Shirley
length of time that had elapsed since the family quitted his parish, the
changes which had occurred since; he answered questions touching his
sister Margaret, who was inquired after with much interest; he asked
questions in his turn, and at last, glancing hastily and anxiously round
through his spectacles (he wore spectacles, for he was short-sighted) at
the bare room, and at the meagre and wan faces of the circle about
him--for the children had come round his knee, and the father and mother
stood before him--he said abruptly,--
"And how are you all? How do you get on?"
Mr. Hall, be it remarked, though an accomplished scholar, not only spoke
with a strong northern accent, but, on occasion, used freely
north-country expressions.
"We get on poorly," said William; "we're all out of work. I've selled
most o' t' household stuff, as ye may see; and what we're to do next,
God knows."
"Has Mr. Moore turned you off?"
"He has turned us off; and I've sich an opinion of him now that I think
if he'd tak me on again to-morrow I wouldn't work for him."
"It is not like you to say so, William."
"I know it isn't; but I'm getting different to mysel'; I feel I am
changing. I wadn't heed if t' bairns and t' wife had enough to live on;
but they're pinched--they're pined----"
"Well, my lad, and so are you; I see you are. These are grievous times;
I see suffering wherever I turn. William, sit down. Grace, sit down. Let
us talk it over."
And in order the better to talk it over, Mr. Hall lifted the least of
the children on to his knee, and placed his hand on the head of the
next least; but when the small things began to chatter to him he bade
them "Whisht!" and fixing his eyes on the grate, he regarded the handful
of embers which burned there very gravely.
"Sad times," he said, "and they last long. It is the will of God. His
will be done. But He tries us to the utmost."
Again he reflected.
"You've no money, William, and you've nothing you could sell to raise a
small sum?"
"No. I've selled t' chest o' drawers, and t' clock, and t' bit of a
mahogany stand, and t' wife's bonny tea-tray and set o' cheeney 'at she
brought for a portion when we were wed."
"And if somebody lent you a pound or two, could you make any good use of
it? Could you get into a new way of doing something?"
Farren did not answer, but his wife said quickly, "Ay, I'm sure he
could, sir. He's a very contriving chap is our William. If he'd two or
three pounds he could begin selling stuff."
"Could you, William?"
"Please God," returned William deliberately, "I could buy groceries, and
bits o' tapes, and thread, and what I thought would sell, and I could
begin hawking at first."
"And you know, sir," interposed Grace, "you're sure William would
neither drink, nor idle, nor waste, in any way. He's my husband, and I
shouldn't praise him; but I _will_ say there's not a soberer, honester
man i' England nor he is."
"Well, I'll speak to one or two friends, and I think I can promise to
let him have £5 in a day or two--as a loan, ye mind, not a gift. He must
pay it back."
"I understand, sir. I'm quite agreeable to that."
"Meantime, there's a few shillings for you, Grace, just to keep the pot
boiling till custom comes.--Now, bairns, stand up in a row and say your
catechism, while your mother goes and buys some dinner; for you've not
had much to-day, I'll be bound.--You begin, Ben. What is your name?"
Mr. Hall stayed till Grace came back; then he hastily took his leave,
shaking hands with both Farren and his wife. Just at the door he said to
them a few brief but very earnest words of religious consolation and
exhortation. With a mutual "God bless you, sir!" "God bless you, my
friends!" they separated.
CHAPTER IX.
BRIARMAINS.
Messrs. Helstone and Sykes began to be extremely jocose and
congratulatory with Mr. Moore when he returned to them after dismissing
the deputation. He was so quiet, however, under their compliments upon
his firmness, etc., and wore a countenance so like a still, dark day,
equally beamless and breezeless, that the rector, after glancing
shrewdly into his eyes, buttoned up his felicitations with his coat, and
said to Sykes, whose senses were not acute enough to enable him to
discover unassisted where his presence and conversation were a nuisance,
"Come, sir; your road and mine lie partly together. Had we not better
bear each other company? We'll bid Moore good-morning, and leave him to
the happy fancies he seems disposed to indulge."
"And where is Sugden?" demanded Moore, looking up.
"Ah, ha!" cried Helstone. "I've not been quite idle while you were busy.
I've been helping you a little; I flatter myself not injudiciously. I
thought it better not to lose time; so, while you were parleying with
that down-looking gentleman--Farren I think his name is--I opened this
back window, shouted to Murgatroyd, who was in the stable, to bring Mr.
Sykes's gig round; then I smuggled Sugden and brother Moses--wooden leg
and all--through the aperture, and saw them mount the gig (always with
our good friend Sykes's permission, of course). Sugden took the
reins--he drives like Jehu--and in another quarter of an hour
Barraclough will be safe in Stilbro' jail."
"Very good; thank you," said Moore; "and good-morning, gentlemen," he
added, and so politely conducted them to the door, and saw them clear of
his premises.
He was a taciturn, serious man the rest of the day. He did not even
bandy a repartee with Joe Scott, who, for his part, said to his master
only just what was absolutely necessary to the progress of business,
but looked at him a good deal out of the corners of his eyes, frequently
came to poke the counting-house fire for him, and once, as he was
locking up for the day (the mill was then working short time, owing to
the slackness of trade), observed that it was a grand evening, and he
"could wish Mr. Moore to take a bit of a walk up th' Hollow. It would do
him good."
At this recommendation Mr. Moore burst into a short laugh, and after
demanding of Joe what all this solicitude meant, and whether he took him
for a woman or a child, seized the keys from his hand, and shoved him by
the shoulders out of his presence. He called him back, however, ere he
had reached the yard-gate.
"Joe, do you know those Farrens? They are not well off, I suppose?"
"They cannot be well off, sir, when they've not had work as a three
month. Ye'd see yoursel' 'at William's sorely changed--fair paired.
They've selled most o' t' stuff out o' th' house."
"He was not a bad workman?"
"Ye never had a better, sir, sin' ye began trade."
"And decent people--the whole family?"
"Niver dacenter. Th' wife's a raight cant body, and as clean--ye mught
eat your porridge off th' house floor. They're sorely comed down. I wish
William could get a job as gardener or summat i' that way; he
understands gardening weel. He once lived wi' a Scotchman that tached
him the mysteries o' that craft, as they say."
"Now, then, you can go, Joe. You need not stand there staring at me."
"Ye've no orders to give, sir?"
"None, but for you to take yourself off."
Which Joe did accordingly.
* * * * *
Spring evenings are often cold and raw, and though this had been a fine
day, warm even in the morning and meridian sunshine, the air chilled at
sunset, the ground crisped, and ere dusk a hoar frost was insidiously
stealing over growing grass and unfolding bud. It whitened the pavement
in front of Briarmains (Mr. Yorke's residence), and made silent havoc
among the tender plants in his garden, and on the mossy level of his
lawn. As to that great tree, strong-trunked and broad-armed, which
guarded the gable nearest the road, it seemed to defy a spring-night
frost to harm its still bare boughs; and so did the leafless grove of
walnut-trees rising tall behind the house.
In the dusk of the moonless if starry night, lights from windows shone
vividly. This was no dark or lonely scene, nor even a silent one.
Briarmains stood near the highway. It was rather an old place, and had
been built ere that highway was cut, and when a lane winding up through
fields was the only path conducting to it. Briarfield lay scarce a mile
off; its hum was heard, its glare distinctly seen. Briar Chapel, a
large, new, raw Wesleyan place of worship, rose but a hundred yards
distant; and as there was even now a prayer-meeting being held within
its walls, the illumination of its windows cast a bright reflection on
the road, while a hymn of a most extraordinary description, such as a
very Quaker might feel himself moved by the Spirit to dance to, roused
cheerily all the echoes of the vicinage. The words were distinctly
audible by snatches. Here is a quotation or two from different strains;
for the singers passed jauntily from hymn to hymn and from tune to tune,
with an ease and buoyancy all their own:--
"Oh! who can explain
This struggle for life,
This travail and pain,
This trembling and strife?
Plague, earthquake, and famine,
And tumult and war,
The wonderful coming
Of Jesus declare!
"For every fight
Is dreadful and loud:
The warrior's delight
Is slaughter and blood,
His foes overturning,
Till all shall expire:
And this is with burning,
And fuel, and fire!"
Here followed an interval of clamorous prayer, accompanied by fearful
groans. A shout of "I've found liberty!" "Doad o' Bill's has fun'
liberty!" rang from the chapel, and out all the assembly broke again.
"What a mercy is this!
What a heaven of bliss!
How unspeakably happy am I!
Gathered into the fold,
With Thy people enrolled,
With Thy people to live and to die!
"Oh, the goodness of God
In employing a clod
His tribute of glory to raise;
His standard to bear,
And with triumph declare
His unspeakable riches of grace!
"Oh, the fathomless love
That has deigned to approve
And prosper the work of my hands.
With my pastoral crook
I went over the brook,
And behold I am spread into bands!
"Who, I ask in amaze,
Hath begotten me these?
And inquire from what quarter they came.
My full heart it replies,
They are born from the skies,
And gives glory to God and the Lamb!"
The stanza which followed this, after another and longer interregnum of
shouts, yells, ejaculations, frantic cries, agonized groans, seemed to
cap the climax of noise and zeal.
"Sleeping on the brink of sin,
Tophet gaped to take us in;
Mercy to our rescue flew,
Broke the snare, and brought us through.
"Here, as in a lion's den,
Undevoured we still remain,
Pass secure the watery flood,
Hanging on the arm of God.
"Here----"
(Terrible, most distracting to the ear, was the strained shout in which
the last stanza was given.)
"Here we raise our voices higher,
Shout in the refiner's fire,
Clap our hands amidst the flame,
Glory give to Jesus' name!"
The roof of the chapel did _not_ fly off, which speaks volumes in praise
of its solid slating.
But if Briar Chapel seemed alive, so also did Briarmains, though
certainly the mansion appeared to enjoy a quieter phase of existence
than the temple. Some of its windows too were aglow; the lower casements
opened upon the lawn; curtains concealed the interior, and partly
obscured the ray of the candles which lit it, but they did not entirely
muffle the sound of voice and laughter. We are privileged to enter that
front door, and to penetrate to the domestic sanctum.
It is not the presence of company which makes Mr. Yorke's habitation