by George Eliot
easily that tea-time was long past, and that, after all the trouble of getting
down the best tea-things, Mr Tryan would not come. This honour had been shown to
Mr Tryan, not at all because Mrs Jerome had any high appreciation of his
doctrine or of his exemplary activity as a pastor, but simply because he was a
"Church clergyman," and as such was regarded by her with the same sort of
exceptional respect that a white woman who had married a native of the Society
Islands might be supposed to feel towards a whiteskinned visitor from the land
of her youth. For Mrs Jerome had been reared a Churchwoman, and having attained
the age of thirty before she was married, had felt the greatest repugnance in
the first instance to renouncing the religious forms in which she had been
brought up. "You know," she said in confidence to her Church acquaintances, "I
wouldn't give no ear at all to Mr Jerome at fust; but after all, I begun to
think as there was a maeny things wuss nor goin' to chapel, an' you'd better do
that nor not pay your way. Mr Jerome had a very pleasant manner wi' him, an'
there was niver another as kep a gig, an' 'ud make a settlement on me like him,
chapel or no chapel. It seemed very odd to me for a lung while, the preachin'
wi'out book, an' the stannin' up to one lung prayer, istid o' changin' yur
postur. But la! there's nothin' as you mayn't get used to i' time; you can al'ys
sit down, you know, afore the prayer's done. The ministers say welly the same
things as the Church parsons, by what I could iver mek out, an' we're out o'
chapel i' the mornin' a deal sooner nor they're out o' church. An' as for pews,
ourn's a deal comfortabler nor aeny i' Milby church."
Mrs Jerome, you perceive, had not a keen susceptibility to shades of doctrine,
and it is probable that, after listening to Dissenting eloquence for thirty
years, she might safely have re-entered the Establishment without performing any
spiritual quarantine. Her mind, apparently, was of that non-porous flinty
character which is not in the least danger from surrounding damp. But on the
question of getting start of the sun in the day's business, and clearing her
conscience of the necessary sum of meals and the consequent "washing up" as soon
as possible, so that the family might be well in bed at nine, Mrs Jerome was
susceptible; and the present lingering pace of things, united with Mr Jerome's
unaccountable obliviousness, was not to be borne any longer. So she rang the
bell for Sally.
"Goodness me, Sally! go into the garden an' see after your master. Tell him it's
goin' on for six, an Mr Tryan 'ull niver think o' comin' now, an' it's time we
got tea over. An' he's lettin' Lizzie stain her frock, I expect, among them
strawberry beds. Mek her come in this minute."
No wonder Mr Jerome was tempted to linger in the garden, for though the house
was pretty and well deserved its name�"the White House," the tall damask roses
that clustered over the porch being thrown into relief by rough stucco of the
most brilliant white, yet the garden and orchards were Mr Jerome's glory, as
well they might be; and there was nothing in which he had a more innocent
pride�peace to a good man's memory! all his pride was innocent�than in
conducting a hitherto uninitiated visitor over his grounds, and making him in
some degree aware of the incomparable advantages possessed by the inhabitants of
the White House in the matter of red-streaked apples, russets, northern greens
(excellent for baking), swan-egg pears, and early vegetables, to say nothing of
flowering "srubs," pink hawthorns, lavender bushes more than ever Mrs Jerome
could use, and, in short, a superabundance of everything that a person retired
from business could desire to possess himself or to share with his friends. The
garden was one of those old-fashioned paradises which hardly exist any longer
except as memories of our childhood: no finical separation between flower and
kitchen garden there; no monotony of enjoyment for one sense to the exclusion of
another; but a charming paradisaical mingling of all that was pleasant to the
eyes and good for food. The rich flower-border running along every walk, with
its endless succession of spring flowers, anemones, auriculas, wall-flowers,
sweet-williams, campanulas, snapdragons, and tiger-lilies, had its taller
beauties, such as moss and Provence roses, varied with espalier apple-trees; the
crimson of a carnation was carried out in the lurking crimson of the
neighbouring strawberry-beds; you gathered a moss-rose one moment and a bunch of
currants the next; you were in a delicious fluctuation between the scent of
jasmine and the juice of gooseberries. Then what a high wall at one end, flanked
by a summer-house so lofty, that after ascending its long flight of steps you
could see perfectly well there was no view worth looking at; what alcoves and
garden-seats in all directions; and along one side, what a hedge, tall, and
firm, and unbroken, like a green wall!
It was near this hedge that Mr Jerome was standing when Sally found him. He had
set down the basket of strawberries on the gravel, and had lifted up little
Lizzie in his arms to look at a bird's nest. Lizzie peeped, and then looked at
her grandpa with round blue eyes, and then peeped again.
"D'ye see it, Lizzie?" he whispered.
"Yes," she whispered in return, putting her lips very near grandpa's face. At
this moment Sally appeared.
"Eh, eh, Sally, what's the matter? Is Mr Tryan come?"
"No, sir, an' Missis says she's sure he won't come now, an' she wants you to
come in an' hev tea. Dear heart, Miss Lizzie, you've stained your pinafore, an'
I shouldn't wonder if it's gone through to your frock. There'll be fine work!
Come alonk wi' me, do."
"Nay, nay, nay, we've done no harm, we've done no harm, hev we Lizzie? The
wash-tub 'll mek all right again."
Sally, regarding the wash-tub from a different point of view, looked sourly
serious, and hurried away with Lizzie, who trotted submissively along, her
little head in eclipse under a large nankin bonnet, while Mr Jerome followed
leisurely with his full broad shoulders in rather a stooping posture, and his
large good-natured features and white locks shaded by a broad-brimmed hat.
"Mr Jerome, I wonder at you," said Mrs Jerome, in a tone of indignant
remonstrance, evidently sustained by a deep sense of injury, as her husband
opened the parlour door. "When will you leave off invitin' people to meals an'
not lettin' 'em know the time? I'll answer for't, you niver said a word to Mr
Tryan as we should tek tea at five o'clock. It's just like you!"
"Nay, nay, Susan," answered the husband in a soothing tone, "there's nothin'
amiss. I told Mr Tryan as we took tea at five punctial; mayhap summat's a
detainin' on him. He's a deal to do an' to think on, remember."
"Why, it's struck six i' the kitchen a'ready. It's nonsense to look for him
comin' now. So you may's well ring for th' urn. Now Sally's got th' heater i'
th' fire, we may's well hev th' urn in, though he doesn't come. I niver see the
like o' you, Mr Jerome, for axin' people an' givin' me
the trouble o' gettin'
things down an' hevin' crumpets made, an' after all they don't come. I shall hev
to wash every one o' these tea-things myself, for there's no trustin'
Sally�she'd break a fortin i' crockery i' no time!"
"But why will you give yourself sich trouble, Susan? Our everyday tea-things
would ha' done as well for Mr Tryan, an' they're a deal convenenter to hold."
"Yes, that's just your way, Mr Jerome, you're al'ys a findin' faut wi' my chany,
because I bought it myself afore I was married. But let me tell you, I knowed
how to choose chany if I didn't know how to choose a husband. An' where's
Lizzie? You've niver left her i' the garden by herself, wi' her white frock on
an' clean stockins?"
"Be easy, my dear Susan, be easy; Lizzie's come in wi' Sally. She's hevin' her
pinafore took off, I'll be bound. Ah! There's Mr Tryan a-comin' through the
gate."
Mrs Jerome began hastily to adjust her damask napkin and the expression of her
countenance for the reception of the clergyman, and Mr Jerome went out to meet
his guest, whom he greeted outside the door.
"Mr Tryan, how do you do, Mr Tryan? Welcome to the White House! I'm glad to see
you, sir, I'm glad to see you."
If you had heard the tone of mingled goodwill, veneration, and condolence in
which this greeting was uttered, even without seeing the face that completely
harmonised with it, you would have no difficulty in inferring the ground-notes
of Mr Jerome's character. To a fine ear that tone said as plainly as
possible�"Whatever recommends itself to me, Thomas Jerome, as piety and
goodness, shall have my love and honour. Ah, friends, this pleasant world is a
sad one, too, isn't it? Let us help one another, let us help one another." And
it was entirely owing to this basis of character, not at all from any clear and
precise doctrinal discrimination, that Mr Jerome had very early in life become a
Dissenter. In his boyish days he had been thrown where Dissent seemed to have
the balance of piety, purity, and good works on its side, and to become a
Dissenter seemed to him identical with choosing God instead of mammon. That race
of Dissenters is extinct in these days. when opinion has got far ahead of
feeling, and every chapel-going youth can fill our ears with the advantages of
the Voluntary system, the corruptions of a State Church, and the Scriptural
evidence that the first Christians were Congregationalists. Mr Jerome knew
nothing of this theoretic basis for Dissent, and in the utmost extent of his
polemical discussion he had not gone further than to question whether a
Christian man was bound in conscience to distinguish christmas and Easter by any
peculiar observance beyond the eating of mince-pies and cheese-cakes. It seemed
to him that all seasons were alike good for thanking God, departing from evil
and doing well, whereas it might be desirable to restrict the period for
indulging in unwholesome forms of pastry. Mr Jerome's dissent being of this
simple, nonpolemical kind, it is easy to understand that the report he heard of
Mr Tryan as a good man and a powerful preacher, who was stirring the hearts of
the people, had been enough to attract him to the Paddiford Church, and that
having felt himself more edified there than he had of late been under Mr
Stickney's discourses at Salem, he had driven thither repeatedly in the Sunday
afternoons, and had sought an opportunity of making Mr Tryan's acquaintance. The
evening lecture was a subject of warm interest with him, and the opposition Mr
Tryan met with gave that interest a strong tinge of partisanship; for there was
a store of irascibility in Mr Jerome's nature which must find a vent somewhere,
and in so kindly and upright a man could only find it in indignation against
those whom he held to be enemies of truth and goodness. Mr Tryan had not
hitherto been to the White House, but yesterday, meeting Mr Jerome in the
street, he had at once accepted the invitation to tea, saying there was
something he wished to talk about. He appeared worn and fatigued now, and after
shaking hands with Mrs Jerome, threw himself into a chair and looked out on the
pretty garden with an air of relief.
"What a nice place you have here, Mr Jerome! I've not seen anything so quiet and
pretty since I came to Milby. On Paddiford Common, where I live, you know, the
bushes are all sprinkled with soot, and there's never any quiet except in the
dead of night."
"Dear heart! dear heart! That's very bad� and for you, too, as hev to study.
Wouldn't it be better for you to be somewhere more out i' the country like?"
"O no! I should lose so much time in going to and fro, and besides I like to be
among the people. I've no face to go and preach resignation to those poor things
in their smoky air and comfortless homes, when I come straight from every luxury
myself. There are many things quite lawful for other men, which a clergyman must
forego if he would do any good in a manufacturing population like this."
Here the preparations for tea were crowned by the simultaneous appearance of
Lizzie and the crumpet. It is a pretty surprise, when one visits an elderly
couple, to see a little figure enter in a white frock with a blond head as
smooth as satin, round blue eyes, and a cheek like an apple blossom. A toddling
little girl is a centre of common feeling which makes the most dissimilar people
understand each other; and Mr Tryan looked at Lizzie with that quiet pleasure
which is always genuine.
"Here we are, here we are!" said proud grandpapa. "You didn't think we'd got
such a little gell as this, did you, Mr Tryan? Why, it seems but th' other day
since her mother was just such another. This is our little Lizzie, this is. Come
an' shake hands wi' Mr Tryan, Lizzie; come."
Lizzie advanced without hesitation, and put out one hand, while she fingered her
coral necklace with the other, and looked up into Mr Tryan's face with a
reconnoitring gaze. He stroked the satin head, and said in his gentlest voice,
"How do you do, Lizzie? will you give me a kiss?" She put up her little bud of a
mouth, and then retreating a little and glancing down at her frock, said,
"Did id my noo fock. I put it on 'tod you wad toming. Tally taid you wouldn't
'ook at it."
"Hush, hush, Lizzie, little gells must be seen and not heard," said Mrs Jerome;
while grandpapa, winking significantly, and looking radiant with delight at
Lizzie's extraordinary promise of cleverness, set her up on her high cane-chair
by the side of grandma, who lost no time in shielding the beauties of the new
frock with a napkin.
"Well now, Mr Tryan," said Mr Jerome, in a very serious tone, when tea had been
distributed, "let me hear how you're a-goin' on about the lectur. When I was i'
the town yisterday, I heared as there was pessecutin' schemes a-bein' laid
again' you. I fear me those raskills 'ull mek things very onpleasant to you."
"I've no doubt they will attempt it; indeed, I quite expect there will be a
regular mob got up on Sunday evening, as there was when the delegates returned,
on purpose to annoy me and the con
gregation on our way to church."
"Ah, they're capible o' anything, such men as Dempster an' Budd; an' Tomlinson
backs 'em wi' money, though he can't wi' brains. Howiver, Dempster's lost one
client by's wicked doins, an' I'm deceived if he won't lose more nor one. I
little thought, Mr Tryan, when I put my affairs into his hands twenty 'ear ago
this Michaelmas, as he was to turn out a pessecutor o' religion. I niver lighted
on a cliverer, promisiner young man nor he was then. They talked of his bein'
fond of a extry glass now an' then, but niver nothin' like what he's come to
since. An' it's headpiece you must look for in a lawyer, Mr Tryan, it's
headpiece. His wife, too, was al'ys an uncommon favourite o' mine �poor thing! I
hear sad stories about her now. But she's druv to it, she's druv to it, Mr
Tryan. A tender-hearted woman to the poor, she is, as iver lived; an' as
pretty-spoken a woman as you need wish to talk to. Yes! I'd al'ys a likin' for
Dempster an' his wife, spite o' iverything. But as soon as iver I heared o' that
dilegate business, I says, says I, that man shall hev no more to do wi' my
affairs. It may put me t' inconvenience, but I'll encourage no man as pessecutes
religion."
"He is evidently the brain and hand of the persecution," said Mr Tryan. "There
may be a strong feeling against me in a large number of the inhabitants �it must
be so, from the great ignorance of spiritual things in this place. But I fancy
there would have been no formal opposition to the lecture, if Dempster had not
planned it. I am not myself the least alarmed at anything he can do; he will
find I am not to be cowed or driven away by insult or personal danger. God has
sent me to this place, and, by His blessing, I'll not shrink from anything I may
have to encounter in doing His work among the people. But I feel it right to
call on all those who know the value of the Gospel, to stand by me publicly. I
think�and Mr Landor agrees with me�that it will be well for my friends to
proceed with me in a body to the church on Sunday evening. Dempster, you know,
has pretended that almost all the respectable inhabitants are opposed to the
lecture. Now, I wish that falsehood to be visibly contradicted. What do you
think of the plan? I have to-day been to see several of my friends, who will
make a point of being there to accompany me, and will communicate with others on
the subject."
"I'll mek one, Mr Tryan, I'll mek one. You shall not be wantin' in any support
as I can give. Before you come to it, sir, Milby was a dead an' dark place; you
are the fust man i' the Church to my knowledge as has brought the word o' God
home to the people; an' I'll stan' by you, sir, I'll stan' by you. I'm a
Dissenter, Mr Tryan, I've been a Dissenter iver sin' I was fifteen 'ear old; but
show me good i' the Church, an' I'm a Churchman too. When I was a boy I lived at
Tilston; you mayn't know the place; the best part o' the land there belonged to
Squire Sandeman; he'd a club-foot, hed Squire Sandeman�lost a deal o' money by
canal shares. Well, sir, as I was sayin', I lived at Tilston, an' the rector
there was a terrible drinkin', fox-huntin' man; you niver see such a parish i'
your time for wickedness; Milby's nothin' to it. Well, sir, my father was a
workin' man, an' couldn't afford to gi' me ony eddication, so I went to a
night-school as was kep by a Dissenter, one Jacob Wright; an' it was from that
man, sir, as I got my little schoolin' an' my knowledge o' religion. I went to
chapel wi' Jacob�he was a good man was Jacob�an' to chapel I've been iver since.
But I'm no enemy o' the Church, sir, when the Church brings light to the
ignorant and the sinful; an' that's what you're a-doin', Mr Tryan. Yes, sir,
I'll stan' by you. I'll go to church wi' you o' Sunday evenin'."
"You'd fur better stay at home, Mr Jerome, if I may give my opinion," interposed
Mrs Jerome. "It's not as I hevn't ivery respect for you, Mr Tryan, but Mr Jerome
