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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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