Shirley

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER VIII.

  NOAH AND MOSES.

  The next day Moore had risen before the sun, and had taken a ride toWhinbury and back ere his sister had made the cafe au lait or cut thetartines for his breakfast. What business he transacted there he kept tohimself. Hortense asked no questions: it was not her wont to comment onhis movements, nor his to render an account of them. The secrets ofbusiness--complicated and often dismal mysteries--were buried in hisbreast, and never came out of their sepulchre save now and then to scareJoe Scott, or give a start to some foreign correspondent. Indeed, ageneral habit of reserve on whatever was important seemed bred in hismercantile blood.

  Breakfast over, he went to his counting-house. Henry, Joe Scott's boy,brought in the letters and the daily papers; Moore seated himself at hisdesk, broke the seals of the documents, and glanced them over. They wereall short, but not, it seemed, sweet--probably rather sour, on thecontrary, for as Moore laid down the last, his nostrils emitted aderisive and defiant snuff, and though he burst into no soliloquy, therewas a glance in his eye which seemed to invoke the devil, and laycharges on him to sweep the whole concern to Gehenna. However, havingchosen a pen and stripped away the feathered top in a brief spasm offinger-fury (only finger-fury--his face was placid), he dashed off abatch of answers, sealed them, and then went out and walked through themill. On coming back he sat down to read his newspaper.

  The contents seemed not absorbingly interesting; he more than once laidit across his knee, folded his arms, and gazed into the fire; heoccasionally turned his head towards the window; he looked at intervalsat his watch; in short, his mind appeared preoccupied. Perhaps he wasthinking of the beauty of the weather--for it was a fine and mildmorning for the season--and wishing to be out in the fields enjoyingit. The door of his counting-house stood wide open. The breeze andsunshine entered freely; but the first visitant brought no springperfume on its wings, only an occasional sulphur-puff from thesoot-thick column of smoke rushing sable from the gaunt mill-chimney.

  A dark-blue apparition (that of Joe Scott, fresh from a dyeing vat)appeared momentarily at the open door, uttered the words "He's comed,sir," and vanished.

  Mr. Moore raised not his eyes from the paper. A large man,broad-shouldered and massive-limbed, clad in fustian garments and grayworsted stockings, entered, who was received with a nod, and desired totake a seat, which he did, making the remark, as he removed his hat (avery bad one), stowed it away under his chair, and wiped his foreheadwith a spotted cotton handkerchief extracted from the hat-crown, that itwas "raight dahn warm for Febewerry." Mr. Moore assented--at least heuttered some slight sound, which, though inarticulate, might pass for anassent. The visitor now carefully deposited in the corner beside him anofficial-looking staff which he bore in his hand; this done, hewhistled, probably by way of appearing at his ease.

  "You have what is necessary, I suppose?" said Mr. Moore.

  "Ay, ay! all's right."

  He renewed his whistling, Mr. Moore his reading. The paper apparentlyhad become more interesting. Presently, however, he turned to hiscupboard, which was within reach of his long arm, opened it withoutrising, took out a black bottle--the same he had produced for Malone'sbenefit--a tumbler, and a jug, placed them on the table, and said to hisguest,--

  "Help yourself; there's water in that jar in the corner."

  "I dunnut knaw that there's mich need, for all a body is dry (thirsty)in a morning," said the fustian gentleman, rising and doing asrequested.

  "Will you tak naught yourseln, Mr. Moore?" he inquired, as with skilledhand he mixed a portion, and having tested it by a deep draught, sankback satisfied and bland in his seat. Moore, chary of words, replied bya negative movement and murmur.

  "Yah'd as good," continued his visitor; "it 'uld set ye up wald a sup o'this stuff. Uncommon good hollands. Ye get it fro' furrin parts, I'sethink?"

  "Ay!"

  "Tak my advice and try a glass on't. Them lads 'at's coming 'll keep yetalking, nob'dy knows how long. Ye'll need propping."

  "Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?" inquired Moore.

  "I seed him a hauf an hour--nay, happen a quarter of an hour sin', justafore I set off. He said he aimed to come here, and I sudn't wonder butye'll have old Helstone too. I seed 'em saddling his little nag as Ipassed at back o' t' rectory."

  The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot of a little nag's hoofswas, five minutes after, heard in the yard. It stopped, and a well-knownnasal voice cried aloud, "Boy" (probably addressing Harry Scott, whousually hung about the premises from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.), "take my horseand lead him into the stable."

  Helstone came in marching nimbly and erect, looking browner, keener, andlivelier than usual.

  "Beautiful morning, Moore. How do, my boy? Ha! whom have we here?"(turning to the personage with the staff). "Sugden! What! you're goingto work directly? On my word, you lose no time. But I come to askexplanations. Your message was delivered to me. Are you sure you are onthe right scent? How do you mean to set about the business? Have you gota warrant?"

  "Sugden has."

  "Then you are going to seek him now? I'll accompany you."

  "You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to seek me. I'm justnow sitting in state waiting his arrival."

  "And who is it? One of my parishioners?"

  Joe Scott had entered unobserved. He now stood, a most sinister phantom,half his person being dyed of the deepest tint of indigo, leaning on thedesk. His master's answer to the rector's question was a smile. Joe tookthe word. Putting on a quiet but pawky look, he said,--

  "It's a friend of yours, Mr. Helstone, a gentleman you often speak of."

  "Indeed! His name, Joe? You look well this morning."

  "Only the Rev. Moses Barraclough; t' tub orator you call him sometimes,I think."

  "Ah!" said the rector, taking out his snuff-box, and administering tohimself a very long pinch--"ah! couldn't have supposed it. Why, thepious man never was a workman of yours, Moore. He's a tailor by trade."

  "And so much the worse grudge I owe him, for interfering and setting mydiscarded men against me."

  "And Moses was actually present at the battle of Stilbro' Moor? He wentthere, wooden leg and all?"

  "Ay, sir," said Joe; "he went there on horseback, that his leg mightn'tbe noticed. He was the captain, and wore a mask. The rest only had theirfaces blackened."

  "And how was he found out?"

  "I'll tell you, sir," said Joe. "T' maister's not so fond of talking.I've no objections. He courted Sarah, Mr. Moore's sarvant lass, and soit seems she would have nothing to say to him; she either didn't likehis wooden leg or she'd some notion about his being a hypocrite. Happen(for women is queer hands; we may say that amang werseln when there'snone of 'em nigh) she'd have encouraged him, in spite of his leg and hisdeceit, just to pass time like. I've known some on 'em do as mich, andsome o' t' bonniest and mimmest-looking, too--ay, I've seen clean, trimyoung things, that looked as denty and pure as daisies, and wi' time abody fun' 'em out to be nowt but stinging, venomed nettles."

  "Joe's a sensible fellow," interjected Helstone.

  "Howsiver, Sarah had another string to her bow. Fred Murgatroyd, one ofour lads, is for her; and as women judge men by their faces--and Fredhas a middling face, while Moses is none so handsome, as we allknaw--the lass took on wi' Fred. A two-three months sin', Murgatroyd andMoses chanced to meet one Sunday night; they'd both come lurking aboutthese premises wi' the notion of counselling Sarah to tak a bit of awalk wi' them. They fell out, had a tussle, and Fred was worsted, forhe's young and small, and Barraclough, for all he has only one leg, isalmost as strong as Sugden there--indeed, anybody that hears him roaringat a revival or a love-feast may be sure he's no weakling."

  "Joe, you're insupportable," here broke in Mr. Moore. "You spin out yourexplanation as Moses spins out his sermons. The long and short of it is,Murgatroyd was jealous of Barraclough; and last night, as he and afriend took shelter in a barn from a shower, they heard and saw Mosesconferring wi
th some associates within. From their discourse it wasplain he had been the leader, not only at Stilbro' Moor, but in theattack on Sykes's property. Moreover they planned a deputation to waiton me this morning, which the tailor is to head, and which, in the mostreligious and peaceful spirit, is to entreat me to put the accursedthing out of my tent. I rode over to Whinbury this morning, got aconstable and a warrant, and I am now waiting to give my friend thereception he deserves. Here, meantime, comes Sykes. Mr. Helstone, youmust spirit him up. He feels timid at the thoughts of prosecuting."

  A gig was heard to roll into the yard. Mr. Sykes entered--a tall stoutman of about fifty, comely of feature, but feeble of physiognomy. Helooked anxious.

  "Have they been? Are they gone? Have you got him? Is it over?" he asked.

  "Not yet," returned Moore with phlegm. "We are waiting for them."

  "They'll not come; it's near noon. Better give it up. It will excite badfeeling--make a stir--cause perhaps fatal consequences."

  "_You_ need not appear," said Moore. "I shall meet them in the yard whenthey come; _you_ can stay here."

  "But my name must be seen in the law proceedings. A wife and family, Mr.Moore--a wife and family make a man cautious."

  Moore looked disgusted. "Give way, if you please," said he; "leave me tomyself. I have no objection to act alone; only be assured you will notfind safety in submission. Your partner Pearson gave way, and conceded,and forbore. Well, that did not prevent them from attempting to shoothim in his own house."

  "My dear sir, take a little wine and water," recommended Mr. Helstone.The wine and water was hollands and water, as Mr. Sykes discovered whenhe had compounded and swallowed a brimming tumbler thereof. Ittransfigured him in two minutes, brought the colour back to his face,and made him at least _word_-valiant. He now announced that he hoped hewas above being trampled on by the common people; he was determined toendure the insolence of the working-classes no longer; he had consideredof it, and made up his mind to go all lengths; if money and spirit couldput down these rioters, they should be put down; Mr. Moore might do ashe liked, but _he_--Christie Sykes--would spend his last penny in lawbefore he would be beaten; he'd settle them, or he'd see.

  "Take another glass," urged Moore.

  Mr. Sykes didn't mind if he did. This was a cold morning (Sugden hadfound it a warm one); it was necessary to be careful at this season ofthe year--it was proper to take something to keep the damp out; he had alittle cough already (here he coughed in attestation of the fact);something of this sort (lifting the black bottle) was excellent, takenmedicinally (he poured the physic into his tumbler); he didn't make apractice of drinking spirits in a morning, but occasionally it reallywas prudent to take precautions.

  "Quite prudent, and take them by all means," urged the host.

  Mr. Sykes now addressed Mr. Helstone, who stood on the hearth, hisshovel-hat on his head, watching him significantly with his little, keeneyes.

  "You, sir, as a clergyman," said he, "may feel it disagreeable to bepresent amidst scenes of hurry and flurry, and, I may say, peril. I daresay your nerves won't stand it. You're a man of peace, sir; but wemanufacturers, living in the world, and always in turmoil, get quitebelligerent. Really, there's an ardour excited by the thoughts of dangerthat makes my heart pant. When Mrs. Sykes is afraid of the house beingattacked and broke open--as she is every night--I get quite excited. Icouldn't describe to you, sir, my feelings. Really, if anybody was tocome--thieves or anything--I believe I should enjoy it, such is myspirit."

  The hardest of laughs, though brief and low, and by no means insulting,was the response of the rector. Moore would have pressed upon the heroicmill-owner a third tumbler, but the clergyman, who never transgressed,nor would suffer others in his presence to transgress, the bounds ofdecorum, checked him.

  "Enough is as good as a feast, is it not, Mr. Sykes?" he said; and Mr.Sykes assented, and then sat and watched Joe Scott remove the bottle ata sign from Helstone, with a self-satisfied simper on his lips and aregretful glisten in his eye. Moore looked as if he should have liked tofool him to the top of his bent. What would a certain young kinswoman ofhis have said could she have seen her dear, good, great Robert--herCoriolanus--just now? Would she have acknowledged in that mischievous,sardonic visage the same face to which she had looked up with such love,which had bent over her with such gentleness last night? Was that theman who had spent so quiet an evening with his sister and his cousin--sosuave to one, so tender to the other--reading Shakespeare and listeningto Chenier?

  Yes, it was the same man, only seen on a different side--a side Carolinehad not yet fairly beheld, though perhaps she had enough sagacityfaintly to suspect its existence. Well, Caroline had, doubtless, herdefective side too. She was human. She must, then, have been veryimperfect; and had she seen Moore on his very worst side, she wouldprobably have said this to herself and excused him. Love can excuseanything except meanness; but meanness kills love, cripples even naturalaffection; without esteem true love cannot exist. Moore, with all hisfaults, might be esteemed; for he had no moral scrofula in his mind, nohopeless polluting taint--such, for instance, as that of falsehood;neither was he the slave of his appetites. The active life to which hehad been born and bred had given him something else to do than to jointhe futile chase of the pleasure-hunter. He was a man undegraded, thedisciple of reason, _not_ the votary of sense. The same might be said ofold Helstone. Neither of these two would look, think, or speak a lie;for neither of them had the wretched black bottle, which had just beenput away, any charms. Both might boast a valid claim to the proud titleof "lord of the creation," for no animal vice was lord of them; theylooked and were superior beings to poor Sykes.

  A sort of gathering and trampling sound was heard in the yard, and thena pause. Moore walked to the window; Helstone followed. Both stood onone side, the tall junior behind the under-sized senior, looking forthcarefully, so that they might not be visible from without. Their solecomment on what they saw was a cynical smile flashed into each other'sstern eyes.

  A flourishing oratorical cough was now heard, followed by theinterjection "Whisht!" designed, as it seemed, to still the hum ofseveral voices. Moore opened his casement an inch or two to admit soundmore freely.

  "Joseph Scott," began a snuffling voice--Scott was standing sentinel atthe counting-house door--"might we inquire if your master be within, andis to be spoken to?"

  "He's within, ay," said Joe nonchalantly.

  "Would you then, if _you_ please" (emphasis on "you"), "have thegoodness to tell _him_ that twelve gentlemen wants to see him."

  "He'd happen ax what for," suggested Joe. "I mught as weel tell him thatat t' same time."

  "For a purpose," was the answer. Joe entered.

  "Please, sir, there's twelve gentlemen wants to see ye, 'for apurpose.'"

  "Good, Joe; I'm their man.--Sugden, come when I whistle."

  Moore went out, chuckling dryly. He advanced into the yard, one hand inhis pocket, the other in his waistcoat, his cap brim over his eyes,shading in some measure their deep dancing ray of scorn. Twelve menwaited in the yard, some in their shirt-sleeves, some in blue aprons.Two figured conspicuously in the van of the party. One, a little dapperstrutting man with a turned-up nose; the other a broad-shoulderedfellow, distinguished no less by his demure face and cat like, trustlesseyes than by a wooden leg and stout crutch. There was a kind of leerabout his lips; he seemed laughing in his sleeve at some person orthing; his whole air was anything but that of a true man.

  "Good-morning, Mr. Barraclough," said Moore debonairly, for him.

  "Peace be unto you!" was the answer, Mr. Barraclough entirely closinghis naturally half-shut eyes as he delivered it.

  "I'm obliged to you. Peace is an excellent thing; there's nothing I morewish for myself. But that is not all you have to say to me, I suppose? Iimagine peace is not your purpose?"

  "As to our purpose," began Barraclough, "it's one that may sound strangeand perhaps foolish to ears like yours, for the childer of this world iswiser in
their generation than the childer of light."

  "To the point, if you please, and let me hear what it is."

  "Ye'se hear, sir. If I cannot get it off, there's eleven behint can helpme. It is a grand purpose, and" (changing his voice from a half-sneer toa whine) "it's the Looard's own purpose, and that's better."

  "Do you want a subscription to a new Ranter's chapel, Mr. Barraclough?Unless your errand be something of that sort, I cannot see what you haveto do with it."

  "I hadn't that duty on my mind, sir; but as Providence has led ye tomention the subject, I'll make it i' my way to tak ony trifle ye mayhave to spare; the smallest contribution will be acceptable."

  With that he doffed his hat, and held it out as a begging-box, a brazengrin at the same time crossing his countenance.

  "If I gave you sixpence you would drink it."

  Barraclough uplifted the palms of his hands and the whites of his eyes,evincing in the gesture a mere burlesque of hypocrisy.

  "You seem a fine fellow," said Moore, quite coolly and dryly; "you don'tcare for showing me that you are a double-dyed hypocrite, that yourtrade is fraud. You expect indeed to make me laugh at the clevernesswith which you play your coarsely farcical part, while at the same timeyou think you are deceiving the men behind you."

  Moses' countenance lowered. He saw he had gone too far. He was going toanswer, when the second leader, impatient of being hitherto kept in thebackground, stepped forward. This man did not look like a traitor,though he had an exceedingly self-confident and conceited air.

  "Mr. Moore," commenced he, speaking also in his throat and nose, andenunciating each word very slowly, as if with a view to giving hisaudience time to appreciate fully the uncommon elegance of thephraseology, "it might, perhaps, justly be said that reason rather thanpeace is our purpose. We come, in the first place, to request you tohear reason; and should _you_ refuse, it is my duty to warn _you_, invery decided terms, that measures will be had resort to" (he meantrecourse) "which will probably terminate in--in bringing _you_ to asense of the unwisdom, of the--the foolishness which seems to guide andguard your proceedings as a tradesman in this manufacturing part of thecountry. Hem! Sir, I would beg to allude that as a furriner, coming froma distant coast, another quarter and hemisphere of this globe, thrown,as I may say, a perfect outcast on these shores--the cliffs ofAlbion--you have not that understanding of huz and wer ways which mightconduce to the benefit of the working-classes. If, to come at once topartic'lars, you'd consider to give up this here miln, and go withoutfurther protractions straight home to where you belong, it 'ud happen beas well. I can see naught ageean such a plan.--What hev ye to saytull't, lads?" turning round to the other members of the deputation,who responded unanimously, "Hear, hear!"

  "Brayvo, Noah o' Tim's!" murmured Joe Scott, who stood behind Mr. Moore."Moses'll niver beat that. Cliffs o' Albion, and t' other hemisphere! Mycerty! Did ye come fro' th' Antarctic Zone, maister? Moses is dished."

  Moses, however, refused to be dished. He thought he would try again.Casting a somewhat ireful glance at "Noah o' Tim's," he launched out inhis turn; and now he spoke in a serious tone, relinquishing the sarcasmwhich he found had not answered.

  "Or iver you set up the pole o' your tent amang us, Mr. Moore, we livedi' peace and quietness--yea, I may say, in all loving-kindness. I am notmyself an aged person as yet, but I can remember as far back as maybesome twenty year, when hand-labour were encouraged and respected, and nomischief-maker had ventured to introduce these here machines which is sopernicious. Now, I'm not a cloth-dresser myself, but by trade a tailor.Howsiver, my heart is of a softish nature. I'm a very feeling man, andwhen I see my brethren oppressed, like my great namesake of old, I standup for 'em; for which intent I this day speak with you face to face, andadvises you to part wi' your infernal machinery, and tak on more hands."

  "What if I don't follow your advice, Mr. Barraclough?"

  "The Looard pardon you! The Looard soften your heart, sir!"

  "Are you in connection with the Wesleyans now, Mr. Barraclough?"

  "Praise God! Bless His name! I'm a joined Methody!"

  "Which in no respect prevents you from being at the same time a drunkardand a swindler. I saw you one night a week ago laid dead-drunk by theroadside, as I returned from Stilbro' market; and while you preachpeace, you make it the business of your life to stir up dissension. Youno more sympathize with the poor who are in distress than you sympathizewith me. You incite them to outrage for bad purposes of your own; sodoes the individual called Noah of Tim's. You two are restless,meddling, impudent scoundrels, whose chief motive-principle is a selfishambition, as dangerous as it is puerile. The persons behind you are someof them honest though misguided men; but you two I count altogetherbad."

  Barraclough was going to speak.

  "Silence! You have had your say, and now I will have mine. As to beingdictated to by you, or any Jack, Jem, or Jonathan on earth, I shall notsuffer it for a moment. You desire me to quit the country; you requestme to part with my machinery. In case I refuse, you threaten me. I _do_refuse--point-blank! Here I stay, and by this mill I stand, and into itwill I convey the best machinery inventors can furnish. What will youdo? The utmost you _can_ do--and this you will never _dare_ to do--is toburn down my mill, destroy its contents, and shoot me. What then?Suppose that building was a ruin and I was a corpse--what then, you ladsbehind these two scamps? Would that stop invention or exhaust science?Not for the fraction of a second of time! Another and better gig-millwould rise on the ruins of this, and perhaps a more enterprising ownercome in my place. Hear me! I'll make my cloth as I please, and accordingto the best lights I have. In its manufacture I will employ what means Ichoose. Whoever, after hearing this, shall dare to interfere with me mayjust take the consequences. An example shall prove I'm in earnest."

  He whistled shrill and loud. Sugden, his staff and warrant, came on thescene.

  Moore turned sharply to Barraclough. "You were at Stilbro'," said he; "Ihave proof of that. You were on the moor, you wore a mask, you knockeddown one of my men with your own hand--you! a preacher of thegospel!--Sugden, arrest him!"

  Moses was captured. There was a cry and a rush to rescue, but the righthand which all this while had lain hidden in Moore's breast,reappearing, held out a pistol.

  "Both barrels are loaded," said he. "I'm quite determined! Keep off!"

  Stepping backwards, facing the foe as he went, he guarded his prey tothe counting-house. He ordered Joe Scott to pass in with Sugden and theprisoner, and to bolt the door inside. For himself, he walked backwardsand forwards along the front of the mill, looking meditatively on theground, his hand hanging carelessly by his side, but still holding thepistol. The eleven remaining deputies watched him some time, talkingunder their breath to each other. At length one of them approached. Thisman looked very different from either of the two who had previouslyspoken; he was hard-favoured, but modest and manly-looking.

  "I've not much faith i' Moses Barraclough," said he, "and I would speaka word to you myseln, Mr. Moore. It's out o' no ill-will that I'm here,for my part; it's just to mak a effort to get things straightened, forthey're sorely a-crooked. Ye see we're ill off--varry ill off; werfamilies is poor and pined. We're thrown out o' work wi' these frames;we can get nought to do; we can earn nought. What is to be done? Mun wesay, wisht! and lig us down and dee? Nay; I've no grand words at mytongue's end, Mr. Moore, but I feel that it wad be a low principle for areasonable man to starve to death like a dumb cratur. I willn't do't.I'm not for shedding blood: I'd neither kill a man nor hurt a man; andI'm not for pulling down mills and breaking machines--for, as ye say,that way o' going on'll niver stop invention; but I'll talk--I'll mak asbig a din as ever I can. Invention may be all right, but I know it isn'tright for poor folks to starve. Them that governs mun find a way to helpus; they mun make fresh orderations. Ye'll say that's hard to do. Somich louder mun we shout out then, for so much slacker will t'Parliament-men be to set on to a tough job."

  "Worry the Parliame
nt-men as much as you please," said Moore; "but toworry the mill-owners is absurd, and I for one won't stand it."

  "Ye're a raight hard un!" returned the workman. "Willn't ye gie us a bito' time? Willn't ye consent to mak your changes rather more slowly?"

  "Am I the whole body of clothiers in Yorkshire? Answer me that."

  "Ye're yourseln."

  "And only myself. And if I stopped by the way an instant, while othersare rushing on, I should be trodden down. If I did as you wish me to do,I should be bankrupt in a month; and would my bankruptcy put bread intoyour hungry children's mouths? William Farren, neither to your dictationnor to that of any other will I submit. Talk to me no more aboutmachinery. I will have my own way. I shall get new frames in to-morrow.If you broke these, I would still get more. _I'll never give in._"

  Here the mill-bell rang twelve o'clock. It was the dinner-hour. Mooreabruptly turned from the deputation and re-entered his counting-house.

  His last words had left a bad, harsh impression; he, at least, had"failed in the disposing of a chance he was lord of." By speaking kindlyto William Farren--who was a very honest man, without envy or hatred ofthose more happily circumstanced than himself, thinking it no hardshipand no injustice to be forced to live by labour, disposed to behonourably content if he could but get work to do--Moore might have madea friend. It seemed wonderful how he could turn from such a man withouta conciliatory or a sympathizing expression. The poor fellow's facelooked haggard with want; he had the aspect of a man who had not knownwhat it was to live in comfort and plenty for weeks, perhaps months,past, and yet there was no ferocity, no malignity in his countenance; itwas worn, dejected, austere, but still patient. How could Moore leavehim thus, with the words, "I'll never give in," and not a whisper ofgood-will, or hope, or aid?

  Farren, as he went home to his cottage--once, in better times, a decent,clean, pleasant place, but now, though still clean, very dreary, becauseso poor--asked himself this question. He concluded that the foreignmill-owner was a selfish, an unfeeling, and, he thought, too, a foolishman. It appeared to him that emigration, had he only the means toemigrate, would be preferable to service under such a master. He feltmuch cast down--almost hopeless.

  On his entrance his wife served out, in orderly sort, such dinner as shehad to give him and the bairns. It was only porridge, and too little ofthat. Some of the younger children asked for more when they had donetheir portion--an application which disturbed William much. While hiswife quieted them as well as she could, he left his seat and went to thedoor. He whistled a cheery stave, which did not, however, prevent abroad drop or two (much more like the "first of a thunder-shower" thanthose which oozed from the wound of the gladiator) from gathering on thelids of his gray eyes, and plashing thence to the threshold. He clearedhis vision with his sleeve, and the melting mood over, a very stern onefollowed.

  He still stood brooding in silence, when a gentleman in black came up--aclergyman, it might be seen at once, but neither Helstone, nor Malone,nor Donne, nor Sweeting. He might be forty years old; he wasplain-looking, dark-complexioned, and already rather gray-haired. Hestooped a little in walking. His countenance, as he came on, wore anabstracted and somewhat doleful air; but in approaching Farren he lookedup, and then a hearty expression illuminated the preoccupied, seriousface.

  "Is it you, William? How are you?" he asked.

  "Middling, Mr. Hall. How are _ye_? Will ye step in and rest ye?"

  Mr. Hall, whose name the reader has seen mentioned before (and who,indeed, was vicar of Nunnely, of which parish Farren was a native, andfrom whence he had removed but three years ago to reside in Briarfield,for the convenience of being near Hollow's Mill, where he had obtainedwork), entered the cottage, and having greeted the good-wife and thechildren, sat down. He proceeded to talk very cheerfully about thelength of time that had elapsed since the family quitted his parish, thechanges which had occurred since; he answered questions touching hissister Margaret, who was inquired after with much interest; he askedquestions in his turn, and at last, glancing hastily and anxiously roundthrough his spectacles (he wore spectacles, for he was short-sighted) atthe bare room, and at the meagre and wan faces of the circle abouthim--for the children had come round his knee, and the father and motherstood 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 spokewith a strong northern accent, but, on occasion, used freelynorth-country expressions.

  "We get on poorly," said William; "we're all out of work. I've selledmost 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 thinkif 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 amchanging. 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. Letus talk it over."

  And in order the better to talk it over, Mr. Hall lifted the least ofthe children on to his knee, and placed his hand on the head of thenext least; but when the small things began to chatter to him he badethem "Whisht!" and fixing his eyes on the grate, he regarded the handfulof embers which burned there very gravely.

  "Sad times," he said, "and they last long. It is the will of God. Hiswill 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 asmall sum?"

  "No. I've selled t' chest o' drawers, and t' clock, and t' bit of amahogany stand, and t' wife's bonny tea-tray and set o' cheeney 'at shebrought for a portion when we were wed."

  "And if somebody lent you a pound or two, could you make any good use ofit? Could you get into a new way of doing something?"

  Farren did not answer, but his wife said quickly, "Ay, I'm sure hecould, sir. He's a very contriving chap is our William. If he'd two orthree pounds he could begin selling stuff."

  "Could you, William?"

  "Please God," returned William deliberately, "I could buy groceries, andbits o' tapes, and thread, and what I thought would sell, and I couldbegin hawking at first."

  "And you know, sir," interposed Grace, "you're sure William wouldneither drink, nor idle, nor waste, in any way. He's my husband, and Ishouldn't praise him; but I _will_ say there's not a soberer, honesterman i' England nor he is."

  "Well, I'll speak to one or two friends, and I think I can promise tolet him have L5 in a day or two--as a loan, ye mind, not a gift. He mustpay it back."

  "I understand, sir. I'm quite agreeable to that."

  "Meantime, there's a few shillings for you, Grace, just to keep the potboiling till custom comes.--Now, bairns, stand up in a row and say yourcatechism, while your mother goes and buys some dinner; for you've nothad 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 tothem a few brief but very earnest words of religious consolation andexhortation. With a mutual "God bless you, sir!" "God bless you, myfriends!" they separated.