all their
- powerful Political Unions threatened. These unions were prepared to march
- to London and bivouac in its squares. The powerful Birmingham Union
- declared “two hundred thousand men were ready to leave their forges and
- shops, encamp on Hampstead Heath, and if The Bill did not speedily become
- a law, compel that event to take place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this time also, violent expressions had become common in The House.
- Members spoke with the utmost freedom about a fighting duke, and a
- military government, and the Duke of Wellington was said to have pledged
- himself to the King to quiet the country, if necessary, in ten days. It
- was also asserted that, at his orders, the Scots Greys had been employed
- on a previous Sabbath Day in grinding their swords.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As if,” cried the press and the people as with one voice, “as if
- Englishmen could be kept from their purpose by swords and bayonets.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Throughout this period the King was obstinate and ill-tempered and so
- ignorant about the character of the people he had been set to govern, as
- to think their sudden quietness predicted their submission; though Lord
- Grey had particularly warned the Lords against this false idea. “Truly,”
- he virtually said, “we have not heard for a few days the thrilling
- outcries of a desperate crowd of angry suffering men but I warn you, my
- Lords, to take no comfort on that account.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Englishmen are ready to fight they don’t scream about it but their
- weapons are drawn and they are prepared to strike. The great body of
- Englishmen did not consider these poor, unlettered men were any less
- English men than themselves. They knew them to be of the same class and
- kidney, as fought with Cromwell, Drake, and Nelson, and which made
- Wellington victorious; they knew that neither the men who wielded the big
- hammers at the forges of Birmingham, nor the men who controlled steam, nor
- the men that brought up coal from a thousand feet below sight and light,
- nor yet the men who plowed the ground would hesitate much longer to fight
- for their rights; for there was not now a man in all England who was not
- determined to be a recognized citizen of the land he loved and was always
- ready to fight for.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sentiments like these could not fall from the lips of such men as Grey and
- Brougham without having great influence; and in the soul of Antony Annis
- they were echoing with potent effect, whatever he did, or wherever he
- went. For he was really a man of fine moral and intellectual nature, who
- had lived too much in his own easy, simple surroundings, and who had been
- suddenly and roughly awakened to great public events. And, oh, how quickly
- they were rubbing the rust from his unused talents and feelings!
- </p>
- <p>
- He missed his wife’s company much at this time, for when he was in The
- House he could not have it and when he got back to the hotel Annie was
- seldom there. She was with Jane or Josepha, and her interests at this
- period were completely centered on her daughter Katherine. So Annis,
- especially during the last week, had felt himself neglected; he could get
- his wife to talk of nothing but Katherine, and her dress, and the
- preparations Jane was making to honor the beauty’s début.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet, just now he wanted above all other comforts his wife’s company and on
- the afternoon of the day before the entertainment was to take place he was
- determined to have it, even if he had to go to Jane’s or Josepha’s house
- to get what he wished. Greatly to his satisfaction he found her in the
- dressing-room of her hotel apartments. She had been trying on her own new
- dress for the great occasion and seemed to be much pleased and in very
- good spirits; but the squire’s anxious mood quickly made itself felt and
- after a few ineffectual trials to raise her husband’s spirits, she said,
- with just a touch of irritability:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever is the matter with thee, Antony? I suppose it is that wearisome
- Bill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Annie, however wearisome it is we aren’t done with it yet, mebbe we
- hev only begun its quarrel. The Whole country is in a bad way and I do
- wonder how tha can be so taken up with the thoughts of dressing and
- dancing. I will tell thee one thing, I am feared for the sound of music
- and merry-making in any house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never before knew that Antony Annis was cowardly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t thee say words like them to me, Annie. I will not hev them. And I
- think thou hes treated me varry badly indeed iver since we came here. I
- thought I would allays be sure of thy company and loving help and thou hes
- disappointed me. Thou hes that. Yet all my worry hes been about thee and
- Kitty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou has not shown any care about either of us. Thou has hardly been at
- thy home here for ten days; and thou has not asked a question about
- Kitty’s plans and dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, then, I was thinking of her life and of thy life, too. I was
- wondering how these angry, hungry men, filling the streets of London will
- like the sight and sounds of music and dancing while they are starving and
- fainting in our varry sight. I saw a man fall down through hunger
- yesterday, and I saw two men, early this morning, helping one another to
- stagger to a bench in the park.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I’ll warrant thou helped them to a cup of coffee and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I did! Does tha think thy husband, Antony Annis, is without
- feeling as well as without courage! I am afraid for thee and for all women
- who can’t see and feel that the riot and bloodshed that took place not
- long ago in Bristol can be started here in London any moment by some
- foolish word or act. And I want thee to know if tha doesn’t already know,
- that this new disease, that no doctor understands or ever saw before, hes
- reached London. It came to Bristol while the city was burning, it came
- like a blow from the hand of God, and every physician is appalled by it. A
- man goes out and is smitten, and never comes home again, and—and—oh,
- Annie! Annie! I cannot bear it! There will be-some tragedy—and it is
- for thee and Kitty I fear—not for mysen, oh no!” And he leaned his
- elbows on the chimney piece and buried his face in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Annie went swiftly to his side, and in low, sweet, cooing words said,
- “Oh, my love! My husband! Oh, my dear Antony, if tha hed only told me thy
- fears and thy sorrow, I could hev cleared thy mind a bit. Sit thee down
- beside me and listen to what thy Annie can tell thee.” Then she kissed him
- and took his hands in her hands, and led him to his chair and drew her own
- chair close to his side and said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew, my dear one, that thou was bothered in thy mind and that thy
- thoughts were on Bristol and other places that hev been fired by the
- rioters; and I wanted to tell thee of something that happened more than a
- week ago. Dost thou remember a girl called Sarah Sykes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do that—a varry big, clumsy lass.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind her looks. When Josepha was at Annis last summer she noticed
- how much the girl was neglected and she took her part with her usual
- temper, gave her nice clothes, and told her she would find something for
- her to do in London. So when we were all very busy and I was tired out,
- Josepha sent her a pound and bid her come to us as quick as she could.
- Well, the first thing we knew the lass was in Jane’s house and she soon
- found out that Joshua Swale was the leader of the crowd that are mostly
- about the Crescent where it stands. And it wasn’t long before Sarah had
- told Israel all thou hed done and all thou was still doing for thy
- weavers; and then a man, who had come from the little place where thou
- left a ten-pound note, told of that and of many other of thy kind deeds,
- and so we found out that thy name stood very high among all the Political
- Unions; and that these Unions have made themselves well acquainted with
- the sayings and doings of all the old hand loom employers; and are
- watching them closely, as to how they are treating their men, and if any
- are in The House, how they are voting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish thou hed told me this when thou first heard it. I wonder thou
- didn’t do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I could have managed a quiet talk with thee I would have done that;
- but thou has lived in The House of Commons all of the last week, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And been varry anxious and unhappy, Annie. Let me tell thee that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, dearie, happiness is a domestic pleasure. Few people find her
- often outside their own home. Do they, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My duty took me away from thee and my own home. There hev been constant
- night sessions for the last week and more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, and it has been close to sun-up when thou tumbled sleepy and
- weary into thy bed. And I couldn’t wait until thou got thy senses again. I
- hed to go with Josepha about something or other, or I had to help Jane
- with her preparations, and so the days went by. Then, also, when I did get
- a sight of thee, thou could not frame thysen to talk of anything but that
- weary Bill and it made me cross. I thought thou ought to care a little
- about Katherine’s affairs, they were as important to her as The Bill was
- to thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was caring, Annie. I was full of care and worry about Kitty. I was
- that. And I needn’t hev been so miserable if thou hed cared for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, I was cross enough to say to myself, ‘Antony can just tell
- his worries to The Bill men and I’ll be bound he does.’ So he got no
- chance for a good talk and I didn’t let Sarah Sykes trouble my mind at
- all; but I can tell thee that all thy goodness to the Annis weavers is
- written down on their hearts, and thou and thine are safe whatever
- happens.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am thankful for thy words. Will tha sit an hour with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll not leave thee to-night if thou wants to talk to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my joy! How good thou art! There is not a woman in England to marrow
- thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come then to the parlor and we will have a cup of tea and thou will tell
- me all thy fears about The Bill and I’ll sit with thee until thou wants to
- go back to The House.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So he kissed her and told her again how dear she was to him and how much
- he relied on her judgment, and they went to the parlor like lovers, or
- like something far better. For if they had been only lovers, they could
- not have known the sweetness, and strength, and unity of a married love
- twenty-six years old. And as they drank their tea, Annis made clear to his
- wife the condition of affairs in The Commons, and she quickly became as
- much interested in the debate going on as himself. “It hes been going on
- now,” he said, “for three nights, and will probably continue all this
- night and mebbe longer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then will it be settled?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing is settled, Annie, till it is settled right, and if The Commons
- settle it right the lords may turn it out altogether again—<i>if
- they dare</i>. However, thou hes given me a far lighter heart and I’ll
- mebbe hev a word or two to say mysen to-night, for the question of
- workmen’s wages is coming up and I’d like to give them my opinion on that
- subject.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be a good thing if the government fixed the wages of the
- workers. It might put a stop to strikes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not it! Workingmen’s wages are as much beyond the control of government
- as the fogs of the Atlantic. Who can prevent contractors from underselling
- one another? Who can prevent workmen from preferring starvation wages,
- rather than no wages at all? The man who labors knows best what his work
- is worth and you can’t blame him for demanding what is just and fair.
- Right is right in the devil’s teeth. If you talk forever, you’ll niver get
- any forrarder than that; but I have always noticed that when bad becomes
- bad enough, right returns.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The last time we talked about The Bill, Antony, you said you were anxious
- that the Scotch Bill should take exactly the same position that the
- English Bill does. Will the Scotch do as you wish them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s hard to get a Scotchman to confess that he is oppressed by anyone,
- or by any law. He doesn’t mind admitting a sentimental grievance about the
- place that the lion hes on the flag; but he’s far too proud to allow that
- anything wrong with the conditions of life is permissible in Scotland. Yet
- there are more socialists in Scotland than anywhere else, which I take as
- a proof that they are as dissatisfied as any other workingmen are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it that the socialists are continually talking about?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are talking about a world that does not exist, Annie, and that niver
- did exist, and promising us a world that couldn’t by any possibility
- exist. But I’ll tell thee what I hev found out just since I came here;
- that is, that if we are going to continue a Protective Government we’re
- bound to hev Socialism flourish. Let England stop running a government to
- protect rich and noble land owners, let her open her ports and give us
- Free Trade, and we’ll hear varry little more of socialism.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you go to The House to-night, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t miss going for a good deal. Last night’s session did not close
- till daylight and I’ll niver forget as long as I live the look of The
- House at that time. Grey had been speaking for an hour and a half, though
- he is now in his sixty-eighth year; and I could not help remembering that
- forty years previously, he had stood in the same place, pleading for the
- same Bill, Grey being at that date both its author and its advocate. My
- father was in The House then and I hev often heard him tell how Lord
- Wharncliffe moved that Grey’s Reform Bill should be rejected altogether;
- and how Lord Brougham made one of the grandest speeches of his life in its
- favor, ending it with an indescribable relation of the Sybil’s offer to
- old Rome. Now, Annie, I want to see the harvest of that seed sowed by Grey
- and Brougham forty years ago, and that harvest may come to-night. Thou
- wouldn’t want me to miss it, would thou?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would be very sorry indeed if thou missed it; but what about the
- Sybil?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why-a! this old Roman prophetess was called up by Brougham to tell
- England the price she would hev to pay if her rulers persisted in their
- abominable husbandry of sowing injustice and reaping rebellion. ‘Hear the
- parable of the Sybil!’ he cried. ‘She is now at your gate, and she offers
- you in this Bill wisdom and peace. The price she asks is reasonable; it is
- to restore the franchise, which you ought voluntarily to give. You refuse
- her terms and she goes away. But soon you find you cannot do without her
- wares and you call her back. Again she comes but with diminished treasures—the
- leaves of the book are partly torn away by lawless hands, and in part
- defaced with characters of blood. But the prophetic maid has risen in her
- demands—it is Parliament by the year—it is vote by the ballot—it
- is suffrage by the million now. From this you turn away indignant, and for
- the second time she departs. Beware of her third coming, for the treasure
- you must have, and who shall tell what price she may demand? It may even
- be the mace which rests upon that woolsack. Justice deferred enhances the
- price you must pay for peace and safety and you cannot expect any other
- crop than they had who went before you and who, in their abominable
- husbandry, sowed injustice and reaped rebellion.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Antony was declaiming the last passages of this speech when the door
- opened and Mrs. Temple entered. She sat down and waited until her brother
- ceased, then she said with enthusiasm:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well done, Antony! If thou must quote from somebody’s fine orations,
- Brougham and the Sybil woman were about the best thou could get, if so be
- thou did not go to the Scriptures. In that book thou would find all that
- it is possible for letters and tongues to say against the men who oppress
- the poor, or do them any injustice; and if I wanted to make a speech that
- would beat Brougham’s to a disorganized alphabet, I’d take ivery word of
- it out of the sacred Scriptures. I would that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Josepha, I hope I may see The Bill pass the Commons to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then thou hes more to wish for than to hope for. Does Brougham and
- Palmerston iver speak to each other now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is as much as they can do to lift their hats. They niver speak, I
- think. Why do you ask me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because I heard one water man say to another, as I was taking a boat at
- my awn water house—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “‘If the Devil hes a son,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Then his name is Palmerston.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Such rhymes against a man do him a deal of harm, Josepha. The rhyme
- sticks and fastens, whether it be true or false, but there is nothing
- beats a mocking, scornful story for cutting nation wide and living for
- centuries after it. That rhyme about Palmerston will not outlive him in
- any popular sense, but the mocking scornful story through which Canon
- Sydney Smith of St. Paul’s derided the imbecility of The Lords will live
- as long as English history lives.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not remember that story, Antony. Do you, Josepha?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, I remember it; but I’ll let Antony tell it to thee and then thou will
- be sure to store it up as something worth keeping. What I tell thee hes
- not the same power of sticking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It may be that you are right, Josepha. Men do speak with more authority
- than women do. What did Canon Sydney Smith say, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said the attempt of the Lords to stop Reform reminded him of the great
- storm at Sidmouth and of the conduct of Mrs. Partington on that occasion.
- Six or seven winters ago there was a great storm upon that town, the tide
- rose to an incredible height, and the waves rushed in upon the beach, and
- in the midst of this terrible storm she was seen at the door of her house
- with her dress pinned up, and her highest pattens on her feet, trundling
- her mop, squeezing out the sea water, and vigorously pushing away the
- Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic Ocean was roused. Mrs. Partington’s spirit
- was up, but I need not tell you the contest was unequal. The Atlantic
- Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. You see, Annie, the Canon really compared the
- Lords to a silly old woman and all England that were not in the House of
- Lords screamed with laughter. In that day, The House of Lords lost more of
- its dignity and prestige than it has yet regained; and Mrs. Partington did
- far more for Reform than all the fine speeches that were made.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Annie,” said Josepha, “we may as well take notice that it was a woman who
- went, or was sent, to the old Roman world with the laws of justice and
- peace; and Sydney Smith knew enough about Reform to be aware it would be
- best forwarded by putting his parable in the pluck and spirit of Dame
- Partington. It seems, then, that both in the old and the present world,
- there were men well aware of womanly influence in politics.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, dear women, I must away. I want to be in at the finish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing will finish to-night. And thou will lose thy sleep.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I lost it last night. The day was breaking when I left The House. The
- candles had been renewed just before daylight and were blazing on after
- the sunshine came in at the high windows, making a varry singular effect
- on their crimson draperies and on the dusky tapestries on the wall. I may
- be as late home to-morrow morning. Good night!” and he bent and kissed
- both ladies, and then hurried away, anxious and eager.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the women were silent a moment watching him out of sight in the twilight
- and then softly praising his beauty, manliness, and his loving nature. On
- this subject Annie and Josepha usually agreed, though at last Josepha said
- with a sigh—“It is a pity, however, that his purse strings are so
- loose. He spends a lot of money.” And Annie replied: “Perhaps so, but he
- is such a good man I had forgotten that he had a fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And as a politician it is very eccentric—not to say foolish—for
- him to vote for justice and principle, not to speak of feelings, instead
- of party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If those things in any shape are faults, I am glad he has them. I could
- not yet live with a perfect man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t suppose thou could. It would be a bit beyond thee. Is all ready
- for to-morrow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but I have lost heart on the subject. Are you going to Jane’s now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I may do that. I heard that Agatha De Burg was home and I would like to
- warn Katherine to take care of every word she says in Agatha’s presence.
- She tells all she hears to that cousin of hers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you seen De Burg lately?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Two or three times at Jane’s house. He seems quite at home there now. He
- is very handsome, and graceful, and has such fine manners.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I hev no more to say and it is too late for me to take the water way
- home. Will tha order me a carriage?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Annie’s readiness to fulfill this request did not please Josepha and she
- stood at the window and was nearly silent until she saw a carriage stop at
- the hotel door. Then she said, “I think I’ll go and see if Jane hes
- anything like a welcome to offer me. Good-by to thee, Annie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall see you early to-morrow, I hope, Josepha.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, then, thou hopes for nothing of that kind but I’ll be at Jane’s
- sometime before I am wanted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should not say such unkind words, Josepha. You are always welcome
- wherever you go. In some way I have lost myself the last ten minutes. I do
- not feel all here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then thou hed better try and find thysen. Thou wilt need all there is of
- thee to bother with Antony about t’ House of Commons, and to answer
- civilly the crowd of strangers that will come to see thy daughter
- to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is neither the Bill nor the strangers that trouble me. My vexations
- lie nearer home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must say that thou ought to hev learned how to manage them by this
- time. It is all of twenty-seven years since Antony married thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not Antony. Antony has not a fault. Not one!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad thou hes found that out at last. Well, the carriage is waiting
- and I’ll bid thee good-bye; and I hope thou may get thysen all together
- before to-morrow at this time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With these words Josepha went and Annie threw herself into her chair with
- a sense of relief. “I know she intended to stay for dinner,” she mentally
- complained, “and I could not bear her to-night. She is too overflowing—she
- is too much every way. I bless myself for my patience for twenty-seven
- years. Is it really twenty-seven years?” And with this last suggestion she
- lost all consciousness of the present hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime Josepha was not thinking any flattering things of her
- sister-in-law. “She wanted me to go away! What a selfish, cross woman she
- is! Poor Antony! I wonder how he bears her,” and in a mood of such
- complaining, Josepha with all her kindly gossiping hopes dashed, went
- almost tearfully home.
- </p>
- <p>
- Annie, however, was not cross. She was feeling with her husband the
- gravity of public affairs and was full of anxious speculation concerning
- Katherine. A change had come over the simple, beautiful girl. Without
- being in the least disobedient or disrespectful, she had shown in late
- days a thoroughly natural and full grown Annis temper. No girl ever knew
- better just what she wanted and no girl ever more effectually arranged
- matters in such wise as would best secure her all she wanted. About Harry
- Bradley she had not given way one hair’s breadth, and yet evidently her
- father was as far as ever from bearing the thought of Harry as a
- son-in-law. His kindness to him in the weaving shop was founded initially
- on his appreciation of good work and of a clever business tactic and he
- was also taken by surprise, and so easily gave in to the old trick of
- liking the lad. But he was angry at himself for having been so weak and he
- felt that in some way Harry had bested him, and compelled him to break the
- promises he had made to himself regarding both the young man and his
- father.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a couple of hours these subjects occupied her completely, then she
- rose and went to her room and put away her new gown. It was a perfectly
- plain one of fawn-colored brocade with which she intended to wear her
- beautiful old English laces. As she was performing this duty she thought
- about her own youth. It had been a very commonplace one, full of small
- economies. She had never had a formal “coming out,” and being the eldest
- of five girls she had helped her mother to manage a household, constantly
- living a little above its income. Yet she had many sweet, loving thoughts
- over this life; and before she was aware her cheeks were wet with tears,
- uncalled, but not unwelcome.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear mother,” she whispered, “in what land of God art thou now
- resting? Surely thou art thinking of me! We are near to each other, though
- far, far apart. Now, then, I will do as thou used to advise, ‘let worries
- alone, and don’t worry over them.’ Some household angel will come and put
- everything right. Oh, mother of many sorrows, pray for me. Thou art nearer
- to God than I am.” This good thought slipped through her tears like a soft
- strain of music, or a glint of sunshine, and she was strengthened and
- comforted. Then she washed her face and put on her evening cap and went to
- the parlor and ordered dinner.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just as she sat down to her lonely meal the door was hastily opened, and
- Dick Annis and Harry Bradley entered. And oh! how glad she was to see
- them, to seat them at the table, and to plentifully feed the two hungry
- young men who had been traveling all day.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick, wherever have you been, my dear lad? I hevn’t had a letter from you
- since you were in Edinburgh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wrote you lots of letters, mother, but I had no way of posting them to
- you. After leaving Edinburgh we sailed northward to Lerwick and there I
- mailed you a long letter. It will be here in a few days, no doubt, but
- their mail boat only carries mail ‘weather permitting,’ and after we left
- Lerwick, all the way to Aberdeen we had a roaring wind in our teeth. I
- don’t think it was weather the ill-tempered Pentland Firth would permit
- mail to be carried over it. How is father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As well as he will be until the Reform Bill is passed. You are just in
- time for Katherine’s party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought I might be so, for father told me he was sure dress and
- mantua-makers would not have you ready for company in two weeks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father was right. We may get people to weave the cloth by steam but when
- it comes to sewing the cloth into clothes, there is nothing but fingers
- and needles and some woman’s will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they talked of the preparations made and the guests that were
- expected, and the evening passed so pleasantly that it was near midnight
- when the youths went away. And before that time the squire had sent a note
- to his wife telling her he would not leave The House until the sitting
- broke up. This note was brought by a Commons Messenger, for the telegraph
- was yet a generation away.
- </p>
- <p>
- So Mistress Annis slept well, and the next day broke in blue skies and
- sunshine. After breakfast was over she went to the Leyland Mansion to see
- if her help was required in any way. Not that she expected it, for she
- knew that Jane was far too good an organizer to be unready in any
- department. Indeed she found her leisurely drinking coffee and reading <i>The
- Court Circular</i>. Its news also had been gratifying, for she said to her
- mother as she laid down the paper, “All is very satisfactory. There are no
- entertainments to-night that will interfere with mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine was equally prepared but much more excited and that pleased her
- mother. She wished Katherine to keep her girlish enthusiasms and
- extravagant expectations as long as possible; Jane’s composure and
- apparent indifference seemed to her unnatural and later she reflected that
- “Jane used to flurry and worry more than enough. Why!” she mentally
- exclaimed, “I have not forgot how she routed us all out of our beds at
- five o’clock on the morning of her wedding day, and was so nervous herself
- that she made the whole house restless as a whirlpool. But she says it is
- now fashionable to be serenely unaffected by any event, and whatever is
- the fashionable insanity, Jane is sure to be one of the first to catch
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On this occasion her whole household had been schooled to the same calm
- spirit, and while it had a decided air of festivity, there was also one of
- order, and of everything going on as it ought to do. No hurrying servants
- or belated confectionery vans impeded the guests’ arrival. The rooms were
- in perfect order. The dinner would be served at the minute specified, and
- the host and hostess were waiting to perform every hospitable duty with
- amiable precision.
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine did not enter the reception parlors until the dinner guests had
- arrived and expectation was at a pleasant point of excitement. Then the
- principal door was thrown open with obvious intent and Squire Annis and
- his family were very plainly announced. Katherine was walking between her
- father and mother, and Mrs. Josepha Temple, leaning on the arm of her
- favorite nephew Dick, was a few steps behind them.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a sudden silence, a quick assurance of the coming of Katherine,
- and immediately the lovely girl made a triumphant entry into their eyes
- and consciousness. She was dressed in white radiant gauze, * dotted with
- small silver stars. It fell from her belt to her feet without any break of
- its beauty by ruffle or frill. The waist slightly covered the shoulders,
- the sleeves were full and gathered into a band above the elbows. Both
- waist and sleeves were trimmed with lace traced out with silver thread,
- and edged with a thin silver cord. Her sandals were of white kid
- embroidered with silver stars, her gloves matched them. She was without
- jewelry of any kind, unless the wonderfully carved silver combs for the
- hair which Admiral Temple had brought from India can be so called. Thus
- clothed, all the mystery and beauty of the flesh was accentuated. Her fine
- eyes were soft and shining, with that happy surprise in them that belongs
- only to the young enthusiast, and yet her eyes were hardly more lambent
- than the rest of her face, for at this happy hour all the ancient ecstasy
- of Love and Youth transfigured her and she looked as if she had been born
- with a smile.
- </p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
- * An almost transparent material first made in Gaza,
- Palestine, from which it derived its name.
-</pre>
- <p>
- Without intent Katherine’s association with her father and mother greatly
- added to the impression she made. The squire was handsomely attired in a
- fashionable suit of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with large gilt buttons,
- a white satin vest, and a neck piece of soft mull and English lace. And
- not less becoming to Katherine as a set off was her mother’s plain, dark,
- emphatic costume. Yes, even the rather showy extravagance of the aunt as a
- background was an advantage, and could hardly have been better considered,
- for Madam Temple on this occasion had discarded her usual black garments
- and wore a purple velvet dress and all her wonderful diamonds. Consistent
- with this luxury, her laces were of old Venice <i>point de rose</i>,
- arranged back and front in a Vandyke collar with cuffs of the same lace,
- high as the elbows, giving a cachet to her whole attire, which did not
- seem to be out of place on a woman so erect and so dignified that she
- never touched the back of a chair, and with a temper so buoyant, so
- high-spirited, and so invincible.
- </p>
- <p>
- When dinner was served, Katherine noticed that neither De Burg nor Harry
- Bradley were at the table and after the meal she questioned her sister
- with some feeling about this omission. “I do not mind De Burg’s absence,”
- she said, “he is as well away as not, but poor Harry, what has he done!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harry is all right, Kitty, but we have to care for father’s feelings
- first of all and you know he has no desire to break bread with Harry
- Bradley. <i>Why!</i> he considers ‘by bread and salt’ almost a sacred
- obligation, and if he eats with Harry, he must give him his hand, his good
- will, and his help, when the occasion asks for it. Father would have felt
- it hard to forgive me if I had forced such an obligation on him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And De Burg? Is he also beyond the bread and salt limit?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe father might think so, but that is not the reason in his case.
- He sent an excuse for dinner but promised to join the dancers at ten
- o’clock and to bring his cousin Agatha with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How interesting! We shall all be on the <i>qui-vive</i> for her début.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t be foolish, Kitty. And do not speak French, until you can speak it
- with a proper accent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no doubt it is good enough for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As for her début, it occurred six or seven years ago. Agatha had the run
- of society when you were in short frocks. Come, let us go to the ballroom.
- Your father is sure to be prompt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they reached the ballroom, they found Lord Leyland looking for
- Katherine. “Father is waiting,” he said, “and we have the quadrilles
- nearly set,” and while Leyland was yet speaking, Squire Annis bowed to his
- daughter and she laid her hand in his with a smile, and they took the
- place Leyland indicated. At the same moment, Dick led his mother to a
- position facing them and there was not a young man or a young woman in the
- room who might not have learned something of grace and dignity from the
- dancing of the elderly handsome couple.
- </p>
- <p>
- After opening the ball the squire went to his place in The House of
- Commons and Madam went to the card room and sat down to a game of whist,
- having for her partner Alexander Macready, a prominent London banker. His
- son had been in the opening quadrille with Katherine and in a moment had
- fallen in love with her. Moreover, it was a real passion, timid yet full
- of ardor, sincere, or else foolishly talkative, and Katherine felt him to
- be a great encumbrance. Wearily listening to his platitudes of admiration,
- she saw Harry Bradley and De Burg and his cousin enter. Harry was really
- foremost, but courtesy compelled him for the lady’s sake to give
- precedence to De Burg and his cousin; consequently they reached
- Katherine’s side first. But Katherine’s eyes, full of love’s happy
- expectation, looked beyond them, and Miss De Burg saw in their expression
- Katherine’s preference for the man behind her brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stephen need not think himself first,” she instantly decided, “this new
- girl was watching for the man Stephen put back. A handsome man! He’ll get
- ahead yet! He’s made that way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Lady Leyland joined them and De Burg detained her as long as
- possible, delighting himself with the thought of Harry’s impatience. When
- they moved forward he explained his motive and laughed a little over it;
- but Agatha quickly damped his self-congratulation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stephen,” she said, “the young man waiting was not at all uncomfortable.
- I saw Miss Annis give him her hand and also a look that some men would
- gladly wait a day for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Gath, I saw nothing of the kind. You are mistaken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were too much occupied in reciting to her the little speech you had
- composed for the occasion. You know! I heard you saying it over and over,
- as you walked about your room last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a woman you are! You hear and see everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I am not wanted to hear and see, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In this house I want you to see and hear all you can. What do you think
- of the young lady?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I think of her at all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For my sake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That plea is worn out.” She smiled as she spoke and then some exigency of
- the ball separated them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss De Burg was not a pretty woman and yet people generally looked twice
- at her. She had a cold, washed-out face, a great deal of very pale brown
- hair and her hair, eyebrows, and eyes were all the same color. There was
- usually <i>no look</i> in her eyes and her mouth told nothing. It was a
- firm and silent mouth and if her face had any expression it was one of
- reserve or endurance. And Katherine in the very flush of her own happy
- excitement divined some tragedy below this speechless face, and she held
- Agatha’s hand and looked into her eyes with that sympathy which is one of
- youth’s kindest moods. This feeling hesitated a moment between the two
- women; then Agatha surrendered, and took it into her heart and memory.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now balls are so common and so natural an expression of humanity that they
- possess both its sameness and its variability. They are all alike and all
- different, all alike in action, all different in the actors; and the only
- importance of this ball to Katherine Annis was that it introduced her to
- the mere physical happiness that flows from fresh and happy youth. In this
- respect it was perhaps the high tide of her life. The beautiful room, the
- mellow transfiguring light of wax candles, the gayly gowned company, the
- intoxicating strains of music, and the delight of her motion to it, the
- sense of her loveliness, and of the admiration it brought, made her heart
- beat high and joyfully, and gave to her light steps a living grace no
- artist ever yet copied. She was queen of that company and took out what
- lovers she wished with a pretty despotism impossible to describe; but
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Joy’s the shyest bird,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Mortals ever heard.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- And ere anyone had asked “What time is it?” daylight was stealing into the
- candle light and then there was only the cheerful hurry of cloaking and
- parting left, and the long-looked-for happiness was over. Yet after all it
- was a day by itself and the dower of To-morrow can never be weighed by the
- gauge of Yesterday.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Right! There is a battle cry in the word. You feel as if you had drawn
- a sword. A royal word, a conquering word, which if the weakest speak, they
- straight grow strong.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /> <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII—IN THE FOURTH WATCH
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY LEYLAND had
- ordered breakfast at ten o’clock and at that hour her guests were ready
- for it. Mistress Temple and Katherine showed no signs of weariness, but
- Lord Ley-land looked bored and Mistress Annis was silent concerning the
- squire and his manner of passing the night. Then Leyland said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “By George! Madam, you are very right to be anxious. The company of ladies
- always makes me anxious. I will go to my club and read the papers. I feel
- that delay is no longer possible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your breakfast, Fred,” cried Katherine, but Fred was as one that heard
- not, and with a smile and a good-by which included all present, Leyland
- disappeared, and as his wife smilingly endorsed his
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Love puts out all other cares.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- and anxious but soon voiced her trouble in a wish forget everything else
- but now if I can be excused apologies, no one made the slightest attempt
- to detain him. Certainly Mistress Annis looked curiously at her daughter
- and, when the door was closed, said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder at you, Jane—Leyland had not drank his first cup of coffee
- and as to his breakfast it is still on his plate. It is not good for a man
- to go to politics fasting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “O mother! you need not worry about Fred’s breakfast. He will order one
- exactly to his mind as soon as he reaches his club and he will be ten
- times happier with the newspapers than with us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just at this point the squire and his son entered the room together and
- instantly the social temperature of the place rose.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I met Leyland running away from you women,” said the squire. “Whatever
- hev you been doing to him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He wanted to see the papers, father,” said Katherine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a bit of bad behavior,” said Madam Temple.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dear, no,” Jane replied. “Fred is incapable of anything so vulgar. Is
- he not, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure he is. No doubt it was a bit of fine feeling for the women
- present that sent him off. He knew you would want to discuss the affair of
- last night and also the people mixed up in it and he felt he would be in
- everybody’s way, and so he was good-natured enough to leave you to the
- pleasure of describing one another. It was varry agreeable and polite for
- Fred to do so. I hedn’t sense enough to do the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay, Antony, that isn’t the way to put it. Dick, my dear lad, say a
- word for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not say a word worthy of you, mother, and now I came to bid you
- good-by. I am off as quick as possible for Annis. Father had a letter from
- Mr. Foster this morning. It is best that either father or I go there for a
- few days and, as father cannot leave London at this crisis, I am going in
- his place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is the matter now, Dick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some trouble with the weavers, I believe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course! and more money needed, I suppose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure,” answered the squire, with a shade of temper; “and if needed,
- Dick will look after it, eh, Dick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course Dick will look after it!” added Madam Temple, but her “of
- course” intimated a very different meaning from her sister-in-law’s. They
- were two words of hearty sympathy and she emphasized them by pushing a
- heavy purse across the table. “Take my purse as well as thy father’s,
- Dick; and if more is wanted, thou can hev it, and welcome. I am Annis
- mysen and I was born and brought up with the men and women suffering
- there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke with such feeling that her words appeared to warm the room and
- the squire answered: “Thy word and deed, Josepha, is just like thee, my
- dear sister!” He clasped her hand as he spoke, and their hands met over
- the purse lying on the table and both noticed the fact and smiled and
- nodded their understanding of it. Then the squire with a happy face handed
- the purse to Dick, telling him to “kiss his mother,” and be off as soon as
- possible. “Dick,” he said in a voice full of tears—“Dick, my lad, it
- is hard for hungry men to wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will waste no time, father, not a minute,” and with these words he
- clasped his father’s hand, leaned over and kissed his mother, and with a
- general good-by he went swiftly on his errand of mercy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Jane said: “Let us go to the parlor. We were an hour later than usual
- this morning and must make it up if we can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, Jane,” answered Mistress Temple. “We can talk as well in one
- room as another. Houses must be kept regular or we shall get into the same
- muddle as old Sarum—we shall be candidates for dinner and no dinner
- for us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, you will all excuse me an hour while I give some orders about
- household affairs.” The excuse was readily admitted and the squire, his
- wife, sister and daughter, took up the question which would intrude into
- every other question whether they wished it or not.
- </p>
- <p>
- The parlor to which they went looked precisely as if it was glad to see
- them; it was so bright and cheerful, so warm and sunny, so everything that
- the English mean by the good word “comfortable.” And as soon as they were
- seated, Annie asked: “What about The Bill, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, dearie, The Bill passed its third reading at seven o’clock this
- morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou saw it pass, eh, Antony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I did! <i>Why-a!</i> I wouldn’t hev missed Lord Grey’s final speech
- for anything. He began it at five o’clock and spoke for an hour and a half—which
- considering his great age and the long night’s strain was an astonishing
- thing to do. I was feeling a bit tired mysen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But surely the people took its passing very coldly, Antony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The people aren’t going to shout till they are sure they hev something to
- shout for. Nobody knows what changes the lords may make in it. They may
- even throw it out again altogether.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>They dare not! They dare not for their lives</i> try any more such
- foolishness,” said Josepha Temple with a passion she hardly restrained.
- “Just let them try it! The people will not allow that step any more! Let
- them try it! They will quickly see and feel what will come of such folly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Josepha, what will come of it? What can the people do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Iverything they want to do! Iverything they ought to do! One thing is
- sure—they will send the foreigners back to where they belong. The
- very kith and kin of the people now demanding their rights founded, not
- many generations ago, a glorious Republic of their own, and they gave
- themsens all the rights they wanted and allays put the man of their choice
- at the head of it. Do you think our people don’t know what their fathers
- hev done before them? They know it well. They see for themsens that varry
- common men can outrank noble men when it comes to intellect and courage.
- What was it that Scotch plowboy said:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “A king can mak’ a belted knight,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- A marquis, duke and a’ that,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But an honest man’s aboon his might—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- and a God’s mercy it is, for if he tried it, he would waste and spoil the
- best of materials in the making.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All such talk is sheer nonsense, Josepha.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is nothing of the kind. Josepha has seen how such sheer nonsense turns
- out. I should think thou could remember what happened fifty years ago.
- People laughed then at the sheer nonsense of thirteen little colonies in
- the wilds of America trying to make England give them exactly what
- Englishmen are this very day ready to fight for— representation in
- parliament. And you need not forget this fact also, that the majority of
- Englishmen at that day, both in parliament and out of it, backed with all
- the power they hed these thirteen little colonies. Why, the poor button
- makers of Sheffield refused to make buttons for the soldiers’ coats, lest
- these soldiers should be sent to fight Englishmen. It was then all they
- could do but their children are now two hundred thousand strong, and king
- and parliament <i>hev</i> to consider them. They <i>hev to do it</i> or to
- take the consequences, Antony Annis! Your father was hand and purse with
- that crowd and I knew you would see things as they are sooner or later.
- For our stock came from a poor, brave villager, who followed King Richard
- to the Crusades, and won the Annis lands for his courage and fidelity.
- That is why there is allays a Richard in an Annis household.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe all you say, Josepha, and our people, the rich and the poor,
- both believe it. They hev given the government ivery blessed chance to do
- fairly by them. Now, if it does so, well and good. If it does not do so,
- the people are full ready to make them do it. I can tell you that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so tired of it all,” said Annie wearily. “Why do poor, uneducated
- men want to meddle with elections for parliament? I can understand and
- feel with them in their fight about their looms—it means their daily
- bread; but why should they care about the men who make our laws and that
- sort of business?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll tell thee why. They hev to do it or else go on being poor and
- ignorant and of no account among men. Our laws are made to please the men
- who have a vote or a say-so in any election. The laboring men of England
- hev no vote at all. They can’t say a word about their rights in the
- country for through the course of centuries the nobles and the rich men
- hev got all the votes in their awn pockets.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe there is something right in that arrangement, Antony. They are
- better educated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suppose that argument stood, Annie; still a poor man might like one rich
- man better than another, and he ought to be able to hev his chance for
- electing his choice; but that, however, is only the tag-end of the
- question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what is the main end?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This:—In the course of centuries, places once of some account hev
- disappeared, as really as Babylon or Nineveh, and little villages hev
- grown to be big cities. There is no town of Sarum now, not a vestige, but
- the Chatham family represent it in parliament to-day or they sell the
- position or give it away. The member for the borough of Ludgershall is
- himself the only voter in the borough and he is now in parliament on his
- <i>awn</i> nomination. Another place has two members and only seven
- voters; and what do you think a foreigner visiting England would say when
- told that a green mound without a house on it sent two members to
- Parliament, or that a certain green park without an inhabitant also sent
- two members to Parliament? Then suppose him taken to Manchester, Bradford,
- Sheffield, and other great manufacturing cities, and told they had <i>no</i>
- representative in Parliament; what do you suppose he would think and say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He would advise them to get a few paper caps among their coronets,” said
- Josepha.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so it goes all over England,” said the squire. “Really, my dears,
- two-thirds of the House of Commons are composed of the nominees of the
- nobles and the great landowners. What comes of the poor man’s rights under
- such circumstances? He hes been robbed of them for centuries; doesn’t tha
- think, Annie, it is about time he looked after them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think it was full time,” Josepha said hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is a difficult question,” replied Annie. “It must have many sides that
- require examination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever is right needs no examination, Annie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen, women, I have but told you one-half of the condition. There is
- another side of it, for if some places hev been growing less and less
- during the past centuries, other places, once hardly known, have become
- great cities, like Birmingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Sheffield, and so forth,
- and have no representation at all. What do you think of that? Not a soul
- in parliament to speak for them. Now if men hev to pay taxes they like to
- know a little bit about their whys and wherefores, eh, women?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did they always want to know, father?” asked Katherine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should say so. It would only be natural, Kitty, but at any rate since
- the days of King John; and I don’t believe but what the ways of men and
- the wants of men hev been about the same iver since God made men. They hev
- allays wanted a king and they hev allays been varry particular about
- hev-ing some ways and means of making a king do what they want him to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suppose the lords pass The Bill but alter it so much that it is <i>not
- The Bill</i>, what then, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Kitty, they could do that thing but as your aunt said, they had
- better not. Nothing but the whole Bill will now satisfy. No! they dare not
- alter it. Now you can talk over what I hev told you. I must go about my
- awn business and the first thing I hev to do is to take my wife home.
- Come, Annie, I am needing thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Annie rose with a happy alacrity. She was glad to go. To be alone with her
- husband after the past days of society’s patented pleasures was an
- unspeakable rest and refreshment. They drove to the Clarendon in silent
- contentment, holding each other’s hand and putting off speech until they
- could talk without restraint of any kind. And if anyone learned in the
- expression of the flesh had noticed their hands they would have seen that
- Annie’s thumb in the clasp was generally the uppermost, a sure sign that
- she had the strongest will and was made to govern. The corollary of this
- fact is, that if the clasping thumb in both parties is the right thumb,
- then complications are most likely to frequently occur.
- </p>
- <p>
- Indeed Annie did not speak until she had thrown aside her bonnet and cloak
- and was comfortably seated in the large soft chair she liked best; then
- she said with an air of perfect satisfaction, “O Antony! It was so kind
- and thoughtful of thee to come for me. I was afraid there might be some
- unpleasant to-do before I got away. Josepha was ready for one, longing for
- one, and Jane hed to make that excuse about getting dinner ready, in order
- to avoid it. Jane, you know, supports the whole House of Lords, and she
- goes on about ‘The Constitution of the British Government’ as if it was an
- inspired document.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well tha knows, Leyland is a Tory from his head to his feet. I doan’t
- think his mind hes much to do with his opinions. He inherited them from
- his father, just as he inherited his father’s face and size and money. And
- a woman hes to think as her husband thinks—if she claims to be a
- good wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That idea is an antiquated lie, Antony. A good wife, Antony, thinks not
- only for herself, she thinks also for her husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I niver noticed thee making thysen contrary. As I think, thou thinks.
- Allays that is so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, it is not. There is many a thing different in my mind to what is in
- thy mind, and thou knows it, too; and there are subjects we neither of us
- want to talk of because we cannot agree about them. I often thank thee for
- thy kind self-denial in this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure I doan’t know what thou art so precious civil about. I think of
- varry little now but the Reform Bill and the poor weavers; and thou thinks
- with me on both of them subjects. Eh, Joy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I do—with some sub-differences.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t meddle with what thou calls thy ‘subdifferences.’ I’ll warrant
- they are innocent as thysen and thy son Dick is a good son and he thinks
- just as I think on ivery subject. That’s enough, Annie, on
- sub-differences. Let us hev a bit of a comfortable lunch. Jane’s breakfast
- was cold and made up of fancy dishes like oysters and chicken minced with
- mushrooms, and muffins and such miscarriages of eatable dishes. I want
- some sensible eating at one o’clock and I feel as if it was varry near one
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What shall I order for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some kidney soup and cold roast beef and a good pudding, or some Christ
- Church tartlets, the best vegetables they hev and a bottle of Bass’ best
- ale or porter, but thou can-hev a cup of sloppy tea if tha fancies it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think no better of sloppy things than thou does, Antony. I’ll hev a
- glass of good, pale sherry wine, and the same would be better for thee
- than anything Bass brews. Bass makes a man stout, and thou art now just
- the right weight; an ounce more flesh would spoil thy figure and take the
- spring out of thy step and put more color in thy face and take the music
- out of thy voice; but please thy dear self about thy eating; perhaps I am
- a bit selfish about thy good looks, but when a woman gets used to showing
- herself off with a handsome man she can’t bear to give up that bit of
- pride.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, Annie dear, whativer pleases thee, pleases me. Send for
- number five, and order what thou thinks best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Antony, thou shalt have thy own wish. It is little enough to give
- thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is full and plenty, if thou puts thy wish with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Annie happily ordered the kidney soup and cold roast and the
- particular tarts he liked and the sherry instead of the beer, and the fare
- pleased both, and they ate it with that smiling cheerfulness which is of
- all thanksgiving the most acceptable to the Bountiful Giver of all good
- things. And as they ate they talked of Katherine’s beauty and loving heart
- and of Dick’s ready obedience and manly respect for his father, and food
- so seasoned and so cheerfully eaten is the very best banquet that mortals
- can ever hope to taste in this life.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime, Dick, urged both by his father’s desire and his own
- wistful longing to see Faith Foster, lost no time in reaching his home
- village. He was shocked by its loneliness and silence. He did not meet or
- see a single man. The women were shut up in their cottages. Their trouble
- had passed all desire for company and all hope of any immediate
- assistance. Talking only enervated them and they all had the same
- miserable tale to tell. It might have been a deserted village but for the
- musical chime of the church clock and the sight of a few little children
- sitting listlessly on the doorsteps of the cottages. Hunger had killed in
- them the instinct of play. “It hurts us to play. It makes the pain come,”
- said one little lad, as he looked with large suffering eyes into Dick’s
- face; but never asked from him either pity or help. Yet his very silence
- was eloquence. No words could have moved to sympathy so strongly as the
- voiceless appeal of his sad suffering eyes, his thin face, and the patient
- helplessness of his hopeless quiet. Dick could not bear it. He gave the
- child some money, and it began to cry softly and to whimper “Mammy!
- Mammy!” and Dick hurried homeward, rather ashamed of his own emotion, yet
- full of the tenderest pity.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found Britton pottering about the stable and his wife Sarah trying with
- clumsy fingers to fashion a child’s frock. “Oh, Master Dick!” she cried.
- “Why did tha come back to this unhappy place? I think there is pining and
- famishing in ivery house and sickness hard following it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have come, Sarah, to see what can be done to help the trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A God’s mercy, sir! We be hard set in Annis village this day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you a room ready for me, Sarah? I may be here for a few days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be a varry queer thing if I hedn’t a room ready for any of the
- family, coming in a hurry like. Your awn room is spick and span, sir. And
- I’ll hev a bit of fire there in ten minutes or thereby, but tha surely
- will hev summat to eat first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing to eat just yet, Sarah. I shall want a little dinner about five
- o’clock if you will have it ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, sir. We hev no beef or mutton in t’ house, sir, but I will
- kill a chicken and make a rice pudding, if that will do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is all I want.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Dick went to the stables and interviewed Britton, and spoke to every
- horse in it, and asked Britton to turn them into the paddock for a couple
- of hours. “They are needing fresh air and a little liberty, Britton,” he
- said, and as Britton loosened their halters and opened the door that led
- into the paddock they went out prancing and neighing their gratitude for
- the favor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That little gray mare, sir,” said Britton, “she hes as much sense as a
- human. She knew first of all of them what was coming, and she knew it was
- your doing, sir, that’s the reason she nudged up against you and fairly
- laid her face against yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she knew me, Britton. Lucy and I have had many a happy day
- together.” Then he asked Britton about the cattle and the poultry, and
- especially about the bulbs and the garden flowers, which had always had
- more or less the care of Mistress Annis.
- </p>
- <p>
- These things attended to, he went to his room and dressed himself with
- what seemed to be some unnecessary care. Dick, however, did not think so.
- He was going to see Mr. Foster and he might see Faith, and he could not
- think of himself as wearing clothing travel-soiled in her presence. In an
- hour, however, he was ready to go to the village, fittingly dressed from
- head to feet, handsome as handsome Youth can be, and the gleam and glow of
- a true love in his heart. “It may be—it may be!” he told himself as
- he walked speedily down the nearest way to the village.
- </p>
- <p>
- When about half-way there, he met the preacher. “I heard you were here,
- Mr. Annis,” he said. “Betty Bews told me she saw you pass her cottage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came in answer to your letter, sir. The Bill is at a great crisis, and
- my father’s vote on the right side is needed. And I was glad to come, if I
- can do good in any way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, sir, there are things to do, and words to say that I cannot do
- or say—and the need is urgent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let us go forward. I was shocked by the village as I passed through
- it. I did not meet a single man. I saw only a few sickly looking women,
- and some piteous children.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The men have gone somewhere four days ago. I suppose they were called by
- their society. They did not tell me where they were going and I thought it
- was better not to ask any questions. The women are all sick and
- despairing, the children suffer all they can bear and live. That is one
- phase of the trouble; but there is another coming that I thought you would
- like to be made acquainted with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not the cholera, I hope? It has reached London, you know, and the doctors
- are paralyzed by their ignorance of its nature and can find no remedy for
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our people think it a judgment of God. I am told it broke out in Bristol
- while the city was burning and outrages of all kinds rampant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know, sir, that Bristol is one of our largest seaports. It is more
- likely to have been brought here by some traveler from a strange country.
- I heard a medical man who has been in India with our troops say that it
- was a common sickness in the West Indies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was never seen nor heard of in England before. Now it is going up the
- east coast of Britain as far north as the Shetland Isles. These coast
- people are nearly all fishermen, very good, pious men, and they positively
- declare that they saw a gigantic figure of a woman, shadowy and gray, with
- a face of malignant vengeance, passing through the land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God has sent such messengers many times—ministers of His Vengeance.
- His Word is full of such instances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But a woman with a malignant face! Oh, no!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever is evil, must look evil—but here we are at Jonathan
- Hartley’s. Will you go in?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is coming to us. I will give him my father’s letter. That will be
- sufficient.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Jonathan had much to say and he seemed troubled beyond outside affairs
- to move him, and the preacher asked—“What is personally out of the
- right way with you, Jonathan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, my mother is down at the ford; she may cross any hour—she’s
- only waiting for the guide—and my eldest girl had a son last night—the
- little lad was born half-starved. We doan’t know yet whether either of
- them can be saved—or not. So I’ll not say ‘Come in,’ but if you’ll
- sit down with me on the garden bench, I’ll be glad of a few minutes fresh
- air.” He opened the little wicket gate as he spoke and they sat down on a
- bench under a cherry tree full dressed in perfumed white for Easter tide.
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as they were seated the young squire delivered his father’s letter
- and then they talked of the sudden disappearance of the men of the
- village. “What does it mean, Jonathan?” asked Dick, and Jonathan said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, I hevn’t been much among the lads for a week now. My mother
- hes been lying at the gate of the grave and I couldn’t leave her long at a
- time. They were all loitering about the village when I saw them last.
- Suddenly they all disappeared, and the old woman at the post office told
- me ivery one of them hed received a letter four mornings ago, from the
- same Working Man’s Society. I hed one mysen, for that matter, and that
- afternoon they all left together for somewhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But,” asked Dick, “where did they get the money necessary for a journey?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Philip Sugden got the money from Sugbury Bank. He hed an order for it,
- that was cashed quick enough. What do you make of that, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think there may be fighting to do if parliament fails the people this
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And in the very crisis of this trouble,” said Dick, “I hear from Mr.
- Foster that a man has been here wanting to build a mill. Who is he,
- Jonathan? And what can be his motive?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His name is Jonas Boocock. He comes from Shipley. His motive is to mak’
- money. He thinks this is the varry place to do it. He talked constantly
- about its fine water power, and its cheap land, and thought Providence hed
- fairly laid it out for factories and power-looms; for he said there’s talk
- of a branch of railway from Bradley’s place, past Annis, to join the main
- track going to Leeds. He considered it a varry grand idea. Mebbe it is,
- sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father would not like the plan at all. It must be prevented, if
- possible. What do you think, Jonathan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think, sir, if it would be a grand thing for Jonas Boocock, it might
- happen be a good thing for Squire Antony Annis. The world is moving
- for-rard, sir, and we must step with it, or be dragged behind it. Old as I
- am, I would rayther step for-rard with it. Gentlemen, I must now go to my
- mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is she worse, Jonathan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is quite worn out, worn out to the varry marrow. I would be thankful,
- sir, if tha would call and bid her good-by.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will. I will come about seven o’clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will be right. I’ll hev all the household present, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they turned away from Jonathan’s house and went to look at the land
- Boocock hankered for. The land itself was a spur descending from the wold,
- and was heathery and not fit for cultivation; but it was splendidly
- watered and lay along the river bank. “Boocock was right,” said Mr.
- Foster. “It is a bit of land just about perfect for a factory site. Does
- the squire own it, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot say. I was trying to fix its position as well as I could, and I
- will write to my father tonight. I am sorry Jonathan did not know more
- about the man Boocock and his plans.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jonathan’s mother is a very old woman. While she lives, he will stay at
- her side. You must remember her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do. She was exceedingly tall and walked quite erect and was so white
- when I met her last that she looked like a ghost floating slowly along the
- road.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She had always a sense of being injured by being here at all—wondered
- why she had been sent to this world, and though a grand character was
- never really happy. Jonathan did not learn to read until he was over forty
- years of age; she was then eighty, and she helped him to remember his
- letters, and took the greatest pride in his progress. There ought to be
- schools for these people, there are splendid men and women mentally among
- them. Here we are at home. Come in, sir, and have a cup of tea with us
- before you climb the brow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick was very glad to accept the invitation and the preacher opened the
- door and said: “Come in, sir, and welcome!” and they went into a small
- parlor plainly furnished, but in perfect order, and Dick heard someone
- singing softly not far away. Before the preacher had more than given his
- guest a chair the door opened and Faith entered the room. If he had not
- been already in love with her he would have fallen fathoms deep in the
- divine tide that moment, for his soul knew her and loved her, and was
- longing to claim its own. What personal charm she had he knew not, he
- cared not, he had been drawn to her by some deep irresistible attraction,
- and he succumbed absolutely to its influence. At this moment he cast away
- all fears and doubts and gave himself without reservation to the wonderful
- experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- Faith had answered her father’s call so rapidly, that Dick was not seated
- when she entered the room. She brought with her into the room an
- atmosphere of light and peace, through which her loveliness shone with a
- soft, steady glow. There was something unknown and unseen in her very
- simplicity. All that was sweet and wise, shone in her heavenly eyes, and
- their light lifted her higher than all his thoughts; they were so soft and
- deep and compelling. Very singularly their influence seemed to be
- intensified by the simple dress she wore. It was of merino and of the
- exact shade of her eyes, and it appeared in some way to increase their
- mystical power by the prolongation of the same color. There was nothing of
- intention in this arrangement. It was one of those coincidences that are
- perhaps suggested or induced by the angel that guards our life and
- destiny. For there are angels round all of us. Earth is no strange land to
- them. The dainty neatness of her clothing delighted Dick. After a season
- of ruffles and flounces and extravagant trimming, its soft folds falling
- plainly and unbrokenly to her feet, charmed him. Something of white lace,
- very narrow and unpretentious, was around the neck and sleeves which were
- gathered into a band above the elbows. Her hair, parted in the center of
- the forehead, lay in soft curls which fell no lower than the tip of the
- ears and at the back was coiled loosely on the crown of the head, where it
- was fastened by a pretty shell comb. The purity and peace of a fervent
- transparent soul was the first and the last impression she made, and these
- qualities revealed themselves in a certain homely sweetness, that drew
- everyone’s affection and trust like a charm.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had in her hands a clean tablecloth and some napkins, but when she saw
- Dick, she laid them down, and went to meet him. He took her hand and
- looked into her eyes, and a rush of color came into her face and gave
- splendor to her smile and her beauty. She hastened to question him about
- his mother and Katherine, but even as they talked of others, she knew he
- was telling her that he loved her, and longed for her to love him in
- return.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith, my dear,” said Mr. Foster, “our friend, Mr. Annis, will have a cup
- of tea with us before he goes up the brow,” and she looked at Dick and
- smiled, and began to lay the round table that stood in the center of the
- room. Dick watched her beautiful white arms and hands among the white
- china and linen and a very handsome silver tea service, with a pleasure
- that made him almost faint. Oh, if he should lose this lovely girl! How
- could he bear it? He felt that he might as well lose life itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- For though Dick had loved her for some months, love not converted into
- action, becomes indolent and unbelieving. So he had misgivings he could
- not control and amid the distractions of London, his love, instead of
- giving a new meaning to his life, had infected him rather with a sense of
- dreamland. But in this hour, true honest love illumined life, he saw
- things as they were, he really fell in love and that is a wonderful
- experience, a deep, elemental thing, beyond all reasoning with. In this
- experience he had found at last the Key to Life, and he understood in a
- moment, as it were, that this Key is in the Heart, and not in the Brain.
- He had been very wise and prudent about Faith and one smile from her had
- shattered all his reasoning, and the love-light now in his eyes, and
- shining in his face, was heart-work and not brain work. For love is a
- state of the soul; anger, grief and other passions can change their mental
- states; but love? No! Love absorbs the whole man, and if not satisfied,
- causes a state of great suffering. So in that hour Love was Destiny and
- fashioned his life beyond the power of any other passion to change.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime Faith brought in tea and some fresh bread and butter, and
- a dish of broiled trout. “Mr. Braithwaite was trout fishing among the
- fells to-day,” she said, “and as he came home, he left half a dozen for
- father. He is one of the Chapel Trustees and very fond of line fishing.
- Sometimes father goes with him. You know,” she added with a smile,
- “fishing is apostolical. Even a Methodist preacher may fish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a short time they talked of the reel and line, and its caprices, but
- conversation quickly drifted to the condition of the country and of Annis
- particularly, and in this conversation an hour drifted speedily away. Then
- Faith rose and brought in a bowl of hot water, washed the china and silver
- and put them away in a little corner cupboard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That silver is very beautiful,” said Dick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take it in your hand, Mr. Annis, and read what is engraved on the tea
- pot.” So Dick took it in his hand and read that the whole service had been
- given by the Wesleyans of Thirsk to Reverend Mr. Foster, as a proof of
- their gratitude to him as their spiritual teacher and comforter. Then Dick
- noticed the china and said his mother had a set exactly like it and Mr.
- Foster answered—“I think, Mr. Annis, every family in England has
- one, rich and poor. Whoever hit upon this plain white china, with its
- broad gold band round all edges, hit on something that fitted the English
- taste universally. It will be a wedding gift, and a standard tea set, for
- many generations yet; unless it deteriorates in style and quality—but
- I must not forget that I am due at Hartley’s at seven o’clock, so I hope
- you will excuse me, Mr. Annis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I ask your permission to remain with Miss Foster until your return,
- sir? I have a great deal to tell her about Katherine and many messages
- from my sister to deliver.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment Mr. Foster hesitated, then he answered frankly, “I will be
- glad if you stay with Faith until I return.” Then Faith helped him on with
- his top coat and gave him his hat and gloves and walking stick and both
- Dick and Faith stood at the open door, and watched him go down the street
- a little way. But this was Dick’s opportunity and he would not lose it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come into the parlor, dear, dear Faith! I have something to tell you,
- something I must tell you!” And all he said in the parlor was something he
- had never dared to say before, except in dreams.
- </p>
- <p>
- Faith knew what he wished to say. He had wooed her silently for months,
- but she had not suffered him to pass beyond the horizon of her thoughts.
- Yet she knew well, that though they were in many things dissimilar as two
- notes of music, they were made for each other. She told herself that he
- knew this fact as well as she did and that at the appointed hour he would
- come to her. Until that hour she would not provoke Destiny by her
- impatience. A change so great for her would doubtless involve other
- changes and perhaps their incidentals were not yet ready. So she never
- doubted but that Dick would tell her he loved her, as soon as he thought
- the right hour had come.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now the hour had come, and Dick did tell her how he loved her with a
- passionate eloquence that astonished himself. She did not try to resist
- its influence. It was to her heart all that cold water would be to
- parching thirst; it was the coming together of two strong, but different
- temperaments, and from the contact the flashing forth of love like fire.
- His words went to her head like wine, her eyes grew soft, tender,
- luminous, her form was half mystical, half sensuous. Dick was creating a
- new world for them, all their own. Though her eyes lifted but an instant,
- her soul sought his soul, gradually they leaned closer to each other in
- visible sweetness and affection and then it was no effort, but a supreme
- joy, to ask her to be his wife, to love and counsel and guide him, as his
- mother had loved and guided his father; and in the sweet, trembling patois
- of love, she gave him the promise that taught him what real happiness
- means. And her warm, sweet kisses sealed it. He felt they did so and was
- rapturously happy. Is there anything more to be said on this subject? No,
- the words are not yet invented which could continue it. Yet Faith wrote in
- her Diary that night—“To-day I was born into the world of Love. That
- is the world God loves best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII—LOVE’S TENDER PHANTASY
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “No mortal thing can bear so high a price,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But that with mortal thing it may be bought;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- No pearls, no gold, no gems, no corn, no spice,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Divine is Love and scorneth worldly pelf,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And can be bought with nothing but itself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> MAN in love sees
- miracles, as well as expects them. Outsiders are apt to think him an
- absurd creature, he himself knows that he is seeking the only love that
- can complete and crown his life. Dick was quite sure of his own wisdom.
- Whenever he thought of Faith, of her innocence, her high hopes, her pure
- eyes, and flowerlike beauty, he felt that his feet were on a rock and his
- soul went after her and everything was changed in his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until great London was on his horizon, that any fear touched
- his naturally high spirit. His father’s good will, he was sure, could be
- relied on. He himself had made what his father called “a varry
- inconsiderate marriage,” but it had proved to be both a very wise and a
- very happy union, so Dick expected his father would understand and
- sympathize with his love for Faith Foster.
- </p>
- <p>
- About the women of his family he felt more uncertain, his mother and
- sister and aunt would doubtless be harder to please. Yet they must see
- that Faith was everyway exceptional. Was she not the very flower and pearl
- of womanhood? He could not understand how they could find any fault with
- his wonderfully fortunate choice. Yet he kindly considered the small
- frailties of the ordinary woman and made some allowances for their
- jealousies and for the other interferences likely to spring from family
- and social conditions.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Dick was no coward and he was determined to speak of his engagement to
- Faith as soon as he had rid his mind of the business which had sent him to
- Annis. Nor had he any love-lorn looks or attitudes; he appeared to be an
- exceedingly happy man, when he opened the parlor door of his father’s
- apartments in the Clarendon. Breakfast was on the table and the squire and
- his wife were calmly enjoying it. They cried out joyfully when they saw
- him. The squire hastily stood up with outstretched hands, while Dick’s
- mother cried out, “O Dick! Dick! how good it is to see thee!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick was soon seated between them and as he ate he told the news he had
- brought from the home village. It was all interesting and important to
- them—from the change in its politics—which Dick said had
- become nearly Radical—to the death of Jonathan Hartley’s mother, who
- had been for many years a great favorite of Mistress Annis.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick was a little astonished to find that his father pooh-pooh’d Boocock’s
- design of building a mill in Annis. “He can’t build ef he can’t get land
- and water,” he answered with a scornful laugh; “and Antony Annis will not
- let him hev either. He is just another of those once decent weavers, who
- hev been turned into arrant fools by making brass too easy and too quick.
- I hev heard them talk. They are allays going to build another mill
- somewhere, they are going to mak’ a bid for all Yorkshire and mebbe tak’
- Lancashire into their plans. Boocock does not trouble me. And if Squire
- Annis puts him in Cold Shoulder Lane, there will not be a man in t’
- neighborhood poor and mean enough to even touch his cap to him. This is
- all I hev to say about Boocock at the present time and I don’t want him
- mentioned again. Mind that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think, then, father, that you will have to get rid of Jonathan
- Hartley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rid of Jonathan! Whativer is tha talking about? I could spare him as
- little as my right hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jonathan told me to tell you that you had better build a mill yourself,
- than let Boocock, or some other stranger, in among Annis folk. He said the
- world was stepping onward and that we had better step with the world, than
- be dragged behind it. He said that was his feeling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he hes a right to his feeling, but he need not send it to me. Let
- him go. I see how it is. I am getting a bit older than I was and men that
- are younger five or ten years are deserting me. They fear to be seen with
- an old fogy, like Squire Annis. God help me, but—I’m not downed yet.
- If they can do without me, I can jolly well do without them. <i>Why-a!</i>
- Thy mother is worth iverybody else to me and she’ll love and cherish me if
- I add fifty years more to my present fifty-five.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want no other love, Antony, than yours. It is good enough for life—and
- thereafter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear, dear Annie! And don’t fear! When I am sure it is time to move, I’ll
- move. I’ll outstrip them all yet. By George, I’ll keep them panting after
- me! How is it, Dick? Wilt thou stand with thy father? If so, put thy hand
- in thy father’s and we will beat them all at their awn game”—and
- Dick put his hand in his father’s hand and answered, “I am your loving and
- obedient son. Your will is my pleasure, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good, dear lad! Then we two will do as we want to do, we’ll do it in our
- awn time, and in our awn way, and we hev sense enough, between us, to tak’
- our awn advice, whativer it be. For first of all, we’ll do whativer is
- best for the village, and then for oursens, without anybody’s advice but
- our awn. Just as soon as The Bill is off my mind we will hev a talk on
- this subject. Annis Hall and Annis land and water is our property—mine
- and thine—and we will do whativer is right, both to the land and
- oursens.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Dick’s loving face, and the little sympathizing nod of his head, was
- all the squire needed. Then he stood up, lifting himself to his full
- height, and added, “Boocock and his mill will have to wait on my say-so,
- and I haven’t room in my mind at present to consider him; so we will say
- no more on that subject, until he comes and asks me for the land and water
- he wants. What is tha going to do with thysen now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That depends upon your wish, father. Are you going to—The House?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The House! Hes tha forgotten that the English Government must hev its
- usual Easter recreation whativer comes or goes? I told thee—I told
- thee in my first letter to Annis, that parliament hed given themsens three
- weeks’ holiday. They feel a good bit tired. The Bill hed them all worn
- out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember! I had forgotten The Bill!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whativer hes tha been thinking of to forget that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where then are you going to-day, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t just know yet, Dick, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I know where I am going,” said Mistress Annis. “I have an
- engagement with Jane and Katherine at eleven and I shall have to hurry if
- I am to keep it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Somewhere to go, or something to do. Which is it, Annie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is both, Antony. We are going to Exeter Hall, to a very aristocratic
- meeting, to make plans for the uplifting of the working man. Lord Brougham
- is to be chairman. He says very few can read and hardly any write their
- names. Shocking! Lord Brougham says we ought to be ashamed of such a
- condition and do something immediately to alter it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brougham does not know what he is talking about. He thinks a man’s
- salvation is in a spelling book and an inkhorn. There is going to be a
- deal of trouble made by fools, who want to uplift the world, before the
- world is ready to be uplifted. They can’t uplift starving men. It is
- bread, not books, they want; and I hev allays seen that when a man gets
- bare enough bread to keep body and soul together, the soul, or the mind,
- gets the worst of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot help that,” said Mistress Annis. “Lord Brougham will prove to
- us, that body and mind must be equally cared for or the man is not
- developed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, run away to thy developing work. It is a new kind of job for
- thee; and I doan’t think it will suit thee—not a bit of it. I would
- go with thee but developing working men is a step or two out of my way.
- And I’ll tell thee something, the working men—and women, too—will
- develop theirsens if we only give them the time and the means, and the
- brass to do it. But go thy ways and if thou art any wiser after Brougham’s
- talk I’ll be glad to know what he said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall stay and dine with Jane and thou hed better join us. We may go to
- the opera afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, then, I’ll not join thee. I wouldn’t go to another opera for
- anything—not even for the great pleasure of thy company. If I hev to
- listen to folk singing, I want them to sing in the English language. It is
- good enough, and far too good, for any of the rubbishy words I iver heard
- in any opera. What time shall I come to Jane’s for thee?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About eleven o’clock, or soon after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s a nice time for a respectable squire’s wife to be driving about
- London streets. I wish I hed thee safe at Annis Hall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a laugh Annie closed the door and hurried away and Dick turned to his
- father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to talk with you, sir,” he said, “on a subject which I want your
- help and sympathy in, before I name it to anyone else. Suppose we sit
- still here. The room is quiet and comfortable and we are not likely to be
- disturbed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why then, Dick! Hes tha got a new sweetheart?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir, and she is the dearest and loneliest woman that ever lived. I
- want you to stand by me in any opposition likely to rise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is her name? Who is she?” asked the squire not very cordially.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her name is Faith Foster. You know her, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know her. She is a good beautiful girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I felt sure you would say that, sir. You make me very happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A man cannot lie about any woman. Faith Foster is good and beautiful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she has promised to be my wife. Father, I am so happy! So happy! And
- your satisfaction with Faith doubles my pleasure. I have been in love with
- her for nearly a year but I was afraid to lose all by asking all; and I
- never found courage or opportunity to speak before this to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is all buff and bounce. Thou can drop the word ‘courage,’ and
- opportunity will do for a reason. I niver knew Dick Annis to be afraid of
- a girl but if thou art really afraid of this girl—let her go. It is
- the life of a dog to live with a woman that you fear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, you have seen Faith often. Do you fear her in the way your words
- seem to imply?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Me! Does tha think I fear any woman? What’s up with thee to ask such a
- question as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought from your kind manner with Faith and your admiring words both
- to her and about her that you would have congratulated me on my success in
- winning her love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t know as thou deserves much congratulation on that score. I think
- it is mebbe, to me mysen, and to thy mother thou art mainly indebted for
- what success there is in winning Miss Foster’s favor. We gave thee thy
- handsome face and fine form, thy bright smile and that coaxing way thou
- hes—a way that would win any lass thou choose to favor—it is
- just the awful way young men hev, of choosing the wrong time to marry even
- if they happen to choose the right woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was that your way, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, was it! I chose the right time, but the girl was wrong enough in some
- ways.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My mother wrong! Oh, no, father!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father thought she was not rich enough for me. He was a good bit
- disappointed by my choice but I knew what I was doing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, I also know what I am doing. I suppose you object to Faith’s want
- of fortune.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mebbe I do, and I wouldn’t be to blame if I did, but as it happens I
- think a man is better without his wife’s money. A wife’s money is a
- quarrelsome bit of either land or gold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I consider Faith’s goodness a fortune far beyond any amount of either
- gold or land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doan’t thee say anything against either land or gold. When thou hes lived
- as long as I hev thou wilt know better than do that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wisdom is better than riches. I have heard you say that often.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was in Solomon’s time. I doan’t know that it is in Victoria’s. The
- wise men of this day would be a deal wiser if they hed a bit of gold to
- carry out all the machines and railroads and canals they are planning; and
- what would the final outcome be, if they hed it? Money, money, and still
- more money. This last year, Dick, I hev got some new light both on poverty
- and riches and I have seen one thing plainly, it is that money is a varry
- good, respectable thing, and a thing that goes well with lovemaking; but
- poverty is the least romantic of all misfortunes. A man may hide, or cure,
- or forget any other kind of trouble, but, my lad, there is no Sanctuary
- for Poverty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All you say is right, father, but if Faith’s want of fortune is no great
- objection, is there any other reason why I should not marry her? We might
- as well speak plainly now, as afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is my way. I hate any backstair work, especially about marrying.
- Well, then, one thing is that Faith’s people are all Chapel folk. The
- Squire of Annis is a landed gentleman of England, and the men who own
- England’s land hev an obligation to worship in England’s Church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know, father, that wives have a duty laid on them to make their
- husbands’ church their church. Faith will worship where I worship and that
- is in Annis Parish Church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does tha know of Faith’s father and mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her grandfather was a joiner and carpenter and a first class workman. He
- died of a fever just before the birth of Faith’s mother. Her grandmother
- was a fine lace maker, and supported herself and her child by making lace
- for eight years. Then she died and the girl, having no kindred and no
- friends willing to care for her, was taken to the Poor House.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Dick! Dick! that is bad—very bad indeed!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen, father. At the Poor House Sunday school she learned to read, and
- later was taught how to spin, and weave, and to sew and knit. She was a
- silent child, but had fine health and a wonderfully ambitious nature. At
- eleven years of age she took her living into her own hands. She went into
- a woolen mill and made enough to pay her way in the family of Samuel
- Broadbent, whose sons now own the great Broadbent mill with its six
- hundred power-looms. When she was fifteen she could manage two looms, and
- was earning more than a pound a week. Every shilling nearly of this money
- went for books. She bought, she borrowed, she read every volume she could
- reach; and in the meantime attended the Bradford Night School of the
- Methodist Church. At seventeen years of age she was a very good scholar
- and had such a remarkable knowledge of current literature and authors that
- she was made the second clerk in the Public Library. Soon after, she
- joined the Methodist Church, and her abilities were quickly recognized by
- the Preacher, and she finally went to live with his family, teaching his
- boys and girls, and being taught and protected by their mother. One day
- Mr. Foster came as the second preacher in that circuit and he fell in love
- with her and they married. Faith is their child, and she has inherited not
- only her mother’s beauty and intellect, but her father’s fervent piety and
- humanity. Since her mother’s death she has been her father’s companion and
- helped in all his good works, as you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know—hes her mother been long dead?
- </p>
- <p>
- “About six years. She left to the young girls who have to work for their
- living several valuable text-books to assist them in educating themselves,
- a very highly prized volume of religious experiences and a still more
- popular book of exquisite poems. Is there anything in this record to be
- called objectionable or not honorable?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Ask thy mother</i> that question, Dick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, father, I want your help and sympathy. I expect nothing favorable
- from mother. You must stand by me in this strait. If you accept Faith my
- mother will accept her. Show her the way. Do, father! Always you have been
- right-hearted with me. You have been through this hard trial yourself,
- father. You know what it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I do; and I managed it in a way that thou must not think of,
- or I will niver forgive thee. I knew my father and mother would neither be
- to coax nor to reason with, and just got quietly wedded and went off to
- France with my bride. I didn’t want any browbeating from my father and I
- niver could hev borne my mother’s scorn and silence, so I thought it best
- to come to some sort of terms with a few hundred miles between us—but
- mind what I say, Dick! I was niver again happy with them. They felt that I
- hed not trusted their love and they niver more trusted my love. There was
- a gulf between us that no love could bridge. Father died with a hurt
- feeling in his heart. Mother left my house and went back to her awn home
- as soon as he was buried. All that thy mother could do niver won her more
- than mere tolerance. Now, Dick, my dear lad, I hev raked up this old grief
- of mine for thy sake. If tha can win thy mother’s promise to accept Faith
- as a daughter, and the future mistress of Annis Hall, I’ll put no stone in
- thy way. Hes tha said anything on this subject to Mr. Foster? If so, what
- answer did he give thee?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said the marriage would be a great pleasure to him if you and mother
- were equally pleased; but not otherwise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was right, it was just what I expected from him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, father, until our engagement was fully recognized by you and mother,
- he forbid us to meet, or even to write to each other. I can’t bear that. I
- really can not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I doan’t believe Faith will help thee to break such a command. Not
- her! She will keep ivery letter of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I shall die. I could not endure such cruelty! I will—I will——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whativer thou shall, could, or will, do try and not make a fool of
- thysen. <i>Drat it, man!</i> Let me see thee in this thy first trial <i>right-side-out</i>.
- Furthermore, I’ll not hev thee going about Annis village with that look on
- thy face as if ivery thing was on the perish. There isn’t a man there, who
- wouldn’t know the meaning of it and they would wink at one another and say
- ‘poor beggar! it’s the Methody preacher’s little lass!’ There it is! and
- thou knows it, as well as I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let them mock if they want to. I’ll thrash every man that names her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be quiet! I’ll hev none of thy tempers, so just bid thy Yorkshire devil
- to get behind thee. I hev made thee a promise and I’ll keep it, if tha
- does thy part fairly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is my part?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is to win over thy mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You, sir, have far more influence over mother than I have. If I cannot
- win mother, will you try, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I will not. Now, Dick, doan’t let me see thee wilt in thy first
- fight. Pluck up courage and win or fail with a high heart. And if tha
- should fail, just take the knockdown with a smile, and say,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “If she is not fair for me,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- What care I how fair she be!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the young men’s song in my youth. Now we will drop the subject
- and what dost tha say to a ride in the Park?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The ride was not much to speak of. One man was too happy, and the other
- was too unhappy and eventually the squire put a stop to it. “Dick,” he
- said, “tha hed better go to thy room at The Yorkshire Club and sleep
- thysen into a more respectable temper.” And Dick answered, “Thank you,
- sir. I will take your advice”—and so raising his hand to his hat he
- rapidly disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor lad!” muttered his father; “he hes some hard days before him but it
- would niver do to give him what he wants and there is no ither way to put
- things right”—and with this reflection the squire’s good spirits
- fell even below his son’s melancholy. Then he resolved to go back to the
- Clarendon. “Annie may come back there to dress before her dinner and
- opera,” he reflected—“but if she does I’ll not tell her a word of
- Dick’s trouble. No, indeed! Dick must carry his awn bad news. I hev often
- told her unpleasant things and usually I got the brunt o’ them mysen. So
- if Annie comes home to dress—and she does do so varry often lately—I’ll
- not mention Dick’s affair to her. I hev noticed that she dresses hersen
- varry smart now and, by George, it suits her well! In her way she looks as
- handsome as either of her daughters. I did not quite refuse to dine at
- Jane’s, I think she will come to the Clarendon to dress and to beg me to
- go with her and I might as well go—here she comes! I know her step,
- bless her!”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Dick left his father he went to his sister’s residence. He knew that
- Jane and his mother were at the lecture but he did not think that
- Katherine would be with them and he felt sure of Katherine’s sympathy. He
- was told that she had just gone to Madam Temple’s and he at once followed
- her there and found her writing a letter and quite alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kitty! Kitty!” he cried in a lachrymose tone. “I am in great trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever is wrong, Dick? Are you wanting money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not thinking or caring anything about money. I want Faith and her
- father will not let me see her or write to her unless father and mother
- are ready to welcome her as a daughter. They ought to do so and father is
- not very unwilling; but I know mother will make a stir about it and father
- will not move in the matter for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Move?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I want him to go to mother and make her do the kind and the right
- thing and he will not do it for me, though he knows that mother always
- gives in to what he thinks best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She keeps her own side, Dick, and goes as far as she can, but it is
- seldom she gets far enough without father’s consent. Father always keeps
- the decisive word for himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I say. Then father could—if he would—say the
- decisive word and so make mother agree to my marriage with Faith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well you see, Dick, mother is father’s love affair and why should he have
- a dispute with his wife to make you and your intended wife comfortable and
- happy? Mother has always been in favor of Harry Bradley and she does not
- prevent us seeing or writing each other, when it is possible, but she will
- not hear of our engagement being made public, because it would hurt
- father’s feelings and she is half-right anyway. A wife ought to regard her
- husband’s feelings. You would expect that, if you were married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Kitty, I am so miserable. Will you sound mother’s feelings about
- Faith for me? Then I would have a better idea how to approach her on the
- subject.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, I will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How soon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow, if possible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, dearie! I love Faith so truly that I have forgotten all the
- other women I ever knew. Their very names tire me now. I wonder at myself
- for ever thinking them at all pretty. I could hardly be civil to any of
- them if we met. I shall never care for any woman again, if I miss Faith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know, Dick, that you must marry someone. The family must be kept up.
- Is the trouble Faith’s lack of money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. It is her father and mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her father is a scholar and fine preacher.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but her mother was a working girl, really a mill hand,” and then
- Dick told the story of Faith’s mother with enthusiasm. Kitty listened with
- interest, but answered, “I do not see what you are going to do, Dick. Not
- only mother, but Jane will storm at the degradation you intend to inflict
- upon the house of Annis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are two things I can do. I will marry Faith, and be happier than
- words can tell; or I will leave England forever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick, you never can do that. Everything good forbids it—and there.
- Jane’s carriage is coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then good-by. When can I see you tomorrow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the afternoon, perhaps. I may speak to mother before three o’clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Dick went away and a servant entered with a letter. It was from Lady
- Jane, bidding Katherine return home immediately or she would not be
- dressed in time for dinner. On her way home she passed Dick walking slowly
- with his head cast down and carrying himself in a very dejected manner.
- Katherine stopped the carriage and offered to give him a lift as far as
- his club.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, thank you, Kitty,” he answered. “You may interview mother for me if
- you like. I was coming to a resolution to take the bull by the horns, or
- at least in some manner find a way that is satisfactory in the meantime.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is right. There is nothing like patient watching and waiting. Every
- ball finally comes to the hand held out for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then with a nod and a half-smile, Dick lifted his hat and went forward.
- While he was in the act of speaking to Katherine an illuminating thought
- had flashed through his consciousness and he walked with a purposeful
- stride towards his club. Immediately he sat down and began to write a
- letter, and the rapid scratching of the goose quill on the fine glazed
- paper indicated there was no lack of feeling in what he was writing. The
- firm, strong, small letters, the wide open long letters, the rapid fluency
- and haste of the tell-tale quill, all indicated great emotion, and it was
- without hesitation or consideration he boldly signed his name to the
- following letter:—
- </p>
- <p>
- To the Rev. John Foster.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dear Sir:
- </p>
- <p>
- You have made me the most wretched of men. You have made Faith the most
- unhappy of women. Faith never wronged you in all her life. Do you imagine
- she would do for me what she has never before done? I never wronged you by
- one thought. Can you not trust my word and my honor? I throw myself and
- Faith on your mercy. You are punishing us before we have done anything
- worthy of punishment. Is that procedure just and right? If so, it is very
- unlike you. Let me write to Faith once every week and permit her to answer
- my letter. I have given you my word; my word is my honor. I cannot break
- it without your permission, and until you grant my prayer, I am bound by a
- cruel obligation to lead a life, that being beyond Love and Hope, is a
- living death. And the terrible aching torture of this ordeal is that Faith
- must suffer it with me. Sir, I pray your mercy for both of us.
- </p>
- <p>
- Your sincere suppliant,
- </p>
- <p>
- Richard Haveling Annis.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick posted this letter as soon as it was written and the following day it
- was in the hands of the preacher. He received it as he was going home to
- his tea, about half past five, and he read it, and then turned towards the
- open country, and read it again and again. He had been in the house of
- mourning all day. His heart was tender, his thoughts sadly tuned to the
- sorrows and broken affections of life, and at the top of the Brow he sat
- down on a large granite boulder and let his heart lead him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Richard Annis is right,” he said. “I have acted as if I could not trust.
- Oh, how could I so wrong my good, sweet daughter I I have almost insulted
- her, to her lover. Why did I do this evil thing? Self! Self! Only for
- Self! I was determined to serve myself first. I did not consider others as
- I ought to have done—and Pride! Yes, Pride! John Foster! You have
- been far out of the way of the Master whom you serve. Go quickly, and put
- the wrong right.” And he rose at the spiritual order and walked quickly
- home. As he passed through the Green he saw Faith come to the door and
- look up and down the street. “She is uneasy about my delay,” he thought,
- “how careful and loving she is about me! How anxious, if I am a little
- late! The dear one! How I wronged her!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been detained, Faith,” he said, as she met him at the door. “There
- are four deaths from cholera this afternoon, and they talk of forbidding
- me to visit the sick, till this strange sickness disappears.” During the
- meal, Foster said nothing of the letter he had received, but as Faith
- rose, he also rose, and laying his hand upon her shoulder said: “Faith,
- here is a letter that I received this afternoon from Richard Annis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, father, I am so sorry! I thought Richard would keep his word. He
- promised me—” and her voice sunk almost to a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Richard has not broken a letter of his promise. The letter was sent to
- me. It is my letter. I want you to read it, and to answer it for me, and
- you might write to him once a week, without infringing on the time
- necessary for your duties here. I wish to tell you also, that I think
- Annis is right. I have put both of you under restraints not needful, not
- supposable, even from my knowledge of both of you. Answer the letter
- according to your loyal, loving heart. Annis will understand by my utterly
- revoking the charge I gave you both, that I see my fault, and am sorry for
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Faith’s head was on her father’s shoulder, and she was clasped to his
- heart, and he kissed the silent happy tears from off her cheeks and went
- to the chapel with a heart at peace.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two days afterward the squire went to call upon his son and he found him
- in his usual buoyant temper. “Mother was anxious about thee, Dick. She
- says she has not seen thee for four or five days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been under the weather for a week, but I am all right now. Tell
- her I will come and dine with her to-night. What are you going to do with
- yourself to-day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I’ll tell thee—Russell and Grey hev asked me to go to Hyde
- Park Gate and talk to the people, and keep them quiet, till parliament can
- fashion to get back to its place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are not the Easter holidays over yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The taking of holidays at this time was both a sin and a shame. The
- streets are full of men who are only wanting a leader and they would give
- king and lords and commons a long, long holiday. Earl Russell says I am
- the best man to manage them, and he hes asked by proclamation Yorkshire
- and Lancashire men to meet me, and talk over our program with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I go with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If tha wants to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There may be quarreling and danger. I will not let you go alone. I must
- be at your side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, then, there is no ‘must be.’ I can manage Yorkshire lads without
- anybody’s help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What time do you speak?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About seven o’clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. Tell mother I’ll have my dinner with her and you at the
- Clarendon, and then we will go to interview the mob afterward.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are not a mob. Doan’t thee call them names. They are ivery one
- Englishmen, holding themsens with sinews of steel, from becoming mobs; but
- if they should, by any evil chance, become a mob, then, bless thee, lad,
- it would be well for thee and me to keep out of their way!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The trouble lies here,” the squire continued,—“these gatherings of
- men waiting to see The Bill passed that shall give them their rights, have
- been well taught by Earl Grey, Lord Russell, and Lord Brougham, but only
- fitfully, at times and seasons; but by day and night ivery day and Sunday,
- there hev been and there are chartists and socialist lecturers among them,
- putting bitter thoughts against their awn country into their hearts. And
- they’re a soft lot. They believe all they are told, if t’ speaker but
- claim to be educated. Such precious nonsense!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, father, a good many really educated people go to lectures
- about what they call science and they, too, believe all that they are
- told.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll warrant them, Dick. Yet our Rector, when he paid us a visit last
- summer, told me emphatically, that science was a new kind of sin—a
- new kind of sin, that, and nothing more, or better! And I’ll be bound thy
- mother will varry soon find it out and I’m glad she hed the sense to keep
- Kitty away from such teachers. Just look at Brougham. He is making a
- perfect fool of himsen about tunneling under the Thames River and lighting
- cities with the gas we see sputtering out of our coal fires and carrying
- men in comfortable coaches thirty, ay, even forty, miles an hour by steam.
- Why Bingley told me, that he heard Brougham say he hoped to live to see
- men heving their homes in Norfolk or Suffolk villages, running up or down
- to London ivery day to do their business. Did tha iver hear such nonsense,
- Dick? And when men who publish books and sit on the government benches
- talk it, what can you expect from men who don’t know their alphabet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have an easier fight than I have, sir. Love and one woman, can be
- harder to win, than a thousand men for freedom.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tha knows nothing about it, if that is thy opinion,” and the squire
- straightened himself, and stood up, and with a great deal of passion
- recited three fine lines from Byron, the favorite men’s poet of that day:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “For Freedom’s battle once begun,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Though baffled oft, is always won!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Those lines sound grandly in your mouth, dad,” said Dick, as he looked
- with admiring love into his father’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, I think they do. I hev been reciting them a good deal lately. They
- allays bring what t’ Methodists call ‘the Amen’ from the audience. I don’t
- care whether it is made up of rich men, or poor men, they fetch a ringing
- Amen from every heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think that climax would carry any meeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it won’t. The men I am going to address to-night doan’t read; but
- they do think, and when a man hes drawn his conclusions from what he hes
- seen, and what he hes felt or experienced, they hev a bulldog grip on him.
- I will tell thee now, and keep mind of what I say—when tha hes to
- talk to fools, tha needs ivery bit of all the senses tha happens to hev.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, father, can I be of any use to you to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tha can not. Not a bit, not a word. Dick, thou belongs to the coming
- generation and they would see it and make thee feel it. Thy up-to-date
- dress would offend them. I shall go to t’ meeting in my leather breeches,
- and laced-up Blucher shoes, my hunting coat and waistcoat with dog head
- buttons, and my Madras red neckerchief. They will understand that dress.
- It will explain my connection with the land that we all of us belong to.
- Now be off with thee and I am glad to see thou hes got over thy last
- sweet-hearting so soon, and so easy. I thought thou wert surely in for a
- head-over-ears attack.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-by, dad I and do not forget the three lines of poetry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not likely to forget them. No one loves a bit of poetry better than a
- Yorkshire weaver. Tha sees they were mostly brought up on Wesley’s Hymn
- Book,” and he was just going to recite the three lines again, but he saw
- Dick had turned towards the door and he let him go. “Ah, well!” he
- muttered, “it is easy to make Youth see, but you can’t make it believe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX—LOVERS QUARREL AND THE SQUIRE MAKES A SPEECH
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “There are no little events with the Heart.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The more we judge, the less we Love.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Kindred is kindred, and Love is Love.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The look that leaves no doubt, that the last
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Glimmer of the light of Love has gone out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Dick left his
- father he hardly knew what to do with himself. He was not prepared to
- speak to his mother, nor did he think it quite honorable to do so, until
- he had informed his father of Mr. Foster’s change of heart, with regard to
- Faith and himself. His father had been his first confidant, and in this
- first confidence, there had been an implied promise, that his engagement
- to Faith was not yet to be made public.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick!” the squire had said: “Thou must for a little while do as most men
- hev to do; that is, keep thy happiness to thysen till there comes a wiser
- hour to talk about it. People scarcely sleep, or eat, the whole country is
- full of trouble and fearfulness; and mother and Jane are worried about
- Katherine and her sweethearts. She hes a new one, a varry likely man,
- indeed, the nephew of an earl and a member of a very rich banking firm.
- And Kitty is awkward and disobedient, and won’t notice him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think Kitty ought to have her own way, father. She has set her heart on
- Harry Bradley and no one can say a word against Harry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps not, from thy point of view. Dick, it is a bit hard on a father
- and mother, when their children, tenderly loved and cared for, turn their
- backs on such love and go and choose love for themsens, even out of the
- house of their father’s enemies. I feel it badly, Dick. I do that!” And
- the squire looked so hopeless and sorrowful, Dick could not bear it. He
- threw his arm across his father’s shoulder, and their hands met, and a few
- words were softly said, that brought back the ever ready smile to the
- squire’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is only thy mother,” continued the squire, “that I am anxious about.
- Kitty and Harry are in the same box as thysen; they will mebbe help thee
- to talk thy love hunger away. But I wouldn’t say a word to thy aunt.
- However she takes it she will be apt to overdo hersen. It is only waiting
- till the Bill is passed and that will soon happen. Then we shall go home,
- and mother will be too busy getting her home in order, to make as big a
- worry of Faith, as she would do here, where Jane and thy aunt would do all
- they could to make the trouble bigger.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Dick went to look for Harry. He could not find him. A clerk at the
- Club told him he “believed Mr. Bradley had gone to Downham Market in
- Norfolk,” and Dick fretfully wondered what had taken Harry to Norfolk? And
- to Downham Market, of all the dull, little towns in that country. Finally,
- he concluded to go and see Kitty. “She is a wise little soul,” he thought,
- “and she may have added up mother by this time.” So he went to Lady
- Leyland’s house and found Kitty and Harry Bradley taking lunch together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother and Jane are out with Aunt Josepha,” she said, “and Harry has just
- got back from Norfolk. I was sitting down to my lonely lunch when he came
- in, so he joined me. It is not much of a lunch. Jane asked me if a mutton
- patty-pie, and some sweet stuff would do, and I told her she could leave
- out the mutton pie, if she liked, but she said, ‘Nonsense! someone might
- come in, who could not live on love and sugar.’ So the pies luckily came
- up, piping hot, for Harry. Some good little household angel always
- arranges things, if we trust to them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What took you to Norfolk, Harry? Bird game on the Fens, I suppose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Business, only, took me there. We heard of a man who had some Jacquard
- looms to sell. I went to see them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I missed you very much. I am in a lot of trouble. Faith and I are
- engaged, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! I did not know that things had got that far.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, they have, and Mr. Foster behaved to us very unkindly at first, but
- he has seen his fault, and repented. And father was more set and obdurate
- than I thought he could be, under any circumstances; and I wanted your
- advice, Harry, and could not find you anywhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it about Faith you wanted me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, I wanted to know what you would do if in my circumstances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Dick, Kitty and I are in a similar case and we have done nothing at
- all. We are just waiting, until Destiny does for us what we should only do
- badly, if we tried to move in the matter before the proper time. I should
- personally think this particular time would not be a fortunate hour for
- seeking recognition for a marriage regarded as undesirable on either, or
- both sides. I am sorry you troubled your father just at this time, for I
- fear he has already a great trouble to face.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father a great trouble to face! What do you mean, Harry? Have you
- heard anything? Is mother all right? Kitty, what is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had heard of nothing wrong when mother and Jane went out to-day. Harry
- is not ten minutes in the house. We had hardly finished saying good
- afternoon to each other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not intend to say anything to Kitty, as I judged it to be a trouble
- the squire must bear alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no! The squire’s wife and children will bear it with him. Speak out,
- Harry. Whatever the trouble is, it cannot be beyond our bearing and
- curing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you see, Dick, the new scheme of boroughs decided on by the Reform
- Bill will deprive the squire of his seat in Parliament, as Annis borough
- has been united with Bradley borough, which also takes in Thaxton village.
- Now if the Bill passes, there will be a general election, and there is a
- decided move, in that case, to elect my father as representative for the
- united seats.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is nothing to worry about,” answered Dick with a nonchalant tone and
- manner. “My dad has represented them for thirty years. I believe
- grandfather sat for them, even longer. I dare be bound dad will be glad to
- give his seat to anybody that hes the time to bother with it; it is
- nothing but trouble and expense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that so? I thought it represented both honor and profit,” said Harry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it may do! I do not think father cares a button about what honor and
- profit it possesses. However, I am going to look after father now, and,
- Kitty, if the circumstances should in the least be a trouble to father, I
- shall expect you to stand loyally by your father and the family.” With
- these words he went away, without further courtesies, unless a proud
- upward toss of his handsome head could be construed into a parting salute.
- </p>
- <p>
- A few moments of intense silence followed. Katherine’s cheeks were flushed
- and her eyes cast down. Harry looked anxiously at her. He expected some
- word, either of self-dependence, or of loyalty to her pledge of a supreme
- love for himself; but she made neither, and was—Harry considered—altogether
- unsatisfactory. At this moment he expected words of loving constancy, or
- at least some assurance of the stability of her affection. On the
- contrary, her silence and her cold manner, gave him a heart shock. “Kitty!
- My darling Kitty! did you hear, did you understand, what Dick said, what
- he meant?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I both heard and understood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well then, what was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He meant, that if my father was hurt, or offended by his removal from his
- seat in The House, he would make father’s quarrel his own and expect me to
- do the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you would not do such a thing as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not see how I could help it. I love my father. It is beyond words to
- say how dear he is to me. It would be an impossibility for me to avoid
- sympathizing with him. Mother and Dick would do the same. Aunt Josepha and
- even Jane and Ley-land, would make father’s wrong their own; and you must
- know how Yorkshire families stand together even if the member of it in
- trouble is unworthy of the least consideration. Remember the Traffords!
- They were all made poor by Jack, and Jack’s wife, but they would not
- listen to a word against them. That is <i>our</i> way, you know it. To
- every Yorkshire man and woman Kindred is Kin, and Love is Love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But they put love before kindred.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps they do, and perhaps they do not. I have never seen anyone put
- strangers before kindred. I would despise anyone who did such a thing.
- Yes, indeed, I would!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your father knows how devotedly we love each other, even from our
- childhood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, he has always treated our love as a very childish affair. He
- looks upon me yet, as far too young to even think of marrying. He has been
- expecting me during this season in London, to meet someone or other by
- whom I could judge whether my love for you was not a childish imagination.
- You have known this, Harry, all the time we have been sweethearts. When I
- was nine, and you were twelve, both father and mother used to laugh at our
- childish love-making.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if I understand you, Kitty! Are you beginning to break your
- promise to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I wished to break my promise to you, I should not do so in any
- underhand kind of way. Half-a-dozen clear, strong words would do. I should
- not understand any other way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very miserable. Your look and your attitude frighten me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harry, I never before saw you act so imprudently and unkindly. No one
- likes the bringer of ill news. I was expecting a happy hour with you and
- Dick; and you scarcely allowed Dick to bid me a good afternoon, until you
- out with your bad news—and there was a real tone of triumph in your
- voice. I’m sure I don’t wonder that Dick felt angry and astonished.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, Kitty, I thought it the best opportunity possible to tell you
- about the proposed new borough. I felt sure, both you and Dick would
- remember my uncertain, and uncomfortable position, and give me your
- assurance of my claim. It is a very hard position for me to be in, and I
- am in no way responsible for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not think your position is any harder than mine and I am as innocent—perhaps
- a great deal more innocent—of aiding on the situation as you can
- be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you intend to give me up if your father and Dick tell you to do so?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is not the question. I say distinctly, that I consider your hurry to
- tells the news of your father’s possible substitution in the squire’s
- parliamentary seat, was impolite and unnecessary just yet, and that your
- voice and manner were in some unhappy way offensive. I felt them to be so,
- and I do not take offense without reason.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me explain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I do not wish to hear any more on the subject at present. And I will
- remind you that the supplanting of Squire Annis is as yet problematic. Was
- there any necessity for you to rush news which is dependent on the passing
- of a Bill, that has been loitering in parliament for forty years, and
- before a general election was certain? It was this hurry and your
- uncontrollable air of satisfaction, which angered Dick—and myself:”—and
- with these words, said with a great deal of quiet dignity, she bid Harry
- “good afternoon” and left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Harry was dumb with sorrow and amazement. He made no effort to detain
- her, and when she reached the next floor, she heard the clash of the main
- door follow his hurrying footsteps. “It is all over! All over!!” she said
- and then tried to comfort herself, with a hearty fit of crying.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harry went to his club and thought the circumstance over, but he hastily
- followed a suggestion, which was actually the most foolish move he could
- have made—he resolved to go and tell Madam Temple the whole
- circumstance. He believed that she had a real liking for him and would be
- glad to put his side of the trouble in its proper light. She had always
- sympathized with his love for Katherine and he believed that she would see
- nothing wrong in his gossip about the squire’s position. So he went to
- Madam at once and found her in her office with her confidential lawyer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then?” she asked, in her most authoritative manner, “what brings
- thee here, in the middle of the day’s business? Hes thou no business in
- hand? No sweetheart to see? No book or paper to read?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came to you, Madam, for advice; but I see that you are too busy to care
- for my perplexities.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go into the small parlor and I will come to thee in ten minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice and manner admitted of no dispute, and Harry—inwardly
- chafing at his own obedience—went to the small parlor and waited. As
- yet he could not see any reason for Dick’s and Katherine’s unkind
- treatment of him. He felt sure Madam Temple would espouse his side of the
- question, and also persuade Katherine that Dick had been unjustly
- offended. But his spirits fell the moment she entered the room. The
- atmosphere of money and the market-place was still around her and she
- asked sharply—“Whativer is the matter with thee, Harry Bradley? Tell
- me quickly. I am more than busy to-day, and I hev no time for nonsense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is more than nonsense, Madam, or I would not trouble you. I only want
- a little of your good sense to help me out of a mess I have got into with——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With Katherine, I suppose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With Dick also.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. If you offended one, you would naturally offend the other.
- Make as few words as thou can of the affair.” This order dashed Harry at
- the beginning of the interview, and Madam’s impassive and finally angry
- face gave him no help in detailing his grievance. Throughout his complaint
- she made no remark, no excuse, neither did she offer a word of sympathy.
- Finally he could no longer continue his tale of wrong, its monotony grew
- intolerable, even to himself, and he said passionately—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see that you have neither sympathy nor counsel to give me, Madam. I am
- sorry I troubled you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, thou ought to be ashamed as well as sorry. Thou that reckons to know
- so much and yet cannot see that tha hes been guilty of an almost
- unpardonable family crime. Thou hed no right to say a word that would
- offend anyone in the Annis family. The report might be right, or it might
- be wrong, I know not which; but it was all wrong for thee to clap thy
- tongue on it. The squire has said nothing to me about thy father taking
- his place in the House of Commons, and I wouldn’t listen to anyone else,
- not even thysen. I think the young squire and Katherine treated thee a
- deal better than thou deserved. After a bit of behavior like thine, it
- wasn’t likely they would eat another mouthful with thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The truth, Madam, is——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even if it hed been ten times the truth, it should hev been a lie to
- thee. Thou ought to hev felled it, even on the lips speaking it. I think
- nothing of love and friendship that won’t threep for a friend, right or
- wrong, for or against, true or untrue. I am varry much disappointed in
- thee, Mr. Harry Bradley, and the sooner thou leaves me, the better I’ll be
- pleased.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Madam, you utterly confound me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou ought to be confounded and I would be a deal harder on thee if I did
- not remember that thou hes no family behind thee whose honor——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam, I have my father behind me, and a nobler man does not exist. He is
- any man’s peer. I know no other man fit to liken him to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s right. Stand by thy father. And remember that the Annis family hes
- to stand up for a few centuries of Annis fathers. Go to thy father and
- bide with him. His advice will suit thee better than mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think Dick might have understood me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick understood thee well enough. Dick was heart hurt by thy evident
- pleasure with the news that was like a hot coal in thy mouth. It pleased
- thee so well thou couldn’t keep it for a fitting hour. Not thou! Thy
- vanity will make a heart ache for my niece, no doubt she will be worried
- beyond all by thy behavior, but I’ll warrant she will not go outside her
- own kith and kin for advice or comfort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam, forgive my ignorance. I ask you that much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that is a different thing. I can forgive thee, where I couldn’t
- help thee—not for my life. But thou ought to suffer for such a bit
- of falsity, and I hope thou wilt suffer. I do that! Now I can’t stay with
- thee any longer, but I do wish thou hed proved thysen more right-hearted,
- and less set up with a probability. In plain truth, that is so. And I’ll
- tell the one sure thing—if thou hopes to live in Yorkshire, stand by
- Yorkshire ways, and be leal and loyal to thy friends, rich or poor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope, Madam, to be leal and loyal to all men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is just a bit of general overdoing. It was a sharp wisdom in Jesus
- Christ, when he told us not to love all humanity, but to love our
- neighbor. He knew that was about all we could manage. It is above what I
- can manage this afternoon, so I’ll take my leave of thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harry left the house almost stupefied by the storm of anger his vanity and
- his pride in his father’s probable honor, had caused him. But when he
- reached his room in The Yorkshire Club and had closed the door on all
- outside influences, a clear revelation came to him, and he audibly
- expressed it as he walked angrily about the floor:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hate that pompous old squire! He never really liked me—thought I
- was not good enough for his daughter—and I’ll be glad if he hes to
- sit a bit lower—and I’m right glad father is going a bit higher.
- Father is full fit for it. So he is! but oh, Katherine! Oh, Kitty! Kitty!
- What shall I do without you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime, Dick had decided that he would say nothing about the
- squire’s probable rival for the new borough, until the speech to be made
- that evening had been delivered. It might cause him to say something
- premature and unadvised. When he came to this conclusion he was suddenly
- aware that he had left his lunch almost untouched on his sister’s table,
- and that he was naturally hungry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No wonder I feel out of sorts!” he thought. “I will go to The Yorkshire
- and have a decent lunch. Kitty might have known better than offer me
- anything out of a patty-pan. I’ll go and get some proper eating and then
- I’ll maybe have some sensible thinking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He put this purpose into action at once by going to The Yorkshire Club and
- ordering a beefsteak with fresh shalots, a glass of port wine, and bread
- and cheese, and having eaten a satisfying meal, he went to his room and
- wrote a long letter to Faith, illustrating it with his own suspicions and
- reflections. This letter he felt to be a very clever move. He told himself
- that Faith would relate the story to her father and that Mr. Foster would
- say and do the proper thing much more wisely and effectively than anyone
- else could.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not know the exact hour at which his father was to meet some of the
- weavers and workers of Annis locality, but he thought if he reached the
- rendezvous about nine o’clock he would be in time to hear any discussion
- there might be, and walk to the Clarendon with his father after it. This
- surmise proved correct, for as he reached the designated place, he saw the
- crowd, and heard his father speaking to it. Another voice appeared to be
- interrupting him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick listened a moment, and then ejaculated, “Yes! Yes! That is father
- sure enough! He is bound to have a threep with somebody.” Then he walked
- quicker, and soon came in sight of the crowd of men surrounding the
- speaker, who stood well above them, on the highest step of a granite
- stairway leading into a large building.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now Dick knew well that his father was a very handsome man, but he thought
- he had never before noticed it so clearly, for at this hour Antony Annis
- was something more than a handsome man—he was an inspired orator.
- His large, beautiful countenance was beaming and glowing with life and
- intellect; but it was also firm as steel, for he had a clear purpose
- before him, and he looked like a drawn sword. The faces of the crowd were
- lifted to him—roughly-sketched, powerful faces, with well-lifted
- foreheads, and thick brown hair, crowned in nearly every case with labor’s
- square, uncompromising, upright paper cap.
- </p>
- <p>
- The squire had turned a little to the right, and was addressing an Annis
- weaver called Jonas Shuttleworth. “Jonas Shuttleworth!” he cried, “does
- tha know what thou art saying? How dare tha talk in this nineteenth
- century of Englishmen fighting Englishmen? They can only do that thing at
- the instigation of the devil. <i>Why-a!</i> thou might as well talk of
- fighting thy father and mother! As for going back to old ways, and old
- times, none of us can do it, and if we could do it, we should be far from
- suited with the result. You hev all of you now seen the power loom at
- work; would you really like the old cumbrous hand-loom in your homes
- again? You know well you wouldn’t stand it. A time is close at hand when
- we shall all of us hev to cut loose from our base. I know that. I shall
- hev to do it. You will hev to do it. Ivery man that hes any <i>forthput</i>
- in him will hev to do it. Those who won’t do it must be left behind,
- sticking in the mud made by the general stir up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would be hard lines, squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if you all take it like ‘Mr. Content’ at your new loom. For I tell
- you the even down truth, when I say—You, and your ways, and your
- likings, will all hev to be <i>born over again!</i> Most of you here are
- Methodists and you know what that means. The things you like best you’ll
- hev to give them up and learn to be glad and to fashion yoursens to ways
- and works, which just now you put under your feet and out of your
- consideration.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your straight meaning, squire? We want to understand thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well and good! I mean this—You hev allays been ‘slow and sure’; in
- the new times just here, you’ll hev to be ‘up and doing,’ for you will
- find it a big hurry-push to keep step with your new work-fellows, steam
- and machinery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is more than a man can do, squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it is not! A man can do anything he thinks it worth his while to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The <i>London Times</i>, sir, said yesterday that it would take all of
- another generation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will do nothing of the kind, Sam Yates. What-iver has thou to do with
- the newspapers? Newspapers! Don’t thee mind them! Their advice is meant to
- be read, not taken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Labor, squire, hes its rights——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, labor also hes its duties. It isn’t much we hear about the
- latter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rights and duties, squire. The Reform Bill happens to be both. When is
- The Bill to be settled?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing is settled, Sam, until it is settled right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord Brougham, in a speech at Manchester, told us he would see it settled
- this session.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord Brougham thinks in impossibilities. He would make a contract with
- Parliament to govern England, or even Ireland. Let me tell thee all
- government is a thing of necessity, not of choice. England will not for
- any Bill dig under her foundations. Like Time, she destroys even great
- wrongs slowly. Her improvements hev to grow and sometimes they take a good
- while about it. You hev been crying for this Bill for forty years, you
- were not ready for it then. Few of you at that time hed any education.
- Now, many of your men can read and a lesser number write. Such men as
- Grey, Russell, Brougham and others hev led and taught you, and there’s no
- denying that you hev been varry apt scholars. Take your improvements
- easily, Sam. You won’t make any real progress by going over precipices.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir, we at least hev truth on our side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Truth can only be on one side, Sam, I’m well pleased if you hev it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, squire, but I can tell you this—if Parliament doesn’t
- help us varry soon now we will help oursens.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what you ought to be doing right now. Get agate, men! Go to your
- new loom, and make yersens masters of it. I will promise you in that case,
- that your new life will be, on the whole, better than the old one. As for
- going back to the old life, you can’t do it. Not for your immortal souls!
- Time never runs back to fetch any age of gold; and as for making a living
- in the old way and with the old hand loom, you may as well sow corn in the
- sea, and hope to reap it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Squire, I want to get out of a country where its rulers can stop minding
- its desperate poverty, and can forget that it is on the edge of rebellion,
- and in the grip of some death they call cholera, and go home for their
- Easter holiday, quite satisfied with themsens. We want another Oliver
- Cromwell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, we don’t either. The world won’t be ready for another Cromwell, not
- for a thousand years maybe. Such men are only born at the rate of one in a
- millennium.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s a millennium, squire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A thousand years, lad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There wer’ men of the right kind in Cromwell’s day to stand by him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our fathers were neither better nor worse than oursens, Sam, just about
- thy measure, and my measure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t know, sir. They fought King and Parliament, and got all they
- wanted. Then they went over seas and founded a big republic, and all hes
- gone well with them—and we could do the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, you hev been doing something like the same thing iver since
- Cromwell lived. Your people are busy at the same trade now. The English
- army is made up of working men. They are usually thrown in ivery part of
- the world, taking a sea port, or a state, or a few fertile islands that
- are lying loose and uncivilized in the southern seas. They do this for the
- glory and profit of England and in such ways they hev made pagans live
- like Christians, and taught people to obey the just laws of England, that
- hed niver before obeyed a decent law of any kind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They don’t get for their work what Cromwell’s men got.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They don’t deserve it. Your mark can’t touch Cromwell’s mark; it was far
- above your reach. Your object is mainly a selfish one. You want more
- money, more power, and you want to do less work than you iver did.
- Cromwell’s men wanted one thing first and chiefly—the liberty to
- worship God according to their conscience. They got what they wanted for
- their day and generation, and before they settled in America, they made a
- broad path ready for John Wesley. Yes, indeed, Oliver Cromwell made John
- Wesley possible. Now, when you go to the wonderful new loom that hes been
- invented for you, and work it cheerfully, you’ll get your Bill, and all
- other things reasonable that you want.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Parliament men are so everlastingly slow, squire,” said an old man
- sitting almost at the squire’s feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is God’s truth, friend. They <i>are</i> slow. It is the English way.
- You are slow yoursens. So be patient and keep busy learning your trade in
- a newer and cleverer way. I am going to bide in London till Parliament
- says, <i>Yes or No</i>. Afterwards I’ll go back to Annis, and learn a new
- life.” Then some man on the edge of the crowd put up his hand, and the
- squire asked:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whose cap is speaking now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Israel Kinsman’s, sir. Thou knaws me, squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I do. What does tha want to say? And when did tha get home
- from America?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A matter of a year ago. I hev left the army and gone back to my loom. Now
- I want to ask thee, if thou are against men when they are oppressed
- fighting for their rights and their freedom?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I! Men, even under divine guidance, hev taken that sharp road many
- times. The God who made iron knew men would make swords of it—just
- as He also knew they would make plowshares. Making war is sometimes the
- only way to make peace. If the cause is a just one the Lord calls himself
- the God of battles. He knows, and we know, that
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Peace is no peace, if it lets the ill grow stronger,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Only cheating destiny a very little longer;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- War with its agonies, its horrors, and its crimes,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Is cheaper if discounted, and taken up betimes.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Foolish, indeed, are many other teachers;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Cannons are God’s preachers, when the time is ripe for
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- war.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, men, there is no use in discussing a situation not likely to trouble
- England in this nineteenth century. I believe the world is growing better
- constantly, and that eventually all men will do, or cause to be done,
- whatever is square, straight and upright, as the caps on your heads. I
- believe it, because the good men will soon be so immensely in excess that
- bad men will <i>hev</i> to do right, and until that day comes, we will go
- on fighting for freedom in ivery good shape it can come; knowing surely
- and certainly, that
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Freedom’s battle once begun,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Though baffled oft, is always won.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a truth, men, you may all of you cap to,” and as the squire
- lifted his riding cap high above his head, more than two hundred paper
- caps followed it, accompanied by a long, joyful shout for the good time
- promised, and certainly coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, men,” said the squire, “let us see what ‘cap money’ we can collect
- for those who are poor and helpless. Israel Naylor and John Moorby will
- collect it. It will go for the spreading of the children’s table in Leeds
- and Israel will see it gets safely there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll hev thy cap, squire,” said Israel. “The man who proposes a cap
- collection salts his awn cap with his awn money first.” And the squire
- laughed good-humoredly, lifted his cap, and in their sight dropped five
- gold sovereigns into it. Then Dick offered his hat to his father, saying
- he had his opera hat in his pocket and the two happy men went away
- together, just as some musical genius had fitted Byron’s three lines to a
- Methodist long-metre, so they were followed by little groups straying off
- in different directions, and all singing,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “For Freedom’s battle once begun,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Though baffled oft, is always won!
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Is always won! Is always won!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick did not enter the Clarendon with his father. He knew that he might be
- a little superfluous. The squire had a certain childlike egotism which
- delighted in praising himself, and in telling his own story; and Annie was
- audience sufficient. If she approved, there was no more to be desired, the
- third person was often in the way. In addition to this wish to give the
- squire the full measure of his success, Dick was longing passionately to
- be with his love and his hopes. The squire would not speak of Faith, and
- Dick wanted to talk about her. Her name beat upon his lips, and oh, how he
- longed to see her! To draw her to his side, to touch her hair, her eyes,
- her lips! He told himself that the promise of silence until the Bill was
- passed, or thrown out was a great wrong, that he never ought to have made
- it, that his father never ought to have asked for it. He wondered how he
- was to get the time over; the gayeties of London had disappeared, the
- Leylands thought it prudent to live quietly, his mother and Katherine were
- tired of the city, and longed to be at home; and Harry, whose sympathy he
- had always relied on, was somewhere in Norfolk, and had not even taken the
- trouble to write and tell him the reason for his visit, to such a tame,
- bucolic county.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet with the hope of frequent letters, and his own cheerful optimistic
- temper, he managed to reach the thirtieth of May. On that morning he took
- breakfast with his parents, and the squire said in a positive voice that
- he was “sure the Bill would pass the House of Lords before May became
- June; and if you remember the events since the seventh of April, Dick, you
- will also be sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I do not remember much about public affairs during that time, father.
- I was in Annis, and here and there, and in every place it was confusion
- and anger and threats. I really do not remember them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then thou ought to, and thou may as well sit still, and let me tell thee
- some things thou should niver forget.” But as the squire’s method was
- discursive, and often interrupted by questions and asides from Mistress
- Annis and Dick, facts so necessary may be told without such delay, and
- also they will be more easily remembered by the reader.
- </p>
- <p>
- Keeping in mind then that Parliament adjourned at seven o’clock in the
- morning, on April fourteenth until the seventh of May, it is first to be
- noted that during this three weeks’ vacation there was an incessant
- agitation, far more formidable than fire, rioting, and the destruction of
- property. Petitions from every populous place to King William entreated
- him to create a sufficient number of peers to pass the Bill <i>in spite of
- the old peers</i>. The Press, nearly a unit, urged as the most vital and
- necessary thing the immediate passage of the Bill, predicting a United
- Rebellion of England, Scotland and Ireland, if longer delayed. On the
- seventh of May, the day Parliament reassembled, there was the largest
- public meeting that had ever been held in Great Britain, and with heads
- uncovered, and faces lifted to heaven, the crowd took the following oath:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>With unbroken faith through every peril and privation, we here devote
- ourselves and our children to our country’s cause!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- This great public meeting included all the large political unions, and its
- solemn enthusiasm was remarkable for the same fervor and zeal of the old
- Puritan councils. Its solemn oath was taken while Parliament was
- reassembling in its two Houses. On that afternoon the House of Lords took
- up first the disfranchising of the boroughs, and a week of such intense
- excitement followed, as England had not seen since the Revolution of 1688.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the eighth of May, Parliament asked the King to sanction a large
- creation of new peers. The king angrily refused his assent. The ministers
- then tendered their resignation. It was accepted. On the evening of the
- ninth, their resignation was announced to the Lords and Commons. On the
- eleventh Lord Ebrington moved that “the House should express to the King
- their deep distress at a change of ministers, and entreat him only to call
- to his councils such persons as would carry through <i>The Bill</i> with
- all its demands unchanged and unimpaired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This motion was carried, and then for one week the nation was left to its
- conjectures, to its fears, and to its anger at the attitude of the
- government. Indeed for this period England was without a government. The
- Cabinet had resigned, leaving not a single officer who would join the
- cabinet which the king had asked the Duke of Wellington to form. In every
- city and town there were great meetings that sent petitions to the House
- of Commons, praying that it would grant no supplies of any kind to the
- government until the Bill was passed without change or mutilation. A
- petition was signed in Manchester by twenty-three thousand persons in
- three hours, and the deputy who brought it informed the Commons that the
- whole north of England was in a state of indignation impossible to
- describe. Asked if the people would fight, he answered, “They will first
- of all demand that Parliament stop all government supplies—the tax
- gatherer will not be able to collect a penny. All civil tribunals will be
- defied, public credit shaken, property insecure, the whole frame of
- society will hasten to dissolution, and great numbers of our wealthiest
- families will transfer their homes to America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lord Wellington utterly failed in all his attempts to form a ministry, Sir
- Robert Peel refused to make an effort to do so, and on the fifteenth of
- May it was announced in both Houses, that “the ministers had resumed their
- communication with his majesty.” On the eighteenth Lord Grey said in the
- House of Lords that “he expected to carry the Reform Bill unimpaired and
- immediately.” Yet on the day before this statement, Brougham and Grey had
- an interview with the King, in which his majesty exhibited both rudeness
- and ill-temper. He kept the two peers standing during the whole interview,
- a discourtesy contrary to usage. Both Grey and Brougham told the King that
- they would not return to office unless he promised to create the necessary
- number of peers to insure the passage of the Reform Bill just as it stood;
- and the King consented so reluctantly that Brougham asked for his
- permission in writing.
- </p>
- <p>
- The discussion of these facts occupied the whole morning and after an
- early lunch the squire prepared to go to The House; then Dick noticed that
- even after he was hatted and coated for his visit, he kept delaying about
- very trivial things. So he resolved to carry out his part of their secret
- arrangement, and remove himself from all temptation to tell his mother he
- was going to marry Faith Foster. His father understood the lad so like
- himself, and Dick knew what his father feared. So he bid his mother
- good-by, and accompanied his father to the street. There the latter said
- plainly, “Thou did wisely, Dick. If I hed left thee alone with thy mother,
- thou would hev told her all that thou knew, and thought, and believed, and
- hoped, and expected from Faith. Thou couldn’t hev helped it—and I
- wouldn’t hev blamed thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X—THE GREAT BILL PASSES
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>“In relation to what is to be, all Work is sacred because it is the
- work given us to do.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Their cause had been won, but the victory brought with it a new
- situation and a new struggle.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Take heed to your work, your name is graven on it.”</i>
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>LTHOUGH Dick
- pretended an utter disbelief in Grey’s prophecy, it really came true; and
- the Reform Bill passed the House of Lords on the last day of May. Then the
- Annis family were in haste to return home. The feeling of being on a
- pleasure visit was all past and gone, and the bare certainties and
- perplexities of life confronted them. For the first time in all his days,
- the squire felt anxious about money matters, and actually realized that he
- was going to be scrimped in coin for his household expenses. This fact
- shocked him, he could hardly believe it. Annie, however, knew nothing of
- this dilemma and when her husband spoke of an immediate return home, said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad we are going home. To-morrow, I will see my dressmaker and
- finish my shopping;” and the squire looked at her with such anxious eyes
- that she immediately added—“unless, Antony, thou would like me to
- pack my trunks at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would like that, Annie. It would help me above a bit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. Kitty is ready to start at any hour. She wants to go home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is the matter with Kitty? She isn’t like hersen lately? Is she
- sick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think there is a little falling out between Harry and her. That is
- common enough in all love affairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here a servant entered with a letter and gave it to the squire. He looked
- at it a moment and then said to his wife—“It is from Josepha. She
- wants to see me varry particular, and hopes I will come to her at once.
- She thinks I had better drop in for dinner and says she will wait for me
- until half-past five.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is just like her unreasonableness. If she knows the Bill is passed,
- she must know also that we are packing, and as busy as we can be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps she does not know that the great event has happened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is nonsense. Half a dozen people would send her word, or run with
- the news themselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Annie, she is my only sister, and she is varry like my mother. I
- must give her an hour. I could not be happy if I did not;” and there was
- something in the tone of his voice which Annie knew she need not try to
- alter. So she wisely acquiesced in his resolve, pitying him the while for
- having the claims of three women to satisfy. But the squire went
- cheerfully enough to his sister. The claims of kindred were near and dear
- to him and a very sincere affection existed between him and his sister
- Jo-sepha. She was waiting for him. She was resolved to have a talk with
- him about the Bradleys, and she had a proposal to make, a proposal on
- which she had set her heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- So she met him at the open door, and said—with a tight clasp of his
- big hand—“I am right glad to see thee, brother. Come in here,” and
- she led him to a small parlor used exclusively by herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot stop to dinner, Josey,” he said kindly, but he kept her hand in
- his hand, until he reached the chair his sister pointed out. Then she sat
- down beside him and said, “Antony, my dear brother, thou must answer me a
- few questions. If thou went home and left me in doubt, I should be a varry
- unhappy woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whativer art thou bothering thysen about?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About thee. I’ll speak out plain and thou must answer me in the same
- fashion. What is tha going to do about thy living? Thou hes no business
- left, and I know well thou hes spent lavishly iver since thou came here
- with thy wife and daughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I hev. And they are varry welcome to ivery penny of the
- outlay. And I must say, Josey, thou has been more extravagant about both
- Annie and Kitty than I hev been.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well then Kitty is such a darling—thou knows.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, she is that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Annie is more tolerant with me than she iver was before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. Iveryone gets more kindly as he grows older. And she knaws
- thee better, which is a great deal. Annie is good from the beginning to
- the end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nobody will say different, but that is not what I am wanting to talk to
- thee about. Listen to me now, my dear lad! What art thou going to do? I am
- in earnest anxiety. Tell me, my brother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The squire was silent and looked steadily down on the table for a few
- minutes. Josepha did not by the slightest movement interfere but her
- steady, kindly gaze was fixed upon the silent man. Perhaps he felt, though
- he did not see, the love that shone upon him, for he lifted his face with
- a broad smile, and answered—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear lass, I don’t know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn’t wonder. Now speak straight words to me as plain as thou spoke
- to the Annis weavers last week.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear sister, I shall do right, and let come what will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what does tha call doing right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think of two ways and both seem right to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are they? Perhaps I can help thee to decide that one is better than
- the other. Dear lad, I want to help thee to do the best thing possible for
- thysen, and thy children.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no resisting the persuasion in her face, voice and manner, and
- the squire could not resist its influence. “Josey,” he said, as he covered
- her small plump hand with his own in a very masterful way—“Josey!
- Josey! I am in the thick of a big fight with mysen. I did really promise a
- crowd of Annis weavers that if the Reform Bill passed I would build a mill
- and give them all work, and that would let them come home again. Tha sees,
- they all own, or partly own, their cottages, and if I can’t find them
- work, they will hev to give up their homes mebbe, to a varry great
- disadvantage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be plain with thee, thou could in such a case, buy them all back for a
- song.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does tha really think thou hes an up and down blackguard for thy brother?
- I’m not thinking of buying poor men’s houses for a song—nor yet of
- buying them at any price.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A perfectly fair price, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. There could not be a fair price under such conditions. The poor would
- be bound to get the worst of the bargain, unless I ruined mysen to be
- square and just. I doan’t want to sit in hell, trying to count up what I
- hed made by buying poor men’s homes at a bargain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hes tha any plan that will help thee to build a mill and give thy old
- weavers a chance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The government will loan to old employers money to help them build a
- mill, and so give work and bread.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The government is not lending money, except with some excellent
- security.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Land, I have plenty. I could spare some land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Thou could not spare the government one acre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I cannot build a mill and furnish it with looms and all necessary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, thou can easily do it—if thou wilt take a partner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does tha know anyone suitable?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do I know the person?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Varry well. It is mysen. It is Josepha Temple.” The squire fairly
- started. He looked straight into Josepha’s eyes and she continued, “Take
- me for thy partner, Antony. I will build thee the biggest, and most
- completely finished mill in the West Riding—or anywhere else—cotton
- or wool—whichiver thou likes. Bradley’s is mainly cotton, thou hed
- better stick to wool. Thou hes two hundred sheep of thy awn, on thy awn
- fells, and wold. Stick to the wool, dear lad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Art thou in very earnest, Josepha?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure as life and death! I am in earnest. Say the word, and I’ll build,
- and fit the mill, just as tha wants it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And thy share in it will be——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will divide equally—half and half. I want to buy a partnership
- with my money. ‘<i>Annis and Temple</i>’ will suit me well. I will find
- all the wherewithal required—money for building, looms, engines,
- wool or cotton yarns, just as thou wishes. Thou must give the land, and
- the varry best bit of land for the purpose, that thou hes on thy estate in
- Annis, or elsewhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dost tha knaw how much money tha will hev to spend for what thou
- proposes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think I do and it will every farthing of it be Annis money. I
- hev speculated, and dealt wisely with the money the good Admiral left me.
- I hev made, made mysen, more money than we shall require for the mill and
- all its necessary furniture, and if it was not enough, I could double it
- and not feel a pound poorer. The outlay is mine, all of it; the land, and
- the management is thy affair. It is only by my name, which is well known
- among monied men, that I shall appear in the business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Josepha! Thou art my good angel!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am thy sister. We are both Annis folk. We were both rooted in the soil
- of this bit of England. We had the same good father and mother, the same
- church, and the same dear old home. God forbid we should iver forget that!
- No, we can not! These memories run with our blood, and throb in our
- hearts. All that is mine is thine. Thou art dear to me as my awn life. Thy
- son and daughter are my son and daughter. My money is thy money, to its
- last penny. Now, wilt thou hev me for thy partner?” The squire had buried
- his face in his hands, and Josepha knew he was hiding his feelings from
- everyone but God, and she stepped to the window and drew up the shade, and
- let the sunshine flood the room. As she did so, the squire called to
- himself—“Be of good courage, Antony!” And he rose quickly, and so
- met his sister coming back to her chair, and took her in his arms, and
- kissed her and said: “Josey, dear, there was a load on my heart I was
- hardly able to bear; thou hes lifted it, and I love and thank thee! We
- will work together, and we will show Yorkshire that landed gentlefolk can
- do a bit of business, above all their ideas, and above all thou can
- imagine it pleases me, that I may then redeem my promises to the men that
- hev worked so long, and so faithfully for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then it was Josepha that had to dry her eyes as she said: “Thy kiss,
- Antony, was worth all I hev promised. It was the signing of our contract.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I felt, Josey, when I entered this house, that my life had come to an
- end, and that I could only write ‘defeated’ over it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thy real life begins at this hour. Thy really fine business faculties,
- corroded with rust and dust of inaction, will yet shine like new silver.
- There is no defeat, except from within. And the glad way in which thou can
- look forward, and take up a life so different to that thou hes known for
- more than fifty years, shows plainly that you can, and will, redeem every
- fault of the old life. As thou art so busy and bothered to-night, come
- to-morrow and I will hev my lawyer, and banker, also a first rate factory
- architect, here to meet thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At what hour?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “From ten o’clock to half-past twelve are my business hours. If that time
- is too short, we will lengthen it a bit. Dick has asked me to tell thee
- something thou ought to know, but which he cannot talk to thee about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it about Faith Foster?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not it! Varry different.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, or who, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “John Thomas Bradley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then don’t thee say a word about the man. Thy words hev been so good, so
- wonderfully good, that I will not hev meaner ones mixed up with them. They
- may come to-morrow after law and money talk, but not after thy loving,
- heartening promises. No! No!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, go home and tell Annie, and let that weary Reform Bill
- business drop out of thy mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Reform was a great need. It was a good thing to see it come, and Grey and
- Brougham hev proved themsens to be great men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t deny it, and it is allays so ordered, that in all times, great
- men can do great things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a light heart and a quick step the squire hurried back to the
- Clarendon. He had been given to drink of the elixir of life, the joy of
- work, the pleasure of doing great good to many others, the feeling that he
- was going to redeem his lost years. He had not walked with such a light
- purposeful step for twenty years, and Annie was amazed when she heard it.
- She was still more amazed when she heard him greet some acquaintance whom
- he met in the corridor. Now Annie had resolved to be rather cool and
- silent with her husband. He had overstayed his own time nearly two hours,
- and she thought he ought to be made to feel the enormity of such a
- delinquency; especially, when he was hurrying their departure, though she
- had yet a great many little things to attend to.
- </p>
- <p>
- She quickly changed her intentions. She only needed one glance at her
- husband to make her rise to her feet, and go to meet him with a face full
- of wonder. “Why! Antony! Antony, whativer hes come to thee? Thou looks—thou
- looks——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How, Annie? How do I look?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why! Like thou looked—on thy wedding day! Whativer is it, dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Annie! Annie! I feel varry like I did that day. Oh, Annie, I hev got my
- life given back to me! I am going to begin it again from this varry hour!
- I am going to work, to be a big man of business, Annie. I’m going to build
- a factory for a thousand power looms. Oh, my wife! My wife! I’m so proud,
- so happy, I seem to hev been dead and just come back to life again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so glad for thee, dear. Who, or what, hes brought thee this
- wonderful good?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sit thee down beside me, and let me hold thy hand, or I’ll mebbe think I
- am dreaming. Am I awake? Am I in my right mind? Or is it all a dream,
- Annie? Tell me the truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell thy wife what hes happened, then I can tell thee the truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Why-a!</i> thy husband, the squire of Annis, is going to build the
- biggest and handsomest factory in the whole West Riding—going to
- fill it with steam power looms—going to manufacture woolen goods for
- the whole of England—if England will hev the sense to buy them; for
- they will be well made, and of tip-top quality. Annis village is going to
- be a big spinning and weaving town! O Annie! Annie! I see the vision. I
- saw it as I came through Piccadilly. The little village seemed to be in
- midair, and as I looked, it changed, and I saw it full of big buildings,
- and high chimneys, and hurrying men and women, and I knew that I was
- looking at what, please God, I shall live to see in reality. Annie, I hev
- begun to live this varry day. I have been in a sweet, sweet sleep for more
- than fifty years, but I hev been awakened, and now I am going to work for
- the new Annis, and redeem all the years I hev loitered away through the
- old.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad for thee, Antony. Glad for thee! How is tha going to manage it?
- I am sorry Kitty and I hev made thee spend so much good gold on our
- foolishness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay, I am glad you both hed all you wanted. This morning I was
- feeling down in the depths. I hedn’t but just money enough to take us
- home, and I was wondering how iver I was to make buckle and belt meet.
- Then tha knows I got a letter from Jo-sepha, and I went to see her, and
- she told me she was going to build the biggest factory in the West Riding.
- She told me that she hed <i>made</i> money enough to do this: that it was
- Annis money, ivery farthing of it, and it was coming to Annis, and Annis
- only. Then she told me what her big plans were, bigger than I could fairly
- swallow at first, and oh, dear lass, she asked me to be her partner. I hev
- to give the land and my time. She does all the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thy sister hes a great heart. I found that out this winter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, and she found out that thou were a deal sweeter than she thought
- before, and she opened her heart to thee, and Dick, and Kitty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will she live in Annis?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not she! No one could get her away from London, and the house her Admiral
- built for her. She will come down to our regular meeting once a quarter.
- She won’t bother thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, indeed, she won’t! After this wonderful kindness to thee, she can’t
- bother me. She is welcome to iverything that is mine, even to my warmest
- and truest love. The best room at Annis Hall is hers, and we will both
- love and honor her all the days of our lives.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, then, I am quite happy, as happy as God and His gift can make a man;
- and if I was a Methodist, I would go to their chapel at once and tell them
- all what a good and great thing God hed done for them, as well as mysen.
- Thou sees they were thought of, no doubt, when I was thought of, for God
- knew I’d do right by His poor men and women and little childer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope, though, thou wilt stand by thy awn church. It hes stood by thee,
- and all thy family for centuries. I wouldn’t like thee to desert the
- mother church of England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Howiver can thou speak to me in such a half-and-half way. My prayer book
- is next to my Bible. <i>Why-a!</i> it is my soul’s mother. I hev my
- collect for ivery day, and I say it. On the mornings I went hunting,
- sometimes I was a bit hurried, but as I stood in my bare feet, I allays
- said it, and I allays did my best to mean ivery word I said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, my love—but thou hes lately seemed to hev a sneaking
- respect for Mr. Foster, and Jonathan Hartley, and Methodists in general.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that is true. I hev a varry great respect for them. They do their
- duty, and in the main they trusted in God through these past black years,
- and behaved themsens like men. But I should as soon think of deserting
- thee as of deserting my Mother Church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe thee, yet we do hev varry poor sermons, and in that way Mr.
- Foster is a great temptation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I niver minded the sermon. I hed the blessed Book of Common Prayer. And
- if the church is my soul’s mother, then the Book of Common Prayer is
- mother’s milk; that it is, and I wonder that thou hes niver noticed how
- faithfully I manage to say my collect. My mother taught me to say one
- ivery morning. I promised her I would. I am a man of my word, Annie, even
- to the living, and I would be feared to break a promise to the dead. I
- can’t think of anything much worse a man could do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear one! This day God hes chosen thee to take care of his poor. We
- must get back to Annis as quickly as possible, and give them this hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So we must, but I hev a meeting to-morrow at ten o’clock with Josepha’s
- banker, business adviser, her lawyer, and her architect. I may be most of
- the day with his crowd. This is Monday, could tha be ready to start home
- on Thursday, by early mail coach?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Easily.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will do. Now then, Annie, I hed a varry good dinner, but I want a
- cup of tea—I am all a quiver yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Later in the evening Dick came in, and joined them at the supper table. He
- looked at his father and mother and wondered. He saw and felt that
- something good had happened, and in a few minutes the squire told him all.
- His enthusiasm set the conversation to a still happier tone, though Dick
- was for a moment dashed and silenced by his father’s reply to his question
- as to what he was to look after in this new arrangement of their lives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Dick,” answered the squire, “thy aunt did not name thee, and when I
- did, she said: ‘We’ll find something for Dick when the time is fitting.’
- She said also that my time would be so taken up with watching the builders
- at work, that Dick would hev to look after his mother and the household
- affairs, till they got used to being alone all day long. Tha sees, Dick,
- we hev spoiled our women folk, and we can’t stop waiting on them, all at
- once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick took the position assigned him very pleasantly, and then remarked
- that Kitty ought to have been informed. “The dear one,” he continued, “hes
- been worried above a bit about the money we were all spending. She said
- her father looked as if he had a heartache, below all his smiles.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Dick thought of the political climax that Harry had spoken of, and
- asked himself if he should now speak of it. No, he could not. He could not
- do it at this happy hour. Nothing could be hindered, or helped, by the
- introduction of this painful subject, and he told himself that he would
- not be the person to fling a shadow over such a happy and hopeful
- transition in the squire’s life. For Dick also was happy in a change which
- would bring him so much nearer to his beautiful and beloved Faith.
- </p>
- <p>
- Indeed it was a very charming return home. The squire seemed to have
- regained his youth. He felt as if indeed such a marvelous change had
- actually taken place, nor was there much marvel in it. His life had been
- almost quiescent. He had been lulled by the long rust of his actually fine
- business talents. Quite frequently he had had a few days of restlessness
- when some fine railway offer presented itself, but any offer would have
- implied a curtailment, which would not result in bettering his weavers’
- condition, and he hesitated until the opportunity was gone. For
- opportunities do not wait, they are always on the wing. Their offer is
- “take or leave me,” and so it is only the alert who bid quick enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a pleasant, though fatiguing drive, they reached Annis village.
- Their carriage was waiting at the coach office for them, and everyone
- lifted his cap with a joyful air as they appeared. The squire was glad to
- see that the caps were nearly all paper caps. It was likely then that many
- of his old weavers were waiting on what he had promised in his speech to
- them. And it filled his heart with joy that he could now keep that
- promise, on a large and generous scale. He saw among the little crowd
- watching the coach, Israel Naylor, and he called him in a loud, cheerful
- voice, that was in itself a promise of good, and said: “Israel, run and
- tell Jonathan Hartley to come up to the Hall, and see me as soon as iver
- he can and thou come with him, if tha likes to, I hev nothing but good
- news for the men. Tell them that. And tell thysen the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In an hour the squire and his family and his trunks and valises and carpet
- bags were all at home again. Weary they certainly were, but oh, so happy,
- and Dick perhaps happiest of all, for he had seen Mr. Foster at his door,
- and as he drove past him, had lifted his hat; and in that silent, smiling
- movement, sent a message that he knew would make Faith as happy as
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- I need not tell any woman how happy Mistress Annis and her daughter were
- to be home again. London was now far from their thoughts. It was the new
- Annis that concerned them—the great, busy town they were to build up
- for the future. Like the squire, they all showed new and extraordinary
- energy and spirit, and as for the squire he could hardly wait with
- patience for the arrival of Jonathan Hartley and Israel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Actually more than twenty of the old weavers came with Jonathan, and Annie
- found herself a little bothered to get sittings for them, until the squire
- bethought him of the ballroom. Thither he led the way with his final cup
- of tea still in his hand, as in loud cheerful words he bid them be seated.
- Annie had caused the chairs to be placed so as to form a half circle and
- the squire’s own chair was placed centrally within it. And as he took it
- every man lifted his paper cap above his head, and gave him a hearty
- cheer, and no man in England was happier at that moment than Antony Annis,
- Squire of Annis and Deeping Hollow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My friends!” he cried, with all the enthusiasm of a man who has
- recaptured his youth. “I am going to build the biggest and handsomest
- factory in Yorkshire—or in any other place. I am going to fill it
- with the best power looms that can be bought—a thousand of them. I
- am going to begin it to-morrow morning. To-night, right here and now, I am
- going to ask Jonathan to be my adviser and helper and general overseer.
- For this work I am offering him now, one hundred and fifty pounds the
- first year, or while the building is in progress. When we get to actual
- weaving two hundred pounds a year, with increase as the work and
- responsibility increases. Now, Jonathan, if this offer suits thee, I shall
- want thee at eight o’clock in the morning. Wilt tha be ready, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jonathan was almost too amazed to speak, but in a moment or two he almost
- shouted—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou fairly caps me, squire. Whativer can I say to thee? I am dumbfounded
- with joy! God bless thee, squire!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad to be His messenger of comfort to you all. These are the plans
- for all who choose to take them, my old men having the preference wheriver
- it can be given. To-morrow, Jonathan and I will go over my land lying
- round Annis village within three miles, and we will pick the finest six
- acres there is in that area for the mill. We will begin digging for the
- foundation Monday morning, if only with the few men we can get round our
- awn village. Jonathan will go to all the places near by, to get others,
- and there will be hundreds of men coming from London and elsewhere,
- builders, mechanics, and such like. The architect is hiring them, and will
- come here with them. Men, these fresh mouths will all be to fill, and I
- think you, that awn your awn cottages, can get your wives to cook and wash
- for them, and so do their part, until we get a place put up for the main
- lot to eat and sleep in. Jonathan will help to arrange that business; and
- you may tell your women, Antony Annis will be surety for what-iver is just
- money for their work. Bit by bit, we will soon get all into good working
- order, and I am promised a fine factory ready for work and business in one
- year. What do you think of that, men?” Then up went every paper cap with a
- happy shout, and the squire smiled and continued:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You need not fear about the brass for all I am going to do, being either
- short or scrimpit. My partner has money enough to build two mills, aye,
- and more than that. And my partner is Annis born, and loves this bit of
- Yorkshire, and is bound to see Annis village keep step with all the other
- manufacturing places in England; and when I tell you that my partner is
- well known to most of you, and that her name is Josepha Annis, you’ll hev
- no fear about the outcome.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! No! Squire,” said Jonathan, speaking for all. “We all know the
- Admiral’s widow. In one way or other we hev all felt her loving kindness;
- and we hev often heard about her heving no end of money, and they know thy
- word, added to her good heart, makes us all happy and satisfied. Squire,
- thou hes kept thy promise thou hes done far more than keep it. God must
- hev helped thee! Glory be to God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I hev kept my promise. I allays keep my promise to the poor
- man, just as fully as to the rich man. Tell your women that my partner and
- I are going to put in order all your cottages—we are going to put
- wells or running water in all of them, and re-roof and paint and whitewash
- and mend where mending is needed. And you men during your time of trouble,
- hev let your little gardens go to the bad. Get agate quickly, and make
- them up to mark. You knaw you can’t do rough work with your hands, you
- that reckon to weave fine broadcloth; but there will be work of some kind
- or other, and it will be all planned out, while the building goes on, as
- fast as men and money can make it go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Squire,” said Jonathan in a voice so alive with feeling, so strong and
- happy, that it might almost have been seen, as well as heard, “Squire,
- I’ll be here at eight in the morning, happy to answer thy wish and word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, lads, I hev said enough for to-night. Go and make your
- families and friends as happy as yoursens. I haven’t said all I wanted to
- say, but I shall be right here with you, and I will see that not one of my
- people suffer in any way. There is just another promise I make you for my
- partner. She is planning a school—a good day school for the
- children, and a hospital for the sick, and you’ll get them, sure enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Squire, we thank thee with all our hearts, and we will now go and ring t’
- chapel bell, and get the people together, and tell them all thou hes said
- would come to pass.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too late to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a bit too late. Even if we stop there till midnight, God loves the
- midnight prayer. Oh, Squire Annis, thou hes done big things for workingmen
- in London, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, I did! I wouldn’t come home till I saw the workingmen got their
- rights. And I shall see that my men get all, and more, than I hev promised
- them. My word is my bond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the men with hearty good-bys, which is really the abbreviation of “<i>God
- be with you!</i>” went quickly down the hill and in half-an-hour the
- chapel bells were ringing and the squire stood at his open door and
- listened with a glad heart to them. His wife and daughter watched him, and
- then smiled at each other. They hardly knew what to say, for he was the
- same man, and yet far beyond the same. His child-likeness, and his
- pleasant bits of egotism, were, as usual, quite evident; and Annie was
- delighted to see and hear the expressions of his simple self-appreciation,
- but in other respects he was not unlike one who had just attained unto his
- majority. To have had his breakfast and be ready for a day’s tramp at
- eight o’clock in the morning was a wonderful thing for Antony Annis to
- promise. Yet he faithfully kept it, and had been away more than an hour
- when his wife and daughter came down to breakfast.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick soon joined them, and he was not only in high spirits, but also
- dressed with great care and taste. His mother regarded him critically, and
- then became silent. She had almost instantly divined the reason of his
- careful dressing. She looked inquisitively at Katherine, who dropped her
- eyes and began a hurried and irrelative conversation about the most
- trifling of subjects. Dick looked from one to the other, and said with a
- shrug of his shoulders, “I see I have spoiled a private conversation. I
- beg pardon. I will be away in a few minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going so early, Dick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to Mr. Foster’s. I have a message to him from father, and I
- have a very important message to Faith Foster from myself.” He made the
- last remark with decision, drank off his coffee, and rose from the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick, listen to your mother. Do not be in a hurry about some trivial
- affair, at this most important period of your father’s—of all our
- lives. Nothing can be lost, everything is to be gained by a little
- self-denial on the part of all, who fear they are being neglected. Father
- has the right of way at this crisis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I acknowledge that as unselfishly as you do, mother. I intend to help
- father all I can. I could not, would not, do otherwise. Father wants to
- see Mr. Foster, and I want to see Miss Foster. Is there anything I can do
- for yourself or Kitty when I am in the village?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then good-by,” and with a rapid glance at his sister, Dick left the room.
- Neither mother nor sister answered his words. Mistress Annis took rapid
- spoonfuls of coffee; Katherine broke the shell of her egg with quite
- superfluous noise and rapidity. For a few moments there was silence, full
- of intense emotion, and Katherine felt no inclination to break it. She
- knew that Dick expected her at this very hour to make his way easy, and
- his intentions clear to his mother. She had promised to do so, and she did
- not see how she was to escape, or delay this action. However, she
- instantly resolved to allow her mother to open the subject, and stand as
- long as possible on the defensive.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mistress Annis made exactly the same resolve. Her lips quivered, her
- dropped eyes did not hide their trouble and she nervously began to prepare
- herself a fresh cup of coffee. Katherine glanced at her movements, and
- finally said, with an hysterical little laugh, “Dear mammy, you have
- already put four pieces of sugar in your cup,” and she laid her hand on
- her mother’s hand, and so compelled her to lift her eyes and answer, “Oh,
- Kitty! Kitty! don’t you see, dearie? Dick has gone through the wood to get
- a stick, and taken a crooked one at the last. You know what I mean. Oh,
- dear me! Dear me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You fear Dick is going to marry Faith Foster. Some months ago I told you
- he would do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not take into my consciousness such a calamity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you say ‘calamity’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A Methodist preacher’s daughter is far enough outside the pale of the
- landed aristocracy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is as good as her father and every landed gentleman, in or near this
- part of England, loves and respects, Mr. Foster. They ask his advice on
- public and local matters, and he by himself has settled disputes between
- masters and men in a way that satisfied both parties.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is quite a different thing. Politics puts men on a sort of equality,
- the rules of society keep women in the state in which it has pleased God
- to put them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless some man out of pure love lifts them up to his own rank by
- marriage. I don’t think any man could lift up Faith. I do not know a man
- that is able to stand equal to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your awn brother, I think, ought to be in your estimation far——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick is far below her in every way, and Dick knows it. I think, mother
- dear, it is a good sign for Dick’s future, to find him choosing for a wife
- a woman who will help him to become nobler and better every year of his
- life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hev brought up my son to a noble standard. Dick is now too good, or at
- least good enough, for any woman that iver lived. I don’t care who, or
- what she was, or is. I want no woman to improve Dick. Dick hes no fault
- but the one of liking women below him, and inferior to him, and unworthy
- of him:—women, indeed, that he will hev to educate in ivery way, up
- to his own standard. That fault comes his father’s way exactly—his
- father likes to feel free and easy with women, and he can’t do it with the
- women of his awn rank—for tha knaws well, the women of ivery station
- in life are a good bit above and beyond the men, and so——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear mammy, do you think?—oh, you know you cannot think, father
- married with that idea in his mind. You were his equal by birth, and yet I
- have never seen father give up a point, even to you, that he didn’t want
- to give up. I think father holds his awn side with everyone, and holds it
- well. And if man or woman said anything different, I would not envy them
- the words they would get from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, of course, I could only expect that you would stand by Dick in any
- infatuation he had; the way girls and young men spoil their lives, and
- ruin their prospects, by foolish, unfortunate marriage is a miracle that
- hes confounded their elders iver since their creation. Adam fell that way.
- Poor Adam!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, mammy dear, according to your belief, the woman in any class is
- always superior to the man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was no society, and no social class in that time, and you know
- varry well what came of Adam’s obedience to the woman. She must hev been
- weaker than her husband. Satan niver thought it worth his while to try his
- schemes with Adam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if Adam scolded and ill-treated Eve for her foolishness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He ought to have done so. He ought to hev scolded her well and hard, all
- her life long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, of course, John Tetley, who killed his wife with his persistent
- brutality, did quite right; for his excuse was that she coaxed him to buy
- railway shares that proved actual ruin to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I am tired of arguing with people who can only see one way. Your
- sister Jane, who is just like me, and who always took my advice, hes done
- well to hersen, and honored her awn kin, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, do you really think Jane’s marriage an honor to her family?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Leyland is a peer, and a member of The House of Lords, and considered a
- clever man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A peer of three generations, a member of a House in which he dare not
- open his mouth, for his cleverness is all quotation, not a line of it is
- the breed of his own brain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, he is not made after the image and likeness of Harry Bradley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, Harry is not our question now. I ask you to give Dick some good
- advice and sympathy. If he will listen to anyone, you are the person that
- can influence him. You must remember that Faith is very lovely, and beauty
- goes wherever it chooses, and does what it wants to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And both Dick and you must remember that you can’t choose a wife, or a
- husband, by his handsome looks. You might just as wisely choose your shoes
- by the same rule. Sooner or later, generally sooner, they would begin to
- pinch you. How long hev you known of this clandestine affair?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was not clandestine, mother. I told you Dick was really in love with
- Faith before we went to London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith! Such a Methodist name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith is not her baptismal name. She came to her father and mother as a
- blessing in a time of great trouble, and they called her <i>Consola</i>
- from the word Consolation. You may think of her as Consola. She will have
- to be married by that name. Her father wished for some private reason of
- his own to call her Faith. He never told her why.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The one name is as disagreeable as the other, and the whole subject is
- disagreeable; and, in plain truth, I don’t care to talk any more about
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I help you in anything this morning, mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I will go to my room, and put away all the lovely things you bought
- me in London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You had better do so. Your father is now possessed by one idea, and he
- will be wanting every pound to further it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think, too, mother, we have had our share.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you really nothing to tell me about Harry and yourself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not talk of Harry this morning, mother. I think you may hear
- something from father tonight, that will make you understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. That will be soon enough, if it is more trouble,” and though
- she spoke wearily, there was a tone of both pity and anxiety in her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Indeed, it was only the fact of the late busy days of travel and change,
- and the atmosphere of a great reconstruction of their whole life and
- household, that had prevented Mistress Annis noticing, as she otherwise
- would have done, the pallor and sorrow in her daughter’s appearance. Not
- even the good fortune that had come to her father, could dispel the
- sickheartedness which had caused her to maintain a stubborn silence to all
- Harry’s pleas for excuse and pardon. Dick was his sister’s only confidant
- and adviser in this matter, and Dick’s anger had increased steadily. He
- was now almost certain that Harry deserved all the resentment honest love
- could feel and show towards those who had deceived and betrayed it. And
- the calamity that is not sure, is almost beyond healing. The soul has not
- forseen, or tried to prevent it. It has come in a hurry without
- credentials, and holds the hope of a “perhaps” in its hands; it may not
- perhaps be as bad as it appears; it may not perhaps be true. There may
- possibly be many mitigating circumstances yet not known. Poor Kitty! She
- had but this one sad circumstance to think about, she turned it a hundred
- ways, but it was always the same. However, as she trailed slowly up the
- long stairway, she said to herself—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother was talking in the dark, but patience, one more day! Either father
- or Dick will bring the truth home with them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI—AUNT JOSEPHA INTERFERES
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>“Nothing seems to have happened so long ago as an affair of Love.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“To offend any person is the next foolish thing to being offended.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“When you can talk of a new lover, you have forgotten the old one.”</i>
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>IFE is full of
- issues. Nothing happens just as we expect or prepare for it, and when the
- squire returned home late in the afternoon, weary but full of enthusiasm,
- he was yet ignorant concerning the likely nomination of Bradley for the
- united boroughs of Annis and Bradley. He had walked all of fourteen miles,
- and he told his wife proudly, that “Jonathan was more weary with the
- exercise than he was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the same, Annie,” he added, as he kissed her fondly, “I was glad to
- see Britton with the horse and gig at the foot of the hill. That was a bit
- of thy thoughtfulness. God bless thee, dearie!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it was. I knew thou hed not walked as much as tha ought to hev done
- while we were in London. I don’t want thy fine figure spoiled, but I
- thought thou would be tired enough when thou got to the foot of the hill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I was, and Jonathan was fairly limping, but we hev settled on t’ mill
- site—there’s nothing can lick Clitheroe Moor side, just where it
- touches the river. My land covers twenty acres of it, and on its south
- edge it is almost within touch of the new railway going to Leeds. Jonathan
- fairly shouted, as soon as we stood on it. ‘Squire,’ he said, ‘here’s a
- mill site in ten thousand. There cannot be a finer one found in England,
- and it is the varry bit of land that man Boocock wanted—<i>and
- didn’t get as tha knows?</i>’ Now I must write to Josepha, and tell her to
- come quickly and see it. She must bring with her also her business
- adviser.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does tha reckon to be under thy sister?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Keep words like those behind thy lips, and set thy teeth for a barrier
- they cannot pass. We are equal partners, equal in power and profit, equal
- in loss or gain.” Then he was silent, and Annie understood that she had
- gone far enough. Yet out of pure womanly wilfulness, she answered—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall not presume to speak another word about thy partner,” and Antony
- Annis looked at her over the rim of his tea cup, and the ready answer was
- on his lips, but he could not say it. Her personal beauty smote the
- reproving words back, her handsome air of defiance conquered his momentary
- flash of anger. She had her husband at her feet. She knew it, and her
- steady, radiant smile completed her victory. Then she leaned towards him,
- and he put down his cup and kissed her fondly. He had intended to say “O
- confound it, Annie! What’s up with thee? Can’t thou take a great kindness
- with anything but bitter biting words?” And what he really said was—“Oh,
- Annie! Annie! sweet, dear Annie!” And lo! there came no harm from this
- troubling of a man’s feelings, because Annie knew just how far it was safe
- for her to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- This little breeze cleared the room that had been filled with unrestful
- and unfair suspicions all the day long. The squire suddenly found out it
- was too warm, and rose and opened the window. Then he asked—like a
- man who has just recovered himself from some mental neglect—“Wheriver
- hev Dick and Kitty gone to? I hevn’t seen nor heard them since I came
- home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They went to the village before two o’clock. They went to the Methodist
- preacher’s house, I hev no doubt. Antony, what is to come of this
- foolishness? I tell thee Dick acts as never before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About Faith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What hes he said to thee about Faith? How does he act?” asked the squire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He hes not said so much to me as he usually does about the girl he is
- carrying-on-with, but he really believes himself in love with her for iver
- and iver.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll be bound, he thinks that very thing. Dick is far gone. But the girl
- is fair and good. He might do worse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t like her, far from it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is always busy in some kind of work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Busy to a fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll tell thee what, my Joy. We shall hev to make the best we can of this
- affair. If Dick is bound to marry her, some day their wedding will come
- off. So there is no good in worrying about it. But I am sure in the long
- run, all will be well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My mind runs on this thing, and it troubles me. Thou ought to speak sharp
- and firm to Dick. I am sure Josepha hes other plans for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll break no squares with my lad, about any woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The girls all make a dead set for Dick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not they! It hes allays been the other way about. We wanted him to marry
- pretty Polly Raeburn, and as soon as he found that out, he gave her up.
- That is Dick’s awful way. Tell him he ought to marry Faith, and he will
- make easy shift to do without her. That is the short and the long of this
- matter. Now, Annie, thou must not trouble me about childish, foolish love
- affairs. I hev work for two men as strong as mysen to do, and I am going
- to put my shoulder to the collar and do it. Take thy awn way with Dick. I
- must say I hev a fellow feeling with the lad. Thou knows I suffered a
- deal, before I came to the point of running away with thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What we did, is neither here nor there, the circumstances were different.
- I think I shall let things take their chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, I would. Many a ship comes bravely into harbor, that hes no pilot on
- board.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did tha hear any political news? It would be a strange thing if Jonathan
- could talk all day with thee, and the both of you keep off politics.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, tha sees, we were out on business and business means ivery faculty
- a man hes. I did speak once of Josepha, and Jonathan said, ‘She is good
- for any sum.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Antony, hes thou ever thought about the House of Commons since thou came
- home? What is tha going to do about thy business there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hevn’t thought on that subject. I am going to see Wetherall about it. I
- cannot be in two places at one time, and I am going to stick to Annis
- Mill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will it be any loss to thee to give up thy seat?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Loss or gain, I am going to stand firmly by the mill. I don’t think it
- will be any money loss. I’ll tell Wetherall to sell the seat to any man
- that is of my opinions, and will be bound to vote for the Liberal party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would see Wetherall soon, if I was thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the hurry? Parliament is still sitting. Grey told me it could not
- get through its present business until August or later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will not be later. September guns and rods will call ivery man to the
- hills or the waters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s varry likely, and if so, they won’t go back to London until
- December. So there’s no need for thee to worry thysen about December. It’s
- only June yet, tha knows.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will tha lose money by selling thy seat?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I! I rayther think I’ll make money. And I’ll save a bag of
- sovereigns. London expenses hes been the varry item that hes kept us poor,—that
- is, poorer than we ought to be. There now! That will do about London. I am
- a bit tired of London. I hear Dick and Kitty’s voices, and there’s music
- in them. O God, what a grand thing it is to be young!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must order fresh tea for them, they are sure to be hungry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not they! There’s no complaining in their voices. Listen how gayly Dick
- laughs. And I know Kitty is snuggling up to him, and saying some loving
- thing or ither. Bless the children! It would be a dull house wanting
- them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Antony!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So it would, Annie, and thou knows it. Hev some fresh food brought for
- them. Here they are!” And the squire rose to meet them, taking Kitty
- within his arm, and giving his hand to Dick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Runaways!” he said. “Whativer kept you from your eating? Mother hes
- ordered some fresh victuals. They’ll be here anon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have had our tea, mother—such a merry meal!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wheriver then?
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Mr. Foster’s,” said Dick promptly. “Mr. Foster came in while Kitty and
- I were sitting with Faith, and he said ‘it was late, and he was hungry,
- and we had better get tea ready.’ And ‘so full of fun and pleasure we all
- four went to work. Mr. Foster and I set the table, and Faith and Kitty cut
- the bread and butter, and all of us together brought on cold meat and
- Christ-Church patties, and it was all done in such a joyous mood, that you
- would have thought we were children playing at having a picnic. Oh! it was
- such a happy hour! Was it not, Kitty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed it was. I shall never forget it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But who can prolong a joy when it is over? Both Kitty and Dick tried to do
- so, but the squire soon turned thoughtful, and Mistress Annis, though she
- said only nice words, put no sympathy into them; and they were only words,
- and so fell to the ground lifeless. The squire was far too genial a soul,
- not to feel this condition, and he said suddenly—“Dick, come with
- me. I hev a letter to write to thy aunt, and thou can do it for me. I’ll
- be glad of thy help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will come gladly, father. I wish you would let me do all the writing
- about business there is to be done. Just take me for your secretary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a clever idea. We will talk it out a bit later. Come thy ways
- with me, now. No doubt thy mother and sister hev their awn things to talk
- over. Women hev often queer views of what seems to men folk varry
- reasonable outcomes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So the two men went out very confidingly together, and Kitty remained with
- her mother, who sat silently looking into the darkening garden.
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither spoke for a few minutes, then Kitty lifted her cape and bonnet and
- said, “I am tired, mother. I think I will go to my room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Varry well, but answer me a few questions first. What do you now think of
- Dick’s fancy for Faith?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not a fancy, mother. It is a love that will never fade or grow old.
- He will marry Faith or he will never marry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Such sentimentality! It is absurd!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick thinks his love for Faith Foster the great fact of his life. He will
- never give her up. Her ways are his ways. He thinks as she thinks. He
- would do anything she asked him to do. Dear mammy, try and make the best
- of it. You cannot alter it. It is Destiny, and I heard Mr. Foster say,
- that no person, nor yet any nation, could fight Destiny unless God was on
- their side. I think it is Dick’s destiny to marry Faith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Think as you like, Katherine, but be so kind as to omit quoting Mr.
- Foster’s opinions in my presence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I do wish you would make up your quarrel with Harry Bradley; it is
- very unpleasant to have you go mourning about the house and darkening the
- only bit of good fortune that has ever come to your father. Indeed, I
- think it is very selfish and cruel. I do that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry. I try to forget, but—” and she wearily lifted her cape
- and left the room. And her mother listened to her slow, lifeless steps on
- the stairway, and sorrowfully wondered what she ought to do. Suddenly she
- remembered that her husband had asked her not to trouble him about foolish
- love affairs and Dick was sure to take Katherine’s view of the matter,
- whatever the trouble was; and, indeed, she was quite aware that the squire
- himself leaned to the side of the lovers, and there was no one else she
- could speak to. It was all a mixed up anxiety, holding apparently no hope
- of relief from outside help.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, there was Aunt Josepha, and as soon as she stepped into the
- difficulty, Katherine’s mother felt there would be some explanation or
- help. It was only waiting a week, and Madam Temple would be in Annis, and
- with this reflection she tried to dismiss the subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- Indeed, everyone in Annis Hall was now looking forward to the visit of
- Josepha. But more than a fortnight elapsed before she arrived, bringing
- with her experts and advisers of various kinds. The latter were pleasantly
- located in the village inn, and Josepha was delighted with the beautiful
- and comfortable arrangements her sister-in-law had made for her. She came
- into their life with overflowing good humor and spirits, and was soon as
- busily interested in the great building work as her happy brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had to ride all through the village to reach the mill site, and she
- did not think herself a day too old to come down to breakfast in her
- riding habit and accompany her brother. It was not long, however, before
- the pair separated. Soon after her arrival, the village women, one by one,
- renewed their acquaintance with her, and every woman looked to Miss
- Josepha for relief, or advice about their special tribulations. Many of
- them were women of her own age. They remembered her as Miss Josepha, and
- prided themselves on the superiority of their claim. To the younger women
- she was Madam, just Madam, and indeed it was a queer little incident that
- quite naturally, and without any word of explanation, made all, both old
- and young, avoid any other name than Miss Josepha. “Yorkshire is for its
- awn folk, we doan’t take to strange people and strange names,” said Israel
- Naylor, when questioned by some of the business experts Josepha had
- brought down with her; “and,” he explained, “Temple is a Beverley name, or
- I mistake, and Annis folk know nothing about Beverley names.” So Madam
- Temple was almost universally Miss Josepha, to the villagers, and she
- liked the name, and people who used it won her favor.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few weeks she had to hire a room in Naylor’s house, and go there at a
- fixed hour to see any of the people who wanted her. All classes came to
- this room, from the Episcopal curate and the Methodist preacher, to the
- poor widow of a weaver, who had gone to Bradford for work, and died of
- cholera there. “Oh, Miss Josepha!” she cried, “Jonathan Hartley told me to
- come to thee, and he said, he did say, that thou hed both wisdom and money
- in plenty, and that thou would help me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is thy trouble, Nancy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My man died in Bradford, and he left me nothing but four helpless
- childer, and I hev a sister in Bradford who will take care of them while I
- go back to my old place as pastry cook at the Black Swan Hotel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would be a good plan, Nancy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For sure it would, Miss Josepha, but we awned our cottage, and our bee
- skeps, and two dozen poultry, and our old loom. I can’t turn them into
- brass again, and so I’m most clemmed with it all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How much do you want for the ‘all you awn’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would count mysen in luck, if I got one hundred and fifty pounds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that sum its honest worth, not a penny too much, or a penny too
- little?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is just what it cost us; ivery penny, and not a penny over, or less.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’ll buy it, if all is as thou says. I’ll hev my lawyer look it
- over, and I’ll see what the squire says, and if thou hes been straight
- with me, thou can go home, and pack what tha wants to take with thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This incident was the initial purchase of many other cottages sold for
- similar reasons, and when Josepha went back to London, she took with her
- the title deeds of a large share of Annis village property. “But, Antony,”
- she said, “I hev paid the full value of ivery deed I hold, ay, in some
- cases more than their present value, but I do not doubt I shall get all
- that is mine when the time is ripe for more, and more, and more mills.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was this thy plan, when thou took that room in the Inn?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not it! I took it for a meeting place. I know most of the women here, and
- I saw plainly Annie would not be able to stand the constant visitations
- that were certain to follow. It made trouble in the kitchen, and the voice
- of the kitchen soon troubles the whole house. Annie must be considered,
- and the comfort of the home. That is the great right. Then I hev other
- business with Annis women, not to be mixed up with thy affairs. We are
- going to plan such an elementary school as Annis needs for its children,
- with classes at night for the women who doan’t want their boys and girls
- to be ashamed of them. And there must be a small but perfectly fitted up
- hospital for the workers who turn sick or get injured in the mill. And the
- Reverend Mr. Bentley and the Reverend Mr. Foster come to me with their
- cases of sorrow and sickness, and I can tell thee a room for all these
- considerations was one of the necessities of our plans.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hevn’t a bit of doubt of it. But it is too much for thee to manage.
- Thou art wearying soul and body.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Far from it. It is as good and as great a thing to save a soul as it is
- to make it. I am varry happy in my work, and as Mr. Foster would put it, I
- feel a good deal nearer God, than I did counting up interest money in
- London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime the home life at Annis Hall was not only changed but
- constantly changing. There was always some stranger—some expert of
- one kind or another—a guest in its rooms, and their servants or
- assistants kept the kitchen in a racket of cooking, and eating, and
- unusual excitement. Mistress Annis sometimes felt that it would be
- impossible to continue the life, but every day the squire came home so
- tired, and so happy, that all discomforts fled before his cheery “Hello!”
- and his boyish delight in the rapidly growing edifice. Dick had become his
- paid secretary, and in the meantime was studying bookkeeping, and learning
- from Jonathan all that could be known, concerning long and short staple
- wools.
- </p>
- <p>
- Katherine was her mother’s right hand all the long day, but often, towards
- closing time, she went down to the village on her pony, and then the
- squire, or Dick, or both, rode home with her. Poor Kitty! Harry no longer
- wrote to her, and Josepha said she had heard that he had gone to America
- on a business speculation, “and it is a varry likely thing,” she said,
- “for Harry knew a penny from a pound, before he learned how to count. I
- wouldn’t fret about him, dearie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not fretting, aunt, but how would you feel, if you had shut the door
- of your heart, and your love lay dead on its threshold. Nothing is left to
- me now, but the having loved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, dearie, when we hevn’t what we love, we must love what we hev. Thou
- isn’t a bit like thy sen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never felt young since Harry left me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a little thing to alter thee so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No trouble that touches the heart is a little thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Niver mind the past, dearie. Love can work miracles. If Harry really
- loved thee he will come back to thee. Love is the old heartache of the
- world, and then all in a minute some day, he is the Healing Love and The
- Comforter. I hev a good mind to tell thee something, that I niver told to
- any ither mortal sinner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it would help me to bear more cheerfully my great loss, I would be
- glad to hear anything of that kind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Josepha sat down and spread her large capable hands one over each
- knee and looking Kitty full in the eyes said—“I was at thy age as
- far gone in love, with as handsome a youth as your Harry is. One morning
- we hed a few words about the value of good birth, and out of pure
- contradiction I set it up far beyond what I really thought of it; though
- I’ll confess I am yet a bit weak about my awn ancestors. Now my lover was
- on this subject varry touchy, for his family hed money, more than enough,
- but hed no landed gentry, and no coat of arms, in fact, no family. And I
- hed just hed a few words with mother, and Antony hedn’t stood up for me.
- Besides, I wasn’t dressed fit to be seen, or I thought I wasn’t, and I was
- out with mother, and out with Antony, well then, I was out with mysen, and
- all the world beside; and I asked varry crossly: ‘Whativer brings thee
- here at this time of day? I should hev thought thou knew enough to tell
- thysen, a girl hes no liking for a lover that comes in the morning. He’s
- nothing but in her way.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, auntie, how could you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, there was a varry boisterous wind blowing, and they do say,
- the devil is allays busy in a high wind. I suppose he came my road that
- morning, and instead of saying ‘be off with thee’ I made him so
- comfortable in my hot temper, he just bided at my side, and egged me on,
- to snap out ivery kind of provoking thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very much astonished, aunt. The fair word that turneth away wrath is
- more like you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For sure it is, or else there hes been a great change for t’ better since
- that time. Well, that day it was thus, and so; and I hev often wondered as
- to the why and wherefore of that morning’s foolishness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did he go away forever that morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He did not come for a week, and during that week, Admiral Temple came to
- see father, and he stayed until he took with him my promise to be his wife
- early in the spring.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Were you very miserable, auntie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my dear, I was sick in love, as I could be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why didn’t you make it up with him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hed several reasons for not doing so. My father hed sailed with Admiral
- Temple, and they were friends closer than brothers, for they hed saved
- each other’s lives—that was one reason. I was angry at my lover
- staying away a whole week. That was reason number two. Ten years
- afterwards I learned, quite accidentally, that his coming was prevented by
- circumstances it was impossible for him to control. Then my mother hed
- bragged all her fine words over the country-side, about the great marriage
- I was to make. That was another reason;—and I am a bit ashamed to
- say, the splendid jewels and the rich silks and Indian goods my new lover
- sent me seemed to make a break with him impossible. At any rate, I felt
- this, and mother and father niver spoke of the Admiral that they did not
- add another rivet to the bond between us. So at last I married my sailor,
- and I thank God I did so!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did your lover break his heart?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a bit of it! He married soon after I was married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whom did he marry?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sophia Ratcliffe, a varry pretty girl from the old town of Boroughbridge.
- I niver saw her. I went with the Admiral, by permission, to various ports,
- remaining at some convenient town, while he sailed far and wide after
- well-loaded ships of England’s enemies, and picking up as he sailed, any
- bit of land flying no civilized flag. I did not come back to Annis for
- five years. My father was then dead, my mother hed gone back to her awn
- folks, and my brother Antony was Squire of Annis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then did you meet your old lover?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One day, I was walking with Antony through the village, and we met the
- very loveliest child I iver saw in all my life. He was riding a Shetland
- pony, and a gentleman walked by his side, and watched him carefully, and I
- found out at once by his air of authority that he was the boy’s tutor. I
- asked the little fellow for a kiss, and he bent his lovely face and
- smilingly let me take what I wanted. Then they passed on and Antony said,
- ‘His mother died three months ago, and he nearly broke his heart for her.’
- ‘Poor little chap,’ I said, and my eyes followed the little fellow down
- the long empty street. ‘His father,’ continued Antony, ‘was just as
- brokenhearted. All Annis village was sorry for him.’ ‘Do I know him?’ I
- asked. ‘I should think so!’ answered thy father with a look of surprise,
- and then someone called, ‘Squire,’ and we waited, and spoke to the man
- about his taxes. After his complaint had been attended to we went forward,
- and I remembered the child, and asked, ‘What is the name of that lovely
- child?’ And Antony said, “‘His name is Harry Bradley. His father is John
- Thomas Bradley. Hes thou forgotten him?’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I turned and looked after the boy, but the little fellow was nearly
- out of sight. I only got a last glimpse of some golden curls lying loose
- over his white linen suit and black ribbons.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Josepha ceased speaking and silently took the weeping girl in her
- arms. She kissed her, and held her close, until the storm of sorrow was
- over, then she said softly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “There it is, Lovey! The lot of women is on thee. Bear it bravely for thy
- father’s sake. He hes a lot to manage now, and he ought not to see
- anything but happy people, or hear anything but loving words. Wash thy
- face, and put on thy dairymaid’s linen bonnet and we will take a breath of
- fresh air in the lower meadow. Its hedges are all full of the Shepherd’s
- rose, and their delicious perfume gives my soul a fainty feeling, and
- makes me wonder in what heavenly paradise I had caught that perfume
- before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will, aunt. You have done me good, it would be a help to many girls to
- have heard your story. We have so many ideas that, if examined, would not
- look as we imagine them to be. Agatha De Burg used to say that
- ‘unfaithfulness to our first love was treason to our soul.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t wonder, if that was her notion. She stuck through thick and thin
- to that scoundrel De Burg, and she was afraid De Burg was thinking of
- thee, and afraid thou would marry him. When girls first go into society
- they are in a bit of a hurry to get married; if they only wait a year or
- two, it does not seem such a pressing matter. Thou knows De Burg was
- Agatha’s first love, and she hes not realized yet, that it is a God’s
- mercy De Burg hes not kep the promises he made her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The course of true love never yet ran smooth,” and Katherine sighed as
- she poured out some water and prepared to wash her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kitty,” said her aunt, “the way my life hes been ordered for me, shows
- that God, and only God, orders the three great events of ivery life—birth,
- marriage and death; that is, if we will let Him do so. Think a moment, if
- I hed married John Thomas Bradley, I would hev spent all my best days in a
- lonely Yorkshire hamlet, in the midst of worrying efforts to make work
- pay, that was too out-of-date to struggle along. Until I was getting to be
- an old woman, I would hev known nothing but care and worry, and how John
- Thomas would hev treated me, nobody but God knew. I hated poverty, and I
- would hev been poor. I wanted to see Life and Society and to travel, and I
- would hardly hev gone beyond Annis Village. Well, now, see how things came
- about. I mysen out of pure bad temper made a quarrel with my lover, and
- then perversely I wouldn’t make it up, and then the Admiral steps into my
- life, gives me ivery longing I hed, and leaves me richer than all my
- dreams. I hev seen Life and Society, and the whole civilized world, and
- found out just what it is worth, and I hev made money, and am now giving
- mysen the wonderful pleasure of helping others to be happy. Sit thee
- quiet. If Harry is thine, he will come to thee sure as death! If he does
- not come of his awn free will, doan’t thee move a finger to bring him.
- Thou wilt mebbe bring nothing but trouble to thysen. There was that young
- banker thou met at Jane’s house, he loved thee purely and sincerely. Thou
- might easily hev done far worse than marry him. Whativer hed thou against
- him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His hair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was wrong with the lad’s hair?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, aunt, Jane called it ‘sandy’ but I felt sure it was turning towards
- red.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stuff and nonsense! It will niver turn anything but white, and it won’t
- turn white till thy awn is doing the same thing. And tha knaws it doesn’t
- make much matter what color a man’s hair is. Englishmen are varry seldom
- without a hat of one kind or another. I doan’t believe I would hev known
- the Admiral without his naval hat, or in his last years, his garden hat.
- Does tha remember an old lady called Mrs. Sam Sagar? She used to come and
- see thy mother, when thou was only a little lass about eight years old,
- remember her, she was a queer old lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Queer, but Yorkshire; queer, but varry sensible. Her husband, like the
- majority of Yorkshiremen, niver took off his hat, unless to put on his
- nightcap, or if he was going inside a church, or hed to listen to the
- singing of ‘God Save the King.’ When he died, his wife hed his favorite
- hat trimmed with black crape, and it hung on its usual peg of the hat
- stand, just as long as she lived. You see his hat was the bit of his
- personality that she remembered best of all. Well, what I wanted to show
- thee was, the importance of the hat to a man, and then what matters the
- color of his hair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time they were in the thick green grass of the meadow, and Kitty
- laughed at her aunt’s illustration of the Yorkshire man’s habit of
- covering his head, and they chatted about it, as they gathered great
- handfuls of shepherd’s roses. And after this, Josepha spoke only of her
- plans for the village, and of Faith’s interest in them. She felt she had
- said plenty about love, and she hoped the seed she had sown that afternoon
- had fallen on good ground. Surely it is a great thing to know <i>how and
- when to let go.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII—THE SQUIRE MAKES GOOD
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>“Busy, happy, loving people; talking, eating, singing, sewing, living
- through every sense they have at the same time.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“People who are happy, do not write down their happiness.”</i>
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE summer went
- quickly away, but during it the whole life of Annis Hall and Annis Village
- changed. The orderly, beautiful home was tossed up by constant visitors,
- either on business, or on simple social regulations; and the village was
- full of strange men, who had small respect for what they considered such
- an old-fashioned place. But in spite of all opinions and speculations, the
- work for which all this change was permitted went on with unceasing
- energy. The squire’s interest in it constantly increased, and Dick’s
- enthusiasm and ability developed with every day’s exigencies. Then Josepha
- was constantly bringing the village affairs into the house affairs, and
- poor women with easy, independent manners, were very troublesome to
- Britton and his wife. They were amazed at the tolerance with which
- Mistress Annis permitted their frequent visits and they reluctantly
- admitted such excuses as she made for them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must remember, Betsy,” she frequently explained, “that few of them
- have ever been in any home but their father’s and their own. They have
- been as much mistress in their own home, as I have been in my home. Their
- ideas of what is fit and respectful, come from their heart and are not in
- any degree habits of social agreement. If they like or respect a person,
- they are not merely civil or respectful, they are kind and free, and speak
- just as they feel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They do that, Madam—a good bit too free.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Betsy, they are Mistress Temple’s business at present. Thou need
- not mind them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doan’t, not in the least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are finding out for her, things she wants to know about the village,
- the number of children that will be to teach—the number of men and
- women that know how to read and write.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Few of that kind, Madam, if any at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know she is now making plans for a school, and she wants, of course,
- to have some idea as to the number likely to go there, and other similar
- questions. Everyone ought to know how to read and write.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Madam, Britton and mysen hev found our good common senses all we
- needed. They were made and given to us by God, when we was born. He gave
- us senses enough to help us to do our duty in that state of life it had
- pleased Him to call us to. These eddicated lads are fit for nothing.
- Britton won’t be bothered with them. He says neither dogs nor horses like
- them. They understand Yorkshire speech and ways, but when a lad gets book
- knowledge, they doan’t understand his speech, and his ways of pronouncing
- his words; and they just think scorn of his perliteness—they kick up
- their heels at it, and Britton says they do right. <i>Why-a!</i> We all
- know what school teachers are! The varry childher feel suspicious o’ them,
- and no wonder! They all hev a rod or a strap somewhere about them, and
- they fairly seem to enjoy using it. I niver hed a lick from anybody in my
- life. I wouldn’t hev stood it, except from dad, and his five senses were
- just as God made them; and if dad gave any o’ the lads a licking, they
- deserved it, and they didn’t mind taking it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If they got one from a schoolmaster, I dare say they would deserve it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Madam, begging your pardon, I know instances on the contrary. My
- sister-in-law’s cousin’s little lad was sent to a school by Colonel
- Broadbent, because he thought the child was clever beyond the usual run of
- lads, and he got such a cruel basting as niver was, just because he
- wouldn’t, or couldn’t, learn something they called parts of speech—hard,
- long names, no meaning in them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was too bad. Did he try to learn them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He tried himsen sick, and Britton he tried to help him. Britton learned
- one word, called in-ter-jec-tions. He tried that word on both dogs and
- horses——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what followed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing, Madam. He wanted the horses to go on, and they stood stock
- still. The dogs just looked up at him, as if they thought he hed lost his
- senses. And Britton, he said then and there, ‘the Quality can hev all my
- share of grammar, and they are varry welcome to it.’ Our folk, young and
- old, learn greedily to read. Writing hes equal favor with them, arithmatic
- goes varry well with their natural senses, but grammar! What’s the use of
- grammar? They talk better when they know nothing about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So it must be confessed, Miss Josepha did not meet with the eager
- gratitude she expected. She was indeed sometimes tempted to give up her
- plans, but to give up was to Josepha so difficult and so hateful that she
- would not give the thought a moment’s consideration. “I hev been taking
- the wrong way about the thing,” she said to Annie. “I will go and talk to
- them, mysen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you will make them delighted to do all your will. Put on your bib
- and tucker, and ask Mr. Foster’s permission to use the meeting room of the
- Methodist Chapel. That will give your plans the sacred touch women approve
- when the subject concerns themselves.” This advice was followed, and two
- days afterward, Josepha dressed herself for a chapel interview with the
- mothers of Annis. The special invitation pleased them, and they went to
- the tryst with their usual up-head carriage, and free and easy manner,
- decidely accentuated.
- </p>
- <p>
- Josepha was promptly at the rendezvous appointed, and precisely as the
- clock struck three, she stepped from the vestry door to the little
- platform used by the officials of the church in all their secular
- meetings. She smiled and bowed her head and then cried—“Mothers of
- Annis, good afternoon to every one of you!” And they rose in a body, and
- made her a courtesy, and then softly clapped their hands, and as soon as
- there was silence, Jonathan Hartley’s daughter welcomed her. There was
- nothing wanting in this welcome, it was brimful of honest pleasure.
- Josepha was Annis. She was the sister of their squire, she was a very
- handsome woman, and she had thought it worth while to dress herself
- handsomely to meet them. She was known to every woman in the village, but
- she had never become commonplace or indifferent. There was no other woman
- just like her in their vicinity, and she had always been a ready helper in
- all the times of their want and trouble.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she stood up before them, she drew every eye to her. She wore or this
- occasion, her very handsomest, deepest, mourning garments. Her long
- nun-like crêpe veil would have fallen below her knees had it not been
- thrown backward, and within her bonnet there was a Maria Stuart border of
- the richest white crêpe. Her thick wavy hair was untouched by Time, and
- her stately figure, richly clothed in long garments of silk poplin, was
- improved, and not injured, by a slight <i>embonpoint</i> that gave her a
- look of stability and strength. Her face, both handsome and benign, had a
- rather austere expression, natural and approved,-though none in that
- audience understood that it was the result of a strong will, tenaciously
- living out its most difficult designs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Without a moment’s delay she went straight to her point, and with vigorous
- Yorkshire idioms soon carried every woman in the place with her; and she
- knew so well the mental temperature of her audience, that she promptly
- declined their vote. “I shall take your word, women,” she said in a
- confident tone, “and I shall expect ivery one of you to keep it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Amid loud and happy exclamations, she left the chapel and when she reached
- the street, saw that her coachman was slowly walking the ponies in an
- opposite direction, in order to soothe their restlessness. She also was
- too restless to stand still and wait their leisurely pace and she walked
- in the same direction, knowing that they must very soon meet each other.
- Almost immediately someone passed her, then turned back and met face to
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a handsome man of about the squire’s age, and he put out his hand,
- and said with a charming, kindly manner:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Why-a, Josepha! Josepha!</i> At last we hev met again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For just a moment Josepha hesitated, then she gave the apparent stranger
- her hand, and they stood laughing and chatting together, until the ponies
- were at hand, and had to be taken away for another calming exercise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hevn’t seen you, Josepha, for twenty-four years and five months and
- four days. I was counting the space that divided us yesterday, when
- somebody told me about this meeting of Annis women, and I thought, ‘I will
- just go to Annis, and hang round till I get a glimpse of her.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, John Thomas,” she answered, “it is mainly thy awn fault. Thou hed
- no business to quarrel with Antony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was Antony’s fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it was not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, it was all my fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, thou must stick to that side of the quarrel, or I’ll not hev to know
- thee,” and both laughed and shook hands again. Then she stepped into her
- carriage, and Bradley said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I shall see thee again, surely?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It might so happen,” she answered with a pretty wave of her hand. And all
- the way home she was wandering what good or evil Fate had brought John
- Thomas Bradley into her life again.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she got back to the Hall, she noticed that her sister-in-law was
- worried, and she asked, “What is bothering thee now, Annie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Josepha, Antony hed a visit from Lawyer Wetherall and he told
- Antony Annis that he hes not a particle of right to the seat in The House
- of Commons, as matters stand now. He says the new borough will be
- contested, and that Colonel Frobisher of Annis is spoken of for the
- Liberals, and Sir John Conyers or John Thomas Bradley are likely
- candidates for the Tory side of affairs. They hed a long talk and it
- wasn’t altogether a pleasant one, and Wetherall went away in a huff, and
- Antony came to me in one of his still passions, and I hev been heving a
- varry disagreeable hour or two; and I do think Antony’s ignorance on this
- matter quite shameful. He ought to hev known, on what right or title he
- held such an honor. I am humiliated by the circumstance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, thou needn’t be so touchy. A great many lords and earls and
- men of high degree hev been as ignorant as Antony. Thy husband stands in
- varry good company. Antony isn’t a bit to blame. Not he! Antony held his
- right from the people of Annis—his awn people—he did not even
- buy it, as some did. It had been his, with this authenticity, for
- centuries. Thou shared with him all of the honor and profit it brought,
- and if there was any wrong in the way it came, thou sanctioned and shared
- it. And if I was Antony I would send Wetherall to the North Pole in his
- trust or esteem. If he knew different he ought to hev told Antony
- different long ago. I shall take ivery bit of business I hev given
- Wetherall out of his hands to-morrow morning. And if he charges me a
- penny-piece too much I’ll give him trouble enough to keep on the fret all
- the rest of his life. I will that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hev no doubt of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is Antony now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wheriver that weary mill is building, I suppose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, thou ought to be a bit beyond ‘supposing.’ Thou ought to <i>know</i>.
- It is thy place to know, and if he is in trouble, to be helping him to
- bear it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Josepha, there is no use in you badgering and blaming me. What would you
- hev done if Wetherall hed said such and such things, in your presence, as
- he did in mine?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would hev told him he was a fool, as well as a rascal, to tell at the
- end what he ought to hev told at the beginning. If Antony hed no right to
- the seat, why did he take money, year after year, for doing business
- connected with the seat; and niver open his false mouth? I shall get mysen
- clear of him early to-morrow morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t go away now, Josepha. I will send someone to look for the squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go mysen, Annie. Thank you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She found the squire in a very troubled, despondent mood. “Josepha,” he
- cried, “to think that I hev been filling a position on sufferance that I
- thought was my lawful right!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that rascal, Wetherall, niver said a word to thee?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is my awn fault. I aught to hev inquired into the matter long ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then so ought the rest of the legislators. Custom becomes right, through
- length of years, and thou art not to blame, not in the least. Now,
- however, I would give it up to the people, who gave it to thee. Not to
- Wetherall! Put him out of the affair. <i>Entirely!</i> There is to be a
- meeting on the village green to-night. Go to it, and then and there say
- the words that will give thy heart satisfaction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, I intend to go, but Annie is vexed, and she makes me feel as if I hed
- done something that reflects on our honor and respectability.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou hes done nothing of the kind. No man in all England or Scotland will
- say such a thing. Doan’t thee take blame from anyone. If women hed to
- judge men’s political character, ivery one would be wrong but their awn
- men folk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Annie thinks I hev been wrong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Annie is peculiar. There are allays exceptions to ivery proposition.
- Annie is an exception. Dress thysen in thy handsomest field suit, and take
- thy short dog whip in thy hands; it will speed thy words more than thou
- could believe, and a crack with it will send an epithet straight to where
- it should go.” The squire laughed and leaped to his feet. “God bless thee,
- Josepha! I’ll do just what tha says.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then thou’ll do right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This promise was not an easy one to keep, in the face of Annie’s air of
- reproach and suffering; but, nevertheless, it was kept, and when the
- squire came in sight of the Green he saw a very large gathering of men
- already standing round a rude rostrum, on which sat or stood half-a-dozen
- gentlemen. Annis put his horse in the care of his servant, and stood on
- the edge of the crowd. Wetherall was talking to the newly made citizens,
- and explaining their new political status and duties to them, and at the
- close of his speech said, “he had been instructed to propose John Thomas
- Bradley for the Protective or Tory government,” and this proposal was
- immediately seconded by a wealthy resident of Bradley village.
- </p>
- <p>
- The squire set his teeth firmly, his lips were drawn straight and tight,
- and his eyes snapped and shone with an angry light. Then there was a
- movement among the men on the platform, and Bradley walked to the front.
- The clear soft twilight of an English summer fell all over him. It seemed
- to Annis that his old friend had never before appeared so handsome and so
- lovable. He looked at him until some unbidden tears quenched the angry
- flame in his eyes, and he felt almost inclined to mount and ride away.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was, however, arrested immediately by Bradley’s words.—“Gentlemen,”
- he said with prompt decision—“I cannot, and will not, accept your
- flattering invitation. Do any of you think that I would accept a position,
- that puts me in antagonism to my old and well-loved friend, Antony Annis?
- Not for all the honor, or power, or gold in England! Annis is your proper
- and legitimate representative. Can any of you count the generations
- through which the Annis family hes been your friends and helpers? You know
- all that the present Squire Antony hes done, without me saying a word
- about it: and I could not, and I would not, try to stand in his shoes for
- anything king or country could give me. This, on my honor, is a definite
- and positive refusal of your intended mark of respect. I accept the
- respect which prompted the honor gratefully; the honor itself, I
- positively decline. If I hev anything more to say, it is this—send
- your old representative, Antony Annis, to watch over, and speak outright,
- for your interests. He is the best man you can get in all England, and be
- true to him, and proud of him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A prolonged cheering followed this speech, and during it Squire Antony
- made his way through the crowd, and reached the platform. He went straight
- to Bradley with outstretched hands—“John Thomas!” he said, in a
- voice full of emotion, “My dear, dear friend! I heard ivery word!” and the
- two men clasped hands, and stood a moment looking into each other’s
- love-wet eyes; and knew that every unkind thought, and word, had been
- forever forgiven.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Annis stepped forward, and was met with the heartiest welcome. Never
- had he looked so handsome and gracious. He appeared to have thrown off all
- the late sorrowful years, and something of the glory of that authority
- which springs from love, lent a singular charm to this picturesque
- appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood at the side of Bradley, and still held his hand. “My friends and
- fellow citizens!” he cried joyfully, giving the last two words such an
- enthusiastic emphasis, as brought an instant shout of joyful triumph. “My
- friends and fellow citizens! If anything could make it possible for me to
- go back to the House of Commons, it would be the plea of the man whose
- hand I have just clasped. As you all know, I hev pledged my word to the
- men and women of Annis to give them the finest power-loom factory in the
- West Riding. If I stick to my promise faithfully, I cannot take on any
- other work or business. You hev hed my promise for some months. I will put
- nothing before it—or with it. Men of Annis, you are my helpers, do
- you really think I would go to London, and break my promise? Not you! Not
- one of you! I shall stay right here, until Annis mill is weaving the varry
- best broadcloths and woolen goods that can be made. Ask Colonel Frobisher
- to go to London, and stand for Annis and her wool weavers. He hes little
- else to do, we all know and love him, and he will be varry glad to go for
- you. Antony Annis hes been a talking man hitherto, henceforward he will be
- a working man, but there is a bit of advice I’ll give you now and probably
- niver again. First of all, take care how you vote, and for whom you vote.
- If your candidate proves unworthy of the confidence you gave him, mebbe
- you are not quite innocent. Niver sell your vote for any price, nor for
- any reason. Remember voting is a religious act.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay, squire!” someone in the crowd called out, with a dissenting
- laugh. “There’s nothing but jobbery, and robbery, and drinking and
- quarreling in it. There is no religion about it, squire, that I can see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, Tommy Raikes, thou doesn’t see much beyond thysen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And, squire, I heard that the Methodist preacher prayed last Sunday in
- the varry pulpit about the election. Folks doan’t like to go to chapel to
- pray about elections. It isn’t right. Mr. Foster oughtn’t to do such
- things. It hurts people’s feelings.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Speak for thysen, Tommy; I’ll be bound the people were all of Mr.
- Foster’s opinion. It is a varry important election, the varry first, that
- a great many of the people iver took a part in. And I do say, that I hev
- no doubt all of them were thankful for the prayer. There is nothing wrong
- in praying about elections. It is a religious rite, just the same as
- saying grace before your food, and thanking God when you hev eaten it.
- Just the same as putting <i>Dei gratia</i> on our money, or taking oaths
- in court, or when assuming important positions. Tommy, such simple
- religious services proclaim the sacredness of our daily life; and so the
- vote at an election, if given conscientiously, is a religious act.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was much hearty approval of the squire’s opinion, and Tommy Raikes
- was plainly advised in various forms of speech to reserve his own. During
- the altercation the squire turned his happy face to John Thomas Bradley,
- and they said a few words to each other, which ended in a mutual smile as
- the squire faced his audience and continued:
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best thing I hev to say to you this night is, in the days of
- prosperity fast coming to Annis, stick to your religion. Doan’t lose
- yoursens in the hurry and flurry of the busy life before you all. Any
- nation to become great must be a religious nation; for nationality is a
- product of the soul. It is something for which ivery straight-hearted man
- would die. There are many good things for which a good man would not die,
- but a good man would willingly die for the good of his country. His hopes
- for her will not tolerate a probability. They hev to be realized, or he’ll
- die for them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you are good Church of England men you are all right. She is your
- spiritual mother, do what she tells you to do, and you can’t do wrong. If
- you are a Dissenter from her, then keep a bit of Methodism in your souls.
- It is kind and personal, and if it gets hold of a man, it does a lot for
- him. It sits in the center. I am sorry to say there are a great many
- atheists among weavers. Atheists do nothing. A man steeped in Methodism
- can do anything! Its love and its honesty lift up them that are cast down;
- it gives no quarter to the devil, and it hes a heart as big as God’s
- mercy. If you hev your share of this kind of Methodist, you will be kind,
- or at least civil to strangers. You knaw how you usually treat them. The
- ither day I was watching the men budding, and a stranger passed, and one
- of the bricklayers said to another near him, ‘Who’s that?’ and the other
- looked up and answered, ‘I doan’t know. He’s a stranger.’ And the advice
- promptly given was, ‘throw a brick at him!’” This incident was so common
- and so natural, that it was greeted with a roar of laughter, and the
- squire nodded and laughed also, and so in the midst of the pleasant
- racket, went away with John Thomas Bradley at his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a fine night,” said Annis to Bradley. “Walk up the hill and hev a
- bite of supper with me.” The invitation was almost an oath of renewed
- friendship, and Bradley could on no account refuse it. Then the squire
- sent his man ahead to notify the household, and the two men took the hill
- at each other’s side, talking eagerly of the election and its
- probabilities. As they neared the Hall, Bradley was silent and a little
- troubled. “Antony,” he said, “how about the women-folk?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am by thy side. As they treat me they will treat thee. Josepha was
- allays thy friend. Mistress Annis hed a kind side for thee, so hed my
- little Kitty. For awhile, they hev been under the influence of a lie set
- going by thy awn son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Harry?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. But Harry was misinformed, by that mean little lawyer that
- lives in Bradley. I hev forgotten the whole story, and I won’t hev it
- brought up again. It was a lie out of the whole cloth, and was varry
- warmly taken up by Dick, and you know how our women are—they stand
- by ivery word their men say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The men entered together. Josepha was not the least astonished. In fact,
- she was sure this very circumstance would happen. Had she not advised and
- directed John Thomas that very afternoon what to do, and had he not been
- only too ready and delighted to follow her advice? When the door opened
- she rose, and with some enthusiasm met John Thomas, and while she was
- welcoming him the squire had said the few words that were sufficient to
- insure Annie’s welcome. An act of oblivion was passed without a word, and
- just where the friendship had been dropped, it was taken up again. Kitty
- excused herself, giving a headache as her reason, and Dick was in
- Liverpool with Hartley, looking over a large importation of South American
- wool.
- </p>
- <p>
- The event following this rearrangement of life was the return of Josepha
- to her London home. She said a combination of country life and November
- fogs was beyond her power of cheerful endurance; and then she begged
- Katherine to go back to London with her. Katherine was delighted to do so.
- Harry’s absence no longer troubled her. She did not even wish to see him
- and the home circumstances had become stale and wearisome. The coming and
- going of many strangers and the restlessness and uncertainty of daily life
- was a great trial to a family that had lived so many years strictly after
- its own ideals of reposeful, regular rule and order. Annie, very
- excusably, was in a highly nervous condition, the squire was silent and
- thoughtful, and in the evenings too tired to talk. Katherine was eager for
- more company of her own kind, and just a little weary of Dick’s and
- Faith’s devotion to each other. “I wish aunt would go to London and take
- me with her,” she said to herself one morning, as she was rather
- indifferently dressing her own hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so it happened that Josepha that very day found the longing for her
- own home and life so insistent that she resolved to indulge it. “What am I
- staying here for?” she asked herself with some impatience. “I am not
- needed about the business yet to be, and Antony is looking after the
- preparations for it beyond all I expected. I’m bothering Annie, and varry
- soon John Thomas will begin bothering me; and poor Kitty hes no lover now,
- and is a bit tired of Faith’s perfections. As for Dick, poor lad! he is
- kept running between the mill’s business, and the preacher’s daughter. And
- Antony himsen says things to me, nobody else hes a right to say. I see
- people iverywhere whom no one can suit, and who can’t suit themsens. I’ll
- be off to London in two days—and I’ll take Kitty with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Josepha’s private complaint was not without truth and her resolve was both
- kind and wise. A good, plain household undertaking was lacking; every room
- was full of domestic malaria, and the best-hearted person in the world,
- can neither manage nor yet control this insidious unhappy element. It is
- then surely the part of prudence, where combat is impossible, to run away.
- </p>
- <p>
- So Josepha ran away, and she took her niece with her. They reached London
- in time to see the reopening of Parliament, and Mrs. Temple’s cards for
- dinner were in the hands of her favorites within two weeks afterwards.
- Katherine was delighted to be the secretary for such writing, and she
- entered heartily into her aunt’s plans for a busy, social winter. They
- chose the parties to carry out their pleasant ideas together, and as Kitty
- was her aunt’s secretary, it soon became evident to both that the name of
- Edward Selby was never omitted. One or other of the ladies always
- suggested it, and the proposal was readily accepted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a fine young man,” said Josepha, “and their bank hes a sound
- enviable reputation. I intend, for the future, to deposit largely there,
- and it is mebbe a good plan to keep in social touch with your banker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he is very pleasant to dance with,” added Kitty, “he keeps step with
- you, and a girl looks her best with him; and then he is not always paying
- you absurd compliments.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A varry sensible partner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And during the long pleasant winter this satisfaction with Selby grew to a
- very sweet and even intense affection. The previous winter Harry Bradley
- had stood in his way, but the path of love now ran straight and smooth,
- and no one had any power to trouble it. Selby was so handsome, so deeply
- in love, so desirable in every way, that Katherine knew herself to be the
- most fortunate of women. She was now also in love, really in love. Her
- affection for her child lover had faded even out of her memory. Compared
- with her passion for Selby, it was indeed a child love, just a sentimental
- dream, nursed by contiguity, and the tolerance and talk of elder people.
- Nothing deceives the young like the idea of first love—a conquering
- idea if a true one, a pretty dangerous mirage, if it is not true.
- </p>
- <p>
- While this affair was progressing delightfully in London things were not
- standing still in Annis. The weather had been singularly propitious, and
- the great, many-windowed building was beginning to show the length and
- breadth of its intentions. Meanwhile Squire Annis was the busiest and
- happiest man in all Yorkshire, and Annie was rejoicing in the restored
- peace and order of her household. It did not seem that there could now
- have been any cause of anxiety in the old Annis home. But there was a
- little. Dick longed to have a more decided understanding concerning his
- own marriage, but the squire urged him not to think of marriage until the
- mill was opened and at work and Dick was a loyal son, as well as a true
- lover. He knew also that in many important ways he had become a great help
- to his father, and that if he took the long journey he intended to take
- with his bride, his absence would be both a trial and a positive loss in
- more ways than one. The situation was trying to all concerned, but both
- Faith and her father made it pleasant and hopeful, so that generally
- speaking his soul walked in a straight way. Sometimes he asked his father
- with one inquiring look, “How long, father, how long now?” And the squire
- had hitherto always under’ stood the look, and answered promptly, “Not
- just yet, dear lad, not just yet!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Josepha and Katherine had returned from London. So continually the days
- grew longer, and brighter, and warmer, and the roses came and sent perfume
- through the whole house, as the small group of women made beautiful
- garments, and talked and wondered, and speculated; and the squire and Dick
- grew more and more reticent about the mill and its progress, until one
- night, early in July, they came home together, and the very sound of their
- footsteps held a happy story. Josepha understood it. She threw down the
- piece of muslin in her hand and stood up listening. The next moment the
- squire and his son entered the room together. “What is it, Antony?” she
- cried eagerly. “<i>The mill?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The mill is finished! The mill is perfect! We can start work to-morrow
- morning if we wish. It is thy doing!” Then he turned to his wife, and
- opened his arms, and whispered his joy to her, and Annie’s cheeks were wet
- when they both turned to Katherine.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that day the women did not sew another stitch.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning Annis village heard a startling new sound. It was the
- factory bell calling labor to its duty. And everyone listened to its
- fateful reverberations traveling over the surrounding hills and telling
- the villages in their solitary places, “Your day also is coming.” The
- squire sat up in his bed to listen, and his heart swelled to the impetuous
- summons and he whispered in no careless manner, “<i>Thank God!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII—MARRIAGE BELLS AND GOOD-BY TO ANNIS
- </h2>
- <p class="indent20">
- “All will be well, though how or where
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Or when it will we need not care.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- We cannot see, and can’t declare:
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- ‘Tis not in vain and not for nought,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The wind it blows, the ship it goes,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Though where, or whither, no one knows.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>MMEDIATELY after
- this event preparations for Katherine’s marriage were revived with eager
- haste and diligence, and the ceremony was celebrated in Annis Parish
- Church. She went there on her father’s arm, and surrounded by a great
- company of the rich and noble relatives of the Annis and Selby families.
- It was a glorious summer day and the gardens from the Hall to the end of
- the village were full of flowers. It seemed as if all nature rejoiced with
- her, as if her good angel loved her so that she had conniv’d with
- everything to give her love and pleasure. There had been some anxiety
- about her dress, but it turned out to be a marvel of exquisite beauty. It
- was, of course, a frock of the richest white satin, but its tunic and
- train and veil were of marvelously fine Spanish lace. There were orange
- blooms in her hair and myrtle in her hands, and her sweetness, beauty and
- happiness made everyone instinctively bless her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick’s marriage to Faith Foster was much longer delayed; not because his
- love had lost any of its sweetness and freshness, but because Faith had
- taught him to cheerfully put himself in his father’s place. So without any
- complaining, or any explanation, he remained at his father’s side. Then
- the Conference of the Methodist Church removed Mr. Foster from Annis to
- Bradford, and the imperative question was then whether Faith would go with
- her father or remain in Annis as Dick’s wife. Dick was never asked this
- question. The squire heard the news first and he went directly to his son:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick, my good son, thou must now get ready to marry Faith, or else thou
- might lose her. I met Mr. Foster ten minutes ago, and he told me that the
- Methodist Conference had removed him from Annis to Bradford.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever have they done that for? The people here asked him to remain,
- and he wrote the Conference he wished to do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is just their awful way of doing ‘according to rule,’ whether the rule
- fits or not. But that is neither here nor there. Put on thy hat and go and
- ask Faith how soon she can be ready to marry thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gladly will I do that, father; but where are we to live? Faith would not
- like to go to the Hall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t ask her to do such a thing. Sir John Pomfret wants to go to
- southern France for two or three years to get rid of rheumatism, and his
- place is for rent. It is a pretty place, and not a mile from the mill. Now
- get married as quick as iver thou can, and take Faith for a month’s
- holiday to London and Paris and before you get home again I will hev the
- Pomfret place ready for you to occupy. It is handsomely furnished, and
- Faith will delight her-sen in keeping it in fine order.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What will mother say to that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just what I say. Not a look or word different. She knows thou hes stood
- faithful and helpful by hersen and by me. Thou hes earned all we can both
- do for thee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- These were grand words to carry to his love, and Dick went gladly to her
- with them. A couple of hours later the squire called on Mr. Foster and had
- a long and pleasant chat with him. He said he had gone at once to see Sir
- John Pomfret and found him not only willing, but greatly pleased to rent
- his house to Mr. Richard Annis and his bride. “I hev made a good bargain,”
- he continued, “and if Dick and Faith like the place, I doan’t see why they
- should not then buy it. Surely if they winter and summer a house for three
- years, they ought to know whether it is worth its price or not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In this conversation it seemed quite easy for the two men to arrange a
- simple, quiet marriage to take place in a week or ten days, but when Faith
- and Mrs. Annis were taken into the consultation, the simple, quiet
- marriage became a rather difficult problem. Faith said that she would not
- leave her father until she had packed her father’s books and seen all
- their personal property comfortably arranged in the preacher’s house in
- Bradford. Then some allusion was made to her wardrobe, and the men
- remembered the wedding dress and other incidentals. Mistress Annis found
- it hard to believe that the squire really expected such a wedding as he
- and Mr. Foster actually planned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Why-a, Antony!</i>” she said, “the dear girl must have a lot to do
- both for her father and hersen. A marriage within two or three months is
- quite impossible. Of course she must see Mr. Foster settled in his new
- home and also find a proper person to look after his comfort. And after
- that is done, she will have her wedding dress to order and doubtless many
- other garments. And where will the wedding ceremony take place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In Bradford, I suppose. Usually the bridegroom goes to his bride’s home
- for her. I suppose Dick will want to do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He cannot do so in this case. The future squire of Annis must be married
- in Annis church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps Mr. Foster might——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Antony Annis! What you are going to say is impossible! Methodist
- preachers cannot marry anyone legally. I have known that for years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that law has been abrogated. There was a law spoken of that was
- to repeal all the disqualifications of Dissenters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We cannot have any uncertainties about our son’s marriage. Thou knows
- that well. And as for any hole-in-a-corner ceremony, it is impossible. We
- gave our daughter Katherine a proper, public wedding; we must do the same
- for Dick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It is easy under these circumstances to see how two loving, anxious women
- could impose on themselves extra responsibilities and thus lengthen out
- the interval of separation for nearly three months. For Faith, when the
- decision was finally left to her, refused positively to be married from
- the Hall. Thanking the squire and his wife for their kind and generous
- intentions, she said without a moment’s hesitation, that “she could not be
- married to anyone except from her father’s home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be a most unkind slight to the best of fathers,” she said. “It
- would be an insult to the most wise and tender affection any daughter ever
- received. I am not the least ashamed of my simple home and simple living,
- and neither father nor myself look on marriage as an occasion for mirth
- and feasting and social visiting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How then do you regard it?” asked Mistress Annis, “as a time of solemnity
- and fear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We regard it as we do other religious rites. We think it a condition to
- be assumed with religious thought and gravity. Madam Temple is of our
- opinion. She said dressing and dancing and feasting over a bridal always
- reminded her of the ancient sacrificial festivals and its garlanded
- victim.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The squire gave a hearty assent to Faith’s opinion. He said it was not
- only right but humane that most young fellows hated the show, and fuss,
- and wastry over the usual wedding festival, and would be grateful to
- escape it. “And I don’t mind saying,” he added, “that Annie and I did
- escape it; and I am sure our married life has been as near to a perfectly
- happy life as mortals can hope for in this world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick also thinks as we do,” said Faith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>That</i>, of course,” replied Mistress Annis, just a little offended
- at the non-acceptance of her social plans.
- </p>
- <p>
- However, Faith carried out her own wishes in a strict but sweetly
- considerate way. Towards the end of November, Mr. Foster had been
- comfortably settled in his new home at Bradford. She had arranged his
- study and put his books in the alphabetical order he liked, and every part
- of the small dwelling was in spotless order and comfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime Annie was preparing with much love and care the Pomfret
- house for Dick and Dick’s wife. It was a work she delighted herself in and
- she grudged neither money nor yet personal attention to make it a House
- Beautiful.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not, however, go to the wedding. It was November, dripping and
- dark and cold, and she knew she had done all she could, and that it would
- be the greatest kindness, at this time, to retire. But she kissed Dick and
- sent him away with love and good hopes and valuable gifts of lace and gems
- for his bride. The squire accompanied him to Bradford, and they went
- together to The Black Swan Inn. A great political meeting was to occur
- that night in the Town Hall, and the squire went there, while Dick spent a
- few hours with his bride and her father. As was likely to happen, the
- squire was immediately recognized by every wool-dealer present and he was
- hailed with hearty cheers, escorted to the platform, and made what he
- always considered the finest speech of his life. He was asked to talk of
- the Reform Bill and he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Not I</i>! That child was born to England after a hard labor and will
- hev to go through the natural growth of England, which we all know is a
- tremendously slow one. But it will go on! It will go on steadily, till it
- comes of full age. Varry few, if any of us, now present will be in this
- world at that time; but I am sure wherever we are, the news will find us
- out and will gladden our hearts even in the happiness of a better world
- than this, though I’ll take it on me to say that this world is a varry
- good world if we only do our duty in it and to it, and love mercy and show
- kindness.” Then he spoke grandly for labor and the laboring man and woman.
- He pointed out their fine, though uncultivated intellectual abilities,
- told of his own weavers, learning to read after they were forty years old,
- of their unlearning an old trade and learning a new one with so much ease
- and rapidity, and of their great natural skill in oratory, both as
- regarded religion and politics. “Working men and working women are <i>the
- hands</i> of the whole world,” he said. “With such men as Cartwright and
- Stevenson among them, I wouldn’t dare to say a word lessening the power of
- their mental abilities. Mebbe it was as great a thing to invent the power
- loom or conceive of a railroad as to run a newspaper or write a book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was vehemently applauded. Some time afterwards, Faith said the
- Yorkshire roar of approval was many streets away, and that her father went
- to find out what had caused it. “He was told by the man at the door, ‘it’s
- nobbut one o’ them Yorkshire squires who hev turned into factory men. A
- great pity, sir!’ he added. ‘Old England used to pin her faith on her
- landed gentry, and now they hev all gone into the money market.’ My father
- then said that they might be just as useful there, and the man answered
- warmly: ‘And thou art the new Methodist preacher, I suppose! I’m ashamed
- of thee—I am that!’ When father tried to explain his meaning, the
- man said: ‘Nay-a! I’m not caring what <i>tha means</i>. A man should stand
- by what he <i>says</i>. Folks hevn’t time to find out his meanings. I’ve
- about done wi’ thee!’ Father told him he had not done with him and would
- see him again in a few days.” And then she smiled and added, “Father saw
- him later, and they are now the best of friends.” The wedding morning was
- gray and sunless, but its gloom only intensified the white loveliness of
- the bride. Her perfectly plain, straight skirt of rich, white satin and
- its high girlish waist looked etherially white in the November gloom. A
- wonderful cloak of Russian sable which was Aunt Josepha’s gift, covered
- her when she stepped into the carriage with her father, and then drove
- with the little wedding party to Bradford parish church. There was no
- delay of any kind. The service was read by a solemn and gracious
- clergyman, the records were signed in the vestry, and in less than an hour
- the party was back at Mr. Foster’s house. A simple breakfast for the eight
- guests present followed, and then Faith, having changed her wedding gown
- for one of light gray broadcloth of such fine texture that it looked like
- satin, came into the parlor on her father’s arm. He took her straight to
- Dick, and once more gave her to him. The tender little resignation was
- made with smiles and with those uncalled tears which bless and consecrate
- happiness that is too great for words.
- </p>
- <p>
- After Dick’s marriage, affairs at Annis went on with the steady regularity
- of the life they had invited and welcomed. The old church bells still
- chimed away the hours, but few of the dwellers in Annis paid any attention
- to their call. The factory bell now measured out the days and the majority
- lived by its orders. To a few it was good to think of Christmas being so
- nearly at hand; they hoped that a flavor of the old life might come with
- Christmas. At Annis Hall they expected a visit from Madam Temple, and it
- might be that Dick and Faith would remember this great home festival, and
- come back to join in it. Yet the family were so scattered that such a hope
- hardly looked for realization. Selby and Katherine were in Naples, and
- Dick and Faith in Paris and Aunt Josepha in her London home where she
- hastily went one morning to escape the impertinent clang of the factory
- bell. At least that was her excuse for a sudden homesickness for her
- London house. Annie, however, confided to the squire her belief that the
- rather too serious attentions of John Thomas Bradley were the predisposing
- grievances, rather than the factory bell. So the days slipped by and the
- squire and Jonathan Hartley were in full charge of the mill.
- </p>
- <p>
- It did exceedingly well under their care, but soon after Christmas the
- squire began to look very weary, and Annie wished heartily that Dick would
- return, and so allow his father to take a little change or rest. For Annie
- did not know that Dick’s father had been constantly adding to Dick’s
- honeymoon holiday. “Take another week, Dick! We can do a bit longer
- without thee,” had been his regular postscript, and the young people, a
- little thoughtlessly, had just taken another week.
- </p>
- <p>
- However, towards the end of January, Dick and his wife returned and took
- possession of their own home in the Pomfret place. The squire had made its
- tenure secure for three years, and Annie had spared no effort to render it
- beautiful and full of comfort, and it was in its large sunny parlor she
- had the welcome home meal spread. It was Annie that met and kissed them on
- the threshold, but the squire stood beaming at her side, and the evening
- was not long enough to hear and to tell of all that happened during the
- weeks in which they had been separated.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course they had paid a little visit to Mr. and Mistress Selby and had
- found them preparing to return by a loitering route to London. “But,” said
- Dick, “they are too happy to hurry themselves. Life is yet a delicious
- dream; they do not wish to awaken just yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They cannot be ‘homed’ near a factory,” said Annie with a little laugh.
- “Josepha found it intolerable. It made her run home very quickly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought she liked it. She said to me that it affected her like the
- marching call of a trumpet, and seemed to say to her, ‘Awake, Josepha!
- There is a charge for thy soul to-day!’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hours full of happy desultory conversation passed the joyful evening of
- reunion, but during them Dick noted the irrepressible evidences of mental
- weariness in his father’s usually alert mind, and as he was bidding him
- good night, he said as he stood hand-clasped with him: “Father, you must
- be off to London in two days, and not later. Parliament opens on the
- twenty-ninth, and you must see the opening of the First Reformed
- Parliament.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Why-a</i>, Dick! To be sure! I would like to be present. I would like
- nothing better. The noise of the mill hes got lately on my nerves. I niver
- knew before I hed nerves. It bothered me above a bit, when that young
- doctor we hev for our hands told me I was ‘intensely nervous.’ I hed niver
- before thought about men and women heving nerves. I told him it was the
- noise of the machinery and he said it was my nerves. I was almost ashamed
- to tell thy mother such a tale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Annie laughed and answered, “Of course it was the noise, Dick, and I
- told thy father not to mind anything that young fellow said. The idea of
- Squire Annis heving what they call ‘nerves.’ I hev heard weakly, sickly
- women talk of their nerves, but it would be a queer thing if thy father
- should find any nerves about himsen. Not he! It is just the noise,” and
- she gave Dick’s hand a pressure that he thoroughly understood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go to London, father, and see what sort of a job these new men make of a
- parliamentary opening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose Jonathan and thysen could manage for a week without me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We would do our best. Nothing could go far wrong in a week. This is the
- twenty-fifth of January, father. Parliament opens on the twenty-ninth.
- London was getting crowded with the new fellows as Faith and I came
- through it. They were crowding the hotels, and showing themselves off as
- the ‘Reformed Parliament.’ I would have enjoyed hearing thee set them down
- a peg or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the old fire blazed in the squire’s eyes, and he said, “I’ll be off
- to-morrow afternoon, Dick. I’m glad thou told me. If there’s anything I
- hev a contempt for it is a conceited upstart. I’ll turn any of that crowd
- down to the bottom of their class;” and the squire who left the Pomfret
- house that night was a very different man from the squire who entered it
- that afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two days afterwards the squire was off to London. He went first to the
- Clarendon and sent word to his sister of his arrival. She answered his
- note in person within an hour. “My dear, dear lad!” she cried. “My
- carriage is at the door and we will go straight home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, we won’t, Josepha. I want a bit of freedom. I want to go and come as
- I like. I want to stay in the House of Commons all night long, if the new
- members are passing compliments on each other’s records and abilities. I
- hev come up to London to feel what it’s like to do as I please, and above
- all, not to be watched and cared for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, Antony! I know! Some men are too happily married. In my opinion,
- it is the next thing to being varry—-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean nothing wrong, Josepha. I only want to be let alone a bit until I
- find mysen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Find thysen?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. Here’s our medical man at the mill telling me ‘I hev what he
- calls nerves.’ I hevn’t! Not I! I’m a bit tired of the days being all
- alike. I’d enjoy a bit of a scolding from Annie now for lying in bed half
- the morning, and as sure as I hev a varry important engagement at the
- mill, I hear the hounds, and the <i>view, holloa!</i> and it is as much as
- I can do to hold mysen in my chair. It is <i>that</i> thou doesn’t
- understand, I suppose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do understand. I hev the same feeling often. I want to do things I
- would do if I was only a man. Do exactly as thou feels to do, Antony,
- while the mill is out of sight and hearing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, I will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is our mill doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If tha calls making money doing well, then the Temple and Annis mill
- can’t be beat, so far.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad to hear it. Wheniver the notion takes thee, come and see me. I
- hev a bit of private business that I want to speak to thee about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I’ll come and see thee—often.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’ll leave thee to thysen”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll be obliged to thee, Josepha. Thou allays hed more sense than the
- average woman, who never seems to understand that average men like now and
- then to be left to their awn will and way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll go back with thee to Annis and we can do all our talking there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s sensible. We will take the early coach two weeks from to-day. I’ll
- call for thee at eleven o’clock, and we’ll stay over at the old inn at
- Market Harborough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is right. I’ll go my ways now. Take care of thysen and behave thysen
- as well as tha can,” and then she clasped his hand and went good-naturedly
- away. But as she rode home, she said to herself—“Poor lad! I’ll
- forgive and help him, whativer he does. I hope Annie will be as loving. I
- wonder why God made women so varry good. He knew what kind of men they
- would mebbe hev to live with. Poor Antony! I hope he’ll hev a real good
- time—I do that!” and she smiled and shrugged her shoulders and kept
- the rest of her speculations to herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two weeks the squire had specified went its daily way, and Josepha
- received no letter from her brother, but at the time appointed he knocked
- at her door promptly and decidedly. Josepha had trusted him. She met him
- in warm traveling clothes, and they went away with a smile and a perfect
- trust in each other. Josepha knew better than to ask a man questions. She
- let him talk of what he had seen and heard, she made no inquiries as to
- what he had <i>done</i>, and when they were at Market Harborough he told
- her he had slept every hour away except those he spent in The House. “I
- felt as if I niver, niver, could sleep enough, Josepha. It was fair
- wonderful, and as it happened there were no night sessions I missed
- nothing I wanted to see or hear. But tha knows I’ll hev to tell Annie and
- mebbe others about The House, so I’ll keep that to mysen till we get all
- together. It wouldn’t bear two talks over. Would it now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be better stuff than usual if it did, Antony. Thou wilt be much
- missed when it comes to debating.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I shall. I hev my word ready when it is the right time to say it,
- that is, generally speaking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Josepha’s visit was unexpected but Annie took it with apparent enthusiasm,
- and the two women together made such a fuss over the improvement in the
- squire’s appearance that Josepha could not help remembering the plaintive
- remarks of her brother about being too much cared for. However, nothing
- could really dampen the honest joy in the squire’s return, and when the
- evening meal had been placed upon the table and the fire stirred to a
- cheering blaze, the room was full of a delightful sense of happiness. A
- little incident put the finishing touch to Annie’s charming preparation. A
- servant stirred the fire with no apparent effect. Annie then tried to get
- blaze with no better result. Then the squire with one of his heartiest
- laughs took the apparently ineffectual poker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “See here, women!” he cried. “You do iverything about a house better than
- a man except stirring a fire. Why? Because a woman allays stirs a fire
- from the top. That’s against all reason.” Then with a very decided hand he
- attacked the lower strata of coals and they broke up with something like a
- big laugh, crackling and sputtering flame and sparks, and filling the room
- with a joyful illumination. And in this happy atmosphere they sat down to
- eat and to talk together.
- </p>
- <p>
- Josepha had found a few minutes to wash her face and put her hair
- straight, the squire had been pottering about his wife and the luggage and
- the fire and was still in his fine broadcloth traveling suit, which with
- its big silver buttons, its smart breeches and top boots, its line of
- scarlet waistcoat and plentiful show of white cambric round the throat,
- made him an exceedingly handsome figure. And if the husbands who may
- chance to read of this figure will believe it, this good man, so carefully
- dressed, had thought as he put on every garment, of the darling wife he
- wished still to please above all others.
- </p>
- <p>
- The first thing the squire noticed was the absence of Dick and Faith.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are they?” he asked in a disappointed tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Antony,” said Josepha, “Annie was just telling me that Dick hed
- gone to Bradford to buy a lot of woolen yarns; if so be he found they were
- worth the asking price, and as Faith’s father is now in Bradford, it was
- only natural she should wish to go with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Varry natural, but was it wise? I niver could abide a woman traipsing
- after me when I hed any business on hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s where you made a mistake, Antony. If Annie hed been a business
- woman, you would hev built yoursen a mill twenty years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, I would, if Annie hed asked me. Not without. When is Dick to be
- home?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some time to-morrow,” answered Annie. “He is anxious to see thee. He
- isn’t on any loitering business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Josepha, there is no time for loitering. All England is spinning
- like a whipped top at full speed. In Manchester and Preston the wheels of
- the looms go merrily round. Oh, there is so much I want to do!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had nearly finished a very happy meal when there was a sound of men’s
- voices coming nearer and nearer and the silver and china stopped their
- tinkling and the happy trio were still a moment as they listened. “It will
- be Jonathan and a few of the men to get the news from me,” said the
- squire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Antony, I thought of that and there is a roaring fire in the
- ballroom and the chairs are set out, and thou can talk to them from the
- orchestra.” And the look of love that followed this information made
- Annie’s heart feel far too big for everyday comfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were about fifty men to seat. Jonathan was their leader and
- spokesman, and he went to the orchestra with the squire and stood by the
- squire’s chair, and when ordinary courtesies had been exchanged, Jonathan
- said, “Squire, we want thee to tell us about the Reform Parliament. The <i>Yorkshire
- Post</i> says thou were present, and we felt that we might ask thee to
- tell us about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For sure I will. I was there as soon as the House was opened, and John
- O’Connell went in with me. He was one of the ‘Dan O’Connell household
- brigade,’ which consists of old Dan, his three sons, and two sons-in-law.
- They were inclined to quarrel with everyone, and impudently took their
- seats on the front benches as if to awe the Ministerial Whigs who were
- exactly opposite them. William Cobbett was the most conspicuous man among
- them. He was poorly dressed in a suit of pepper and salt cloth, made
- partly like a Quaker’s and partly like a farmer’s suit, and he hed a white
- hat on. * His head was thrown backward so as to give the fullest view of
- his shrewd face and his keen, cold eyes. Cobbett had no respect for
- anyone, and in his first speech a bitter word niver failed him if he was
- speaking of the landed gentry whom he called ‘unfeeling tyrants’ and the
- lords of the loom he called ‘rich ruffians.’ Even the men pleading for
- schools for the poor man’s children were ‘education-cantors’ to him, and
- he told them plainly that nothing would be good for the working man that
- did not increase his victuals, his drink and his clothing.
- </p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
- * A white hat was the sign of an extreme Radical.
-</pre>
- <p>
- “Is that so, men?” asked the squire. He was answered by a “<i>No!</i>”
- whose style of affirmation was too emphatic to be represented by written
- words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the Reform Bill, squire? What was said about the Reform Bill and the
- many good things it promised us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I niver heard it named, men. And I may as well tell you now that you need
- expect nothing in a hurry. All that really has been given you is an
- opportunity to help yoursens. Listen to me. The Reform Bill has taken from
- sixty boroughs both their members, and forty-seven boroughs hev been
- reduced to one member. These changes will add at least half a million
- voters to the list, and this half-million will all come from the sturdy
- and generally just, great middle class of England. It will mebbe take
- another generation to include the working class, and a bit longer to hev
- the laboring class educated sufficiently to vote. That is England’s slow,
- sure way. It doan’t say it is the best way, but it is <i>our</i> way, and
- none of us can hinder or hasten it. **
- </p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
- ** In 1867, during Lord Derby’s administration, it was made
- to include the artizans and mechanics, and in Gladstone’s
- administration, A. D. 1884, the Reform Bill was made to
- include agricultural and all day laborers.
-</pre>
- <p>
- “In the meantime you have received from your own class of famous inventors
- a loom that can make every man a master. Power-loom weaving is the most
- healthy, the best paid, and the pleasantest of all occupations. With the
- exception of the noise of the machinery, it has nothing disagreeable about
- it. You that already own your houses take care of them. Every inch of your
- ground will soon be worth gold. I wouldn’t wonder to see you, yoursens,
- build your awn mills upon it. Oh, there is nothing difficult in that to a
- man who trusts in God and believes in himsen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And men, when you hev grown to be rich men, doan’t forget your God and
- your Country. Stick to your awn dear country. Make your money in it. Be
- Englishmen until God gives you a better country, Which won’t be in this
- world. But whether you go abroad, or whether you stay at home, niver
- forget the mother that bore you. She’ll niver forget you. And if a man hes
- God and his mother to plead for him, he is well off, both for this world
- and the next.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is true, squire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God has put us all in the varry place he thought best for the day’s work
- He wanted from us. It is more than a bit for’ardson in us telling Him we
- know better than He does, and go marching off to Australia or New Zealand
- or Canada. It takes a queer sort of a chap to manage life in a strange
- country full of a contrary sort of human beings. Yorkshire men are <i>all</i>
- Yorkshire. They hevn’t room in their shape and make-up for new-fangled
- ways and ideas. You hev a deal to be proud of in England that wouldn’t be
- worth a half-penny anywhere else. It’s a varry difficult thing to be an
- Englishman and a Yorkshireman, which is the best kind of an Englishman, as
- far as I know, and not brag a bit about it. There’s no harm in a bit of
- honest bragging about being himsen a Roman citizen and I do hope a
- straight for-ard Englishman may do what St. Paul did—brag a bit
- about his citizenship. And as I hev just said, I say once more, don’t
- leave England unless you hev a clear call to do so; but if you do, then
- make up your minds to be a bit more civil to the strange people than you
- usually are to strangers. It is a common saying in France and Italy that
- Englishmen will eat no beef but English beef, nor be civil to any God but
- their awn God. I doan’t say try to please iverybody, just do your duty,
- and do it pleasantly. That’s about all we can any of us manage, eh,
- Jonathan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are told, sir, to do to others as we would like them to do to us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For sure! But a great many Yorkshire people translate that precept into
- this—‘Tak’ care of Number One.’ Let strangers’ religion and politics
- alone. Most—I might as well say <i>all</i>—of you men here,
- take your politics as seriously as you take your religion, and that is
- saying a great deal. I couldn’t put it stronger, could I, Jonathan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir! I doan’t think you could. It is a varry true comparison. It is
- surely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, lads, in the future, it is to be work and pray, and do the varry
- best you can with your new looms. It may so happen that in the course of
- years some nation that hes lost the grip of all its good and prudent
- senses, will try to invade England. It isn’t likely, but it might be. Then
- I say to each man of you, without an hour’s delay, do as I’ve often heard
- you sing—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “ ‘Off with your labor cap! rush to the van!
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The sword is your tool, and the height of your plan
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Is to turn yoursen into a fighting man.’
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lads, I niver was much on poetry but when I was a varry young man, I
- learned eleven lines that hev helped me in many hours of trial and
- temptation to remember that I was an English gentleman, and so bound by
- birth and honor to behave like one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will tha say them eleven lines to us, squire? Happen they might help us a
- bit, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure of it, Jonathan.” With these words, the kind-hearted,
- scrupulously honorable gentleman lifted his hat, and as he did so, fifty
- paper caps were lifted as if by one hand and the men who wore them rose as
- one man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may keep your standing, lads, the eleven lines are worthy of that
- honor; and then in a proud, glad enthusiasm, the squire repeated them with
- such a tone of love and such a grandeur of diction and expression as no
- words can represent:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- This other Eden, demi-Paradise;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- This fortress built by Nature for herself,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Against infection, and the hand of war,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- This happy breed of men, this little world,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- This precious stone set in the silver sea,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Which serves it in the office of a wall—
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Or as a moat defensive to a house—
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Against the envy of less happier lands.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- And the orator and his audience were all nearer crying than they knew, for
- it was pride and love that made their hearts beat so high and their eyes
- overflow with happy tears. The room felt as if it was on fire, and every
- man that hour knew that Patriotism is one of the holiest sentiments of the
- soul. With lifted caps, they went away in the stillness of that happiness,
- which the language of earth has not one word to represent.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV—A RECALL
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>FTER this event I
- never saw Squire Antony Annis any more. Within a week, I had left the
- place, and I was not there again until the year A. D. 1884, a period of
- fifty-one years. Yet the lovely village was clear enough in my memory. I
- approached it by one of the railroads boring their way through the hills
- and valleys surrounding the place, and as I did so, I recalled vividly its
- pretty primitive cottages—each one set in its own garden of herbs
- and flowers. I could hear the clattering of the looms in the loom sheds
- attached to most of these dwellings. I could see the handsome women with
- their large, rosy families, and the burly men standing in groups
- discussing some recent sermon, or horse race, or walking with their
- sweethearts; and perhaps singing “The Lily of the Valley,” or “There is a
- Land of Pure Delight!” I could hear or see the children laughing or
- quarreling, or busy with their bobbins at the spinning wheel, and I could
- even follow every note of the melody the old church chimes were flinging
- into the clear, sweet atmosphere above me.
- </p>
- <p>
- In reality, I had no hopes of seeing or hearing any of these things again,
- and the nearer I approached Annis Railroad Station, the more surely I was
- aware that my expectation of disappointment was a certain presage. I found
- the once lovely village a large town, noisy and dirty and full of red
- mills. There were whole streets of them, their lofty walls pierced with
- more windows than there are days in a year, and their enormously high
- chimneys shutting out the horizon as with a wall. The street that had once
- overlooked the clear fast-running river was jammed with mills, the river
- had become foul and black with the refuse of dyeing materials and other
- necessities of mill labor.
- </p>
- <p>
- The village had totally disappeared. In whatever direction I looked there
- was nothing but high brick mills, with enormously lofty chimneys lifted up
- into the smoky atmosphere. However, as my visit was in the winter, I had
- many opportunities of seeing these hundreds and thousands of mill windows
- lit up in the early mornings and in the twilight of the autumn evenings.
- It was a marvelous and unforget-able sight. Nothing could make commonplace
- this sudden, silent, swift appearance of light from the myriad of windows,
- up the hills, and down the hills, through the valleys, and following the
- river, and lighting up the wolds, every morning and every evening, just
- for the interval of dawning and twilight. As a spectacle it is
- indescribable; there is no human vocabulary has a word worthy of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The operatives were as much changed as the place. All traces of that
- feudal loyalty which had existed between Squire Annis and his weavers, had
- gone forever, with home and hand-labor, and individual bargaining. The
- power-loom weaver was even then the most independent of all workers. And
- men, women and children were well educated, for among the first bills
- passed by Parliament after the Reform Bill was one founding National
- schools over the length and breadth of England; and the third generation
- since was then entering them. “Now that you have given the people the
- vote,” said Lord Brougham, “you must educate them. The men who say ‘yes’
- or ‘no’ to England’s national problems must be able to read all about
- them.” So National Schools followed The Bill, and I found in Annis a large
- Public Library, young men’s Debating Societies, and courses of lectures,
- literary and scientific.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the following Sunday night, I went to the Methodist chapel. The old one
- had disappeared, but a large handsome building stood on its site. The
- moment I entered it, I was met by the cheerful Methodist welcome and
- because I was a stranger I was taken to the Preacher’s pew. Someone was
- playing a voluntary, on an exceptionally fine organ, and in the midst of a
- pathetic minor passage—which made me feel as if I had just lost Eden
- over again—there was a movement, and with transfigured faces the
- whole congregation rose to its feet and began to sing. The voluntary had
- slipped into the grand psalm tune called “<i>Olivet</i>” and a thousand
- men and women, a thousand West Riding voices, married the grand old Psalm
- tune to words equally grand—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Lo! He comes with clouds descending,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Once for favored sinners slain;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Thousand, thousand saints attending,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Swell the triumph of his train.
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Halleluiah!
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- God appears on the earth to reign.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Yea, Amen! let all adore thee,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- High on Thy eternal throne;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Savior, take the power and glory!
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Claim the kingdom for Thine own.
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Halleluiah!
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Everlasting God come down!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- And at this hour I am right glad, because my memory recalls that wonderful
- congregational singing; even as I write the words, I hear it. It was not
- Emotionalism. No, indeed! It was a good habit of the soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning I took an early train to the cathedral city of Ripon, and
- every street I passed through on my way to the North-Western Station was
- full of mills. You could not escape the rattle of their machinery, nor the
- plunging of the greasy piston rods at every window. It was not yet eight
- o’clock, but the station was crowded with men carrying samples of every
- kind of wool or cotton. They were neighbors, and often friends, but they
- took no notice of each other. They were on business, and their hands were
- full of bundles. So full that I saw several men who could not manage their
- railway ticket, and let the conductor take it from their teeth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now when I travel, I like to talk with my company, but as I looked around,
- I could not persuade myself that any of these business-saturated men would
- condescend to converse with an inquisitive woman. However, a little
- further on, a very complete clergyman came into my compartment. He looked
- at me inquiringly, and I felt sure he was speculating about my social
- position. So I hastened to put him at ease, by some inquiries about the
- Annis family.
- </p>
- <p>
- “O dear me!” he replied. “So you remember the old Squire Antony! How Time
- does fly! The Annis people still love and obey Squire Antony. I suppose he
- is the only person they do love and obey. How long is it since you were
- here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Over fifty years. I saw the great Reform Bill passed, just before I left
- Annis in 1833.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean the first part of it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, sir, had it more than one part?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should say so. It seemed to need a deal of altering and repairing. The
- Bill you saw pass was Grey’s bill. It cleaned up the Lords and Commons,
- and landed gentlemen of England. Thirty-five years later, Derby and
- Disraeli’s Reform Bill gave the Franchise to the great middle class,
- mechanics and artizan classes, and this very year Gladstone extended the
- Bill to take in more than two millions of agricultural and day laborers.
- It has made a deal of difference with all classes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it is quite a coincidence that I should be here at the finish of
- this long struggle. I have seen the beginning and the end of it. Really
- quite a coincidence,” and I laughed a little foolish laugh, for the
- clergyman did not laugh with me. On the contrary he said thoughtfully:
- “Coincidences come from higher intelligences than ourselves. We cannot
- control them, but they are generally fortunate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Higher intelligences than ourselves?” I asked. “Yes. This world is both
- the workfield and the battlefield of those sent to minister unto souls who
- are to be heirs of salvation, and who perhaps, in their turn, become
- comforting and helpful spirits to the children of men. Yes. A coincidence
- is generally a fortunate circumstance. Someone higher than ourselves, has
- to do with it. Are you an American?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have lived in America for half-a-century.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In what part of America?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In many parts, north and south and west. My life has been full of
- changes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Change is good fortune. Yes, it is. To change is to live, and to have
- changed often, is to have had a perfect life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think the weavers of Annis much improved by all the changes that
- steam and machinery have brought to them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Machinery confers neither moral nor physical perfection, and steam
- and iron and electricity do not in any way affect the moral nature. Men
- lived and died before these things were known. They could do so again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the guard came and unlocked our carriage, and my companion gathered
- his magazines and newspapers together and the train began to slow up. He
- turned to me with a smile and said, “Good-by, friend. Go on having
- changes, and fear not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But if I <i>do</i> fear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look up, and say:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “O Thou who changest not! Abide with me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- With these words he went away forever. I had not even asked his name, nor
- had he asked mine. We were just two wayfarers passing each other on life’s
- highway. He had brought me a message, and then departed. But there are
- other worlds beyond this. We had perhaps been introduced for this future.
- For I do believe that no one touches our life here, who has not some
- business or right to do so. For our lives before this life and our lives
- yet to be are all one, separated only by the little sleep we call death.
- </p>
- <p>
- I reached Ripon just at nightfall, and the quiet of the cathedral city,
- its closed houses, and peaceful atmosphere, did not please me. After the
- stress and rush of the West Riding, I thought the place must be asleep. On
- the third morning I asked myself, “What are you doing here? What has the
- past to give you? To-day is perhaps yours—Yesterday is as
- unattainable as To-morrow.” Then the thought of New York stirred me, and I
- hastened and took the fastest train for Liverpool, and in eight days I had
- crossed the sea, and was in New York and happily and busily at work again.
- </p>
- <p>
- But I did not dismiss Annis from my memory and when the first mutterings
- of the present war was heard, I remembered Squire Antony, and his charge
- to the weavers of Annis—“It may so happen,” he said, “that in the
- course of years, some nation, that has lost the grip of all its good
- senses, will try to invade England. It isn’t likely, but it might be so.
- Then I say to each of you, and every man of you, without one hour’s delay,
- do as I have often heard you sing, and say you would do:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “ ‘Off with your Labor Cap! rush to the van!
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The sword for your tool, and the height of your plan
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- To turn yoursen into a fighting man<i>! </i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Would they do so?
- </p>
- <p>
- As I repeated the squire’s order, I fell naturally into the Yorkshire form
- of speech and it warmed my heart and set it beating high and fast.
- </p>
- <p>
- Would the ‘Yorkshires’ still honor the charge Squire Annis had given them?
- Oh, how could I doubt it! England had been in some war or other, nearly
- ever since the squire’s charge, and the ‘Yorkshires’ had always been soon
- and solid in rushing to her help. It was not likely that in this
- tremendous struggle, they would either be too slow, or too cold. Not they!
- Not they! They were early at the van, and doubly welcome; and they are
- helping at this hour to fight a good fight for all humanity; and learning
- the while, how to become of the highest type of manhood that can be
- fashioned in this world. Not by alphabets and books, but by the crucial
- living experiences that spring only from the courses of Life and Death—divine
- monitions, high hopes and plans, that enlarge the judgment, and the
- sympathies, the heart and the intellect, and that with such swift and
- mysterious perfection, as can only be imparted while the mortal stands on
- the very verge of Immortality.
- </p>
- <p>
- Very soon, now, they will come home bringing a perfect peace with them,
- then!<i> how good will be their quiet, simple lives, and their daily
- labor, and their Paper Cap! </i>
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paper Cap, by Amelia E. Barr
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