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THE CARBONELS
LONDON :
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
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THE CLERK IS FORCED TO PRESERVE ORDER.
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39°
THE CARBONELS
BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
AUTHOR OF
“UNDER THE STORM,†“THE COOK AND THE CAPTIVE,†ETC.
“God hath sown, and He will reap,
Growth is slow when roots are deep ;
He will aid the work begun
For the love of His dear Son.â€
Keser
WITH FIVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. S. STACEY
LONDON
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S DEPOSITORY
Broap SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER
New York: Tuomas WHITTAKER, 2 AND 3, BIBLE House
[All rights reserved]
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Cook and the Captive. Price 3s. 67.
The Treasures in the Marshes. Price 2s. 6¢.
The Cross Roads; or, A Choice in Life. Price
35. 6d.
The Constable’s Tower; or, The Times of
Magna Charta. Price 3s.
The Slaves of Sabinus. Price 35. 6.7.
The Cunning Woman’s Grandson. A Story
of Cheddar a Hundred Years Ago. Price 3s. 6d.
Under the Storm; or, Steadfast’s Charge. Price
35. 6d.
Our New Mistress; or, Changes at Brookfield
Earl. Price 3s.
NaTIONAL SocietTy’s DEposiTorY, SANCTUARY,
WESTMINSTER. S.W.
iS cS
EYE eee fd Foe fe Foe] Te es Pale
CONTENTS
aa eee
CHAYTER PAGE
I. FrENcH MEASURE ... nag Shs rr 9
Il, Tur Lit of tHE Lanp ree odo Nee li7i
Ill. THe Turnip FIELD... re ie eee SS
IV. Nogsopy’s BUSINESS ... nom a woe 44
V. AT HoMeE ... eae eee eas wee 2
VI. THe NEIGHBOURHOOD ns aa vee 62
VII. Sunpay ScHooL O08 bbe te oe L
VIII. Mary’s APPROACH ... me ae Mone
IX. THE SCREEN vee oer ao vee OL
X. INNOVATIONS eee Ee ree vee 102
XI. AN UNPROFITABLE CROP... ee ee III
XII. PRIzEs a00 oes oer 5nG eee 123
XIII. AGAINST THE GRAIN eee nes tee 130
XIV. AN OFFER REJECTED ee a vee 139
XV. SCALES OF JUSTICE ... er are vee 151
XVI. Lincu-Pins ... te tee rae see 158
XVII. Procress or No Procress ... nb0 vee 169
XVIII. Tue THRESHING-MACHINE ... vee eel
vi CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
XIX. A NicuTr JOURNEY... aes ves ee SS,
XX. THE RoyaL Hore. ae a poo Le)y/
XXI. Jack Swine an Bes bb e210
XXII GREAT Mary AND Litr.e Mary... see 218
XXII. THe MAcHINE aa nas an oon. bey)
XXIV. MusyuDGED Ae a aa ez 40
XXV. JupITH eee B00 nae oe see 249
XXVI. THE GOLDEN CHAINS va pod aco GS
XXVII. MissepD AND MOURNED tee sia ogo Ae}
CONCLUSION G6 er sins vee 267
OOO OOOO OOOO
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE CLERK IS FORCED TO PRESERVE ORDER ... (Frontispiece)
““CAPTAIN CARBONEL, I BELIEVE,†SAID DR. FoGRAM... 79
PLEADING FOR MERCY FOR THEIR HUSBANDS ... 155
“‘D’yE WANT TO BESPEAK THE BEST APARTMENTS?†.,. 198
THE ARRIVAL OF THE YEOMANRY... dod ood ARR
Cl NEAGE Reel
FRENCH MEASURE
“For thy walls a pretty slight drollery.â€
The Second Part of King Henry 1V.
BAD lot. Yes, sir, a thoroughly bad
lot.â€
“You don’t mean it.â€
“Yes, ma’am, a bad lot is the Uphill people.
Good for nothing and ungrateful! I’ve known
them these thirty years, and no one will do any-
thing with them,â€
The time was the summer of 1822. The place
was a garden, somewhat gone to waste, with a
gravel drive running round a great circle of peri-
winkles with a spotted aucuba in the middle.
There was a low, two-storied house, with green
shutters, green Venetian blinds, and a rather
10 THE CARBONELS
shabby verandah painted in alternate stripes of
light and darker green. In front stood a high gig,
with a tall old, bony horse trying to munch the
young untrimmed shoots of a lilac in front of
him as he waited for the speaker, a lawyer,
dressed as country attorneys were wont to dress
in those days, in a coat of invisible green, where
the green constantly became more visible, brown
trousers, and under them drab gaiters. He was
addressing a gentleman in a blue coat and nankeen
trousers, but evidently military, and two ladies
in white dresses, narrow as to the skirts, but full
in the sleeves. One had a blue scarf over her
shoulders and blue ribbons in her very large
Leghorn bonnet ; the other had the same in green,
and likewise a green veil. Her bonnet was rather
more trimmed, the dress more embroidered, the
scarf of a richer, broader material than the other’s,
and it was thus evident that she was the married
sister; but they were a good deal alike, with the
same wholesome smooth complexion, brown eyes,
and hair in great shining rolls under their bonnet
caps, much the same pleasant expression, and the
same neat little feet in crossed sandalled shoes
and white stockings showing out beneath their
white tambour-worked gowns.
With the above verdict, the lawyer made his
parting bow, and drove off along a somewhat
rough road through two pasture fields. The first
FRENCH MEASURE II
gate, white and ornamental, was held open for
him by an old man in a short white smock and
long leathern gaiters, the second his own servant
opened, the third was held by half a dozen shock-
headed children, with their backs against it and
hands held out, but in vain; he only smacked his
driving-whip over their heads, and though he did
not strike any of them, they requited it with a
prolonged yell, which reached the ears of the trio
in front of the house.
“Tm afraid it is not far from the truth,†said the
green lady.
“Oh no; I am sure he is a horrid man,†said
her blue sister. “I would not believe him for a
moment.â€
“Only with a qualification,†rejoined the gentle-
man.
“But, Edmund, couldn’t you be sure that it is
just what he would say, whatever the people were ?â€â€™
“T am equally sure that the exaction of rents
is not the way to see people at their best.â€
“Come in, come in! We have all our settling
in to do, and no time for you two to fight.â€
Edmund, Mary, Dorothea, and Sophia Carbonel
were second cousins, who had always known one
another in the house of the girls’ father, a clergy-
man in a large country town. Edmund had been
in the army just in time for the final battles of the
Peninsular war, and had since served with the
12 THE CARBONELS
army of occupation and in Canada. He had
always meant that Mary should be his wife, but
the means were wanting to set up housekeeping,
until the death of an old uncle of his mother’s
made him heir to Greenhow Farm, an estate
bringing in about 4500 a year. Mary and her
next sister Dora had in the meantime lost
their parents, and had been living with some
relations in London, where their much younger
sister Sophy was at. school, until Edmund, coming
home, looked over the farm, decided that it would
be a fit home for the sisters, and retired from the
army forthwith. Thus then, after a brief tour
among the Lakes, they had taken up Dora in
London, and here they were ; Sophy was to join
them when the holidays began. Disorder reigned
indéed within, and hammers resounded, nor was
the passage easy among the packing-cases that
encumbered the narrow little vestibule whence the
stairs ascended.
Under the verandah were the five sash windows
of the three front rooms, the door, of course, in
the middle. Each had a little shabby furniture,
to which the Carbonels were adding, and meant
to add more; the dining-room had already been
papered with red flock in stripes, the drawing-
room with a very delicate white, on which were
traced in tender colouring—baskets of vine leaves
and laburnums.
FRENCH MEASURE 13
Dora gave a little scream. “Look! Between
the windows, Mary; see, the laburnums and
grapes are hanging upward.â€
“Stupid people!†exclaimed Mary, “I see.
Happily, it is only on that one piece, but how
Edmund will be vexed.â€
“Perhaps there is another piece unused.â€
“Tam sure I hope there is! Don’t you know,
Edmund fell in love with it at Paris. It was his
first provision for future housekeeping, and it was
lying laid up in lavender all these years till we
were ready for it.â€
“It is only that one division, which is a comfort.â€
“What’s the matter?†and the master of the
house came in.
“Senseless beings! It must be covered directly.
It is a desight to the whole room. Here!†and
he went out to the carpenter, who was universal
builder to the village, and was laying down the
stair carpet. “Here, Hewlett, do you see what
you have done?â€
Hewlett, a large man with a smooth, plump, but
honest face, came in, in his shirt sleeves, apron,
and paper cap, touched his forehead to the ladies,
stood, and stared.
“ Can't you see?†sharply demanded the captain.
Hewlett scratched his head, and gazed round.
“See here! How do grapes grow? Or labur-
nums?â€
14 THE CARBONELS
An idea broke in on him.
“What! they be topsy-turvy?†he slowly ob-
served, after looking from the faulty breadth to
the next.
“Of course they are. Find the rest of the paper!
We must have a piece put on at once, or the whole
appearance of the room is spoilt,’ said Captain
Carbonel. “It will make a delay, but it must be
done at once. Where is the piece left over?â€
Hewlett retreated to find it, while the captain
said something about “stupid ass.â€
Presently his gruff voice was heard demanding,
“Dan, I say, where’s the remnant of that there
fancy paper?â€
Dan’s answer did not rise into audible words,
but presently Hewlett tramped back, saying,
“There ain’t none, sir.â€
“T tell you there must be,†returned the captain,
in the same angry tones. And he proceeded to
show that the number of pieces he had bought,
and the measure of which he had ascertained, was
such that there ought to have been half-a-piece
left over from papering the room, the size of
which he had exactly taken. Hewlett could do
nothing but stolidly repeat that “there weren’t
none left, not enow to make a mouse’s nest.â€
“Who did the papering ? Did you?â€
“Daniel Hewlett, sir, he did the most on it.
My cousin, sir.â€
FRENCH MEASURE : 15
The captain fell upon Daniel, who had more
words at command, but was equally strong in
denial of having any remnant. “They had only
skimped out enough,†he said, “just enough for
the walls, and it was a close fit anyhow.â€
The captain loudly declared it impossible, but
Mary ran out in the midst to suggest that mayhap
the defect was in the French measure. Each piece
might not have been the true number of whatever
they called them in that new revolutionary fashion.
Dan Hewlett’s face cleared up. “Ay, ’tis the
French measure, sure, sir. Of course they can’t
do nothing true and straight! I be mortal sorry
the ladies is disappointed, but it bain’t no fault of
mine, sir.â€
“And look here, Edmund,†continued Mary, “it
will not spoil the room at all if Mr. Hewlett will
help move the tall bureau against it, and we'll
hang the ‘Death of General Wolfe’ above it, and
then there won't be more than two bits of labur-
num to be seen, even if you are curious enough to
get upon a chair to investigate.â€
“Well, it must be so,†returned Captain Carbonel,
“but I hate the idea of makeshifts and having
imperfections concealed.â€
“Just like you, Edmund,†laughed Dora. “You
will always seem to be looking right through at
the upright sprays, though all the solid weight of
Hume, Gibbon, and Rollin is in front of them.â€
16 THE CARBONELS
“Precisely,†said Edmund. “It is not well to
feel that there is anything tobe hidden. The chief
part of the vexation is, however,†he added—shut-
ting the door and lowering his voice—“ that I am
convinced that there must have been foul play
somewhere.â€
“Oh, Edmund ; French measure!â€
“Nonsense! That does not account for at least
a whole piece disappearing.†.
He took out a pencil, and went again into his
calculations, while his sister-in-law indignantly
exclaimed—
“It is all prejudice, because that horrid attorney
said all these poor people were a bad lot.â€
“Hush, hush!†said Mrs. Carbonel, rather
frightened, and—
“T advise you to think before you speak,†said
Captain Carbonel quietly but sternly.
Still Dora could not help saying, as soon as she
was alone with her sister, “I shall believe in the
French measure. I like that slow, dull man, and I
am sure he is honest.â€
“Yes, dear, only pray don’t say any more to
Edmund, but let us get the bookcase placed as fast
as we can, and let him forget all about it.â€
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CHAPTER II
THE LIE OF THE LAND
“Thank you, pretty cow, that gave
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day and every night
Warm and fresh, and sweet and bright.â€
J. TAYLor.
TeaNIARKNESS had descended before there
had been time to do more than shake
= into the downstair rooms and bedrooms
and be refreshed with the evening meal, but with
morning began the survey of the new home.
The front part of the house had three living
rooms, with large sash windows, almost to the
ground, shaded by the verandah. These were draw-
ing-room, dining-room, and study, the last taken out
of the entry, where was the staircase, and there were
three similar rooms above. These had been added
by the late owner to the original farmhouse, with a
fine old-fashioned kitchen that sent Mary and Dora
into greater raptures than their cook. There were
B
eg
Me
18 THE CARBONELS
offices around, a cool dairy, where stood great red
glazed pans of delicious-looking cream and milk,
and a clean white wooden churn that Dora longed
~-to handle. The farmhouse rooms were between it
and the new ones, and there were a good many
rooms above, the red-tiled roof rising much higher
than that of the more modern part of the house.
There was a narrow paling in front, and then came
the farmyard, enclosed in barns, cow-houses and
cart-sheds, and a cottage where the bailiff, Master
Pucklechurch, had taken up his abode, having
hitherto lived in the farmhouse. He was waiting
to show Captain Carbonel over the farm. He was
a grizzled, stooping old fellow, with a fine, hand-
some, sunburnt face; bright, shrewd, dark eyes
looking out between puckers, a short white smock
frock, and long gaiters. It was not their notion of
a bailiff, but the lawyer, who was so chary of his
praise, had said that old Master Pucklechurch and
his wife were absolutely trustworthy. They had
managed the farm in the interregnum, and brought
him weekly accounts in their heads, for neither
could write, with the most perfect regularity and
minuteness. And his face did indeed bespeak
confidence in his honesty, as he touched his hat in
answer to the greeting.
The ladies, however, looked and smelt in some
dismay, for the centre of the yard was a mountain
of manure and straw, with a puce-coloured pond
THE LIE OF THE LAND 19
beside it. On the summit of the mountain a hand-
some ruddy cock, with a splendid dark-green
arched tail, clucked, chuckled, and scratched for
his speckled, rose-crowned hens, a green-headed,
curly-tailed drake “steered forth his fleet upon the
lake†of brown ducks and their yellow progeny,
and pigs of the plum-pudding order routed in the
intermediate regions. The road which led to the
cart-sheds and to the house, skirted round this
unsavoury tract.
“Oh, Edmund!†sighed Mary.
“Farmer’s wife, Mary,†said her husband, smiling.
“Tt ought to be a perfect nosegay to you.â€
“Tm sure it is not wholesome,†she said, looking
really distressed, and he dropped his teasing tone,
and said—
“Of course it shall be remedied! I will see
to it.â€
A dismal screeching and cackling here attracted
the attention of the sisters, who started towards
Pucklechurch’s cottage, and the fowl-house (a very
foul house by the by) in front of which, on a low
wooden stool, sat a tidy old woman, Betty Puckle-
church in fact, in a tall muslin cap, spotted
kerchief, blue gown, and coarse apron, with a big
girl before her holding the unfortunate hen, whose
cries had startled them.
“Oh, don’t go near! She is killing it,†cried
Dora.
20 THE CARBONELS
“No;†as the hen, with a final squawk, shook
out her ruffled feathers, and rushed away to tell
her woes to her companions on the dunghill, while
the old woman jumped up, smoothed down her
apron, and curtsied low.
“What were you doing?†asked Mary, still
startled.
“Only whipping her breast with nettles, ma’am,
to teach her to sit close in her nest, the
plaguy thing, and not be gadding after the
rest.â€
“Poor thing!†cried Dora. “But oh, look,
look, Mary, at the dear little chickens !â€
They were in the greatest delight at the threc
broods of downy little chickens, and one of duck-
lings, whose parent hens were clucking in coops ;
and in the kitchen they found a sickly one nursed
in flannel in a basket, and an orphaned lamb
which staggered upon its disproportionate black
legs at sight of Betty.
“Ay! he be always after me,†she said.
“ They terrify one terrible, as if twas their mother,
till they can run with the rest.â€
Dora would have petted the lamb, but it re-
treated from her behind Betty’s petticoats, and
she could only listen to Mary’s questions about
how much butter was made from how many cows’
milk, and then be taken to see the two calves,
one of which Betty pronounced to be “but a
THE LIE OF THE LAND 21
staggering Bob yet, but George Butcher would
take he in a sen’night,†which sounded so like
senate, that it set Dora wondering what council
was to pronounce on the fate of the poor infant
bull.
Over his stall, Edmund found them, after an
inspection of the pig-styes, and having much
offended Master Pucklechurch by declaring that
he would have them kept clean, and the pigs no
longer allowed to range about the yard.
“Bless you, sir, the poor things would catch
their death of cold and die,†was the answer to
the one edict; and to the other, “They’d never
take to their victuals, nor fat kindly without their
range first.â€
“Then let them have it in the home field out
there, where I see plenty of geese.â€
“They'll spile every bit of grass, sir,’ was the
growling objection ; and still worse was the sug-
gestion, which gradually rose into a, command,
that the “muck heap†should be removed to the
said home field, and never allowed to accumulate
in such close proximity to the house.
Pucklechurch said little ; but his “If it be your
will, sir,†sounded like a snarl, and after rumina-
ting for some time, he brought out—as if it were
an answer to a question about the team of horses—
“We'll have to take on another boy, let be a
man, if things is to be a that ’en a.â€
22 THE CARBONELS
“Let us, then,†said the captain, and joined his
ladies, with the old man depressed and grumbling
inwardly.
There was an orchard preparing to be beautiful
with blossom, and a considerable kitchen garden
at the back and on the other side of the house,
bounded by an exceedingly dirty and be-rutted
farm road, over which the carriage had jolted
the evening before. The extensive home field in
front was shut off from the approach by a belt
of evergreens, and sloped slightly upwards towards
the hill which gave the parish its name.
“We will cut off a nice carriage road,†said
Mary, as she looked at it.
“All in good time,†replied her husband, not
wishing further to shock poor Master Puckle-
church, who had to conduct the party to the
arable fields—one of which was being ploughed
by three fine sleek horses, led by Bill Morris,
with his father at the shafts. In another, their
approach was greeted by hideous yells and shouts
which made Dora start.
“ Ay, ay,†said Pucklechurch, “he knows how
to holler when he see me a-coming;†and at
the same time a black-specked cloud of rooks
rose up from the furrows, the old man stamping
towards the boy who ought to have been keeping
them, vituperating him in terms that it was as
well not to hear.
THE LIE OF THE LAND 23
_ And it was such a tiny boy after all, and in
such a pair of huge boots with holes showing his
bare toes. However, they served him to run away
from Master Pucklechurch into the furthest ditch,
and if the ladies had designs on him, they had to
be deferred.
On the opposite side were more fields, with
crops in various stages, one lovely with the grow-
ing wheat and barley, another promising potatoes,
and another beans ; and beyond, towards the river,
were meadows parted by broad hedgerows, with
paths between, in which a few primroses and
golden celandines looked up beneath the withy
buds and the fluttering hazel catkins. Then came
the meadows, in one of which fed the cows, pretty
buff-and-white creatures, and in another field were
hurdled the sheep, among their dole of turnips,
sheep and turnips alike emitting an odour of the
most unpleasant kind, and the deep baas of the
ewes, and the thinner wail of the lambs made a
huge mass of sounds; while Captain Carbonel
tried to talk to Master Buttermere the shepherd,
a silent, crusty, white-haired old man in a green
smock and grey old coat, who growled out scarcely
a word,
So the tour of the property was made, and old
Pucklechurch expressed his opinion. “ He’ll never
make nothing of it; he is too outlandish
and full of his fancies, and his madam’s a fine
24 THE CARBONELS
lady. ’Pon my word and honour, she was frought
at that there muck heap!â€
This pleasant augury was of course not known
to the new-comers, who found something so honest
and worthy about the Pucklechurches that they
could not help liking them, though Mrs. Carbonel
had another tussle with Betty about fresh butter.
“Tt war no good to make it more than once a
week, Folk liked it tasty and meller ;†and that
the Carbonels had by no means the same likings,
made her hold up her hands and agree with her
husband that their failure was certain. These
first few days were spent in the needful arrange-
ments of house and furniture, during which time
Captain Carbonel came to the conclusion that no
one could be more stupid or awkward than Master
Hewlett, but that he was an honest man, and tried
to do his best, such as it was, while his relation,
Dan, though cleverer, was much more slippery,
and could not be depended upon. Dora asked
Master Hewlett what schools there were in the
place, and he made answer that the little ones
went in to Dame Verdon, but she didn’t make
much of it, not since she had had the shaking
palsy, and she could not give the lads the stick.
He thought of sending his biggest lad to school
at Poppleby next spring, but ‘twas a long way,
and his good woman didn’t half like it, not unless
there was some one going the same way.
THE LIE OF THE LAND 2
vw
Betty Pucklechurch’s account amounted to much
the same. “Dame Verdon had had the school
nigh about forty years. She had taught them all
to read their Testament, all as stayed long enough,
for there was plenty for the children to do; and
folks said she wasn’t up to hitting them as she
used to be.â€
Farmer Goodenough, the churchwarden, who
came to see Captain Carbonel about the letting
of a field which was mixed up with the Green-
how property, gave something of the like character.
“She is getting old, certain sure, but she is a
deserving woman, and she keeps off the parish.â€
“ But can she teach the children? â€
“She can teach them all they need to know,
and keep the little ones out of mischief,†said the
farmer, perhaps beginning to be alarmed. “No
use to learn them no more. What do they want
of it for working in the fields or milking the
cows?â€
“They ought at least to know their duty to
God and their neighbour,†said Captain Carbonel.
“Ts there no Sunday School?â€
“No, sirâ€â€”very bluntly. “I hear talk of such
things at Poppleby and the like,†he added, “but
we don’t want none of them here. The lot here
are quite bad enough, without maggots being put
into their heads.â€
Captain Carbonel did not wish to continue the
'
26 THE CARBONELS
subject. The farmer’s own accent did not greatly
betoken acquaintance with schools of any sort.
Of course the wife and sister were amused as
well as saddened by his imitative account of the
farmer’s last speech, but they meant to study the
subject on their first Sunday. They had learnt
already that Uphill Priors was a daughter church
to Downhill Priors, and had only one service on
a Sunday, alternate mornings and evenings. The
vicar was the head of a house at Oxford, and
only came to the parsonage in the summer. The
services were provided for by a curate, living at
Downhill, with the assistance of the master of a
private school, to whom the vicarage was let.
When Captain Carbonel asked Master Puckle-
church about the time, he answered, “ Well, sir,
‘tis morning churching. So it will be half-past
ten, or else eleven, or else no time at all.â€
“ What, do you mean that there will be none?â€
‘“No, sir. There will be churching sure enough,
but just as time may chance, not to call it an hour.
Best way is to start as soon as you sights the
parson a-coming past the gate down there. Then
you're sure to be in time. Bell strikes out as soon
as they sees him beyond the ‘ Prior’s Lane,’ â€
The Carbonels, in Sunday trim, with William
the man-servant, and two maids, their Prayer-
books in white pocket-handkerchiefs, following in
the rear, set forth for the gate, in the spring
THE LIE OF THE LAND 27
freshness. The grass in the fields was beginning
to grow up, the hedges were sprouting with tender
greens and reds, the polished stems of the celandine
were opening to the sunshine in the banks, with
here and there a primrose. Birds were singing
all round, and a lark overhead—most delightful
pleasures to those so long shut upinatown. It
was the side of a hill, where the fields were cut out
into most curious forms, probably to suit the wind-
ing of a little brook or the shape of the ground ;
and there were, near the bottom, signs of a mass
of daffodils, which filled the sisters with delight,
though daffodils were not then the fashion, and
were rather despised as yellow and scentless.
As they came near the second gate, they saw a
black figure go by on an old white horse ; then
they came out on a long ascending lane with deep
ruts, bordered by fresh soft turf on either sides,
with hawthorn hedges, and at intervals dark yew
trees,
A cracked bell struck up, by which they under-
stood that the clergyman had come in sight, and
they came themselves out upon a village green,
where geese, donkeys, and boys in greenish smock
frocks, seemed to be all mixed up together.
Thatched cottages stood round the green, and a
public-house—the “ Fox and Hounds.†The sign
consisted of a hunt, elaborately cut out in tin,
huntsman, dogs, and fox, rushing across from the
28 THE CARBONELS
inn on a high uplifted rod of iron, fastened into a
pole on the further side of the road, whence the
sound of the bell proceeded, and whither the con-
gregation in smock frocks and black bonnets were
making their way.
Following in this direction, the Carbonels, much
amused, passed under the hunt, went some distance
further, and found a green churchyard, quite shut
in by tall elm trees, which, from the road, almost
hid the tiny tumble-down church, from whose
wooden belfry the call proceeded. It really
seemed to be buried in the earth, and the little
side windows looked out into a ditch. There were
two steps to go down into the deep porch, and
within there seemed to be small space between the
roof and the top of the high square pew into which
they were ushered by Master Hewlett, who, it
seemed, was the parish clerk.
They saw little from it, but on one side, hung
from the roof, a huge panel with the royal arms,
painted in the reign of William and Mary, as the
initials in the corners testified, and with the lion
licking his lips most comically ; on the other side
was a great patch of green damp; behind, a
gallery, full of white smock-frocked men with
their knees thrust through the rails in front.
Immediately before them rose the tall erection of
pulpit, the fusty old cushion and tassels, each faded
to a different tint, overhanging so much that Dora
THE LIE OF THE LAND 29
could not help thinking that a thump from an
energetic preacher would send it down on Ed-
mund’s head in a cloud of dust. There was the
reading-desk below, whence the edges of a ragged
Prayer-book protruded, and above it presently
appeared a very full but much-frayed surplice, and
a thin worn face between white whiskers. The
service was quietly and reverently read, but not a
response seemed to come from anywhere except
from Master Hewlett’s powerful lungs, somewhere
in the rear, and there was a certain murmur of
chattering in the chancel followed by a resounding
whack. Then Master Hewlett’s head was seen,
and his steps heard as he tramped along the aisle
and climbed up the gallery stairs, as the General
Thanksgiving began, and there he shouted out the
number of the Psalm, “ new version,†that is, from
Brady and Tate, which every one had bound up
with the Prayer-book. Then a bassoon brayed,
and a fiddle squealed, and the Psalm resounded
with hearty goodwill and better tone than could
have been expected.
Master Hewlett stayed to assist in the second
singing, and the children, who sat on low forms
and on the chancel step, profited by it to make
their voices more audible than the Commandments,
though the clergyman had not gone to the altar,
and once in the course of the sermon, Captain
Carbonel was impelled to stand up and look over
36 THE CARBONELS
the edge of the pew, when he beheld a battle royal
going on over a length of string, between a boy in
a blue petticoat and one ina fustian jacket. At
the unwonted sight, the fustian-clad let go, and
blue-petticoat tumbled over backwards, kicking
up a great pair of red legs, grey socks, and im-
perfect but elephantine boots, and howling at the
same time. The preacher stopped short, the clerk
had by this time worked his way down from the
gallery, and, collaring both the antagonists, hauled
them out into the churchyard, the triple stamping
being heard on the pavement all the way. The
sermon was resumed and read to its conclusion.
It was a very good one, but immensely beyond
the capacity of the congregation, and Mary
Carbonel had a strong suspicion that she had
heard it before.
It was only on coming out that any notion could
be gathered of the congregation. There were a
good many men and big boys, in smocks, a few
green, but most of them beautifully white and
embroidered ; their wearers had sat without books
through the whole service, and now came out with
considerable trampling.
The pews contained the young girls in gorgeous
colours, the old women, and the better class of
people, but not many of them, for the “Jetzt
noblesse†of Uphill were very “petz¢†indeed, in
means and numbers; but their bonnets were
THE LIE OF THE LAND 31
enormous, and had red or purple bows standing
upright on them, and the farmers had drab coats
and long gaiters. The old dames curtsied low, the
little girls stared, and the boys peeped out from
behind the slanting old headstones and grinned.
Some of them had been playing at marbles on
the top of the one square old monument, until
routed by Master Hewlett on his coming out with
the two combatants.
Captain Carbonel had gone round to the vestry
door to make acquaintance with the clergyman,
though Farmer Goodenough informed him in an
audible whisper, “He ain’t the right one, sir; he
be only schoolmaster.â€
And when the two met at. the door, and the
captain shook hands and said that they would be
neighbours, he was received with a certain hesi-
tating smile.
“T should tell you, sir, that I am only taking
occasional duty here—assisting. I am Mr. Atkins.
I have a select private academy at the vicarage,
which the President of St. Cyril’s lets tome. He
is here in the summer holidays,â€
“T understand. The curate lives at Downhill!â€
said Captain Carbonel.
“At the priory, in fact, with his father’s family.
Yes, it is rather an unfortunate state of affairs,â€
he said, answering the captain’s countenance rather
than his words; “but I have no responsibility. I
32 THE CARBONELS
merely assist in the Sunday duty ; and, indeed, I
advise you to have as little to do with the Uphill
people as possible. An idle good-for-nothing set !
Any magistrate would tell you that there’s no
parish where they have so many up before them.â€
“ No wonder!†said Captain Carbonel under his
breath.
“A bad set,†repeated Mr. Atkins, pausing at
the shed where his old grey horse was put up; and
there they parted.
The captain and his wife and her sister walked
to Downhill, two miles off, across broad meadows,
a river, and a pretty old bridge, the next Sunday
morning, found the church scantily filled, but with
more respectable-looking people, and heard the
same sermon over again, so that Mary was able
to identify it with onc in a published volume.
CHAPTER III
THE TURNIP FIELD
“ You ask me why the poor complain,
And these have answered thee.â€
SouTHEY.
7ULLO, Molly Hewlett, who'd ha’ thought
of seeing you out here?â€
It was in a wet turnip field, and a
row of women were stooping over it, picking out
the weeds. The one that was best off had great
boots, a huge weight to carry in themselves ; but
most had them sadly torn and broken. Their
skirts, of no particular colour, were tucked up,
and they had either a very old man’s coat, or a
smock frock cut short, or a small old woollen
shawl, which last left the blue and red arms bare ;
on their heads were the oldest of bonnets, or here
and there a sun-bonnet, which looked more decent.
-One or two babies were waiting in the hedgeside
in the charge of little girls.
Cc
34 THE CARBONELS
“Molly Hewlett,†exclaimed another of the set,
straightening herself up. ‘Why, I thought your
Dan was working with Master Hewlett, for they
Gobblealls†(which was what Uphill made of
Carbonel).
“So he be; but what is a poor woman to do
when more than half his wage goes to the ‘Fox
and Hounds,’ and she has five children to keep ;
and my poor sister, not able to do a turn?
There’s George Hewlett, grumbling and growling
at him too, and no one knows how long he'll
keep him on.â€
“What! George, his cousin, as was bound to
keep him on?â€
“I don’t know ; George is that particular himself,
and them new folks, Gobbleall as they call them,
are right ‘down mean, and come down on you if
they misses one little mossle of parkisit; and
there’s my poor sister to keep—as is afflicted, and
can’t do nothing!â€
“But she pays you handsome,†said Betsy
Seddon, “and looks after the children besides.â€
“Pays, indeed! Not half enough to keep her,
with all the trouble of helping her about! Not
that I grudges it, but she wants things extry, you
see,and Dan he don’t like it. But no doubt the
ladies will take notice of her.â€
“JT thought the lady kind enough,†interposed
another woman. “She noticed how lame’ our
THE TURNIP FIELD 35
granny was with the rheumatics, and told me to -
send up for broth.â€
“We wants somewhat bad enough,†returned
another thin woman, with her hand to her side.
“ Nobody never does nothing for no one here!â€
“Nor we don’t want no one to come worriting
and terrifying,†cried the last of the group, with
fierce black eyes and rusty black hair sticking out
beyond her man’s beaver hat, tied on with a yellow
handkerchief. “Always at one about church and
school, and meddling with everything—the ribbon
on one’s bonnet and to the very pots on the fire.
I knows what they be like in Tydeby!) And what
do you get by it, but old cast clothes and broth
made of dish-washings?†She enforced all this
with more than one word not to be written.
“T know, I’d be thankful for that!†murmured
the thin woman, who looked as if she had barely
a petticoat on, and could have had scarcely a
breakfast.
“Oh, we all know’s Bessy Mole is all for what
she can get!†said the independent woman, tossing
her head.
“And had need to be,†returned Molly Hewlett, —
in a scornful tone, which made the poor woman in
question stoop all the lower, and pull her groundsel
more diligently.
“The broth ain’t bad,†ventured she who had
tried it.
36 THE CARBONELS
“TJ shall see what I can get out of them,†added
another. “I bain’t proud; and my poor children’s
shoes is a shame to see.â€
“You'll not get much,†said Molly Hewlett, with
a sniff. “Why, the captain, as they calls him,
come down on my Jem, as was taking home a
little bit of a chip for the fire, and made him put
it down, as cross as could be.â€
“How now, you lazy, trolloping, gossiping
women! What are you after?â€
Farmer Goodenough was upon them; and the
words he showered on them were not by any means
“good enough†to be repeated here. He stormed
at them for their idleness so furiously as to set off
the babies in the hedge screaming and yelling.
Tirzah Todd, the gipsy-looking woman whom he
especially abused, tossed her head and marched
off in the midst, growling fiercely, to quiet her
child ; and he, sending a parting imprecation after
her, directed his violence upon poor Bessy Mole,
though all this time she had been creeping on,
shaking, trembling, and crying, under the pelting
of the storm; but, unluckily, in her nervousness
and blindness from tears, she pulled up a young
turnip, and the farmer fell on her and rated her
hotly for not being worth half her wage, and doing
him more harm than good with her carelessness.
She had not a word to say for herself, and went
on shivering and trying to check her sobs while
THE TURNIP FIELD 37
he shouted out that he only employed her from
charity, and she had better look out, or he should
turn her off at once.
“Oh, sir, don’t!†then came out with a burst of
tears. “My poor children 4
“Don’t go whining about your children, but let
me see you do your work.â€
However, this last sentence was in a milder
tone, as if the fit of passion had exhausted itself;
and Mr. Goodenough found his way back to the
path that crossed the fields, and went on. Tirzah
Todd set her teeth, clenched her fist and shook
it after him, while the other women, as soon as
he was out of sight, began to console Bessy Mole,
who was crying bitterly and saying “what would
become of her poor children, and her own poor
father.â€
“Never you mind, Bessy,†said Molly Hewlett,
“every one knows as how old Goodenough’s bark
is worse than his bite.â€
“He runs out and it’s over,’ put in Betsy
Seddon.
“Tm sure I can hardly keep about any way,â€
sobbed the widow. “My inside is all of a quake.
I can’t abide words.â€
“Ten to one he don’t give you another sixpence |
a week, after all,†added Nanny Barton.
“He ain’t no call to run out at one,†said
Tirzah, standing upright and flourishing her baby.
38 THE CARBONELS
“Td like to give him as good as he gave, an old
foul-mouthed brute!â€
“Look there! There’s the ladies coming,†ex-
claimed Nanny Barton.
“TI thought there was some reason why he
stopped his jaw so soon,†exclaimed Molly, stoop-
ing down and pulling up weeds (including turnips)
with undiscerning energy, in which all the others
followed her example, except Tirzah, who sulkily
retreated under the hedge with her baby, while
Jem Hewlett and Lizzie Seddon ran forward for
better convenience of staring. It was a large
field, and the party were still a good way off; but
as it sloped downwards behind the women, the
farmer must have seen them a good deal before
the weeders had done so.
These, be it remembered, were days when both
farmers and their labourers were a great deal
rougher in their habits than we, their grandchil-
dren, can remember them; and there was, besides,
the Old Poor Law, which left the amount of relief
and of need to be fixed at the vestry meetings by
the ratepayers themselves of each parish alone;
so that the poor were entirely dependent on the
goodwill or judgment of their employers, whose
minds were divided between keeping down the
wages and the rates, and who had little of real
principle or knowledge to guide them. It was
possible to have recourse to the magistrates at the
THE TURNIP FIELD 39
Petty Sessions, who could give an order which
would override the vestry ; but it was apt to be
only the boldest, and often the least deserving, who
could make out the best apparent cases for them-
selves, that ventured on such a measure.
The two ladies stopped and spoke to Molly
Hewlett and Nanny Barton, whom they had seen
at their doors, and who curtsied low; and Nanny,
as she saw Mrs. Carbonel’s eyes fall on her boots,
put in— :
“Yes, ma’am, ’tis bitter hard work this cold,
damp weather, and wears out one’s shoes ter’ble.
These be an old pair of my man’s, and hurts my
poor feet dreadful, all over broken chilblains as
they be; and my fingers, too,†she added, spread-
ing out some fingers the colour of beetroot, with
dirty rags rolled round two of them.
Dora shrank. “And you can go on weeding
with them ?â€
“Yes, ma'am. What can us do, when one’s
man gets but seven shillings a week. And I’ve
had six children, and buried three,†and her face
looked ready for tears.
“Well, we will come and see you, and try to
* find something to help you,†said Mrs. Carbonel.
“Where do you live?â€
“Out beyond the church, ma’am—a long way
for a lady.â€
“ Oh, we are good walkers,â€
40 THE CARBONELS
“And please, my lady,†now said Molly, coming
to the front, “if you could give me an old bit of a
pelisse, or anything, to make up for my boy there.
He’s getting big, you see, and he is terrible bad
off for clothes. I don’t know what is to be done
for the lot of ’em.â€
Dora had recognized in the staring boy, who had
come up close, him who had made the commotion
in church ; and she ventured to say, “I remember
him. Don’t you think, if you or his father kept him
with you in church, he would behave better there?â€
“Bless you, miss, his father is a sceptic. I can’t
go while I’ve got no clothes—nothing better than
this, miss ; and I always was used to go decent
and respectable. Besides, I couldn’t nohow take
he into the seat with me, as Master Pucklechurch
would say I was upsetting of his missus.â€
“Well, I hope to see him behave better next
Sunday.â€
“Do you hear, Jem? The lady is quite shocked
at your rumbustiousness! But ’twas all Joe
Saunders’s fault, ma’am, a terrifying the poor
children. His father will give him the stick, that
he will, if he hears of it again.â€
Meantime Mrs, Carbonel had turned to Widow
Mole, who, after her first curtsey, had been weeding
away diligently and coughing.
“Where do you live?†she asked. “I don’t
think I have seen you before.â€
THE TURNIP FIELD 41
“No, ma’am,†she said quietly. “I live down
the Black Hollow.â€
“You don’t look well. Have you been ill? You
have a bad cough.â€
“Tt ain’t nothing, ma’am, thank you. I can
keep about well enough.â€
“Do you take anything for it?â€
“A little yarb tea at night sometimes, ma’am.â€
“We will try and bring you some mixture for
it,†said Mrs. Carbonel. And then she spoke to
Betsy Seddon, who for a wonder had no request
on her tongue, and asked her who the other
woman was, in the hedge with the baby. |
“That’s Tirzah Todd, ma’am,†began Mrs.
Seddon, but Molly Hewlett thrust her aside, and
went on, being always the most ready with words,
“she is Reuben Todd’s wife, and I wouldn’t wish
to say no harm of her, but she comes of a gipsy
lot, and hasn’t never got into ways that us calls
reverend, though I wouldn’t be saying no harm of
a neighbour, ma’am.â€
“No, you'd better not,’ exclaimed a voice, for
Tirzah was nearer or had better ears than Mrs.
Daniel Hewlett had suspected, “though I mayn’t
go hypercriting about and making tales of my
neighbours, as if you hadn’t got a man what ain’t
to be called.sober twice a week.â€
“Hush! hush!†broke in Mrs, Carbonel; “we
don’t want to hear all this. I hope no one will
42 THE CARBONELS
tell us unkind things of our new neighbours, for
we want to be friends with all of you, especially
with that bright-eyed baby. How old is it?â€
She made it smile by nodding to it, and Tirzah
was mollified enough to say, “ Four months, ma’am ;
but she have a tooth coming.â€
“What's her name?â€
Tirzah showed her pretty white teeth in a smile.
“Well, ma’am, my husband he doth want to call
her Jane, arter his mother, ’cause ’tis a good short
name, but I calls her Hoglah, arter my sister as
died.â€
“Then she hasn’t been christened ?â€
“No. You see we couldn’t agree, nor get gossips ;
and that there parson, he be always in such a
mighty hurry, or I'd a had her half-baptized
Hoglah, and then Reuben he couldn't hinder it.â€
Tirzah was getting quite confidential to Mrs.
Carbonel, and ‘Dora meantime was talking to
Molly Hewlett, but here it occurred to the former
that they must not waste the women’s time, and
they wished them good-bye, Dora fearing, how-
ever, that there would be a quarrel between Tirzah
and Molly.
“Qh dear! oh dear!†she sighed, “couldn’t
you make peace between those two,†she said ;
“they will fight it out.â€
“No, I think the fear of the farmer and the need
of finishing their work will avert the storm for the
THE TURNIP FIELD 43
present at least,†said Mary, “ and I thought the
more I said, the worse accusations I should hear.â€
“But what people they are! I do begin to
believe that attorney man, that they are a bad lot.â€
“Don’t be disheartened, Dora, no one has tried
yet, apparently, to do anything for them. We
must try to see them in their own homes.â€
“Beginning with Mrs. Seddon. She was quiet
and civil, and did not beg.â€
“Neither did that thin little woman. I should
like to give her a flannel petticoat. There is a
look of want about her.â€
“But I’m most taken with the wild woman, with
the teeth and the eyes, and the merry smile. I
am sure there is fun in her.â€
“Little enough fun, poor things!†sighed Mrs.
Carbonel.
She was more used to poor people. She had
more resolution, though less enthusiasm than her
sister.
MERE Hitt hetithttettttttitttett teed bet toes)
CHAPTER IV
Nopsopy’s BUSINESS
“For the rector don’t live on his living like other Christian sort
of folks.â€
T. Hoop.
Wy HE sisters found on coming home that a
very handsome chestnut horse was being
walked up and down before the front
door, and their man-servant, William, informed
them that it belonged to the clergyman.
As they advanced to the verandah, Captain
Carbonel and his visitor came out to meet them,
and Mr. Ashley Selby was introduced. He looked
more like a sportsman than a clergyman, except
for his black coat; he had a happy, healthy, sun-
burnt face, top boots, and a riding-whip in his
hand, and informed Mrs. Carbonel that his father
and mother would have the honour of calling on
her in a day or two. They had an impression
that he had come to reconnoitre and decide
whether they were farmers or gentry.
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 45
“We have been trying to make acquaintance
with some of your flock,†said Mary.
“The last thing I would advise you to do,†he
answered ; “there are not a worse lot anywhere.
Desperate poachers! Not a head of game safe
from them.â€
“ Perhaps they may be improved.â€
He shrugged his shoulders. “See what my
father has to say of them.â€
“Ts there much distress? â€
“There ought not to be, for old Dr. Fogram and
my father send down a handsome sum for blankets
and coals every Christmas, and Uphill takes care
to get its share!†He laughed. “No sinecure dis-
tributing !â€
“We have not been to see the school yet.â€
“A decrepit old crone, poor old body! She
will soon have to give in. She can’t even keep
the children from pulling off her spectacles,â€
“And Sunday School?â€
“Well, my father doesn’t approve of cramming
the poor children. I believe the Methodists have
something of the kind at Downhill; but there is no
one to attend to one here, and the place is quite
free of dissent.â€
“Cause and effect?†said Captain Carbonel,
drily.
“Would you object if we tried to teach the
poor children something?†asked Mrs. Carbonel,
cautiously.
46 THE CARBONELS
“Oh no, not at all. All the good ladies are
taking it up,I believe. Mrs, Grantley, of Poppleby,
is great at it, and I see no harm in it; but you'll
have to reckon with my father. He says there will
soon be no ploughmen, and my mother says there
will be no more cooks or housemaids. You'd
better write to old Fogram, he’ll back you up.â€
Mary had it on her lips to ask him about Widow
Mole, but he had turned to Edmund to discuss
the hunting and the shooting of the neighbourhood.
They discovered, partly at this time, and partly
from other visitors, that he was the younger son
of the squire of Downhill, who had been made to
take Holy Orders without any special fitness for
it, because there was a living likely soon to be ready
for him, and in the meantime he was living at
home, an amiable, harmless young man, but bred up
so as to have no idea of the duties of his vocation,
and sharing freely in the sports of his family, acting
as if he believed, like his father, that they were the
most important obligations of man; and accepting
the general household belief that only the Metho-
distical could wish for more religious practice.
Be it understood that all this happened in the
earlier years of the century, and would be impos-
sible under the revival of the Church that has
since taken place. No one now can hold more
than one piece of preferment at a time, so that
parishes cannot be left unprovided. Nor could
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 47
Ashley Selby be ordained without a preparation
and examination which would have given him a
true idea of what he undertook, or would have
prevented his ordination. This, however, was at a
time when the work of the church had grown very
slack, and when a better spirit was beginning to
revive. The father of Mary and Dora had been
a zealous and earnest man, and both they and
Edmund had really serious ideas of duty and of
the means of carrying them out. In London
they had heard sermons which had widened and
deepened their views, but they had done no work,
as the relation with whom they lived thought it
impossible and improper for young ladies there.
Thus they were exceedingly desirous of doing
what they could to help the place where their lot
was cast, and they set forth to reconnoitre. First,
they found their way to the school, which stood on
the border of the village green, a picturesque
thatched cottage, with a honeysuckle and two
tall poplars outside. But strange sounds guided
them on their way, and the first thing they saw
was a stout boy of four or five years old in petti-
coats bellowing loudly outside, and trying to climb
the wicket gate which was firmly secured by a
rusty chain. Mary tried to undo the gate, speak-
ing meanwhile to the urchin, but he rushed away
headlong back into the school, and they heard him
howling, “They bees a-coming!â€
48 THE CARBONELS
A big girl in a checkered pinafore came out and
made a curtsey, assisting to undo the chain.
“What has he been doing?†asked Dora.
“ He be a mortial bad boy!†answered the girl.
“He’ve been getting at Dame Verdon’s sugar.â€
“ And what is your name?†asked Mrs. Carbonel.
“Lizzie Verdon, ma’am. I helps Grannie.â€
Grannie did seem in need of help. There she
sat in a big wooden chair by the fire, the very
picture of an old dame, with a black bonnet,
high-crowned and crescent shaped in front, with
a white muslin cap below, a buff handkerchief
crossed over her shoulders, a dark short-sleeved
gown, long mittens covering her arms, and a
checkered apron ; a regular orthodox birch-rod by
her side, and a black cat ather feet. Buther head
was shaking with palsy, and she hardly seemed to
understand what Lizzie screamed into her car that
“ Here was the ladies.â€
But the door which they had shut in the face of
their spaniel was thrust open. Up went the cat’s
back, bristle went her tail, her eyes shot sparks,
and she bounded to the top of her mistress’s chair.
Dandy barked defiance, all the children shouted
or screamed and danced about, and the old woman
gasped and shook more. Lizzie alone was almost
equal to the occasion. She flew at the cat who
was standing on tiptoe on the tall back of the chair,
with huge tail and eyes like green lamps, swearing,
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 49
hissing, and spitting, and, regardless of scratches,
caught him up by the scruff of his neck and dis-
posed of him behind the staircase door; while
Dora at the same moment secured Dandy by the
collar, and rushing out, put him over the garden
gate and shut both that and the door. Mary,
afraid that the old lady was going to have a fit,
went up to her with soothing apologies, but the
unwonted sight seemed to confuse her the more,
and she began crying. Lizzie, however, came to
the rescue. She evidently had all her wits about
her. First she called out: “Order, children!
Don’t you see the ladies? Sit down, Jem Hewlett,
or J’'ll after you with the stick!†Then, as the
children ranged themselves, she stamped at some
to enforce her orders, shook the rod at others, and
set up the smallest like so many ninepins, handling
them by the shoulder on one small bench, inter-
spersing the work with consolations to granny
and explanations to the ladies, who were about to
defer their visit.
“Granny, now never you mind. Tip is all right
upstairs. Benny, you bad boy, I'll be at you.
Don’t go, please, lady. Bet, what be doin’ to Jim ?
Never mind, granny! Susan Pucklechurch, you'll
read to the lady, so pretty.â€
About five children, more tidily dressed than the
others, had a whole and sound form to themselves
near the fire and the mistress. The other two
D
50 THE CARBONELS
benches were propped, the one on two blocks of
wood, the other on two sound and two infirm legs,
and this was only balanced by a child at each
end, so that when one got up the whole tumbled
down or flew up, but the seat was very low, and
the catastrophe generally. produced mirth.
Susan Pucklechurch, granddaughter to the old
bailiff and his Betty, was evidently the show
scholar. “She be in her Testament, ma’am,â€
explained Lizzie; and accordingly a terribly
thumbed and dilapidated New Testament was
put into the child’s hand, from which she pro-
ceeded to bawl out, with long pauses between the
words, and spelling the longest, a piece of the
Sermon on the Mount, selected because there were
no names init. It was a painful performance to
reverent ears, and as soon as practicable Mrs.
Carbonel stopped it with “Good child!†and a
penny, and asked what the others read. Those
who were not “in the Testament†read the
“ Universal Spelling-book,†provided at their own
expense, but not in much better condition, and
from this George Hewlett, son and heir to the
carpenter, and a very different person from his
cousin Jem, read the history of the defence of that
city where each trade offered its own commodity
for the defence, even to the cobbler, who proposed
to lay in a stock of good 1-e-a-t-h-e-r—lather !
These, and three little maidens who had picture
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 51
spelling-books not going beyond monosyllables,
were the aristocracy, and sat apart, shielded from
the claws and teeth of their neighbours in con-
sideration of paying fourpence, instead of twopence,
a week. The boy was supposed to write large
letters on a slate, and the bigger girls did some
needlework, and not badly—indeed, it was the
best of their performances. The dame went on
mumbling and shaking all the time, and it was
quite evident that she was entirely past the work,
and that Lizzie was the real mistress; indeed,
Mrs. Carbonel was inclined to give her credit for
a certain talent for teaching and keeping order,
when the sisters emerged from the close little
oven of a place, hardly knowing whether to laugh
or cry, but full of great designs.
Captain Carbonel, however, to their disappoint-
ment, advised them to wait to set anything on
foot till Dr. Fogram, the President of St. Cyril’s,
came down in the summer holidays, when counsel
could be taken with him, and there would be more
knowledge of the subject. Dora did not like this
at all. She was sure that the Son of Mist, as she
was naughty enough to call the doctor, would only
hamper them, and she was only half consoled by
being told that there was no objection to her
collecting a few of the children on Sunday and
trying to teach them, and in the meantime
acquaintance might be made with the mothers.
CHAPTER V
AT HOME
‘* Now I’ve gone through all the village, ay from end to end, save
and except one more house ;
But I haven’t come to that, and I hope I never shall, and that’s
the village Poor House.â€
T. Hoop.
OTTAGE visiting turned out to be a much
chequered affair. One of the first places
to which the sisters made their way was
the Widow Mole’s. They found it, rather beyond
the church, down a lane, where it was hidden
behind an overgrown thorn hedge, and they would
scarcely have found it at all, if a three-year-old
child had not been clattering an old bit of metal
against the bar put across to prevent his exit. He
was curly and clean, except with the day’s surface
dirt, but he only stared stolidly at the question
whether Mrs. Mole lived there. A ten-year-old
girl came out, and answered the question.
“Yes, mother do live here, but her be out at
work.â€
AT HOME 53
“Is that your grandfather?†as they caught
sight of a very old man on a chair by the door,
in the sun.
“Yes, ma’am. Will you come in and see him?â€
He was a very old man, with scanty white hair,
but he was very clean, and neatly dressed in a
white smock, mended all over, but beautifully
worked over the breast and cuffs, and long leather
buskins. He was very civil, too. He took off his
old straw hat, and rose slowly by the help of his
stout stick, though the first impulse of the visitors
was to beg him not to move. He did not hear
them, but answered their gesture.
“T be so crippled up with the rheumatics, you
see, ma’am,†and he put his knotted and contracted
hand up to his ear.
Mrs. Carbonel shouted into his ear that she was
sorry for him. She supposed his daughter was
out at work.
“Yes, ma’am, with Farmer Goodenough—a
charing to-day it is.â€
“Washing,†screamed the little girl.
“She was off at five o’clock this morning,†he
went on. “She do work hard, my daughter Bess,
and she’s a good one to me, and so is little Liz
here. Thank the Lord for them.â€
“And her husband is dead ?â€
“Yes, ma’am. Fell off a haystack three years
ago, and never spoke no more. We have always
54 THE CARBONELS
kept off the parish, ma’am. This bit of a cottage
was my poor wife’s, and she do want to leave it to
the boy ; but she be but frail, poor maid, and if
she gave in, there’d be nothing for it but to give
up the place and go to the workhouse; and
there’s such a lot there as I could not go and die
among.â€
He spoke it to the sympathizing faces, not as
one begging, and they found out that all was as he
said. He had seen better days, and held his head
above the parish pay, and so had his son-in-law ;
but the early death of poor Mole, and the old
man’s crippled state, had thrown the whole
maintenance of the family on the poor young
widow, who was really working herself to death,
while, repairs being impossible, the cottage was
almost falling down.
“Oh, what a place, and what a dear old man!â€
cried the ladies, as they went out. “Well, we can
do something here. I'll come and read to him
every week,†exclaimed Dora.
“ And Iwill knit him a warm jacket,†said Mary,
“and surely Edmund could help them to prop up
that wretched cottage.â€
“What a struggle their lives must have been,
and so patient and good! Where are we going
now?â€
“T believe that is the workhouse, behind the
church,†said Mary. “That rough-tiled roof.â€
AT HOME 55
“Tt has a bend in the middle, like a broken back.
I must sketch it,’ said Dora.
“Why, there’s Edmund, getting over the church-
yard stile.â€
“ Ay, he can’t keep long away from you, Madam
Mary.â€
“Were you going to the workhouse?†said
Captain Carbonel, coming up, and offering an arm
to each lady, as was the fashion in those days.
“We thought of it. All the poorest people are
there, of course.â€
“And the worst,’ said the captain. “No, I
will not have you go there. It is not fit for you.â€
For besides that he was very particular about
his ladies, and had no notion of letting them go
to all the varieties of evil where they could hope
to do good, like the ladies of our days, the work-
house was an utterly different place from the
strictly disciplined union houses of the present
Poor Law. Each parish had its own, and that of
Uphill had no master, no order, but was the refuge
of all the disorderly, disreputable people, who
could not get houses, or pay their rent, who lived
in any kind of fashion, on parish pay and what
they could get, and were under no restraint.
While the captain was explaining to them what
he had heard from Farmer Goodenough, a sudden
noise of shouting and laughing, with volleys of
evil words, was heard near the “Fox and Hounds.â€
56 THE CARBONELS
“What is that?†asked Dora, of a tidy young
woman coming her way.
“That’s only the chaps at old Sam,†she
answered, as if it was an ordinary sound. And
on them exclaiming, she explained. “Samson
Sanderson, that’s his name, sir. He be what they
calls nonx-compos, and the young fellows at the
‘Fox and Hounds’ they have their fun out of he.
They do bait he shameful.â€
Violent shouts of foul words and riotous laughter
could be distinguished so plainly, that Captain
Carbonel hastily thrust his wife and sister into the
nearest cottage, and marched into the group of
rough men and boys, who stood holloaing rude
jokes, and laughing at the furious oaths and abuse
inintermittent gasps with which they were received.
“For shame!†his indignant voice broke in.
“Are you not ashamed, unmanly fellows, to treat
a poor weak lad in this way?â€
There was a moment’s silence. Then a great
hulking drover called out, “Bless you, sir, he
likes it.â€
“The more shame for you,†exclaimed the
captain, “to bait a poor innocent lad with horrid
blasphemy and profanity. I tell you every one
of you ought to be fined!â€
The men began to sneak away from the in-
dignant soldier. The poor idiot burst out crying
and howling, and the ostler came forward, pulling
AT HOME 57
his forelock, and saying, “You'll not be hard
on’em, sir. ’Tis all sport. There, Sammy, don’t
be afeared. Gentleman means you no harm.â€
Captain Carbonel held out some coppers, saying,
“There, my poor lad, there’s something for you.
Only don’t let me hear bad words again.â€
Sam muttered something, and pulled his ragged
hat forward as he shambled off into some back
settlements of the public-house, while the ostler
went on—
‘Tis just their game, sir! None of ’em would
hurt poorSam! They'd treat him the next minute,
sir. All in sport.â€
“Strange sport,†said the captain, “to teach a
poor helpless lad, who ought to be as innocent as
a babe, that abominable blasphemy.â€
“He don’t mean nought, sir! All’s one to he!â€
“All the worse in those who do know better, I
tell you; and you may tell your master that, if this
goes on, I shall certainly speak to the magistrates.â€
There was no need to tell the landlord, Mr.
Oldfellow. The captain was plainly enough to be
heard through the window of the bar. The
drovers had no notion that their amusement was
sinful, for “it didn’t hurt no one,†and, in fact,
“getting a rise†out of Softy Sam was one of the
great attractions of the “Fox and Hounds,†so
that Mr. Oldfellow was of the same mind as Dan
Hewlett, who declared that “they Gobblealls was
58 THE CARBONELS
plaguy to-ads of Methodys, and wasn’t to think to
bully them about like his soldiers.â€
They had another drink all round to recover
from their fright, when they treated Softy Sam,
but took care not to excite him to be noisy, while
the captain might be within earshot.
The two ladies had meanwhile taken refuge in
what proved to be no other than Mrs. Daniel
Hewlett’s house, a better one, and less scantily
provided with furniture, than the widow Mole’s,
but much less clean and neat. The door stood
open, and there was a tub full of soapsuds within.
The captain gave a low whistle to intimate his
presence, and stood at the entrance. Unwashed
dinner things were on a round table, a dresser in
confusion against the wall, on another dovore’s
Almanack for some years past, full of frightful
catastrophes, mixed with little, French, highly-
coloured pictures of the Blessed Virgin.
His wife and her sister were seated, the one on
a whole straw chair, the other on a rickety one,
conversing with a very neat, pale, and pleasant-
looking invalid young woman, evidently little
able to rise from her wooden armchair. Molly
Hewlett, in a coarse apron, and a cap far back
amid the rusty black tangles of her hair, her arms
just out of the wash-tub, was in the midst of a
voluble discourse, into which the ladies would not
break.
AT HOME 59
“You see, ma’am, she was in a right good
situation, but she was always unlucky, and she
had the misfortune to fall down the attic stairs
with the baby in her arms.â€
“The baby was not hurt,†put in the invalid.
“Not it, the little toad, but ’twas saving he as
ricked her back somehow, and made her a cripple
for life, as you see, ma’am; and she was six months
in the hospital, till the doctor, he say as how he
couldn’t do nothing more for her, so Hewlett and
me we took her in, as she is my own sister, you
see, and we couldn’t let her go to the workhouse,
but she do want a little broth or a few extrys now
and then, ma’am, more than we poor folks can
give her.â€
“My mistress is very good, and gives me a
little pension,†put in the invalid, while her sister
looked daggers at her, and Mrs. Carbonel, in
obedience to her husband’s signal, took a hasty
leave.
“There now! That's the way of you, Judith,â€
cried Molly Hewlett, banging the door behind
them. “What should you go for to tell the ladies
of that pitiful pay of yours but to spile all chance
of their helping us, nasty, mean skin-flints as
they be!â€
“T couldn’t go for to deceive them,†humbly
replied Judith, meek, but cowering under the
coming storm.
60 THE CARBONELS
“Who asked you to deceive? Only to hold
your tongue for your own good, and mine and my
poor children’s, that you just live upon. As if
your trumpery pay was worth your board and all
the trouble I has with you night and day, but you
must come in and hinder these new folk from
coming down liberal with your Methody ways and
your pride! That’s it, your pride, ma’am. Oh,
I’m an unhappy woman, between you and Dan!
Tam!â€
Molly sank into a chair, put her apron over her
face and cried, rocking herself to and fro, while
Judith, with tears in her eyes, tried gentle con-
solations all in vain, till Molly remembered her
washing, and rose up, moaning and lamenting.
Meantime Mrs. Carbonel and her sister were
exclaiming in pity that this was a dear good girl,
though Edmund shook his head over her surround-
ings.
“T wonder how to make her more comfortable,â€
said Dora. “She seemed so much pleased when
I promised to bring her something to read.â€
“Tam afraid those Hewletts prey on her,†said
Mary.
“And patronizing her will prove a complicated
affair!†said the captain.
He wanted them to come home at once, but on
the way they met Nanny Barton, who began,
with low curtsies, a lamentable story about her
AT HOME 61
girls having no clothes, and she would certainly
have extracted a shilling from Miss Carbonel if
the captain had not been there.
“Never accept stories told on the spur of the
moment,†he said.
Then Betsy Seddon and Tirzah Todd came
along together, bending under heavy loads of
broken branches for their fires. Tirzah smiled as
usual, and showed her pretty teeth, but the captain
looked after her, and said, “They have been
tearing Mr. Selby’s woods to pieces.â€
“What can they do for firewood?†said his
wife.
“Let us look out the rules of your father’s coal
store and shoe club,†he said.
CHAPTER Vi
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD
‘Through slush and squad,
When roads was bad,
But hallus stop at the Vine and Hop.â€â€”TENNyson.
HROUGH all Pucklechurch’s objections
and evident contempt for his fancies,
and those of young madam, Captain
Carbonel insisted on the clearance of the yard.
He could not agree with the old man, who: made
free to tell him that, “Such as that there muck-
heap was just a bucket to a farmer’s wife, if she
was to be called a farmer’s wife—was that it.â€
With some reflection, Captain Carbonel decided
that a bucket might mean a bouquet, and answered
—“Maybe she might have too much of a good
thing. When I went down to Farmer Bell’s the
other day, they had a famous heap, and I was
struck with the sickly look of his wife and
daughters.â€
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 63
“His missus were always a poor, nesh ’ooman,â€
returned Pucklechurch.
“And I don’t mean mine to be like her if I can
help it,†said the captain.
But he did not reckon on the arrival of a
prancing pair of horses, with a smart open carriage,
containing two ladies and a gentleman, in the
most odorous part of the proceedings, when he
was obliged to clear the way from a half-loaded
waggon to make room for them, and, what was
quite as inconvenient, to hurry up the back stairs
to his dressing-room to take off his long gaiters,
Blucher boots (as half high ones were then called)
and old shooting coat, and make himself presentable.
In fact, when he came into the room, Dora
was amused at the perceptible look of surprised
approval of the fine tall soldierly figure, as he
advanced to meet Mr. and Mrs, Selby and their
daughter, the nearest neighbours, who were, of
course, in the regular course of instruction of the
new-comers in the worthlessness and ingratitude
of Uphill and the impossibility of doing anything
for the good of the place.
Mary was very glad that he interrupted the
subject by saying merrily, “You caught me in the
midst of my Augean stable. I hope next time you
are kind enough to visit us that the yard may be
in a more respectable condition.â€
Mr. Selby observed that it was unpardonable
64 THE CARBONELS
not to have done the work beforehand, and the
captain answered, “On the contrary, it was
reserved as a fragrant bucket, or bouquet for a
farmer’s wife.â€
Whereat the visitors looked shocked, and Mary
made haste to observe: “But we do hope to make
a better road to the house through the fields.â€
“There is a great deal to be done first,†said
Dora, who thought the observation rather weak.
Nothing else that was interesting took place on
this occasion, Mr. Selby asked the captain whether
he hunted, and gave him some information on the
sport of all kinds in the neighbourhood. Miss
Selby asked Dora if she liked archery, music, and
drawing. Mrs. Selby wanted to recommend a
~ housemaid, and advised Mrs. Carbonel against ever
taking a servant from the neighbourhood. And
then they all turned to talk of the evil doings of
the parish thieves, poachers, idlers, drunkards, and
to warn the Carbonels once more against hoping
to improve them. The horses could be heard
pawing and jingling outside, and, as the ladies rose
to take leave, Captain Carbonel begged leave to
hurry out and clear the coast. And it was well
that he did so, for he had to turn back a whole
procession of cows coming in to be milked, and
sundry pigs behind them.
The farm court was finished, and never was so
bad again, the animals being kept from spending
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 65
their day there, except the poultry, in which Mary
took great delight. Soon came more visitors, and
it became a joke to the husband and sister that she
always held out hopes of “the future drive†when
they arrived, bumped or mired by the long lane.
“Mary’s Approach,†as Edmund called it, had to
be deferred till more needful work was done. The
guests whom they best liked, Mr. and Mrs. Grantley,
the clergyman and his wife from the little town of
Poppleby, gave an excellent and hopeful account
of their rector, Dr. Fogram, who was, they said, a
really good man, and very liberal.
Mrs. Grantley was interested in schools and
poor people, as it was easy to discover, and Mary
and Dora were soon talking eagerly to her, and
hearing what was done at Poppleby; but there |
were gentry and prosperous tradespeople there, who
could be made available as subscribers or teachers ;
so that their situation was much more hopeful than
that of the Carbonels, who had not the authority of
the clergyman.
Poppleby was a much larger place than Downhill,
on the post road to London. The mail-coach went
through it, and thence post horses were hired, and
chaises, from the George Inn. The Carbonels
possessed a phaeton, and a horse which could be
used for driving or riding, and thus Captain Car-
bonel took the two ladies to return the various calls
that had been made upon them. They found the
E
66 THE CARBONELS
Selbys not at home, but were warmly welcomed by
the Grantleys, and spent the whole afternoon with
them, and, at Dora’s earnest request, were taken to
see the schools. So different was the taste and
feeling of those days that, though Poppleby Church
was a very fine old one—in grand architecture, such
as in these days is considered one of the glories of
the country—no one thought of going to look at it,
and the effect of Mr. Grantley’s excellent sermons
had been the putting up of a new gallery right
across the chancel arch.
It had a fine tower and steeple, and this Dora
thought of as a delightful subject for a sketch from
the Parsonage garden. She made great friends
with Lucy Grantley, the eldest daughter, over their
tastes in drawing, as well as in the Waverley novels
and in poetry, and was invited to spend a long day
at Poppleby and take a portrait of the steeple.
After the calls had been made and returned began
the dinner parties. Elmour Priory was so near
Greenhow that it would have been easy to walk
there across the fields, or to drive in the phaeton,
especially as the hours were much earlier, and six
or half past was held to be a late dinner hour, but
this would have been contrary to etiquette, especially
the first time, with people who evidently thought
much of “style,†and the Carbonels were not
superior to such considerations, which were—or
were supposed to be—of more importance in those
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 67
days. Soa chaise was ordered, and they went in
state, and had a long, dull evening, chiefly enlivened
by the Miss Selbys and Dora playing on the
piano.
As they were going home, all round by the road,
when they were near the top of the hill, before they
came to the “Fox and Hounds,†the postilion first
shouted and then came to a sudden stop. The
captain, putting his head out at the window, saw by
the faint light of a young moon, going down in the
remains of sunset, that he was jumping off his
horse, growling and swearing, but under his breath,
when the captain sprang out. A woman was lying
across the road, and had barely escaped being run
over. Mary and Dora were both out in a moment.
“Poor thing, poor thing! Is it a fit? She is
quite insensible.â€
“A fit of a certain kind,†said the captain, who
was dragging her into the hedge, while the post-
boy held the horses. “Go back, Mary, Dora!â€
“Tt is Nanny Barton!†said Dora in horror.
Mary took down one of the carriage lamps and
held it to the face. “Yes, it is!†said she. “Can’t
we take her home, or do anything?â€
“No, no; nonsense!†said Edmund. “Don’t come
near, don’t touch her. Don’t you see, she is simply
dead drunk.â€
“But we can’t leave her here.â€
“The best thing to do! Yes, it is; but we will
68 THE CARBONELS
stop at the ‘Fox and Hounds,’ if that will satisfy
you, and send some one out to see after her.â€
They were obliged to be satisfied, for the tones
were authoritative, and they had to accept his
assurance that the woman was in no state for them
to meddle with. She would come to no harm, he
said, when he had put her on the bank, and it was
only to pacify them that he caused the postilion to
stop at the public-house, whence roaring, singing,
and shouts proceeded. The landlord came out,
supposing it was some new arrival, and when
Captain Carbonel jumped out, and, speaking
severely, desired that some one would go to look
after the woman, who was lying in the road, and
whom the horses had almost run over, he answered
as if he had been doing the most natural and correct
thing in the world.
“Yes, sir; I had just sent her home. They had
been treating of her, and she had had a drop too
much. She wasn’t in a proper state.â€
“Proper state! No! I should think not!
It is a regular shame and disgrace that you
should encourage such goings on! Where’s the
woman's husband? Has no one got the humanity
to come and take her home?â€
Oldfellow called gruffly to some of the troop,
who came reeling out to the door, and told them
it was time to be off, and that some one, “You
Tirzah had best see to that there Barton ’oman.â€
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 69
Captain Carbonel wished to keep his ladies
from the sight, but they were watching eagerly,
and could not help seeing that it was Tirzah Todd,
more gipsy-looking than ever, who came out.
Not, however, walking as if intoxicated, and quite
able to comprehend Captain Carbonel’s brief
explanation where to find her companion.
“Ah, poor Nanny!†she said cheerfully.
“She’s got no head! A drop is too much for
her.â€
The chaise door was shut, and they went on,
Dora and Mary shocked infinitely, and hardly able
to speak of what they had seen. _
And they did not feel any happier when the
next day, as Mary was feeding the chickens, Nanny
came up to her curtseying and civil.
“Please, ma'am, I’m much obliged to you for
seeing to me last night. I just went in to see if
my husband was there, as was gone to Poppleby
with some sheep, and they treated me, ma’am.
And that there Tirzah and Bet Bracken, they was a
singing songs, as it was a shame to hear, so I ups
and rebukes them, and she flies at me like a cata-
mount, ma’am ; and then Mr. Oldfellow, he puts me
out, ma’am, as was doing no harm, as innocent as
a lamb.â€
“Well,†said Mrs. Carbonel, “it was no place
for any woman to be in, and we were grieved, I
cannot tell you how much, that you should be
70 THE CARBONELS
there. You had better take care; you know
drunkenness is a really wicked sin in God’s sight.â€
“Only a little overtaken—went to see for my
husband,†muttered Nanny. “I didn’t take nigh
so much as that there Tirzah Todd, that is there
with Bet Bracken every night of her life, to
â€
sing
“ Never mind other people. Their doing wrong
doesn’t make you right.â€
“Only a drop,†argued Nanny. “And that
there Tirzah and Bet 2
Mary was resolved against hearing any more
against Tirzah and Bet, and actually shut herself
into the granary till Nanny was gone. And there
she sat down on a sack of peas and fairly cried at
the thought of the sin and ignorant unconscious-
ness of evil all round her. And then she prayed
a little prayer for help and wisdom for these poor
people and themselves. Then she felt cheered up
and hopeful.
>
CHAPTER VII
SUNDAY SCHOOL
“ She hastens to the Sunday School.â€
JANE TAYLOR.
am APTAIN CARBONEL had written to
the President of St. Cyril’s, and at once
obtained his willing consent to the ladies
attempting to form a little Sunday School. Dr.
Fogram said that he should come down himself on
July 21, and should be very glad to take counsel
with the Carbonels on the state of Uphill. He
would be glad to assist if any outlay were needed.
The sisters were in high spirits. The only place
they could find for the purpose was the wash-house
and laundry. Once in five weeks two women, in
high white muslin caps and checked aprons, of
whom Betsy Seddon was one, Betty Pucklechurch
the other, came to assist the maids in getting up
the family linen—a tremendous piece of work. A
tub was set on the Saturday, with ashes placed in
72 THE CARBONELS
a canvas bag on a frame above; water was poured
on it, and ran through, so as to be fitted for
the operations which began at five o’clock in the
morning, and absorbed all the women of the
establishment, and even old Pucklechurch, who
was called on to turn the mangle.
Except during this formidable week, the wash-
house and laundry were empty, and hither were
invited the children. About twenty, of all ages,
came—the boys in smocks, the girls in print frocks
and pinafores, one in her mother’s black bonnet,
others in coarse straw or sun bonnets. All had
shoes of some sort, but few had stockings, though
the long frocks concealed the deficiencies, and
some wore stocking-legs without feet.
They made very low bows, or pulled their fore-
locks, most grinned and looked sheepish, and a
very little one began to cry. It did not seem very
promising, but Mary and Dora began by asking all
their names, and saying they hoped to be better
friends. They, for the most part, knew nothing,
with the exception of George Hewlett’s two eldest,
Bessie Mole’s girls, and one sharp boy of Dan
Hewlett’s, also the Pucklechurch grandchildren ;
but even these had very dim notions, and nobody
but the Hewletts could tell a word of the
Catechism.
To teach them the small commencement of
doctrine comprised in the earliest pages of “ First
SUNDAY SCHOOL 73
Truths†was all that could be attempted, as well
as telling them a Bible story, to which the few
intelligent ones listened with pleasure, and Johnnie
Hewlett showed that he had already heard it—
“from aunt,†he said. He was a sickly, quiet-
looking boy, very different from his younger
brother, Jem, who had organized a revolt among
the general multitude before long. None of these
had enough civilization to listen or be attentive
for five minutes together, and when Mrs. Carbonel
looked round on hearing a howl, there was a
pitched battle going on between Jem and Lizzie
Seddon over her little sister, who had been bribed
into coming with a lump of gingerbread, which
the boy was abstracting. He had been worked up
enough even to lose his awe of the ladies, and to
kick and struggle when Dora, somewhat impru-
dently, tried to turn him out.
The disturbance was so great that the sisters
were obliged to dismiss their pupils at least a
quarter of an hour sooner than they had intended,
and without having tried to teach the short daily
prayers that had been part of the programme.
Somewhat crestfallen they sped back to the
house,
“Did you ever see such a set of little savages?â€
cried Dora.
“Come, there was a very fair proportion of
hopeful ones,†was the reply.
74 THE CARBONELS
These hopeful ones made one class under Dora,
while Mary, who had more patience and experi-
ence, undertook the others, who, when once
wakened, proved very eager and interested, in a
degree new to those who are not the first lights
in gross darkness. Johnnie Hewlett was the
brightest among the children, for though his week-
days were occupied in what his mother called
“keeping a few birds,†or, more technically, “bird
starving,†he spent most of his spare time beside
his sick aunt, and had not only been taught by
her to read, but to think, and to say his prayers.
As Dora gradually learnt, both Mary Hewlett
and Judith Grey had been children of a little
“smock frock†farmer, and had not been entirely
without breeding ; but Molly had been the eldest,
and had looked after the babies, and done much
of the work of the farm, till she plunged into an
early and most foolish marriage with the ne’er-do-
well member of the old sawyer’s family, and had
been going deeper into the mire ever since.
Judith, a good deal younger, and always delicate,
had gone to the dame school when Mrs. Verdon
was rather less inefficient, and at ten years old
had been taken into service by an old retired
servant, who needed her chiefly as a companion,
and thence she had been passed on to a family
where the ladies were very kind to the servants,
and the children brought them their books and
SUNDAY SCHOOL 75
their information of all kinds, so that she had
much cultivation, religious and otherwise.
When her accident had sent her home to the
only surviving member of her family, she hoped
to be of use to her sister and the children ; but,
before long, she found it almost hopeless, Molly,
indeed, was roughly kind to her, but Dan took
no notice of her except to “borrow†her money,
and any attempt to interfere with the management
of the children was resented.
Johnnie, the eldest boy, was fond of his aunt,
and soon became her best attendant when not out
at the work that began at nine years old. He
was willing that she should teach him, and when
the ladies came to see her she was full of stories
of what he had told her. She said no word of
the rudeness of the girls or the tyranny of Jem,
as she sat helpless by the fire. When all were
out, these were pleasant peaceful visits to her, and
she was grateful for the books Dora lent her, and
the needlework Mrs. Carbonel gave her when she
was well enough to do it. Molly was not un-
willing that her sister should be “a fav’rite,†as
she called it, more especially as Jem was generally
allowed to swallow any dainty brought by the
ladies that was to his taste.
Old Master Redford, Widow Mole’s father, was
another cheerful spot in the village. He was a
thoroughly good, devout person in a simple way,
76 THE CARBONELS
and most grateful for Dora’s coming to read to
him. Old Pucklechurch once, indeed, said, “ What,
ma’am, ye be never a going to read to that there
Thomas Redford! Why, ’tis all one as singing
Psalms to a dead horse.â€
In spite, however, of this hopeless augury, Dora’s
voice did reach his ears. He had made good use
of his scanty opportunities, and had taught his
family to be thoroughly conscientious. There was
another daughter in service, who from time to time
sent him a little help, but the transit of money was
a difficulty in those days, and the relief could not
often come. One morning Widow Mole fainted
away in the hayfield, and hardly heard Farmer
Goodenough abusing her fine-lady airs, though she
trembled and shook so much when she tried to go
on that she was forced to let Tirzah Todd lead her
home, and the next morning she could not get up.
She had been in such plight before, and the shop
trusted her, knowing that she always strove to pay
off her debts, but the farmer rated her vehemently,
declaring that she had been good for nothing since
the ladies had been putting fancies and megrims
in her head, and that he would not take her on
again. Probably he did not mean to fulfil his threat,
for, as far as her strength allowed, she was the best
and most thorough worker of all his women, and he
had no desire to have the whole family on the rates ;
but the ladies believed it, and came home furious
SUNDAY SCHOOL 77
with indignation, and even Captain Carbonel
thought her justified in accepting the dismissal, and
as soon as “kitchen physic†had a little restored
her, she became washer-woman, weeding woman,
and useful woman generally at Greenhow Farm.
Many a cup of tea and thick slice of bread-and-
butter were carried out to her after breakfast, not
to say three-cornered remnant of pie, or sandwich of
cold meat at luncheon; and, though some was saved
for “granfer and the children,†still she began to
look like another woman ere many weeks were over.
Betsy Seddon and Molly Hewlett were much
displeased, and reproached her with having got the
place by “ hypercriting about.â€
Nanny Barton put on a white apron and brought
out the big Bible when she saw the ladies getting
over the stile. The first time Dora was much de-
lighted ; the second, Mrs. Carbonel managed to see
that the Bible was open at one of the genealogies
in the First Book of Chronicles, and spied besides
the dirtiest of all skirts under the apron. After
that she did not much heed when Nanny said she
would come to church if her shoes were not so bad.
Tirzah Todd laughed and showed her white
teeth and merry eyes so pleasantly that no one
could help liking to talk with her, but alas! old
Pucklechurch took care to let them know that she
could be just as merry in a different way at the
“Fox and Hounds.â€
CHAPTER VIII
Mary’s APPROACH
“ The chaise was stayed,
But yet was not allowed
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.â€
CowPER.
R. FOGRAM was true to his word, and
i) made his appearance at the Long Vaca-
tion. The Carbonels, to whom little
eager Sophia had been added a day or two pre-
viously, first saw him at Downhill Church, where
he madea most dignified appearance, in a very full
surplice, with his Doctor of Divinity’s red hood over
it. The clerk, small, grey-haired, and consequen-
tial, bustled up to open the pulpit door for him,
and he preached, in a fine, sonorous voice, a very
learned sermon, that might have been meant for
his undergraduates at Oxford.
It was the day for afternoon service at Uphill,
so the sisters had to hurry away to eat their
Sr
7
FOGRAM. p. 79
SAID DR.
‘CAPTAIN CARBONEL, I BELIEVE,
MARY'S APPROACH 79
luncheon in haste, and then to introduce Sophy to
the Sunday School, where she was to teach a class
of small ones, a matter of amazing importance
and ecstasy.
She was a damsel of thirteen, in a white frock
and cape, a pink sash, pink kerchief round her
neck, pink satin ribbons tying down her broad
Leghorn hat over her ears, in what was called gipsy
fashion. She had rosy cheeks, blue,†good-natured
eyes, and shining, light-brown curls all round her
head. Her appearance in the school was quite as
memorable to the children as Dr. Fogram’s could
be to their elders, and the little ones were so
engaged in looking at her that they quite forgot to
be naughty, except that Billy Mole, in curiosity to
know what anything so glossy and shining could
be, pinched the end of her sash, and left the grimy
mark of his little hot hands on it, which caused
Maitland the maid, who had charge of her toilette,
to declare that such things always came of going
among “they nasty, dirty little brats.â€
Dr. Fogram rode over on a plump, shining, black
horse, followed by a well-equipped groom. He
dismounted, and gave his horse to the man when he
overtook the Carbonel party on the way up the hill.
“Captain Carbonel, I believe,†said he, touching
his hat, almost a shovel. “ Will you do me the
honour to introduce me to the ladies,†and to them
he uncovered with the grand formal politeness
80 THE CARBONELS
which even then was becoming rather old-fashioned
and which they returned with curtsies, Sophia’s,
being fresh from the dancing-master, the most
perfect of all.
“TI understand,†said he, “that I am greatly in-
debted to you for pains taken with this unfortunate
parish.â€
“We have been trying to do what we could,â€
said Mrs. Carbonel, to whom this was chiefly
addressed. ;
“Tt is a great kindness,†he replied, “and I hope
the people may show themselves sensible of your
exertions, but hitherto all endeavours for their
benefit have been thrown away.â€
Dora could not help wondering what ‘tthe exer-
tions were ! .
After the service he joined the family again, and
said that he thought the appearance of the poor
—and especially of the children—and their be-
haviour much improved, and he had no doubt it
was owing to the gentle and beneficent influence
of the ladies, to whom he bowed.
In fact, the children had been much engaged
in staring, though whether he or Sophy were the
prime attraction, might be doubtful. At any
rate, Master Pucklechurch’s rod had only once
descended. Moreover, two neat sun-bonnets of
lilac print adorned two heads, and the frocks
looked as if they were sometimes washed.
MARY'S APPROACH 81
Captain Carbonel Said he hoped to have some
conversation with the President about the parish ;
and he responded that he hoped to do himself the
honour of calling the next day. After which he
mounted his horse and rode off.
The three sisters waited and watched as if their
whole fate depended on the morning’s conference ;
but nothing was seen. of the President till after
luncheon, when he rode up, attended by his groom
as before. To their great disappointment, he would
talk of nothing but the beauty of the country, and
of the voices of Lablache and Sonntag, or the like,
which he evidently considered the proper subjects
for ladies; and it was not till he had spent the
quarter of an hour, fit for a visit of ceremony, on
these topics that he asked Captain Carbonel to
allow him a little conversation with him.
They shut themselves into the captain’s little
‘den, which was something between a gun-room
and a library, with the rectory books going round
two sides of the room, Edmund’s sword, pistols,
and spurs hanging over the mantelpiece, and his
guns, shot-belts, powder-horn, and fishing-rods on
hooks on the wall. No noise was heard for more
than an hour, during which Dora fumed, Mary cut
off the dead roses, and Sophia was withheld from
peeping.
At last they came out—the horses had been
brought to the door—the President bowed to the
F
82 THE CARBONELS
ladies, mounted, and rode off, while Edmund came
across the lawn; and they all clustered round him.
“Well,†said he, “we have fared better than we
expected. Dr. Fogram has long been regretting
the state of the parish.â€
“Why did he do nothing?†broke in Dora.
“T suppose he has much on his hands; and,
I am afraid, my poor old uncle was a hindrance,
for he really seemed like a man who had got rid
of an incubus when he found that we were willing
to do what we could. Then it seems that he was
disappointed in Ashley Selby. He thought that,
being an inhabitant of the place, the young man
would be interested in the people, and make his
sisters useful.â€
“They!†exclaimed Dora. “They are such fine
ladies, who think about nothing but Almack’s, are
afraid of the dirt, and of catching all sorts of
disorders at the cottages.â€
“T can hardly get Dora to be moderately civil
to them,†said Mary.
“Yes,†said Edmund, “parental influence has
been strong. The mother fears for health, the
father for his game, and the children have grown
up to think poachers and their families almost
beyond the pale of humanity. It has been too
much for this young man, who simply acquiesced
in the way in which he was bred. However, this
will come to an end, for the present holder of
MARYS APPROACH 83
the family living has had a paralytic stroke, and
wants him to come and assist. I fully believe
that he may do much better away from home
habits, especially under a good incumbent.â€
“And what is to happen to us?†inquired
Mary.
“Dr. Fogram says that he will send us one of
the Fellows of his college—a young man full of
zeal, who is eager for parochial work, and has
been taking duty at a parish some miles from
Oxford. He thinks we shall be satisfied with the
change.â€
“ As if we were the people to be satisfied,†cried
Dora. “Just confess, Edmund, that the old gentle-
man did not think the place worth attending to till
educated gentlefolk came to live in it.â€
“Say, rather, that he really did not know the
deficiencies,†said the captain, “till they were
brought before him.â€
“Then he ought,†muttered Dora.
“ Judge not,†whispered Mary, who was a reverent
person.
“And the school?†resumed Dora. “Was he
aware of any deficiency there?â€
“He was very glad to hear that you had begun
keeping school, and will contribute to a better
arrangement for the week-day school, assist in
pensioning off Dame Verdon, if needful, and in
obtaining a better person.â€
84 THE CARBONELS
Dora and Sophy each gave a little caper, and
squeezed one another’s hands.
“He is quite disposed to be liberal,†continued
Edmund; “and I am sure we shall find him no
impediment.â€
“T don’t think the school is going on now,†said
Mary. “Lizzie Verdon came for some broth, and
said Granny was bad in bed. I asked whether
she had had the doctor, and she stared and said
no, but Dame Spurrell had got her some ‘ yarbs.’â€
For in those days the union doctor was not an
institution. Large tracts of country would con-
tract with some apothecary to attend their sick ;
but he was generally a busy man, with his hands
full of paying patients, and there was nobody to
keep him up to his work among the poor, if he
could have done it, which he really could not.
The poor themselves knew that it was in vain to
apply to him, or if he came once in a serious case,
to expect any attention; and they preferred to
depend on the woman clever in “yarbs,†on the
white witch, or, in favoured villages, on the lady
bountiful or the clergyman and his wife; and in
simple cases these latter were quite efficient,
keeping a family medicine-chest and a book on
household medicine.
Mrs. Carbonel had routed out her mother’s
book, replenished her chest, and had cured two
or three children who had been eating unripe
MARY'S APPROACH 85
‘apples, and greatly benefited Widow Mole with
infusions of Jesuit’s bark in a large jug, the
same thing as quinine, only more cumbrously and
domestically prepared. But most of the Uphill
people had the surest confidence in Dame Spurrell
and her remedies, some of which were very
curious; for Mrs. Carbonel found a child who
had fits wearing, in a bag, a pinch of black hair
from the cross on the back of a jackass; and
once, when she objected to a dirty mark on the
throat of Susan Pucklechurch, she was told it was
left by a rasher of bacon put on to cure a sore
throat.
The symptoms were sometimes curious as she
now found when she went to inquire after Dame
Verdon, who, Lizzie informed her, had her heart
hanging by only one string, and when that gave
way, she would not be here,
For the present, however, she was in bed, under
a quilt made of coloured cloth scraps ; but however
it might be with her heart-strings, she did not
seem likely to get up again. It was hay time,
and it appeared that no one did come to school in
hay and harvest seasons, so that there was time
to consider what could be done. Dr. Fogram was
invited to dinner to hold consultation with the
ladies, whom the captain would not leave to any
conclusion as to the schools,
There were no such things as trained masters
86 THE CARBONELS
and mistresses in those days; the National Society
had only been in existence eleven years, and
Government had not taken up the matter at all.
Educated and religious people had, however, come
to the conclusion that it would be well to help all
the village children to know their faith and duty,
and to read their Bibles; and the good work of
Mrs. Hannah More and Mrs. Trimmer were
examples that had begun to be followed, now
that the one was in extreme old age, and the
other in her grave, The Carbonel family had been
bred up to such work, and all of them knew a good
deal more about it than the President, whose
studies had been chiefly in Greek plays, and
whose tasks had been dealing with young men
and the college estates. His conscience as a
clergyman was a good deal stirred by the con-
dition of his parish, and he was really thankful
to those who would take up the matter, as well
as ready to assist with his purse.
So it was settled that Mrs. Carbonel should
write about a widow at her old home, who had
once been a servant in the family. She was
known to be a good religious person, who could
read, and write, and cast accounts quite well
enough for any possibly advanced scholars, as
well as being a beautiful needlewoman. An old
friend went to see her, explain the situation to
her, and ascertain if she were willing to undertake
MARY'S APPROACH 87
the school for twenty pounds a year, and what the
children could pay.
A cottage belonging to Captain Carbonel might
have a room added to it to receive the scholars,
by the end of harvest, by which time they might
be got together, and Mrs, Verdon was to be
induced to resign by a pension of half-a-crown
a week, a sum then supposed to be ample, and
which, indeed, was so for her wants, which were
much less than in these days. Captain Carbonel
looked over the cottage, and worked out an
estimate of the cost with old Hewlett, whose
notions of paper work were of the kind shown in
his Midsummer bill.
SS ad,
I ooden barrer a oodnt soot oe ee 9 6
1 ooden barrer a ood soot ... eee aes ae) 6
The result of the calculations, conjectural and
otherwise, was this.
“Mary, look here. This is an expensive year,
and if we do the thing this year, we must put off
making the drive through the fields—your approach,
madam.â€
Mary came and looked at his figures. “How
will it be after harvest ?†she said.
“ Harvest is an inappreciable quantity, especially
to novices,†he said. “If you believe Farmer
Goodenough, the finest weather will not save me
from finding myself out of pocket.â€
88 THE CARBONELS .
“Farmer Goodenough is an old croaker, after
his kind,†said Mary.
“Tt won’t do to reckon thereupon. I must be
secure of capital enough to fall back upon. Think
it over well, Mary, and answer me to-morrow ; and
you had better say nothing to your sisters till your
own mind is made up. I own that I should be
very glad of the road. It would save us and old
Major a good deal, to say nothing of our friends’
bones,â€
“Do you mean that you wish it, Edmund?â€
“T wish to leave it entirely to you.â€
Dora and Sophy had gone across the fields, a
four miles’ walk to Poppleby, and were to be
brought home in the evening, and Mary was left
to wander about the old road and the field-path,
and meditate on the ruts and quagmires that
would beset the way in the winter, and shut
them up from visiting, perhaps even from church.
Besides, there were appearances !
There was an old gentleman, a far-away con-
nection of Edmund’s, who had been in the navy,
and now lived at Poppleby, and went about
collecting all the chatter to be heard in one house,
and retailing it all in another, and he thought
himself licensed to tell Edmund and Mary every-
thing personal. One thing was—
“My dear fellow, you should really put a check
on your wife’s Methodistical ways !â€
MARY'S APPROACH 89
“JT didn’t know she had any.â€
“T have been told, on good authority, that she
has a meeting every Sunday in the wash-house.â€
Edmund laughed. “A dozen children for Sunday
School, with the President’s full consent.â€
“It won't do, Edmund. You'll find it won’t
do! Why, old Selby told me she was a pretty
creature, only just like your good pious ladies,
running into all the dirtiest cottages.â€
And to Mary it was, “Let me give you a hint,
my dear Mrs, Carbonel. The Duchess saw you in
Poppleby, and asked who you were, and she said
she would like to visit you, if you did not live in
such a hole.â€
“T don’t think I want her,†said Mary.
“Now, my dear, don’t you be foolish! It would
be so much to Edmund’s advantage! He was in
the same regiment with Lord Henry, and you
might have the best society in the county, if
only you would make your new drive! Why,
even Lady Hartman says she can’t take her
horses again through that lane, or into the farm
court. ‘Miss Yates said it was quite disgusting.â€
Mary Carbonel might laugh. She did.not care
for her own dignity, but she did for Edmund’s ;
and though she had been amused at Lady Hart-
man’s four horses entangled in the narrow sweep,
and did not quite believe old Captain Caiger,
the lady herself had been very charming, and
go THE CARBONELS
Mary did not like to cut her husband and
sisters off from the pleasantest houses in the
country.
But the words, “Love not the world,†came up
into her mind, and the battle ended by her saying
to her husband—
“Don't let us have the approach this year,
dear Edmund. I don’t want it to be Mary’s
veproach,â€
“You are quite sure? In spite of Caiger ?â€
“Indeed I am ; though I am afraid it is asking
you to give up something.â€
“Not while I have my merry faces at home,
Mary. And indeed, little woman, I am glad of
your decision. It is right.â€
“Tam so glad!â€
VN
CHAPTER Ix
THE SCREEN
‘* There is no honesty in such dealing.â€
SHAKESPEARE,
<4 NE day when Sophy had been trusted to
| go out alone to carry a few veal cutlets
from luncheon to Judith, she found the
door on the latch, but no one in the room down-
stairs, the chair empty, the fire out, and all more
dreary than usual, only a voice from above called
out, “Please come up.â€
Sophy, pleased with the adventure, mounted the
dark and rickety stairs, and found herself in the
open space above, cut off from the stairs by a
screen, and containing a press-bed, where Judith
lay, covered by an elaborate patchwork quilt.
There was a tiny dressing-table under the narrow
lattice window, and one chair, also a big trunk-
box, with a waggon-shaped lid, such as servants
used to have in those days, covered with paper,
92 THE CARBONELS
where big purple spots of paint concealed the old
print of some story or newspaper. On the wall hung
a few black profiles, and all was very fairly neat,
whatever the room might be shut off by a wooden
partition, whence came a peculiar sour smell.
“Oh, it is Miss Sophia!†exclaimed Judith. “I
beg your pardon, ma’am, I thought it was Dame
Spurrell, who said she would come and look in on
me, or I would not have troubled you to come up.â€
“T am glad I did, Judith; I like to see where
you live. Only, are you worse?â€
“No, miss, only as my back is sometimes, and
my sister and all the children are gone to the
hiring fair, so it was not handy to get me up.â€
“And this is your room!†said Sophy, looking
about her. “Isn’t it very cold?â€
“Johnnie heats me a brick to keep me warm at
night; but my feet are always cold downstairs.
It does not make much difference.â€
“Qh dear! And you have a screen, I see. Oh!
Why, that is our drawing-room paper.â€
She sat transfixed at the recognition, whilc
Judith observed, quite innocently, with a free
conscience—
“Yes, miss, my brother-in-law brought it home,
and told me it was just a scrap that was left over,
and he was free to have, though I said I did
wonder the lady did not want to keep it in case of
an accident happening.â€
THE SCREEN 93
“Yes.†said Sophy, “I don’t think he had any
business to have it, for all one division of the paper
is put on upside down. The laburnums point up
instead of hanging down, and Iam sure Mary
would have altered it if she could. It was beauti-
ful French paper that Edmund brought home
from Paris and laid up for the furnishing their
house.â€
This, of course, Mrs. Carbonel and Dora would
never have told poor Judith, but Sophy was young
and unguarded, and apt to talk when she had
better have held her tongue.
“T am sorry to hear it, miss, indeed lam. I am
afraid one could not take it off the screen to put
it back again where it did ought to be.â€
Sophy looked, but it was manifestly impossible.
Spoiling the screen would not mend the wall of
the drawing-room.
“Perhaps Molly might have another bit left,â€
she said, only thinking of the triumph of carrying
home the means of repairing the deficiency by her
own unassisted sagacity.
“T will ask her, miss. I am sure I never thought
Dan would go for to do such a thing,†mourned
Judith, though, even as she spoke, there came back
on her recollections of times when she had tried to
be blind and deaf. “But if Mrs. Carbonel would
let me pay for it, miss, I should be easier in my
mind. I havea shilling, though no doubt that is
94 THE CARBONELS
not the worth of it.’ And she began feeling for
a little box under her pillow, never mentioning
that she had already paid Dan a shilling for it.
“No, no; nonsense, Judith! Of course my
sister would not take it for the world; but if any
one could find another bit, just to patch up the
part above the book-case, it would be nice.â€
“T will do what in me lays, Miss Sophy,â€
answered Judith.
So Sophy took her leave and trotted home, very
proud of her discovery, which she communicated
in an eager voice as the phaeton drew up at the
front door.
“Oh, Edmund, I have found the rest of the
drawing-room paper !â€
“Hush! not so loud, my dear,†said Dora, getting
out of the back seat, and Edmund, being busy in
telling the groom to attend to something in the
harness, did not heed at first.
“Did you know, Dora?†asked Sophy, in a
lower voice, being struck by something in her re-
pressive manner.
“Ves; but I did not tell, because Edmund was
so much vexed, and it was of no use now.â€
Dora really hoped no one had heard, as Mary
was busy with her parcels, and she was too fond
of Judith not to wish to shield her family; but it
was too late. The captain came in with, “ What’s
this about the drawing-room paper ?â€
THE SCREEN 98
Sophy was delighted to pour out the history of
her discovery, and tell how it appeared on the
screen that sheltered poor Judith Grey.
“Exactly as I supposed,†said Captain Carbonel.
“TI always believed that fellow was a thief.â€
“But it is not poor Judith’s fault,†exclaimed
the sisters, with one voice.
“She knew nothing about it. She wanted to
pay the shilling for it,†said Sophia.
The captain laughed a little.
“And she is going to search for a bit to go up
there!†continued the girl more vehemently ; and
he laughed again,
“Yes,†said Mary, “if you only saw something
of her, you would be convinced that her whole
character is very different from that of the rest of
the family.â€
“Don’t you be taken in by plausibility,†said the
captain. “I know that fellow Dan is a thief. I
meant to tell his relation, George, that I won’t
allow him to be employed on the new schoolroom.
I shall do so now.â€
“ Would it not be better to forget what happened
so long ago?†Mary ventured to say.
“And suppose Judith restores it,†added
Sophia.
“Pshaw!†said the captain; but Mary followed
him to the study, and what she did with him
there her sisters did not know, but it resulted in
96 THE CARBONELS
his allowing that Dan might have another trial,
with a sharp eye over him.
So unused was Uphill to the visits of ladies,
that when the piece of French paper was sold to
Judith, no one had thought of her being sought
out in her bedroom. Molly came home with the
children in the evening, tired out but excited—for
all had had rather more beer than was good for
them, and the children a great many more sweets.
Jem and Judy were quarrelling over a wooden
horse covered with white spots, but whose mane
had already disappeared, Lizzie was sick, cross, and
stupid, Polly had broken the string of her new
yellow necklace, and was crying about it, and
nobody had recollected the aunt except Johnnie,
who presented her with a piece of thin gingerbread
representing King George the Fourth, in white,
pink, and gilt! Molly herself was very tired,
though she said it was all very fine, and she
had seen a lot of people, and the big sleeves they
wore were quite a wonder. Then she scolded
Polly with all her might for crying and never
setting the tea, nor boiling the kettle; and, after
all, it was Johnnie who made up the fire, fetched
water, and set the kettle boiling. They all
wrangled together over their purchases, and the
sights they had seen, or not seen, while Judith was
glad to be out of the way of seeing, though not of
hearing. Then the girls trailed themselves
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THE CARBONELS
LONDON :
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
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THE CLERK IS FORCED TO PRESERVE ORDER.
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39°
THE CARBONELS
BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
AUTHOR OF
“UNDER THE STORM,†“THE COOK AND THE CAPTIVE,†ETC.
“God hath sown, and He will reap,
Growth is slow when roots are deep ;
He will aid the work begun
For the love of His dear Son.â€
Keser
WITH FIVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. S. STACEY
LONDON
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S DEPOSITORY
Broap SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER
New York: Tuomas WHITTAKER, 2 AND 3, BIBLE House
[All rights reserved]
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Cook and the Captive. Price 3s. 67.
The Treasures in the Marshes. Price 2s. 6¢.
The Cross Roads; or, A Choice in Life. Price
35. 6d.
The Constable’s Tower; or, The Times of
Magna Charta. Price 3s.
The Slaves of Sabinus. Price 35. 6.7.
The Cunning Woman’s Grandson. A Story
of Cheddar a Hundred Years Ago. Price 3s. 6d.
Under the Storm; or, Steadfast’s Charge. Price
35. 6d.
Our New Mistress; or, Changes at Brookfield
Earl. Price 3s.
NaTIONAL SocietTy’s DEposiTorY, SANCTUARY,
WESTMINSTER. S.W.
iS cS
EYE eee fd Foe fe Foe] Te es Pale
CONTENTS
aa eee
CHAYTER PAGE
I. FrENcH MEASURE ... nag Shs rr 9
Il, Tur Lit of tHE Lanp ree odo Nee li7i
Ill. THe Turnip FIELD... re ie eee SS
IV. Nogsopy’s BUSINESS ... nom a woe 44
V. AT HoMeE ... eae eee eas wee 2
VI. THe NEIGHBOURHOOD ns aa vee 62
VII. Sunpay ScHooL O08 bbe te oe L
VIII. Mary’s APPROACH ... me ae Mone
IX. THE SCREEN vee oer ao vee OL
X. INNOVATIONS eee Ee ree vee 102
XI. AN UNPROFITABLE CROP... ee ee III
XII. PRIzEs a00 oes oer 5nG eee 123
XIII. AGAINST THE GRAIN eee nes tee 130
XIV. AN OFFER REJECTED ee a vee 139
XV. SCALES OF JUSTICE ... er are vee 151
XVI. Lincu-Pins ... te tee rae see 158
XVII. Procress or No Procress ... nb0 vee 169
XVIII. Tue THRESHING-MACHINE ... vee eel
vi CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
XIX. A NicuTr JOURNEY... aes ves ee SS,
XX. THE RoyaL Hore. ae a poo Le)y/
XXI. Jack Swine an Bes bb e210
XXII GREAT Mary AND Litr.e Mary... see 218
XXII. THe MAcHINE aa nas an oon. bey)
XXIV. MusyuDGED Ae a aa ez 40
XXV. JupITH eee B00 nae oe see 249
XXVI. THE GOLDEN CHAINS va pod aco GS
XXVII. MissepD AND MOURNED tee sia ogo Ae}
CONCLUSION G6 er sins vee 267
OOO OOOO OOOO
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE CLERK IS FORCED TO PRESERVE ORDER ... (Frontispiece)
““CAPTAIN CARBONEL, I BELIEVE,†SAID DR. FoGRAM... 79
PLEADING FOR MERCY FOR THEIR HUSBANDS ... 155
“‘D’yE WANT TO BESPEAK THE BEST APARTMENTS?†.,. 198
THE ARRIVAL OF THE YEOMANRY... dod ood ARR
Cl NEAGE Reel
FRENCH MEASURE
“For thy walls a pretty slight drollery.â€
The Second Part of King Henry 1V.
BAD lot. Yes, sir, a thoroughly bad
lot.â€
“You don’t mean it.â€
“Yes, ma’am, a bad lot is the Uphill people.
Good for nothing and ungrateful! I’ve known
them these thirty years, and no one will do any-
thing with them,â€
The time was the summer of 1822. The place
was a garden, somewhat gone to waste, with a
gravel drive running round a great circle of peri-
winkles with a spotted aucuba in the middle.
There was a low, two-storied house, with green
shutters, green Venetian blinds, and a rather
10 THE CARBONELS
shabby verandah painted in alternate stripes of
light and darker green. In front stood a high gig,
with a tall old, bony horse trying to munch the
young untrimmed shoots of a lilac in front of
him as he waited for the speaker, a lawyer,
dressed as country attorneys were wont to dress
in those days, in a coat of invisible green, where
the green constantly became more visible, brown
trousers, and under them drab gaiters. He was
addressing a gentleman in a blue coat and nankeen
trousers, but evidently military, and two ladies
in white dresses, narrow as to the skirts, but full
in the sleeves. One had a blue scarf over her
shoulders and blue ribbons in her very large
Leghorn bonnet ; the other had the same in green,
and likewise a green veil. Her bonnet was rather
more trimmed, the dress more embroidered, the
scarf of a richer, broader material than the other’s,
and it was thus evident that she was the married
sister; but they were a good deal alike, with the
same wholesome smooth complexion, brown eyes,
and hair in great shining rolls under their bonnet
caps, much the same pleasant expression, and the
same neat little feet in crossed sandalled shoes
and white stockings showing out beneath their
white tambour-worked gowns.
With the above verdict, the lawyer made his
parting bow, and drove off along a somewhat
rough road through two pasture fields. The first
FRENCH MEASURE II
gate, white and ornamental, was held open for
him by an old man in a short white smock and
long leathern gaiters, the second his own servant
opened, the third was held by half a dozen shock-
headed children, with their backs against it and
hands held out, but in vain; he only smacked his
driving-whip over their heads, and though he did
not strike any of them, they requited it with a
prolonged yell, which reached the ears of the trio
in front of the house.
“Tm afraid it is not far from the truth,†said the
green lady.
“Oh no; I am sure he is a horrid man,†said
her blue sister. “I would not believe him for a
moment.â€
“Only with a qualification,†rejoined the gentle-
man.
“But, Edmund, couldn’t you be sure that it is
just what he would say, whatever the people were ?â€â€™
“T am equally sure that the exaction of rents
is not the way to see people at their best.â€
“Come in, come in! We have all our settling
in to do, and no time for you two to fight.â€
Edmund, Mary, Dorothea, and Sophia Carbonel
were second cousins, who had always known one
another in the house of the girls’ father, a clergy-
man in a large country town. Edmund had been
in the army just in time for the final battles of the
Peninsular war, and had since served with the
12 THE CARBONELS
army of occupation and in Canada. He had
always meant that Mary should be his wife, but
the means were wanting to set up housekeeping,
until the death of an old uncle of his mother’s
made him heir to Greenhow Farm, an estate
bringing in about 4500 a year. Mary and her
next sister Dora had in the meantime lost
their parents, and had been living with some
relations in London, where their much younger
sister Sophy was at. school, until Edmund, coming
home, looked over the farm, decided that it would
be a fit home for the sisters, and retired from the
army forthwith. Thus then, after a brief tour
among the Lakes, they had taken up Dora in
London, and here they were ; Sophy was to join
them when the holidays began. Disorder reigned
indéed within, and hammers resounded, nor was
the passage easy among the packing-cases that
encumbered the narrow little vestibule whence the
stairs ascended.
Under the verandah were the five sash windows
of the three front rooms, the door, of course, in
the middle. Each had a little shabby furniture,
to which the Carbonels were adding, and meant
to add more; the dining-room had already been
papered with red flock in stripes, the drawing-
room with a very delicate white, on which were
traced in tender colouring—baskets of vine leaves
and laburnums.
FRENCH MEASURE 13
Dora gave a little scream. “Look! Between
the windows, Mary; see, the laburnums and
grapes are hanging upward.â€
“Stupid people!†exclaimed Mary, “I see.
Happily, it is only on that one piece, but how
Edmund will be vexed.â€
“Perhaps there is another piece unused.â€
“Tam sure I hope there is! Don’t you know,
Edmund fell in love with it at Paris. It was his
first provision for future housekeeping, and it was
lying laid up in lavender all these years till we
were ready for it.â€
“It is only that one division, which is a comfort.â€
“What’s the matter?†and the master of the
house came in.
“Senseless beings! It must be covered directly.
It is a desight to the whole room. Here!†and
he went out to the carpenter, who was universal
builder to the village, and was laying down the
stair carpet. “Here, Hewlett, do you see what
you have done?â€
Hewlett, a large man with a smooth, plump, but
honest face, came in, in his shirt sleeves, apron,
and paper cap, touched his forehead to the ladies,
stood, and stared.
“ Can't you see?†sharply demanded the captain.
Hewlett scratched his head, and gazed round.
“See here! How do grapes grow? Or labur-
nums?â€
14 THE CARBONELS
An idea broke in on him.
“What! they be topsy-turvy?†he slowly ob-
served, after looking from the faulty breadth to
the next.
“Of course they are. Find the rest of the paper!
We must have a piece put on at once, or the whole
appearance of the room is spoilt,’ said Captain
Carbonel. “It will make a delay, but it must be
done at once. Where is the piece left over?â€
Hewlett retreated to find it, while the captain
said something about “stupid ass.â€
Presently his gruff voice was heard demanding,
“Dan, I say, where’s the remnant of that there
fancy paper?â€
Dan’s answer did not rise into audible words,
but presently Hewlett tramped back, saying,
“There ain’t none, sir.â€
“T tell you there must be,†returned the captain,
in the same angry tones. And he proceeded to
show that the number of pieces he had bought,
and the measure of which he had ascertained, was
such that there ought to have been half-a-piece
left over from papering the room, the size of
which he had exactly taken. Hewlett could do
nothing but stolidly repeat that “there weren’t
none left, not enow to make a mouse’s nest.â€
“Who did the papering ? Did you?â€
“Daniel Hewlett, sir, he did the most on it.
My cousin, sir.â€
FRENCH MEASURE : 15
The captain fell upon Daniel, who had more
words at command, but was equally strong in
denial of having any remnant. “They had only
skimped out enough,†he said, “just enough for
the walls, and it was a close fit anyhow.â€
The captain loudly declared it impossible, but
Mary ran out in the midst to suggest that mayhap
the defect was in the French measure. Each piece
might not have been the true number of whatever
they called them in that new revolutionary fashion.
Dan Hewlett’s face cleared up. “Ay, ’tis the
French measure, sure, sir. Of course they can’t
do nothing true and straight! I be mortal sorry
the ladies is disappointed, but it bain’t no fault of
mine, sir.â€
“And look here, Edmund,†continued Mary, “it
will not spoil the room at all if Mr. Hewlett will
help move the tall bureau against it, and we'll
hang the ‘Death of General Wolfe’ above it, and
then there won't be more than two bits of labur-
num to be seen, even if you are curious enough to
get upon a chair to investigate.â€
“Well, it must be so,†returned Captain Carbonel,
“but I hate the idea of makeshifts and having
imperfections concealed.â€
“Just like you, Edmund,†laughed Dora. “You
will always seem to be looking right through at
the upright sprays, though all the solid weight of
Hume, Gibbon, and Rollin is in front of them.â€
16 THE CARBONELS
“Precisely,†said Edmund. “It is not well to
feel that there is anything tobe hidden. The chief
part of the vexation is, however,†he added—shut-
ting the door and lowering his voice—“ that I am
convinced that there must have been foul play
somewhere.â€
“Oh, Edmund ; French measure!â€
“Nonsense! That does not account for at least
a whole piece disappearing.†.
He took out a pencil, and went again into his
calculations, while his sister-in-law indignantly
exclaimed—
“It is all prejudice, because that horrid attorney
said all these poor people were a bad lot.â€
“Hush, hush!†said Mrs. Carbonel, rather
frightened, and—
“T advise you to think before you speak,†said
Captain Carbonel quietly but sternly.
Still Dora could not help saying, as soon as she
was alone with her sister, “I shall believe in the
French measure. I like that slow, dull man, and I
am sure he is honest.â€
“Yes, dear, only pray don’t say any more to
Edmund, but let us get the bookcase placed as fast
as we can, and let him forget all about it.â€
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CHAPTER II
THE LIE OF THE LAND
“Thank you, pretty cow, that gave
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day and every night
Warm and fresh, and sweet and bright.â€
J. TAYLor.
TeaNIARKNESS had descended before there
had been time to do more than shake
= into the downstair rooms and bedrooms
and be refreshed with the evening meal, but with
morning began the survey of the new home.
The front part of the house had three living
rooms, with large sash windows, almost to the
ground, shaded by the verandah. These were draw-
ing-room, dining-room, and study, the last taken out
of the entry, where was the staircase, and there were
three similar rooms above. These had been added
by the late owner to the original farmhouse, with a
fine old-fashioned kitchen that sent Mary and Dora
into greater raptures than their cook. There were
B
eg
Me
18 THE CARBONELS
offices around, a cool dairy, where stood great red
glazed pans of delicious-looking cream and milk,
and a clean white wooden churn that Dora longed
~-to handle. The farmhouse rooms were between it
and the new ones, and there were a good many
rooms above, the red-tiled roof rising much higher
than that of the more modern part of the house.
There was a narrow paling in front, and then came
the farmyard, enclosed in barns, cow-houses and
cart-sheds, and a cottage where the bailiff, Master
Pucklechurch, had taken up his abode, having
hitherto lived in the farmhouse. He was waiting
to show Captain Carbonel over the farm. He was
a grizzled, stooping old fellow, with a fine, hand-
some, sunburnt face; bright, shrewd, dark eyes
looking out between puckers, a short white smock
frock, and long gaiters. It was not their notion of
a bailiff, but the lawyer, who was so chary of his
praise, had said that old Master Pucklechurch and
his wife were absolutely trustworthy. They had
managed the farm in the interregnum, and brought
him weekly accounts in their heads, for neither
could write, with the most perfect regularity and
minuteness. And his face did indeed bespeak
confidence in his honesty, as he touched his hat in
answer to the greeting.
The ladies, however, looked and smelt in some
dismay, for the centre of the yard was a mountain
of manure and straw, with a puce-coloured pond
THE LIE OF THE LAND 19
beside it. On the summit of the mountain a hand-
some ruddy cock, with a splendid dark-green
arched tail, clucked, chuckled, and scratched for
his speckled, rose-crowned hens, a green-headed,
curly-tailed drake “steered forth his fleet upon the
lake†of brown ducks and their yellow progeny,
and pigs of the plum-pudding order routed in the
intermediate regions. The road which led to the
cart-sheds and to the house, skirted round this
unsavoury tract.
“Oh, Edmund!†sighed Mary.
“Farmer’s wife, Mary,†said her husband, smiling.
“Tt ought to be a perfect nosegay to you.â€
“Tm sure it is not wholesome,†she said, looking
really distressed, and he dropped his teasing tone,
and said—
“Of course it shall be remedied! I will see
to it.â€
A dismal screeching and cackling here attracted
the attention of the sisters, who started towards
Pucklechurch’s cottage, and the fowl-house (a very
foul house by the by) in front of which, on a low
wooden stool, sat a tidy old woman, Betty Puckle-
church in fact, in a tall muslin cap, spotted
kerchief, blue gown, and coarse apron, with a big
girl before her holding the unfortunate hen, whose
cries had startled them.
“Oh, don’t go near! She is killing it,†cried
Dora.
20 THE CARBONELS
“No;†as the hen, with a final squawk, shook
out her ruffled feathers, and rushed away to tell
her woes to her companions on the dunghill, while
the old woman jumped up, smoothed down her
apron, and curtsied low.
“What were you doing?†asked Mary, still
startled.
“Only whipping her breast with nettles, ma’am,
to teach her to sit close in her nest, the
plaguy thing, and not be gadding after the
rest.â€
“Poor thing!†cried Dora. “But oh, look,
look, Mary, at the dear little chickens !â€
They were in the greatest delight at the threc
broods of downy little chickens, and one of duck-
lings, whose parent hens were clucking in coops ;
and in the kitchen they found a sickly one nursed
in flannel in a basket, and an orphaned lamb
which staggered upon its disproportionate black
legs at sight of Betty.
“Ay! he be always after me,†she said.
“ They terrify one terrible, as if twas their mother,
till they can run with the rest.â€
Dora would have petted the lamb, but it re-
treated from her behind Betty’s petticoats, and
she could only listen to Mary’s questions about
how much butter was made from how many cows’
milk, and then be taken to see the two calves,
one of which Betty pronounced to be “but a
THE LIE OF THE LAND 21
staggering Bob yet, but George Butcher would
take he in a sen’night,†which sounded so like
senate, that it set Dora wondering what council
was to pronounce on the fate of the poor infant
bull.
Over his stall, Edmund found them, after an
inspection of the pig-styes, and having much
offended Master Pucklechurch by declaring that
he would have them kept clean, and the pigs no
longer allowed to range about the yard.
“Bless you, sir, the poor things would catch
their death of cold and die,†was the answer to
the one edict; and to the other, “They’d never
take to their victuals, nor fat kindly without their
range first.â€
“Then let them have it in the home field out
there, where I see plenty of geese.â€
“They'll spile every bit of grass, sir,’ was the
growling objection ; and still worse was the sug-
gestion, which gradually rose into a, command,
that the “muck heap†should be removed to the
said home field, and never allowed to accumulate
in such close proximity to the house.
Pucklechurch said little ; but his “If it be your
will, sir,†sounded like a snarl, and after rumina-
ting for some time, he brought out—as if it were
an answer to a question about the team of horses—
“We'll have to take on another boy, let be a
man, if things is to be a that ’en a.â€
22 THE CARBONELS
“Let us, then,†said the captain, and joined his
ladies, with the old man depressed and grumbling
inwardly.
There was an orchard preparing to be beautiful
with blossom, and a considerable kitchen garden
at the back and on the other side of the house,
bounded by an exceedingly dirty and be-rutted
farm road, over which the carriage had jolted
the evening before. The extensive home field in
front was shut off from the approach by a belt
of evergreens, and sloped slightly upwards towards
the hill which gave the parish its name.
“We will cut off a nice carriage road,†said
Mary, as she looked at it.
“All in good time,†replied her husband, not
wishing further to shock poor Master Puckle-
church, who had to conduct the party to the
arable fields—one of which was being ploughed
by three fine sleek horses, led by Bill Morris,
with his father at the shafts. In another, their
approach was greeted by hideous yells and shouts
which made Dora start.
“ Ay, ay,†said Pucklechurch, “he knows how
to holler when he see me a-coming;†and at
the same time a black-specked cloud of rooks
rose up from the furrows, the old man stamping
towards the boy who ought to have been keeping
them, vituperating him in terms that it was as
well not to hear.
THE LIE OF THE LAND 23
_ And it was such a tiny boy after all, and in
such a pair of huge boots with holes showing his
bare toes. However, they served him to run away
from Master Pucklechurch into the furthest ditch,
and if the ladies had designs on him, they had to
be deferred.
On the opposite side were more fields, with
crops in various stages, one lovely with the grow-
ing wheat and barley, another promising potatoes,
and another beans ; and beyond, towards the river,
were meadows parted by broad hedgerows, with
paths between, in which a few primroses and
golden celandines looked up beneath the withy
buds and the fluttering hazel catkins. Then came
the meadows, in one of which fed the cows, pretty
buff-and-white creatures, and in another field were
hurdled the sheep, among their dole of turnips,
sheep and turnips alike emitting an odour of the
most unpleasant kind, and the deep baas of the
ewes, and the thinner wail of the lambs made a
huge mass of sounds; while Captain Carbonel
tried to talk to Master Buttermere the shepherd,
a silent, crusty, white-haired old man in a green
smock and grey old coat, who growled out scarcely
a word,
So the tour of the property was made, and old
Pucklechurch expressed his opinion. “ He’ll never
make nothing of it; he is too outlandish
and full of his fancies, and his madam’s a fine
24 THE CARBONELS
lady. ’Pon my word and honour, she was frought
at that there muck heap!â€
This pleasant augury was of course not known
to the new-comers, who found something so honest
and worthy about the Pucklechurches that they
could not help liking them, though Mrs. Carbonel
had another tussle with Betty about fresh butter.
“Tt war no good to make it more than once a
week, Folk liked it tasty and meller ;†and that
the Carbonels had by no means the same likings,
made her hold up her hands and agree with her
husband that their failure was certain. These
first few days were spent in the needful arrange-
ments of house and furniture, during which time
Captain Carbonel came to the conclusion that no
one could be more stupid or awkward than Master
Hewlett, but that he was an honest man, and tried
to do his best, such as it was, while his relation,
Dan, though cleverer, was much more slippery,
and could not be depended upon. Dora asked
Master Hewlett what schools there were in the
place, and he made answer that the little ones
went in to Dame Verdon, but she didn’t make
much of it, not since she had had the shaking
palsy, and she could not give the lads the stick.
He thought of sending his biggest lad to school
at Poppleby next spring, but ‘twas a long way,
and his good woman didn’t half like it, not unless
there was some one going the same way.
THE LIE OF THE LAND 2
vw
Betty Pucklechurch’s account amounted to much
the same. “Dame Verdon had had the school
nigh about forty years. She had taught them all
to read their Testament, all as stayed long enough,
for there was plenty for the children to do; and
folks said she wasn’t up to hitting them as she
used to be.â€
Farmer Goodenough, the churchwarden, who
came to see Captain Carbonel about the letting
of a field which was mixed up with the Green-
how property, gave something of the like character.
“She is getting old, certain sure, but she is a
deserving woman, and she keeps off the parish.â€
“ But can she teach the children? â€
“She can teach them all they need to know,
and keep the little ones out of mischief,†said the
farmer, perhaps beginning to be alarmed. “No
use to learn them no more. What do they want
of it for working in the fields or milking the
cows?â€
“They ought at least to know their duty to
God and their neighbour,†said Captain Carbonel.
“Ts there no Sunday School?â€
“No, sirâ€â€”very bluntly. “I hear talk of such
things at Poppleby and the like,†he added, “but
we don’t want none of them here. The lot here
are quite bad enough, without maggots being put
into their heads.â€
Captain Carbonel did not wish to continue the
'
26 THE CARBONELS
subject. The farmer’s own accent did not greatly
betoken acquaintance with schools of any sort.
Of course the wife and sister were amused as
well as saddened by his imitative account of the
farmer’s last speech, but they meant to study the
subject on their first Sunday. They had learnt
already that Uphill Priors was a daughter church
to Downhill Priors, and had only one service on
a Sunday, alternate mornings and evenings. The
vicar was the head of a house at Oxford, and
only came to the parsonage in the summer. The
services were provided for by a curate, living at
Downhill, with the assistance of the master of a
private school, to whom the vicarage was let.
When Captain Carbonel asked Master Puckle-
church about the time, he answered, “ Well, sir,
‘tis morning churching. So it will be half-past
ten, or else eleven, or else no time at all.â€
“ What, do you mean that there will be none?â€
‘“No, sir. There will be churching sure enough,
but just as time may chance, not to call it an hour.
Best way is to start as soon as you sights the
parson a-coming past the gate down there. Then
you're sure to be in time. Bell strikes out as soon
as they sees him beyond the ‘ Prior’s Lane,’ â€
The Carbonels, in Sunday trim, with William
the man-servant, and two maids, their Prayer-
books in white pocket-handkerchiefs, following in
the rear, set forth for the gate, in the spring
THE LIE OF THE LAND 27
freshness. The grass in the fields was beginning
to grow up, the hedges were sprouting with tender
greens and reds, the polished stems of the celandine
were opening to the sunshine in the banks, with
here and there a primrose. Birds were singing
all round, and a lark overhead—most delightful
pleasures to those so long shut upinatown. It
was the side of a hill, where the fields were cut out
into most curious forms, probably to suit the wind-
ing of a little brook or the shape of the ground ;
and there were, near the bottom, signs of a mass
of daffodils, which filled the sisters with delight,
though daffodils were not then the fashion, and
were rather despised as yellow and scentless.
As they came near the second gate, they saw a
black figure go by on an old white horse ; then
they came out on a long ascending lane with deep
ruts, bordered by fresh soft turf on either sides,
with hawthorn hedges, and at intervals dark yew
trees,
A cracked bell struck up, by which they under-
stood that the clergyman had come in sight, and
they came themselves out upon a village green,
where geese, donkeys, and boys in greenish smock
frocks, seemed to be all mixed up together.
Thatched cottages stood round the green, and a
public-house—the “ Fox and Hounds.†The sign
consisted of a hunt, elaborately cut out in tin,
huntsman, dogs, and fox, rushing across from the
28 THE CARBONELS
inn on a high uplifted rod of iron, fastened into a
pole on the further side of the road, whence the
sound of the bell proceeded, and whither the con-
gregation in smock frocks and black bonnets were
making their way.
Following in this direction, the Carbonels, much
amused, passed under the hunt, went some distance
further, and found a green churchyard, quite shut
in by tall elm trees, which, from the road, almost
hid the tiny tumble-down church, from whose
wooden belfry the call proceeded. It really
seemed to be buried in the earth, and the little
side windows looked out into a ditch. There were
two steps to go down into the deep porch, and
within there seemed to be small space between the
roof and the top of the high square pew into which
they were ushered by Master Hewlett, who, it
seemed, was the parish clerk.
They saw little from it, but on one side, hung
from the roof, a huge panel with the royal arms,
painted in the reign of William and Mary, as the
initials in the corners testified, and with the lion
licking his lips most comically ; on the other side
was a great patch of green damp; behind, a
gallery, full of white smock-frocked men with
their knees thrust through the rails in front.
Immediately before them rose the tall erection of
pulpit, the fusty old cushion and tassels, each faded
to a different tint, overhanging so much that Dora
THE LIE OF THE LAND 29
could not help thinking that a thump from an
energetic preacher would send it down on Ed-
mund’s head in a cloud of dust. There was the
reading-desk below, whence the edges of a ragged
Prayer-book protruded, and above it presently
appeared a very full but much-frayed surplice, and
a thin worn face between white whiskers. The
service was quietly and reverently read, but not a
response seemed to come from anywhere except
from Master Hewlett’s powerful lungs, somewhere
in the rear, and there was a certain murmur of
chattering in the chancel followed by a resounding
whack. Then Master Hewlett’s head was seen,
and his steps heard as he tramped along the aisle
and climbed up the gallery stairs, as the General
Thanksgiving began, and there he shouted out the
number of the Psalm, “ new version,†that is, from
Brady and Tate, which every one had bound up
with the Prayer-book. Then a bassoon brayed,
and a fiddle squealed, and the Psalm resounded
with hearty goodwill and better tone than could
have been expected.
Master Hewlett stayed to assist in the second
singing, and the children, who sat on low forms
and on the chancel step, profited by it to make
their voices more audible than the Commandments,
though the clergyman had not gone to the altar,
and once in the course of the sermon, Captain
Carbonel was impelled to stand up and look over
36 THE CARBONELS
the edge of the pew, when he beheld a battle royal
going on over a length of string, between a boy in
a blue petticoat and one ina fustian jacket. At
the unwonted sight, the fustian-clad let go, and
blue-petticoat tumbled over backwards, kicking
up a great pair of red legs, grey socks, and im-
perfect but elephantine boots, and howling at the
same time. The preacher stopped short, the clerk
had by this time worked his way down from the
gallery, and, collaring both the antagonists, hauled
them out into the churchyard, the triple stamping
being heard on the pavement all the way. The
sermon was resumed and read to its conclusion.
It was a very good one, but immensely beyond
the capacity of the congregation, and Mary
Carbonel had a strong suspicion that she had
heard it before.
It was only on coming out that any notion could
be gathered of the congregation. There were a
good many men and big boys, in smocks, a few
green, but most of them beautifully white and
embroidered ; their wearers had sat without books
through the whole service, and now came out with
considerable trampling.
The pews contained the young girls in gorgeous
colours, the old women, and the better class of
people, but not many of them, for the “Jetzt
noblesse†of Uphill were very “petz¢†indeed, in
means and numbers; but their bonnets were
THE LIE OF THE LAND 31
enormous, and had red or purple bows standing
upright on them, and the farmers had drab coats
and long gaiters. The old dames curtsied low, the
little girls stared, and the boys peeped out from
behind the slanting old headstones and grinned.
Some of them had been playing at marbles on
the top of the one square old monument, until
routed by Master Hewlett on his coming out with
the two combatants.
Captain Carbonel had gone round to the vestry
door to make acquaintance with the clergyman,
though Farmer Goodenough informed him in an
audible whisper, “He ain’t the right one, sir; he
be only schoolmaster.â€
And when the two met at. the door, and the
captain shook hands and said that they would be
neighbours, he was received with a certain hesi-
tating smile.
“T should tell you, sir, that I am only taking
occasional duty here—assisting. I am Mr. Atkins.
I have a select private academy at the vicarage,
which the President of St. Cyril’s lets tome. He
is here in the summer holidays,â€
“T understand. The curate lives at Downhill!â€
said Captain Carbonel.
“At the priory, in fact, with his father’s family.
Yes, it is rather an unfortunate state of affairs,â€
he said, answering the captain’s countenance rather
than his words; “but I have no responsibility. I
32 THE CARBONELS
merely assist in the Sunday duty ; and, indeed, I
advise you to have as little to do with the Uphill
people as possible. An idle good-for-nothing set !
Any magistrate would tell you that there’s no
parish where they have so many up before them.â€
“ No wonder!†said Captain Carbonel under his
breath.
“A bad set,†repeated Mr. Atkins, pausing at
the shed where his old grey horse was put up; and
there they parted.
The captain and his wife and her sister walked
to Downhill, two miles off, across broad meadows,
a river, and a pretty old bridge, the next Sunday
morning, found the church scantily filled, but with
more respectable-looking people, and heard the
same sermon over again, so that Mary was able
to identify it with onc in a published volume.
CHAPTER III
THE TURNIP FIELD
“ You ask me why the poor complain,
And these have answered thee.â€
SouTHEY.
7ULLO, Molly Hewlett, who'd ha’ thought
of seeing you out here?â€
It was in a wet turnip field, and a
row of women were stooping over it, picking out
the weeds. The one that was best off had great
boots, a huge weight to carry in themselves ; but
most had them sadly torn and broken. Their
skirts, of no particular colour, were tucked up,
and they had either a very old man’s coat, or a
smock frock cut short, or a small old woollen
shawl, which last left the blue and red arms bare ;
on their heads were the oldest of bonnets, or here
and there a sun-bonnet, which looked more decent.
-One or two babies were waiting in the hedgeside
in the charge of little girls.
Cc
34 THE CARBONELS
“Molly Hewlett,†exclaimed another of the set,
straightening herself up. ‘Why, I thought your
Dan was working with Master Hewlett, for they
Gobblealls†(which was what Uphill made of
Carbonel).
“So he be; but what is a poor woman to do
when more than half his wage goes to the ‘Fox
and Hounds,’ and she has five children to keep ;
and my poor sister, not able to do a turn?
There’s George Hewlett, grumbling and growling
at him too, and no one knows how long he'll
keep him on.â€
“What! George, his cousin, as was bound to
keep him on?â€
“I don’t know ; George is that particular himself,
and them new folks, Gobbleall as they call them,
are right ‘down mean, and come down on you if
they misses one little mossle of parkisit; and
there’s my poor sister to keep—as is afflicted, and
can’t do nothing!â€
“But she pays you handsome,†said Betsy
Seddon, “and looks after the children besides.â€
“Pays, indeed! Not half enough to keep her,
with all the trouble of helping her about! Not
that I grudges it, but she wants things extry, you
see,and Dan he don’t like it. But no doubt the
ladies will take notice of her.â€
“JT thought the lady kind enough,†interposed
another woman. “She noticed how lame’ our
THE TURNIP FIELD 35
granny was with the rheumatics, and told me to -
send up for broth.â€
“We wants somewhat bad enough,†returned
another thin woman, with her hand to her side.
“ Nobody never does nothing for no one here!â€
“Nor we don’t want no one to come worriting
and terrifying,†cried the last of the group, with
fierce black eyes and rusty black hair sticking out
beyond her man’s beaver hat, tied on with a yellow
handkerchief. “Always at one about church and
school, and meddling with everything—the ribbon
on one’s bonnet and to the very pots on the fire.
I knows what they be like in Tydeby!) And what
do you get by it, but old cast clothes and broth
made of dish-washings?†She enforced all this
with more than one word not to be written.
“T know, I’d be thankful for that!†murmured
the thin woman, who looked as if she had barely
a petticoat on, and could have had scarcely a
breakfast.
“Oh, we all know’s Bessy Mole is all for what
she can get!†said the independent woman, tossing
her head.
“And had need to be,†returned Molly Hewlett, —
in a scornful tone, which made the poor woman in
question stoop all the lower, and pull her groundsel
more diligently.
“The broth ain’t bad,†ventured she who had
tried it.
36 THE CARBONELS
“TJ shall see what I can get out of them,†added
another. “I bain’t proud; and my poor children’s
shoes is a shame to see.â€
“You'll not get much,†said Molly Hewlett, with
a sniff. “Why, the captain, as they calls him,
come down on my Jem, as was taking home a
little bit of a chip for the fire, and made him put
it down, as cross as could be.â€
“How now, you lazy, trolloping, gossiping
women! What are you after?â€
Farmer Goodenough was upon them; and the
words he showered on them were not by any means
“good enough†to be repeated here. He stormed
at them for their idleness so furiously as to set off
the babies in the hedge screaming and yelling.
Tirzah Todd, the gipsy-looking woman whom he
especially abused, tossed her head and marched
off in the midst, growling fiercely, to quiet her
child ; and he, sending a parting imprecation after
her, directed his violence upon poor Bessy Mole,
though all this time she had been creeping on,
shaking, trembling, and crying, under the pelting
of the storm; but, unluckily, in her nervousness
and blindness from tears, she pulled up a young
turnip, and the farmer fell on her and rated her
hotly for not being worth half her wage, and doing
him more harm than good with her carelessness.
She had not a word to say for herself, and went
on shivering and trying to check her sobs while
THE TURNIP FIELD 37
he shouted out that he only employed her from
charity, and she had better look out, or he should
turn her off at once.
“Oh, sir, don’t!†then came out with a burst of
tears. “My poor children 4
“Don’t go whining about your children, but let
me see you do your work.â€
However, this last sentence was in a milder
tone, as if the fit of passion had exhausted itself;
and Mr. Goodenough found his way back to the
path that crossed the fields, and went on. Tirzah
Todd set her teeth, clenched her fist and shook
it after him, while the other women, as soon as
he was out of sight, began to console Bessy Mole,
who was crying bitterly and saying “what would
become of her poor children, and her own poor
father.â€
“Never you mind, Bessy,†said Molly Hewlett,
“every one knows as how old Goodenough’s bark
is worse than his bite.â€
“He runs out and it’s over,’ put in Betsy
Seddon.
“Tm sure I can hardly keep about any way,â€
sobbed the widow. “My inside is all of a quake.
I can’t abide words.â€
“Ten to one he don’t give you another sixpence |
a week, after all,†added Nanny Barton.
“He ain’t no call to run out at one,†said
Tirzah, standing upright and flourishing her baby.
38 THE CARBONELS
“Td like to give him as good as he gave, an old
foul-mouthed brute!â€
“Look there! There’s the ladies coming,†ex-
claimed Nanny Barton.
“TI thought there was some reason why he
stopped his jaw so soon,†exclaimed Molly, stoop-
ing down and pulling up weeds (including turnips)
with undiscerning energy, in which all the others
followed her example, except Tirzah, who sulkily
retreated under the hedge with her baby, while
Jem Hewlett and Lizzie Seddon ran forward for
better convenience of staring. It was a large
field, and the party were still a good way off; but
as it sloped downwards behind the women, the
farmer must have seen them a good deal before
the weeders had done so.
These, be it remembered, were days when both
farmers and their labourers were a great deal
rougher in their habits than we, their grandchil-
dren, can remember them; and there was, besides,
the Old Poor Law, which left the amount of relief
and of need to be fixed at the vestry meetings by
the ratepayers themselves of each parish alone;
so that the poor were entirely dependent on the
goodwill or judgment of their employers, whose
minds were divided between keeping down the
wages and the rates, and who had little of real
principle or knowledge to guide them. It was
possible to have recourse to the magistrates at the
THE TURNIP FIELD 39
Petty Sessions, who could give an order which
would override the vestry ; but it was apt to be
only the boldest, and often the least deserving, who
could make out the best apparent cases for them-
selves, that ventured on such a measure.
The two ladies stopped and spoke to Molly
Hewlett and Nanny Barton, whom they had seen
at their doors, and who curtsied low; and Nanny,
as she saw Mrs. Carbonel’s eyes fall on her boots,
put in— :
“Yes, ma’am, ’tis bitter hard work this cold,
damp weather, and wears out one’s shoes ter’ble.
These be an old pair of my man’s, and hurts my
poor feet dreadful, all over broken chilblains as
they be; and my fingers, too,†she added, spread-
ing out some fingers the colour of beetroot, with
dirty rags rolled round two of them.
Dora shrank. “And you can go on weeding
with them ?â€
“Yes, ma'am. What can us do, when one’s
man gets but seven shillings a week. And I’ve
had six children, and buried three,†and her face
looked ready for tears.
“Well, we will come and see you, and try to
* find something to help you,†said Mrs. Carbonel.
“Where do you live?â€
“Out beyond the church, ma’am—a long way
for a lady.â€
“ Oh, we are good walkers,â€
40 THE CARBONELS
“And please, my lady,†now said Molly, coming
to the front, “if you could give me an old bit of a
pelisse, or anything, to make up for my boy there.
He’s getting big, you see, and he is terrible bad
off for clothes. I don’t know what is to be done
for the lot of ’em.â€
Dora had recognized in the staring boy, who had
come up close, him who had made the commotion
in church ; and she ventured to say, “I remember
him. Don’t you think, if you or his father kept him
with you in church, he would behave better there?â€
“Bless you, miss, his father is a sceptic. I can’t
go while I’ve got no clothes—nothing better than
this, miss ; and I always was used to go decent
and respectable. Besides, I couldn’t nohow take
he into the seat with me, as Master Pucklechurch
would say I was upsetting of his missus.â€
“Well, I hope to see him behave better next
Sunday.â€
“Do you hear, Jem? The lady is quite shocked
at your rumbustiousness! But ’twas all Joe
Saunders’s fault, ma’am, a terrifying the poor
children. His father will give him the stick, that
he will, if he hears of it again.â€
Meantime Mrs, Carbonel had turned to Widow
Mole, who, after her first curtsey, had been weeding
away diligently and coughing.
“Where do you live?†she asked. “I don’t
think I have seen you before.â€
THE TURNIP FIELD 41
“No, ma’am,†she said quietly. “I live down
the Black Hollow.â€
“You don’t look well. Have you been ill? You
have a bad cough.â€
“Tt ain’t nothing, ma’am, thank you. I can
keep about well enough.â€
“Do you take anything for it?â€
“A little yarb tea at night sometimes, ma’am.â€
“We will try and bring you some mixture for
it,†said Mrs. Carbonel. And then she spoke to
Betsy Seddon, who for a wonder had no request
on her tongue, and asked her who the other
woman was, in the hedge with the baby. |
“That’s Tirzah Todd, ma’am,†began Mrs.
Seddon, but Molly Hewlett thrust her aside, and
went on, being always the most ready with words,
“she is Reuben Todd’s wife, and I wouldn’t wish
to say no harm of her, but she comes of a gipsy
lot, and hasn’t never got into ways that us calls
reverend, though I wouldn’t be saying no harm of
a neighbour, ma’am.â€
“No, you'd better not,’ exclaimed a voice, for
Tirzah was nearer or had better ears than Mrs.
Daniel Hewlett had suspected, “though I mayn’t
go hypercriting about and making tales of my
neighbours, as if you hadn’t got a man what ain’t
to be called.sober twice a week.â€
“Hush! hush!†broke in Mrs, Carbonel; “we
don’t want to hear all this. I hope no one will
42 THE CARBONELS
tell us unkind things of our new neighbours, for
we want to be friends with all of you, especially
with that bright-eyed baby. How old is it?â€
She made it smile by nodding to it, and Tirzah
was mollified enough to say, “ Four months, ma’am ;
but she have a tooth coming.â€
“What's her name?â€
Tirzah showed her pretty white teeth in a smile.
“Well, ma’am, my husband he doth want to call
her Jane, arter his mother, ’cause ’tis a good short
name, but I calls her Hoglah, arter my sister as
died.â€
“Then she hasn’t been christened ?â€
“No. You see we couldn’t agree, nor get gossips ;
and that there parson, he be always in such a
mighty hurry, or I'd a had her half-baptized
Hoglah, and then Reuben he couldn't hinder it.â€
Tirzah was getting quite confidential to Mrs.
Carbonel, and ‘Dora meantime was talking to
Molly Hewlett, but here it occurred to the former
that they must not waste the women’s time, and
they wished them good-bye, Dora fearing, how-
ever, that there would be a quarrel between Tirzah
and Molly.
“Qh dear! oh dear!†she sighed, “couldn’t
you make peace between those two,†she said ;
“they will fight it out.â€
“No, I think the fear of the farmer and the need
of finishing their work will avert the storm for the
THE TURNIP FIELD 43
present at least,†said Mary, “ and I thought the
more I said, the worse accusations I should hear.â€
“But what people they are! I do begin to
believe that attorney man, that they are a bad lot.â€
“Don’t be disheartened, Dora, no one has tried
yet, apparently, to do anything for them. We
must try to see them in their own homes.â€
“Beginning with Mrs. Seddon. She was quiet
and civil, and did not beg.â€
“Neither did that thin little woman. I should
like to give her a flannel petticoat. There is a
look of want about her.â€
“But I’m most taken with the wild woman, with
the teeth and the eyes, and the merry smile. I
am sure there is fun in her.â€
“Little enough fun, poor things!†sighed Mrs.
Carbonel.
She was more used to poor people. She had
more resolution, though less enthusiasm than her
sister.
MERE Hitt hetithttettttttitttett teed bet toes)
CHAPTER IV
Nopsopy’s BUSINESS
“For the rector don’t live on his living like other Christian sort
of folks.â€
T. Hoop.
Wy HE sisters found on coming home that a
very handsome chestnut horse was being
walked up and down before the front
door, and their man-servant, William, informed
them that it belonged to the clergyman.
As they advanced to the verandah, Captain
Carbonel and his visitor came out to meet them,
and Mr. Ashley Selby was introduced. He looked
more like a sportsman than a clergyman, except
for his black coat; he had a happy, healthy, sun-
burnt face, top boots, and a riding-whip in his
hand, and informed Mrs. Carbonel that his father
and mother would have the honour of calling on
her in a day or two. They had an impression
that he had come to reconnoitre and decide
whether they were farmers or gentry.
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 45
“We have been trying to make acquaintance
with some of your flock,†said Mary.
“The last thing I would advise you to do,†he
answered ; “there are not a worse lot anywhere.
Desperate poachers! Not a head of game safe
from them.â€
“ Perhaps they may be improved.â€
He shrugged his shoulders. “See what my
father has to say of them.â€
“Ts there much distress? â€
“There ought not to be, for old Dr. Fogram and
my father send down a handsome sum for blankets
and coals every Christmas, and Uphill takes care
to get its share!†He laughed. “No sinecure dis-
tributing !â€
“We have not been to see the school yet.â€
“A decrepit old crone, poor old body! She
will soon have to give in. She can’t even keep
the children from pulling off her spectacles,â€
“And Sunday School?â€
“Well, my father doesn’t approve of cramming
the poor children. I believe the Methodists have
something of the kind at Downhill; but there is no
one to attend to one here, and the place is quite
free of dissent.â€
“Cause and effect?†said Captain Carbonel,
drily.
“Would you object if we tried to teach the
poor children something?†asked Mrs. Carbonel,
cautiously.
46 THE CARBONELS
“Oh no, not at all. All the good ladies are
taking it up,I believe. Mrs, Grantley, of Poppleby,
is great at it, and I see no harm in it; but you'll
have to reckon with my father. He says there will
soon be no ploughmen, and my mother says there
will be no more cooks or housemaids. You'd
better write to old Fogram, he’ll back you up.â€
Mary had it on her lips to ask him about Widow
Mole, but he had turned to Edmund to discuss
the hunting and the shooting of the neighbourhood.
They discovered, partly at this time, and partly
from other visitors, that he was the younger son
of the squire of Downhill, who had been made to
take Holy Orders without any special fitness for
it, because there was a living likely soon to be ready
for him, and in the meantime he was living at
home, an amiable, harmless young man, but bred up
so as to have no idea of the duties of his vocation,
and sharing freely in the sports of his family, acting
as if he believed, like his father, that they were the
most important obligations of man; and accepting
the general household belief that only the Metho-
distical could wish for more religious practice.
Be it understood that all this happened in the
earlier years of the century, and would be impos-
sible under the revival of the Church that has
since taken place. No one now can hold more
than one piece of preferment at a time, so that
parishes cannot be left unprovided. Nor could
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 47
Ashley Selby be ordained without a preparation
and examination which would have given him a
true idea of what he undertook, or would have
prevented his ordination. This, however, was at a
time when the work of the church had grown very
slack, and when a better spirit was beginning to
revive. The father of Mary and Dora had been
a zealous and earnest man, and both they and
Edmund had really serious ideas of duty and of
the means of carrying them out. In London
they had heard sermons which had widened and
deepened their views, but they had done no work,
as the relation with whom they lived thought it
impossible and improper for young ladies there.
Thus they were exceedingly desirous of doing
what they could to help the place where their lot
was cast, and they set forth to reconnoitre. First,
they found their way to the school, which stood on
the border of the village green, a picturesque
thatched cottage, with a honeysuckle and two
tall poplars outside. But strange sounds guided
them on their way, and the first thing they saw
was a stout boy of four or five years old in petti-
coats bellowing loudly outside, and trying to climb
the wicket gate which was firmly secured by a
rusty chain. Mary tried to undo the gate, speak-
ing meanwhile to the urchin, but he rushed away
headlong back into the school, and they heard him
howling, “They bees a-coming!â€
48 THE CARBONELS
A big girl in a checkered pinafore came out and
made a curtsey, assisting to undo the chain.
“What has he been doing?†asked Dora.
“ He be a mortial bad boy!†answered the girl.
“He’ve been getting at Dame Verdon’s sugar.â€
“ And what is your name?†asked Mrs. Carbonel.
“Lizzie Verdon, ma’am. I helps Grannie.â€
Grannie did seem in need of help. There she
sat in a big wooden chair by the fire, the very
picture of an old dame, with a black bonnet,
high-crowned and crescent shaped in front, with
a white muslin cap below, a buff handkerchief
crossed over her shoulders, a dark short-sleeved
gown, long mittens covering her arms, and a
checkered apron ; a regular orthodox birch-rod by
her side, and a black cat ather feet. Buther head
was shaking with palsy, and she hardly seemed to
understand what Lizzie screamed into her car that
“ Here was the ladies.â€
But the door which they had shut in the face of
their spaniel was thrust open. Up went the cat’s
back, bristle went her tail, her eyes shot sparks,
and she bounded to the top of her mistress’s chair.
Dandy barked defiance, all the children shouted
or screamed and danced about, and the old woman
gasped and shook more. Lizzie alone was almost
equal to the occasion. She flew at the cat who
was standing on tiptoe on the tall back of the chair,
with huge tail and eyes like green lamps, swearing,
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 49
hissing, and spitting, and, regardless of scratches,
caught him up by the scruff of his neck and dis-
posed of him behind the staircase door; while
Dora at the same moment secured Dandy by the
collar, and rushing out, put him over the garden
gate and shut both that and the door. Mary,
afraid that the old lady was going to have a fit,
went up to her with soothing apologies, but the
unwonted sight seemed to confuse her the more,
and she began crying. Lizzie, however, came to
the rescue. She evidently had all her wits about
her. First she called out: “Order, children!
Don’t you see the ladies? Sit down, Jem Hewlett,
or J’'ll after you with the stick!†Then, as the
children ranged themselves, she stamped at some
to enforce her orders, shook the rod at others, and
set up the smallest like so many ninepins, handling
them by the shoulder on one small bench, inter-
spersing the work with consolations to granny
and explanations to the ladies, who were about to
defer their visit.
“Granny, now never you mind. Tip is all right
upstairs. Benny, you bad boy, I'll be at you.
Don’t go, please, lady. Bet, what be doin’ to Jim ?
Never mind, granny! Susan Pucklechurch, you'll
read to the lady, so pretty.â€
About five children, more tidily dressed than the
others, had a whole and sound form to themselves
near the fire and the mistress. The other two
D
50 THE CARBONELS
benches were propped, the one on two blocks of
wood, the other on two sound and two infirm legs,
and this was only balanced by a child at each
end, so that when one got up the whole tumbled
down or flew up, but the seat was very low, and
the catastrophe generally. produced mirth.
Susan Pucklechurch, granddaughter to the old
bailiff and his Betty, was evidently the show
scholar. “She be in her Testament, ma’am,â€
explained Lizzie; and accordingly a terribly
thumbed and dilapidated New Testament was
put into the child’s hand, from which she pro-
ceeded to bawl out, with long pauses between the
words, and spelling the longest, a piece of the
Sermon on the Mount, selected because there were
no names init. It was a painful performance to
reverent ears, and as soon as practicable Mrs.
Carbonel stopped it with “Good child!†and a
penny, and asked what the others read. Those
who were not “in the Testament†read the
“ Universal Spelling-book,†provided at their own
expense, but not in much better condition, and
from this George Hewlett, son and heir to the
carpenter, and a very different person from his
cousin Jem, read the history of the defence of that
city where each trade offered its own commodity
for the defence, even to the cobbler, who proposed
to lay in a stock of good 1-e-a-t-h-e-r—lather !
These, and three little maidens who had picture
NOBODY'S BUSINESS 51
spelling-books not going beyond monosyllables,
were the aristocracy, and sat apart, shielded from
the claws and teeth of their neighbours in con-
sideration of paying fourpence, instead of twopence,
a week. The boy was supposed to write large
letters on a slate, and the bigger girls did some
needlework, and not badly—indeed, it was the
best of their performances. The dame went on
mumbling and shaking all the time, and it was
quite evident that she was entirely past the work,
and that Lizzie was the real mistress; indeed,
Mrs. Carbonel was inclined to give her credit for
a certain talent for teaching and keeping order,
when the sisters emerged from the close little
oven of a place, hardly knowing whether to laugh
or cry, but full of great designs.
Captain Carbonel, however, to their disappoint-
ment, advised them to wait to set anything on
foot till Dr. Fogram, the President of St. Cyril’s,
came down in the summer holidays, when counsel
could be taken with him, and there would be more
knowledge of the subject. Dora did not like this
at all. She was sure that the Son of Mist, as she
was naughty enough to call the doctor, would only
hamper them, and she was only half consoled by
being told that there was no objection to her
collecting a few of the children on Sunday and
trying to teach them, and in the meantime
acquaintance might be made with the mothers.
CHAPTER V
AT HOME
‘* Now I’ve gone through all the village, ay from end to end, save
and except one more house ;
But I haven’t come to that, and I hope I never shall, and that’s
the village Poor House.â€
T. Hoop.
OTTAGE visiting turned out to be a much
chequered affair. One of the first places
to which the sisters made their way was
the Widow Mole’s. They found it, rather beyond
the church, down a lane, where it was hidden
behind an overgrown thorn hedge, and they would
scarcely have found it at all, if a three-year-old
child had not been clattering an old bit of metal
against the bar put across to prevent his exit. He
was curly and clean, except with the day’s surface
dirt, but he only stared stolidly at the question
whether Mrs. Mole lived there. A ten-year-old
girl came out, and answered the question.
“Yes, mother do live here, but her be out at
work.â€
AT HOME 53
“Is that your grandfather?†as they caught
sight of a very old man on a chair by the door,
in the sun.
“Yes, ma’am. Will you come in and see him?â€
He was a very old man, with scanty white hair,
but he was very clean, and neatly dressed in a
white smock, mended all over, but beautifully
worked over the breast and cuffs, and long leather
buskins. He was very civil, too. He took off his
old straw hat, and rose slowly by the help of his
stout stick, though the first impulse of the visitors
was to beg him not to move. He did not hear
them, but answered their gesture.
“T be so crippled up with the rheumatics, you
see, ma’am,†and he put his knotted and contracted
hand up to his ear.
Mrs. Carbonel shouted into his ear that she was
sorry for him. She supposed his daughter was
out at work.
“Yes, ma’am, with Farmer Goodenough—a
charing to-day it is.â€
“Washing,†screamed the little girl.
“She was off at five o’clock this morning,†he
went on. “She do work hard, my daughter Bess,
and she’s a good one to me, and so is little Liz
here. Thank the Lord for them.â€
“And her husband is dead ?â€
“Yes, ma’am. Fell off a haystack three years
ago, and never spoke no more. We have always
54 THE CARBONELS
kept off the parish, ma’am. This bit of a cottage
was my poor wife’s, and she do want to leave it to
the boy ; but she be but frail, poor maid, and if
she gave in, there’d be nothing for it but to give
up the place and go to the workhouse; and
there’s such a lot there as I could not go and die
among.â€
He spoke it to the sympathizing faces, not as
one begging, and they found out that all was as he
said. He had seen better days, and held his head
above the parish pay, and so had his son-in-law ;
but the early death of poor Mole, and the old
man’s crippled state, had thrown the whole
maintenance of the family on the poor young
widow, who was really working herself to death,
while, repairs being impossible, the cottage was
almost falling down.
“Oh, what a place, and what a dear old man!â€
cried the ladies, as they went out. “Well, we can
do something here. I'll come and read to him
every week,†exclaimed Dora.
“ And Iwill knit him a warm jacket,†said Mary,
“and surely Edmund could help them to prop up
that wretched cottage.â€
“What a struggle their lives must have been,
and so patient and good! Where are we going
now?â€
“T believe that is the workhouse, behind the
church,†said Mary. “That rough-tiled roof.â€
AT HOME 55
“Tt has a bend in the middle, like a broken back.
I must sketch it,’ said Dora.
“Why, there’s Edmund, getting over the church-
yard stile.â€
“ Ay, he can’t keep long away from you, Madam
Mary.â€
“Were you going to the workhouse?†said
Captain Carbonel, coming up, and offering an arm
to each lady, as was the fashion in those days.
“We thought of it. All the poorest people are
there, of course.â€
“And the worst,’ said the captain. “No, I
will not have you go there. It is not fit for you.â€
For besides that he was very particular about
his ladies, and had no notion of letting them go
to all the varieties of evil where they could hope
to do good, like the ladies of our days, the work-
house was an utterly different place from the
strictly disciplined union houses of the present
Poor Law. Each parish had its own, and that of
Uphill had no master, no order, but was the refuge
of all the disorderly, disreputable people, who
could not get houses, or pay their rent, who lived
in any kind of fashion, on parish pay and what
they could get, and were under no restraint.
While the captain was explaining to them what
he had heard from Farmer Goodenough, a sudden
noise of shouting and laughing, with volleys of
evil words, was heard near the “Fox and Hounds.â€
56 THE CARBONELS
“What is that?†asked Dora, of a tidy young
woman coming her way.
“That’s only the chaps at old Sam,†she
answered, as if it was an ordinary sound. And
on them exclaiming, she explained. “Samson
Sanderson, that’s his name, sir. He be what they
calls nonx-compos, and the young fellows at the
‘Fox and Hounds’ they have their fun out of he.
They do bait he shameful.â€
Violent shouts of foul words and riotous laughter
could be distinguished so plainly, that Captain
Carbonel hastily thrust his wife and sister into the
nearest cottage, and marched into the group of
rough men and boys, who stood holloaing rude
jokes, and laughing at the furious oaths and abuse
inintermittent gasps with which they were received.
“For shame!†his indignant voice broke in.
“Are you not ashamed, unmanly fellows, to treat
a poor weak lad in this way?â€
There was a moment’s silence. Then a great
hulking drover called out, “Bless you, sir, he
likes it.â€
“The more shame for you,†exclaimed the
captain, “to bait a poor innocent lad with horrid
blasphemy and profanity. I tell you every one
of you ought to be fined!â€
The men began to sneak away from the in-
dignant soldier. The poor idiot burst out crying
and howling, and the ostler came forward, pulling
AT HOME 57
his forelock, and saying, “You'll not be hard
on’em, sir. ’Tis all sport. There, Sammy, don’t
be afeared. Gentleman means you no harm.â€
Captain Carbonel held out some coppers, saying,
“There, my poor lad, there’s something for you.
Only don’t let me hear bad words again.â€
Sam muttered something, and pulled his ragged
hat forward as he shambled off into some back
settlements of the public-house, while the ostler
went on—
‘Tis just their game, sir! None of ’em would
hurt poorSam! They'd treat him the next minute,
sir. All in sport.â€
“Strange sport,†said the captain, “to teach a
poor helpless lad, who ought to be as innocent as
a babe, that abominable blasphemy.â€
“He don’t mean nought, sir! All’s one to he!â€
“All the worse in those who do know better, I
tell you; and you may tell your master that, if this
goes on, I shall certainly speak to the magistrates.â€
There was no need to tell the landlord, Mr.
Oldfellow. The captain was plainly enough to be
heard through the window of the bar. The
drovers had no notion that their amusement was
sinful, for “it didn’t hurt no one,†and, in fact,
“getting a rise†out of Softy Sam was one of the
great attractions of the “Fox and Hounds,†so
that Mr. Oldfellow was of the same mind as Dan
Hewlett, who declared that “they Gobblealls was
58 THE CARBONELS
plaguy to-ads of Methodys, and wasn’t to think to
bully them about like his soldiers.â€
They had another drink all round to recover
from their fright, when they treated Softy Sam,
but took care not to excite him to be noisy, while
the captain might be within earshot.
The two ladies had meanwhile taken refuge in
what proved to be no other than Mrs. Daniel
Hewlett’s house, a better one, and less scantily
provided with furniture, than the widow Mole’s,
but much less clean and neat. The door stood
open, and there was a tub full of soapsuds within.
The captain gave a low whistle to intimate his
presence, and stood at the entrance. Unwashed
dinner things were on a round table, a dresser in
confusion against the wall, on another dovore’s
Almanack for some years past, full of frightful
catastrophes, mixed with little, French, highly-
coloured pictures of the Blessed Virgin.
His wife and her sister were seated, the one on
a whole straw chair, the other on a rickety one,
conversing with a very neat, pale, and pleasant-
looking invalid young woman, evidently little
able to rise from her wooden armchair. Molly
Hewlett, in a coarse apron, and a cap far back
amid the rusty black tangles of her hair, her arms
just out of the wash-tub, was in the midst of a
voluble discourse, into which the ladies would not
break.
AT HOME 59
“You see, ma’am, she was in a right good
situation, but she was always unlucky, and she
had the misfortune to fall down the attic stairs
with the baby in her arms.â€
“The baby was not hurt,†put in the invalid.
“Not it, the little toad, but ’twas saving he as
ricked her back somehow, and made her a cripple
for life, as you see, ma’am; and she was six months
in the hospital, till the doctor, he say as how he
couldn’t do nothing more for her, so Hewlett and
me we took her in, as she is my own sister, you
see, and we couldn’t let her go to the workhouse,
but she do want a little broth or a few extrys now
and then, ma’am, more than we poor folks can
give her.â€
“My mistress is very good, and gives me a
little pension,†put in the invalid, while her sister
looked daggers at her, and Mrs. Carbonel, in
obedience to her husband’s signal, took a hasty
leave.
“There now! That's the way of you, Judith,â€
cried Molly Hewlett, banging the door behind
them. “What should you go for to tell the ladies
of that pitiful pay of yours but to spile all chance
of their helping us, nasty, mean skin-flints as
they be!â€
“T couldn’t go for to deceive them,†humbly
replied Judith, meek, but cowering under the
coming storm.
60 THE CARBONELS
“Who asked you to deceive? Only to hold
your tongue for your own good, and mine and my
poor children’s, that you just live upon. As if
your trumpery pay was worth your board and all
the trouble I has with you night and day, but you
must come in and hinder these new folk from
coming down liberal with your Methody ways and
your pride! That’s it, your pride, ma’am. Oh,
I’m an unhappy woman, between you and Dan!
Tam!â€
Molly sank into a chair, put her apron over her
face and cried, rocking herself to and fro, while
Judith, with tears in her eyes, tried gentle con-
solations all in vain, till Molly remembered her
washing, and rose up, moaning and lamenting.
Meantime Mrs. Carbonel and her sister were
exclaiming in pity that this was a dear good girl,
though Edmund shook his head over her surround-
ings.
“T wonder how to make her more comfortable,â€
said Dora. “She seemed so much pleased when
I promised to bring her something to read.â€
“Tam afraid those Hewletts prey on her,†said
Mary.
“And patronizing her will prove a complicated
affair!†said the captain.
He wanted them to come home at once, but on
the way they met Nanny Barton, who began,
with low curtsies, a lamentable story about her
AT HOME 61
girls having no clothes, and she would certainly
have extracted a shilling from Miss Carbonel if
the captain had not been there.
“Never accept stories told on the spur of the
moment,†he said.
Then Betsy Seddon and Tirzah Todd came
along together, bending under heavy loads of
broken branches for their fires. Tirzah smiled as
usual, and showed her pretty teeth, but the captain
looked after her, and said, “They have been
tearing Mr. Selby’s woods to pieces.â€
“What can they do for firewood?†said his
wife.
“Let us look out the rules of your father’s coal
store and shoe club,†he said.
CHAPTER Vi
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD
‘Through slush and squad,
When roads was bad,
But hallus stop at the Vine and Hop.â€â€”TENNyson.
HROUGH all Pucklechurch’s objections
and evident contempt for his fancies,
and those of young madam, Captain
Carbonel insisted on the clearance of the yard.
He could not agree with the old man, who: made
free to tell him that, “Such as that there muck-
heap was just a bucket to a farmer’s wife, if she
was to be called a farmer’s wife—was that it.â€
With some reflection, Captain Carbonel decided
that a bucket might mean a bouquet, and answered
—“Maybe she might have too much of a good
thing. When I went down to Farmer Bell’s the
other day, they had a famous heap, and I was
struck with the sickly look of his wife and
daughters.â€
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 63
“His missus were always a poor, nesh ’ooman,â€
returned Pucklechurch.
“And I don’t mean mine to be like her if I can
help it,†said the captain.
But he did not reckon on the arrival of a
prancing pair of horses, with a smart open carriage,
containing two ladies and a gentleman, in the
most odorous part of the proceedings, when he
was obliged to clear the way from a half-loaded
waggon to make room for them, and, what was
quite as inconvenient, to hurry up the back stairs
to his dressing-room to take off his long gaiters,
Blucher boots (as half high ones were then called)
and old shooting coat, and make himself presentable.
In fact, when he came into the room, Dora
was amused at the perceptible look of surprised
approval of the fine tall soldierly figure, as he
advanced to meet Mr. and Mrs, Selby and their
daughter, the nearest neighbours, who were, of
course, in the regular course of instruction of the
new-comers in the worthlessness and ingratitude
of Uphill and the impossibility of doing anything
for the good of the place.
Mary was very glad that he interrupted the
subject by saying merrily, “You caught me in the
midst of my Augean stable. I hope next time you
are kind enough to visit us that the yard may be
in a more respectable condition.â€
Mr. Selby observed that it was unpardonable
64 THE CARBONELS
not to have done the work beforehand, and the
captain answered, “On the contrary, it was
reserved as a fragrant bucket, or bouquet for a
farmer’s wife.â€
Whereat the visitors looked shocked, and Mary
made haste to observe: “But we do hope to make
a better road to the house through the fields.â€
“There is a great deal to be done first,†said
Dora, who thought the observation rather weak.
Nothing else that was interesting took place on
this occasion, Mr. Selby asked the captain whether
he hunted, and gave him some information on the
sport of all kinds in the neighbourhood. Miss
Selby asked Dora if she liked archery, music, and
drawing. Mrs. Selby wanted to recommend a
~ housemaid, and advised Mrs. Carbonel against ever
taking a servant from the neighbourhood. And
then they all turned to talk of the evil doings of
the parish thieves, poachers, idlers, drunkards, and
to warn the Carbonels once more against hoping
to improve them. The horses could be heard
pawing and jingling outside, and, as the ladies rose
to take leave, Captain Carbonel begged leave to
hurry out and clear the coast. And it was well
that he did so, for he had to turn back a whole
procession of cows coming in to be milked, and
sundry pigs behind them.
The farm court was finished, and never was so
bad again, the animals being kept from spending
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 65
their day there, except the poultry, in which Mary
took great delight. Soon came more visitors, and
it became a joke to the husband and sister that she
always held out hopes of “the future drive†when
they arrived, bumped or mired by the long lane.
“Mary’s Approach,†as Edmund called it, had to
be deferred till more needful work was done. The
guests whom they best liked, Mr. and Mrs. Grantley,
the clergyman and his wife from the little town of
Poppleby, gave an excellent and hopeful account
of their rector, Dr. Fogram, who was, they said, a
really good man, and very liberal.
Mrs. Grantley was interested in schools and
poor people, as it was easy to discover, and Mary
and Dora were soon talking eagerly to her, and
hearing what was done at Poppleby; but there |
were gentry and prosperous tradespeople there, who
could be made available as subscribers or teachers ;
so that their situation was much more hopeful than
that of the Carbonels, who had not the authority of
the clergyman.
Poppleby was a much larger place than Downhill,
on the post road to London. The mail-coach went
through it, and thence post horses were hired, and
chaises, from the George Inn. The Carbonels
possessed a phaeton, and a horse which could be
used for driving or riding, and thus Captain Car-
bonel took the two ladies to return the various calls
that had been made upon them. They found the
E
66 THE CARBONELS
Selbys not at home, but were warmly welcomed by
the Grantleys, and spent the whole afternoon with
them, and, at Dora’s earnest request, were taken to
see the schools. So different was the taste and
feeling of those days that, though Poppleby Church
was a very fine old one—in grand architecture, such
as in these days is considered one of the glories of
the country—no one thought of going to look at it,
and the effect of Mr. Grantley’s excellent sermons
had been the putting up of a new gallery right
across the chancel arch.
It had a fine tower and steeple, and this Dora
thought of as a delightful subject for a sketch from
the Parsonage garden. She made great friends
with Lucy Grantley, the eldest daughter, over their
tastes in drawing, as well as in the Waverley novels
and in poetry, and was invited to spend a long day
at Poppleby and take a portrait of the steeple.
After the calls had been made and returned began
the dinner parties. Elmour Priory was so near
Greenhow that it would have been easy to walk
there across the fields, or to drive in the phaeton,
especially as the hours were much earlier, and six
or half past was held to be a late dinner hour, but
this would have been contrary to etiquette, especially
the first time, with people who evidently thought
much of “style,†and the Carbonels were not
superior to such considerations, which were—or
were supposed to be—of more importance in those
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 67
days. Soa chaise was ordered, and they went in
state, and had a long, dull evening, chiefly enlivened
by the Miss Selbys and Dora playing on the
piano.
As they were going home, all round by the road,
when they were near the top of the hill, before they
came to the “Fox and Hounds,†the postilion first
shouted and then came to a sudden stop. The
captain, putting his head out at the window, saw by
the faint light of a young moon, going down in the
remains of sunset, that he was jumping off his
horse, growling and swearing, but under his breath,
when the captain sprang out. A woman was lying
across the road, and had barely escaped being run
over. Mary and Dora were both out in a moment.
“Poor thing, poor thing! Is it a fit? She is
quite insensible.â€
“A fit of a certain kind,†said the captain, who
was dragging her into the hedge, while the post-
boy held the horses. “Go back, Mary, Dora!â€
“Tt is Nanny Barton!†said Dora in horror.
Mary took down one of the carriage lamps and
held it to the face. “Yes, it is!†said she. “Can’t
we take her home, or do anything?â€
“No, no; nonsense!†said Edmund. “Don’t come
near, don’t touch her. Don’t you see, she is simply
dead drunk.â€
“But we can’t leave her here.â€
“The best thing to do! Yes, it is; but we will
68 THE CARBONELS
stop at the ‘Fox and Hounds,’ if that will satisfy
you, and send some one out to see after her.â€
They were obliged to be satisfied, for the tones
were authoritative, and they had to accept his
assurance that the woman was in no state for them
to meddle with. She would come to no harm, he
said, when he had put her on the bank, and it was
only to pacify them that he caused the postilion to
stop at the public-house, whence roaring, singing,
and shouts proceeded. The landlord came out,
supposing it was some new arrival, and when
Captain Carbonel jumped out, and, speaking
severely, desired that some one would go to look
after the woman, who was lying in the road, and
whom the horses had almost run over, he answered
as if he had been doing the most natural and correct
thing in the world.
“Yes, sir; I had just sent her home. They had
been treating of her, and she had had a drop too
much. She wasn’t in a proper state.â€
“Proper state! No! I should think not!
It is a regular shame and disgrace that you
should encourage such goings on! Where’s the
woman's husband? Has no one got the humanity
to come and take her home?â€
Oldfellow called gruffly to some of the troop,
who came reeling out to the door, and told them
it was time to be off, and that some one, “You
Tirzah had best see to that there Barton ’oman.â€
THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 69
Captain Carbonel wished to keep his ladies
from the sight, but they were watching eagerly,
and could not help seeing that it was Tirzah Todd,
more gipsy-looking than ever, who came out.
Not, however, walking as if intoxicated, and quite
able to comprehend Captain Carbonel’s brief
explanation where to find her companion.
“Ah, poor Nanny!†she said cheerfully.
“She’s got no head! A drop is too much for
her.â€
The chaise door was shut, and they went on,
Dora and Mary shocked infinitely, and hardly able
to speak of what they had seen. _
And they did not feel any happier when the
next day, as Mary was feeding the chickens, Nanny
came up to her curtseying and civil.
“Please, ma'am, I’m much obliged to you for
seeing to me last night. I just went in to see if
my husband was there, as was gone to Poppleby
with some sheep, and they treated me, ma’am.
And that there Tirzah and Bet Bracken, they was a
singing songs, as it was a shame to hear, so I ups
and rebukes them, and she flies at me like a cata-
mount, ma’am ; and then Mr. Oldfellow, he puts me
out, ma’am, as was doing no harm, as innocent as
a lamb.â€
“Well,†said Mrs. Carbonel, “it was no place
for any woman to be in, and we were grieved, I
cannot tell you how much, that you should be
70 THE CARBONELS
there. You had better take care; you know
drunkenness is a really wicked sin in God’s sight.â€
“Only a little overtaken—went to see for my
husband,†muttered Nanny. “I didn’t take nigh
so much as that there Tirzah Todd, that is there
with Bet Bracken every night of her life, to
â€
sing
“ Never mind other people. Their doing wrong
doesn’t make you right.â€
“Only a drop,†argued Nanny. “And that
there Tirzah and Bet 2
Mary was resolved against hearing any more
against Tirzah and Bet, and actually shut herself
into the granary till Nanny was gone. And there
she sat down on a sack of peas and fairly cried at
the thought of the sin and ignorant unconscious-
ness of evil all round her. And then she prayed
a little prayer for help and wisdom for these poor
people and themselves. Then she felt cheered up
and hopeful.
>
CHAPTER VII
SUNDAY SCHOOL
“ She hastens to the Sunday School.â€
JANE TAYLOR.
am APTAIN CARBONEL had written to
the President of St. Cyril’s, and at once
obtained his willing consent to the ladies
attempting to form a little Sunday School. Dr.
Fogram said that he should come down himself on
July 21, and should be very glad to take counsel
with the Carbonels on the state of Uphill. He
would be glad to assist if any outlay were needed.
The sisters were in high spirits. The only place
they could find for the purpose was the wash-house
and laundry. Once in five weeks two women, in
high white muslin caps and checked aprons, of
whom Betsy Seddon was one, Betty Pucklechurch
the other, came to assist the maids in getting up
the family linen—a tremendous piece of work. A
tub was set on the Saturday, with ashes placed in
72 THE CARBONELS
a canvas bag on a frame above; water was poured
on it, and ran through, so as to be fitted for
the operations which began at five o’clock in the
morning, and absorbed all the women of the
establishment, and even old Pucklechurch, who
was called on to turn the mangle.
Except during this formidable week, the wash-
house and laundry were empty, and hither were
invited the children. About twenty, of all ages,
came—the boys in smocks, the girls in print frocks
and pinafores, one in her mother’s black bonnet,
others in coarse straw or sun bonnets. All had
shoes of some sort, but few had stockings, though
the long frocks concealed the deficiencies, and
some wore stocking-legs without feet.
They made very low bows, or pulled their fore-
locks, most grinned and looked sheepish, and a
very little one began to cry. It did not seem very
promising, but Mary and Dora began by asking all
their names, and saying they hoped to be better
friends. They, for the most part, knew nothing,
with the exception of George Hewlett’s two eldest,
Bessie Mole’s girls, and one sharp boy of Dan
Hewlett’s, also the Pucklechurch grandchildren ;
but even these had very dim notions, and nobody
but the Hewletts could tell a word of the
Catechism.
To teach them the small commencement of
doctrine comprised in the earliest pages of “ First
SUNDAY SCHOOL 73
Truths†was all that could be attempted, as well
as telling them a Bible story, to which the few
intelligent ones listened with pleasure, and Johnnie
Hewlett showed that he had already heard it—
“from aunt,†he said. He was a sickly, quiet-
looking boy, very different from his younger
brother, Jem, who had organized a revolt among
the general multitude before long. None of these
had enough civilization to listen or be attentive
for five minutes together, and when Mrs. Carbonel
looked round on hearing a howl, there was a
pitched battle going on between Jem and Lizzie
Seddon over her little sister, who had been bribed
into coming with a lump of gingerbread, which
the boy was abstracting. He had been worked up
enough even to lose his awe of the ladies, and to
kick and struggle when Dora, somewhat impru-
dently, tried to turn him out.
The disturbance was so great that the sisters
were obliged to dismiss their pupils at least a
quarter of an hour sooner than they had intended,
and without having tried to teach the short daily
prayers that had been part of the programme.
Somewhat crestfallen they sped back to the
house,
“Did you ever see such a set of little savages?â€
cried Dora.
“Come, there was a very fair proportion of
hopeful ones,†was the reply.
74 THE CARBONELS
These hopeful ones made one class under Dora,
while Mary, who had more patience and experi-
ence, undertook the others, who, when once
wakened, proved very eager and interested, in a
degree new to those who are not the first lights
in gross darkness. Johnnie Hewlett was the
brightest among the children, for though his week-
days were occupied in what his mother called
“keeping a few birds,†or, more technically, “bird
starving,†he spent most of his spare time beside
his sick aunt, and had not only been taught by
her to read, but to think, and to say his prayers.
As Dora gradually learnt, both Mary Hewlett
and Judith Grey had been children of a little
“smock frock†farmer, and had not been entirely
without breeding ; but Molly had been the eldest,
and had looked after the babies, and done much
of the work of the farm, till she plunged into an
early and most foolish marriage with the ne’er-do-
well member of the old sawyer’s family, and had
been going deeper into the mire ever since.
Judith, a good deal younger, and always delicate,
had gone to the dame school when Mrs. Verdon
was rather less inefficient, and at ten years old
had been taken into service by an old retired
servant, who needed her chiefly as a companion,
and thence she had been passed on to a family
where the ladies were very kind to the servants,
and the children brought them their books and
SUNDAY SCHOOL 75
their information of all kinds, so that she had
much cultivation, religious and otherwise.
When her accident had sent her home to the
only surviving member of her family, she hoped
to be of use to her sister and the children ; but,
before long, she found it almost hopeless, Molly,
indeed, was roughly kind to her, but Dan took
no notice of her except to “borrow†her money,
and any attempt to interfere with the management
of the children was resented.
Johnnie, the eldest boy, was fond of his aunt,
and soon became her best attendant when not out
at the work that began at nine years old. He
was willing that she should teach him, and when
the ladies came to see her she was full of stories
of what he had told her. She said no word of
the rudeness of the girls or the tyranny of Jem,
as she sat helpless by the fire. When all were
out, these were pleasant peaceful visits to her, and
she was grateful for the books Dora lent her, and
the needlework Mrs. Carbonel gave her when she
was well enough to do it. Molly was not un-
willing that her sister should be “a fav’rite,†as
she called it, more especially as Jem was generally
allowed to swallow any dainty brought by the
ladies that was to his taste.
Old Master Redford, Widow Mole’s father, was
another cheerful spot in the village. He was a
thoroughly good, devout person in a simple way,
76 THE CARBONELS
and most grateful for Dora’s coming to read to
him. Old Pucklechurch once, indeed, said, “ What,
ma’am, ye be never a going to read to that there
Thomas Redford! Why, ’tis all one as singing
Psalms to a dead horse.â€
In spite, however, of this hopeless augury, Dora’s
voice did reach his ears. He had made good use
of his scanty opportunities, and had taught his
family to be thoroughly conscientious. There was
another daughter in service, who from time to time
sent him a little help, but the transit of money was
a difficulty in those days, and the relief could not
often come. One morning Widow Mole fainted
away in the hayfield, and hardly heard Farmer
Goodenough abusing her fine-lady airs, though she
trembled and shook so much when she tried to go
on that she was forced to let Tirzah Todd lead her
home, and the next morning she could not get up.
She had been in such plight before, and the shop
trusted her, knowing that she always strove to pay
off her debts, but the farmer rated her vehemently,
declaring that she had been good for nothing since
the ladies had been putting fancies and megrims
in her head, and that he would not take her on
again. Probably he did not mean to fulfil his threat,
for, as far as her strength allowed, she was the best
and most thorough worker of all his women, and he
had no desire to have the whole family on the rates ;
but the ladies believed it, and came home furious
SUNDAY SCHOOL 77
with indignation, and even Captain Carbonel
thought her justified in accepting the dismissal, and
as soon as “kitchen physic†had a little restored
her, she became washer-woman, weeding woman,
and useful woman generally at Greenhow Farm.
Many a cup of tea and thick slice of bread-and-
butter were carried out to her after breakfast, not
to say three-cornered remnant of pie, or sandwich of
cold meat at luncheon; and, though some was saved
for “granfer and the children,†still she began to
look like another woman ere many weeks were over.
Betsy Seddon and Molly Hewlett were much
displeased, and reproached her with having got the
place by “ hypercriting about.â€
Nanny Barton put on a white apron and brought
out the big Bible when she saw the ladies getting
over the stile. The first time Dora was much de-
lighted ; the second, Mrs. Carbonel managed to see
that the Bible was open at one of the genealogies
in the First Book of Chronicles, and spied besides
the dirtiest of all skirts under the apron. After
that she did not much heed when Nanny said she
would come to church if her shoes were not so bad.
Tirzah Todd laughed and showed her white
teeth and merry eyes so pleasantly that no one
could help liking to talk with her, but alas! old
Pucklechurch took care to let them know that she
could be just as merry in a different way at the
“Fox and Hounds.â€
CHAPTER VIII
Mary’s APPROACH
“ The chaise was stayed,
But yet was not allowed
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.â€
CowPER.
R. FOGRAM was true to his word, and
i) made his appearance at the Long Vaca-
tion. The Carbonels, to whom little
eager Sophia had been added a day or two pre-
viously, first saw him at Downhill Church, where
he madea most dignified appearance, in a very full
surplice, with his Doctor of Divinity’s red hood over
it. The clerk, small, grey-haired, and consequen-
tial, bustled up to open the pulpit door for him,
and he preached, in a fine, sonorous voice, a very
learned sermon, that might have been meant for
his undergraduates at Oxford.
It was the day for afternoon service at Uphill,
so the sisters had to hurry away to eat their
Sr
7
FOGRAM. p. 79
SAID DR.
‘CAPTAIN CARBONEL, I BELIEVE,
MARY'S APPROACH 79
luncheon in haste, and then to introduce Sophy to
the Sunday School, where she was to teach a class
of small ones, a matter of amazing importance
and ecstasy.
She was a damsel of thirteen, in a white frock
and cape, a pink sash, pink kerchief round her
neck, pink satin ribbons tying down her broad
Leghorn hat over her ears, in what was called gipsy
fashion. She had rosy cheeks, blue,†good-natured
eyes, and shining, light-brown curls all round her
head. Her appearance in the school was quite as
memorable to the children as Dr. Fogram’s could
be to their elders, and the little ones were so
engaged in looking at her that they quite forgot to
be naughty, except that Billy Mole, in curiosity to
know what anything so glossy and shining could
be, pinched the end of her sash, and left the grimy
mark of his little hot hands on it, which caused
Maitland the maid, who had charge of her toilette,
to declare that such things always came of going
among “they nasty, dirty little brats.â€
Dr. Fogram rode over on a plump, shining, black
horse, followed by a well-equipped groom. He
dismounted, and gave his horse to the man when he
overtook the Carbonel party on the way up the hill.
“Captain Carbonel, I believe,†said he, touching
his hat, almost a shovel. “ Will you do me the
honour to introduce me to the ladies,†and to them
he uncovered with the grand formal politeness
80 THE CARBONELS
which even then was becoming rather old-fashioned
and which they returned with curtsies, Sophia’s,
being fresh from the dancing-master, the most
perfect of all.
“TI understand,†said he, “that I am greatly in-
debted to you for pains taken with this unfortunate
parish.â€
“We have been trying to do what we could,â€
said Mrs. Carbonel, to whom this was chiefly
addressed. ;
“Tt is a great kindness,†he replied, “and I hope
the people may show themselves sensible of your
exertions, but hitherto all endeavours for their
benefit have been thrown away.â€
Dora could not help wondering what ‘tthe exer-
tions were ! .
After the service he joined the family again, and
said that he thought the appearance of the poor
—and especially of the children—and their be-
haviour much improved, and he had no doubt it
was owing to the gentle and beneficent influence
of the ladies, to whom he bowed.
In fact, the children had been much engaged
in staring, though whether he or Sophy were the
prime attraction, might be doubtful. At any
rate, Master Pucklechurch’s rod had only once
descended. Moreover, two neat sun-bonnets of
lilac print adorned two heads, and the frocks
looked as if they were sometimes washed.
MARY'S APPROACH 81
Captain Carbonel Said he hoped to have some
conversation with the President about the parish ;
and he responded that he hoped to do himself the
honour of calling the next day. After which he
mounted his horse and rode off.
The three sisters waited and watched as if their
whole fate depended on the morning’s conference ;
but nothing was seen. of the President till after
luncheon, when he rode up, attended by his groom
as before. To their great disappointment, he would
talk of nothing but the beauty of the country, and
of the voices of Lablache and Sonntag, or the like,
which he evidently considered the proper subjects
for ladies; and it was not till he had spent the
quarter of an hour, fit for a visit of ceremony, on
these topics that he asked Captain Carbonel to
allow him a little conversation with him.
They shut themselves into the captain’s little
‘den, which was something between a gun-room
and a library, with the rectory books going round
two sides of the room, Edmund’s sword, pistols,
and spurs hanging over the mantelpiece, and his
guns, shot-belts, powder-horn, and fishing-rods on
hooks on the wall. No noise was heard for more
than an hour, during which Dora fumed, Mary cut
off the dead roses, and Sophia was withheld from
peeping.
At last they came out—the horses had been
brought to the door—the President bowed to the
F
82 THE CARBONELS
ladies, mounted, and rode off, while Edmund came
across the lawn; and they all clustered round him.
“Well,†said he, “we have fared better than we
expected. Dr. Fogram has long been regretting
the state of the parish.â€
“Why did he do nothing?†broke in Dora.
“T suppose he has much on his hands; and,
I am afraid, my poor old uncle was a hindrance,
for he really seemed like a man who had got rid
of an incubus when he found that we were willing
to do what we could. Then it seems that he was
disappointed in Ashley Selby. He thought that,
being an inhabitant of the place, the young man
would be interested in the people, and make his
sisters useful.â€
“They!†exclaimed Dora. “They are such fine
ladies, who think about nothing but Almack’s, are
afraid of the dirt, and of catching all sorts of
disorders at the cottages.â€
“T can hardly get Dora to be moderately civil
to them,†said Mary.
“Yes,†said Edmund, “parental influence has
been strong. The mother fears for health, the
father for his game, and the children have grown
up to think poachers and their families almost
beyond the pale of humanity. It has been too
much for this young man, who simply acquiesced
in the way in which he was bred. However, this
will come to an end, for the present holder of
MARYS APPROACH 83
the family living has had a paralytic stroke, and
wants him to come and assist. I fully believe
that he may do much better away from home
habits, especially under a good incumbent.â€
“And what is to happen to us?†inquired
Mary.
“Dr. Fogram says that he will send us one of
the Fellows of his college—a young man full of
zeal, who is eager for parochial work, and has
been taking duty at a parish some miles from
Oxford. He thinks we shall be satisfied with the
change.â€
“ As if we were the people to be satisfied,†cried
Dora. “Just confess, Edmund, that the old gentle-
man did not think the place worth attending to till
educated gentlefolk came to live in it.â€
“Say, rather, that he really did not know the
deficiencies,†said the captain, “till they were
brought before him.â€
“Then he ought,†muttered Dora.
“ Judge not,†whispered Mary, who was a reverent
person.
“And the school?†resumed Dora. “Was he
aware of any deficiency there?â€
“He was very glad to hear that you had begun
keeping school, and will contribute to a better
arrangement for the week-day school, assist in
pensioning off Dame Verdon, if needful, and in
obtaining a better person.â€
84 THE CARBONELS
Dora and Sophy each gave a little caper, and
squeezed one another’s hands.
“He is quite disposed to be liberal,†continued
Edmund; “and I am sure we shall find him no
impediment.â€
“T don’t think the school is going on now,†said
Mary. “Lizzie Verdon came for some broth, and
said Granny was bad in bed. I asked whether
she had had the doctor, and she stared and said
no, but Dame Spurrell had got her some ‘ yarbs.’â€
For in those days the union doctor was not an
institution. Large tracts of country would con-
tract with some apothecary to attend their sick ;
but he was generally a busy man, with his hands
full of paying patients, and there was nobody to
keep him up to his work among the poor, if he
could have done it, which he really could not.
The poor themselves knew that it was in vain to
apply to him, or if he came once in a serious case,
to expect any attention; and they preferred to
depend on the woman clever in “yarbs,†on the
white witch, or, in favoured villages, on the lady
bountiful or the clergyman and his wife; and in
simple cases these latter were quite efficient,
keeping a family medicine-chest and a book on
household medicine.
Mrs. Carbonel had routed out her mother’s
book, replenished her chest, and had cured two
or three children who had been eating unripe
MARY'S APPROACH 85
‘apples, and greatly benefited Widow Mole with
infusions of Jesuit’s bark in a large jug, the
same thing as quinine, only more cumbrously and
domestically prepared. But most of the Uphill
people had the surest confidence in Dame Spurrell
and her remedies, some of which were very
curious; for Mrs. Carbonel found a child who
had fits wearing, in a bag, a pinch of black hair
from the cross on the back of a jackass; and
once, when she objected to a dirty mark on the
throat of Susan Pucklechurch, she was told it was
left by a rasher of bacon put on to cure a sore
throat.
The symptoms were sometimes curious as she
now found when she went to inquire after Dame
Verdon, who, Lizzie informed her, had her heart
hanging by only one string, and when that gave
way, she would not be here,
For the present, however, she was in bed, under
a quilt made of coloured cloth scraps ; but however
it might be with her heart-strings, she did not
seem likely to get up again. It was hay time,
and it appeared that no one did come to school in
hay and harvest seasons, so that there was time
to consider what could be done. Dr. Fogram was
invited to dinner to hold consultation with the
ladies, whom the captain would not leave to any
conclusion as to the schools,
There were no such things as trained masters
86 THE CARBONELS
and mistresses in those days; the National Society
had only been in existence eleven years, and
Government had not taken up the matter at all.
Educated and religious people had, however, come
to the conclusion that it would be well to help all
the village children to know their faith and duty,
and to read their Bibles; and the good work of
Mrs. Hannah More and Mrs. Trimmer were
examples that had begun to be followed, now
that the one was in extreme old age, and the
other in her grave, The Carbonel family had been
bred up to such work, and all of them knew a good
deal more about it than the President, whose
studies had been chiefly in Greek plays, and
whose tasks had been dealing with young men
and the college estates. His conscience as a
clergyman was a good deal stirred by the con-
dition of his parish, and he was really thankful
to those who would take up the matter, as well
as ready to assist with his purse.
So it was settled that Mrs. Carbonel should
write about a widow at her old home, who had
once been a servant in the family. She was
known to be a good religious person, who could
read, and write, and cast accounts quite well
enough for any possibly advanced scholars, as
well as being a beautiful needlewoman. An old
friend went to see her, explain the situation to
her, and ascertain if she were willing to undertake
MARY'S APPROACH 87
the school for twenty pounds a year, and what the
children could pay.
A cottage belonging to Captain Carbonel might
have a room added to it to receive the scholars,
by the end of harvest, by which time they might
be got together, and Mrs, Verdon was to be
induced to resign by a pension of half-a-crown
a week, a sum then supposed to be ample, and
which, indeed, was so for her wants, which were
much less than in these days. Captain Carbonel
looked over the cottage, and worked out an
estimate of the cost with old Hewlett, whose
notions of paper work were of the kind shown in
his Midsummer bill.
SS ad,
I ooden barrer a oodnt soot oe ee 9 6
1 ooden barrer a ood soot ... eee aes ae) 6
The result of the calculations, conjectural and
otherwise, was this.
“Mary, look here. This is an expensive year,
and if we do the thing this year, we must put off
making the drive through the fields—your approach,
madam.â€
Mary came and looked at his figures. “How
will it be after harvest ?†she said.
“ Harvest is an inappreciable quantity, especially
to novices,†he said. “If you believe Farmer
Goodenough, the finest weather will not save me
from finding myself out of pocket.â€
88 THE CARBONELS .
“Farmer Goodenough is an old croaker, after
his kind,†said Mary.
“Tt won’t do to reckon thereupon. I must be
secure of capital enough to fall back upon. Think
it over well, Mary, and answer me to-morrow ; and
you had better say nothing to your sisters till your
own mind is made up. I own that I should be
very glad of the road. It would save us and old
Major a good deal, to say nothing of our friends’
bones,â€
“Do you mean that you wish it, Edmund?â€
“T wish to leave it entirely to you.â€
Dora and Sophy had gone across the fields, a
four miles’ walk to Poppleby, and were to be
brought home in the evening, and Mary was left
to wander about the old road and the field-path,
and meditate on the ruts and quagmires that
would beset the way in the winter, and shut
them up from visiting, perhaps even from church.
Besides, there were appearances !
There was an old gentleman, a far-away con-
nection of Edmund’s, who had been in the navy,
and now lived at Poppleby, and went about
collecting all the chatter to be heard in one house,
and retailing it all in another, and he thought
himself licensed to tell Edmund and Mary every-
thing personal. One thing was—
“My dear fellow, you should really put a check
on your wife’s Methodistical ways !â€
MARY'S APPROACH 89
“JT didn’t know she had any.â€
“T have been told, on good authority, that she
has a meeting every Sunday in the wash-house.â€
Edmund laughed. “A dozen children for Sunday
School, with the President’s full consent.â€
“It won't do, Edmund. You'll find it won’t
do! Why, old Selby told me she was a pretty
creature, only just like your good pious ladies,
running into all the dirtiest cottages.â€
And to Mary it was, “Let me give you a hint,
my dear Mrs, Carbonel. The Duchess saw you in
Poppleby, and asked who you were, and she said
she would like to visit you, if you did not live in
such a hole.â€
“T don’t think I want her,†said Mary.
“Now, my dear, don’t you be foolish! It would
be so much to Edmund’s advantage! He was in
the same regiment with Lord Henry, and you
might have the best society in the county, if
only you would make your new drive! Why,
even Lady Hartman says she can’t take her
horses again through that lane, or into the farm
court. ‘Miss Yates said it was quite disgusting.â€
Mary Carbonel might laugh. She did.not care
for her own dignity, but she did for Edmund’s ;
and though she had been amused at Lady Hart-
man’s four horses entangled in the narrow sweep,
and did not quite believe old Captain Caiger,
the lady herself had been very charming, and
go THE CARBONELS
Mary did not like to cut her husband and
sisters off from the pleasantest houses in the
country.
But the words, “Love not the world,†came up
into her mind, and the battle ended by her saying
to her husband—
“Don't let us have the approach this year,
dear Edmund. I don’t want it to be Mary’s
veproach,â€
“You are quite sure? In spite of Caiger ?â€
“Indeed I am ; though I am afraid it is asking
you to give up something.â€
“Not while I have my merry faces at home,
Mary. And indeed, little woman, I am glad of
your decision. It is right.â€
“Tam so glad!â€
VN
CHAPTER Ix
THE SCREEN
‘* There is no honesty in such dealing.â€
SHAKESPEARE,
<4 NE day when Sophy had been trusted to
| go out alone to carry a few veal cutlets
from luncheon to Judith, she found the
door on the latch, but no one in the room down-
stairs, the chair empty, the fire out, and all more
dreary than usual, only a voice from above called
out, “Please come up.â€
Sophy, pleased with the adventure, mounted the
dark and rickety stairs, and found herself in the
open space above, cut off from the stairs by a
screen, and containing a press-bed, where Judith
lay, covered by an elaborate patchwork quilt.
There was a tiny dressing-table under the narrow
lattice window, and one chair, also a big trunk-
box, with a waggon-shaped lid, such as servants
used to have in those days, covered with paper,
92 THE CARBONELS
where big purple spots of paint concealed the old
print of some story or newspaper. On the wall hung
a few black profiles, and all was very fairly neat,
whatever the room might be shut off by a wooden
partition, whence came a peculiar sour smell.
“Oh, it is Miss Sophia!†exclaimed Judith. “I
beg your pardon, ma’am, I thought it was Dame
Spurrell, who said she would come and look in on
me, or I would not have troubled you to come up.â€
“T am glad I did, Judith; I like to see where
you live. Only, are you worse?â€
“No, miss, only as my back is sometimes, and
my sister and all the children are gone to the
hiring fair, so it was not handy to get me up.â€
“And this is your room!†said Sophy, looking
about her. “Isn’t it very cold?â€
“Johnnie heats me a brick to keep me warm at
night; but my feet are always cold downstairs.
It does not make much difference.â€
“Qh dear! And you have a screen, I see. Oh!
Why, that is our drawing-room paper.â€
She sat transfixed at the recognition, whilc
Judith observed, quite innocently, with a free
conscience—
“Yes, miss, my brother-in-law brought it home,
and told me it was just a scrap that was left over,
and he was free to have, though I said I did
wonder the lady did not want to keep it in case of
an accident happening.â€
THE SCREEN 93
“Yes.†said Sophy, “I don’t think he had any
business to have it, for all one division of the paper
is put on upside down. The laburnums point up
instead of hanging down, and Iam sure Mary
would have altered it if she could. It was beauti-
ful French paper that Edmund brought home
from Paris and laid up for the furnishing their
house.â€
This, of course, Mrs. Carbonel and Dora would
never have told poor Judith, but Sophy was young
and unguarded, and apt to talk when she had
better have held her tongue.
“T am sorry to hear it, miss, indeed lam. I am
afraid one could not take it off the screen to put
it back again where it did ought to be.â€
Sophy looked, but it was manifestly impossible.
Spoiling the screen would not mend the wall of
the drawing-room.
“Perhaps Molly might have another bit left,â€
she said, only thinking of the triumph of carrying
home the means of repairing the deficiency by her
own unassisted sagacity.
“T will ask her, miss. I am sure I never thought
Dan would go for to do such a thing,†mourned
Judith, though, even as she spoke, there came back
on her recollections of times when she had tried to
be blind and deaf. “But if Mrs. Carbonel would
let me pay for it, miss, I should be easier in my
mind. I havea shilling, though no doubt that is
94 THE CARBONELS
not the worth of it.’ And she began feeling for
a little box under her pillow, never mentioning
that she had already paid Dan a shilling for it.
“No, no; nonsense, Judith! Of course my
sister would not take it for the world; but if any
one could find another bit, just to patch up the
part above the book-case, it would be nice.â€
“T will do what in me lays, Miss Sophy,â€
answered Judith.
So Sophy took her leave and trotted home, very
proud of her discovery, which she communicated
in an eager voice as the phaeton drew up at the
front door.
“Oh, Edmund, I have found the rest of the
drawing-room paper !â€
“Hush! not so loud, my dear,†said Dora, getting
out of the back seat, and Edmund, being busy in
telling the groom to attend to something in the
harness, did not heed at first.
“Did you know, Dora?†asked Sophy, in a
lower voice, being struck by something in her re-
pressive manner.
“Ves; but I did not tell, because Edmund was
so much vexed, and it was of no use now.â€
Dora really hoped no one had heard, as Mary
was busy with her parcels, and she was too fond
of Judith not to wish to shield her family; but it
was too late. The captain came in with, “ What’s
this about the drawing-room paper ?â€
THE SCREEN 98
Sophy was delighted to pour out the history of
her discovery, and tell how it appeared on the
screen that sheltered poor Judith Grey.
“Exactly as I supposed,†said Captain Carbonel.
“TI always believed that fellow was a thief.â€
“But it is not poor Judith’s fault,†exclaimed
the sisters, with one voice.
“She knew nothing about it. She wanted to
pay the shilling for it,†said Sophia.
The captain laughed a little.
“And she is going to search for a bit to go up
there!†continued the girl more vehemently ; and
he laughed again,
“Yes,†said Mary, “if you only saw something
of her, you would be convinced that her whole
character is very different from that of the rest of
the family.â€
“Don’t you be taken in by plausibility,†said the
captain. “I know that fellow Dan is a thief. I
meant to tell his relation, George, that I won’t
allow him to be employed on the new schoolroom.
I shall do so now.â€
“ Would it not be better to forget what happened
so long ago?†Mary ventured to say.
“And suppose Judith restores it,†added
Sophia.
“Pshaw!†said the captain; but Mary followed
him to the study, and what she did with him
there her sisters did not know, but it resulted in
96 THE CARBONELS
his allowing that Dan might have another trial,
with a sharp eye over him.
So unused was Uphill to the visits of ladies,
that when the piece of French paper was sold to
Judith, no one had thought of her being sought
out in her bedroom. Molly came home with the
children in the evening, tired out but excited—for
all had had rather more beer than was good for
them, and the children a great many more sweets.
Jem and Judy were quarrelling over a wooden
horse covered with white spots, but whose mane
had already disappeared, Lizzie was sick, cross, and
stupid, Polly had broken the string of her new
yellow necklace, and was crying about it, and
nobody had recollected the aunt except Johnnie,
who presented her with a piece of thin gingerbread
representing King George the Fourth, in white,
pink, and gilt! Molly herself was very tired,
though she said it was all very fine, and she
had seen a lot of people, and the big sleeves they
wore were quite a wonder. Then she scolded
Polly with all her might for crying and never
setting the tea, nor boiling the kettle; and, after
all, it was Johnnie who made up the fire, fetched
water, and set the kettle boiling. They all
wrangled together over their purchases, and the
sights they had seen, or not seen, while Judith was
glad to be out of the way of seeing, though not of
hearing. Then the girls trailed themselves
THE SCREEN 97
upstairs. Judy slept with her aunt, Polly and
Lizzie had a kind of shake-down on a mattress of
chaff or hulls, as she called it, by her side. Judith
always insisted on their prayers, but they said they
were much too tired to-night, and could not say
anything but “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,’
which was all they knew except the Lord’s
Prayer. Judith had taught them this, but they
thought the repeating it a very difficult ceremony,
far too hard when they were tired.
Their mother went to bed soon afterwards,
taking Jem with her, and so did Johnnie, all being
anxious to get what sleep they could before the
dreaded moment of father’s return. Public-
houses were not obliged to close at any special
time in those days, and the home-coming,
especially on a fair day, was apt to be a terrible
affair. It was not till past one o’clock that shouts,
broken bursts of singing, and howls of quarrelling
announced the break-up of the riotous party, and
presently the door bounced open, and with oaths
at the darkness, though there was bright moon-
light, Dan stumbled in and staggered upstairs,
overturning the unlucky screen upon Polly as he
did so, cursing and swearing at them all, and
ordering his wife to get up and open the door,
which he was past finding. He did not attack
Judith, though he almost fell over her bed, and
the two girls lay trembling, not daring to lift off
G
98 THE CARBONELS
the screen till the door of the bedroom was shut
on them ; and then came the only too well-known
sound of their mother scolding and crying, and
his swearing and beating her.
They were only too much used to such dis-
turbance, and were asleep again before it was
over; but Judith could only lie on, shaking with
terror—not personal—but at the awful words she
heard, and praying that they might not be visited
on that unhappy household, but that God would
forgive.
It was not till the next day when the house was
tolerably quiet, and Molly, rather fretful and
grumbling, had helped Judith down to her place
by the fire, that she ventured the question, “ Molly,
you have not a bit more of that pretty wall-paper
you gave me for my screen?â€
“Did it get broke last night in Dan’s drunken
tantrums?â€
“Not more than I can mend, but little Miss
Sophia, she says that the paper in the Greenhow
drawing-room is quite spoilt for want of a piece to
cover up a bit that was put on wrong.â€
“My patience! And how did Miss Sophia
come to know anything about it?â€
“She came up to see me, and bring those cutlets
that you are warming up now,â€
“Bless me! Well, Dan will be vexed,†said
Molly. “Such mean folk as they are, a-peeping
THE SCREEN 99
and a-prying after everything! They knows how
to look after whatever they chooses to say is their
own ; and the captain, he made a row before about
that there trumpery yard or two of paper that was
the parkisit of them that hung it.â€
“Miss Sophy says it spoilt the room.â€
“Spilt it! They’ve little to vex ’em that is
terrified about that !â€
“But have you got the bit, Molly?â€
“T never had it! Dan kept it in the outhouse.
He may have a scrap left, that he used to make
caps for the Christmas boys when he used the rest
to paper Mrs. Hunter’s closet with down at Down-
hill, Your piece was left over of that, and may be
there was half-a-yard more; but he locks that
there workshop of his, so as one can’t get in to
get a bit of shavings to light the fire. So you must
ask him. Iam sure I dare not do it. He’s that
angry if one does but look into his shop.â€
“T must try and get it!†said Judith.
“Not now, I wouldn’t,†entreated Molly. “What
is it to the ladies? And father, he will be fit to
tear the place down if he hears of it! Them Gob-
blealls is set again him already, and ’tis just taking
away our bread to say a bit more about it to them
folks. George Hewlett is particular enough already,
without having a work about this.â€
Poor Judith, she felt as if she could never be at
peace with her conscience, while she had those
100 THE CARBONELS
yellow laburnums in sight in her room, and she
did not see how restitution and confession could
injure her brother-in-law; but her code of right
and wrong was very different from that of either
husband or wife.
Molly went on maundering about the hardship of
having taken in a poor helpless thing, and having
stood between her and the workhouse, only that she
should turn a viper and a spy, and take her poor
children’s bread out of their mouths, forgetting that
Jem was at the very moment eating up the piece
of apple-pie that had come with the cutlets.
Judith tried to get her thoughts together, and
decided that, however much she might dread Dan’s
anger, and care for his interest and family peace,
it was her duty to do her best to recover whatever
remnant was possible of his booty. So when he
came home to dinner she ventured to ask him if he
had a piece left of that paper of her screen.
“Why ?†he asked, turning on her as if he hoped
to make more of whatever he had.
She told him timidly, and it was as she had
feared. He began abusing her violently for letting
spies up into her room, and turning against him,
that let her have her houseroom, and “ worritingâ€
them all with her hypocritical ways. He could
tell her there was nothing between her and the
workhouse, and all was interspersed with oaths,
terrible to hear.
THE SCREEN IOL
Molly began taking her part, and declaring that
Judith could not help it if little miss would come
into her room; but Dan, who had qualified last
night’s revel with another mug of ale, was quite past
all reason, and declared that Judith called the girl
up on purpose to bring him into trouble, and that
nothing but harm had ever come of her canting,
Methody ways, and he had a good mind to kick
her out at once to the workhouse, and would do
so, if she brought them Gobblealls down on him
again. There had been nothing but plague ever
since they came into the parish, and he wouldn’t
have them come poll-prying about his house. No,
he wouldn't.
Judith knew this was a vain threat, for he was
always out of the house when they came, and she
also knew that he was the last man to give up the
small payment that she was in the habit of making
quarterly, or what was begged from her besides,
so she was not afraid of any such measure ; but
she was much shaken, and felt quite ill afterwards,
and Molly did not stint her blame and lamenta-
tions. Nothing happened in consequence, except
that, from that time forward, Dan’s incipient
dislike to “they Gobblealls†was increased, and
they could do nothing which he did not find fault
with ; though his wife, grumbling at them all the
time, was quite willing to get everything possible
out of them.
OAD DOE
CHAPTER X
INNOVATIONS
“* Timotheus placed on high
Among the tuneful choir,
With flying fingers touched the lyre.â€
DRYDEN.
Dato the first‘of October the new beginning
q was to be made. The new curate, Mr.
Harford, arrived, and spent his first few
days at Greenhow, while looking out for a lodging
at Downhill, for he was to be shared between the
two parishes as before, and Mr. Atkins still under-
took to assist on Sundays. Mr. Harford looked
very young, almost a boy, and was small and thin,
but not in the least delicate. He had only worked
off his superfluous flesh in study and parish cares
at Oxford, and he was likely to do the same in his
new home. He looked on it as likely to be his
residence for a long time, for, as the President had
already told Mrs. Carbonel, he was engaged to a
INNOVATIONS 103
young lady, whose father would not consent to her
marriage till he had a living worth £500 a year,
and there were a good many fellows senior to him.
He seemed to have no fears of any amount of
work, and the first thing he thought of was how to
arrange for Uphill to have two services on Sunday,
as he thought could be contrived by giving the
Downhill people, who mostly lived near the church,
their second service in the evening instead of the
morning; and, as Mr. Atkins would thus have
more to do, he gave up to that gentleman the
addition to his stipend, which the President had
offered to himself. The boon was great to the
Greenhow family, who had often been hindered by
weather from getting to Downhill. Moreover, he
had plans for one service and sermon in the week,
and for a cottage lecture at a distant hamlet.
Also, in the first fortnight of his stay, he had
called at every house, alike in Downhill and Uphill,
to the great surprise of some of the families, who
had not in the memory of man seen a parson cross
their threshold. Some did not like it, such as old
Dame Verdon, who, though she could hardly get
out of bed, was very sore about the new school ;
and when her friends came to see her, told them
wonderful stories which she had picked up—or
Lizzie had from some hawker—that the gentle-
folks thought there were too many children for
the rates and taxes, and they were going to get
104 THE CARBONELS
them all into the school, and make an end of them.
Sometimes she said it was by “giving of them all
the cowpox,†as Dame Spurrell called vaccination
as the fashion was in those parts, sometimes it
was by sending them all out to Botany Bay.
And as Mrs. Carbonel had prevailed on the new
gardener’s wife to have her baby vaccinated, and
George Hewlett’s and Mrs. Mole’s children had
been thence treated by her own hands, this was
believed the more, although none of the children
were visibly the worse for it after the first few
days; but some of the women, and almost all
the children believed the story, and many of the
little ones were in fits of terror about the school,
so that there was a falling off even with the
Sunday School. The new school was only an
additional room to a good-sized cottage, with a
couple of windows and a brick floor, fitted with
forms without backs, but which had at least good
firm legs to stand upon, pegs for the cloaks and
head-gear round the walls, and a single desk,
likely to be quite sufficient for the superior few
who were to learn writing and summing. The
stock, obtained from the Society for Promoting
Christian Knowledge, consisted of a dozen copies
of Mrs. Trimmer’s Abridgment of the Old Testa-
ment, the same number of the lady’s work on the
New Testament, a packet of little paper books of
the Sermon on the Mount, the Parables and the
INNOVATIONS 105
Miracles, and another packet of little books, where
the alphabet led the way upwards from ba, bo,
etc. to “Our cat can kill a rat; can she not?â€
Also the broken Catechism, and Sellon'’s Abridg-
ment of instruction on the Catechism. There were
. ahousewife full of needles, some brass thimbles, and
a roll of calico provided, and this was the apparatus
with which most village schools would commence.
Mrs. Thorpe arrived with her two little girls,
the neatest of creatures, still wearing her weeds,
as indeed widows engaged in any business used
to do for life as a sort of protection. Under
her crape borders showed the smoothest of hair,
and her apron was spotlessly white. The two
little girls were patterns, with short cut hair,
spotted blue frocks and checkered pinafores in the
week, lilac frocks on Sundays; white capes on
that same day, and bonnets of coarse straw, tied
down with green ribbon, over little bonnet caps
with plain net frilling, the only attempt at luxury
apparent in their dress. Their names were Jane
and Mary, and they looked very pretty and
demure, though there was a little mischief in
Mary’s eyes. Nothing could look nicer or more
promising in the eyes of the sisters when they
took her to her cottage, nor could any one be
better pleased than she to work under her own
young ladies, and to have so peaceful a home for
her little daughters. She was introduced to her
106 THE CARBONELS
future scholars on Sunday in the wash-house, and
very shy and awkward did they look, nor were
the numbers as large as usual.
Mr. Harford came to open the school on
Monday morning, and the ladies met him there.
The room was in beautiful order, and presently
the younger Moles, the George Hewletts, the
Seddons, the Pucklechurch grandchildren, and
about half-a-dozen more dropped in; but no one
clse appeared, and these stood handling their
pennies and looking sheepish.
Mr. Harford, after looking out to see whether
any one else was coming, addressed them in words
a little too fine for their comprehension, and then
read a few prayers, after which he and Mrs.
Carbonel went away, taking the unwilling Sophy
to her lessons, but leaving Dora to follow when
she had heard the names called over, and in-
augurated the work; and their journey was
enlivened by meeting a child with flying hair
and ragged garments rushing headlong, so as to
have only just time to turn off short over a gap
in a field where some men who were ploughing
called out, “Run, little one, run; she'll catch
thee!†with a great shouting laugh, and at the
same moment appeared, with a big stick in her
hand, Nancy Morris in full chase, her cap on the
back of her head, and looking not much less
wild than her offspring.
INNOVATIONS 107
However, she drew up at the sight of the clergy-
man and the lady, pulled her cap forward and
her apron to the middle, curtsied low, and in a
voice of conscious merit, though out of breath,
explained that she was “arter Elizabeth,†who
was that terrifying and contrary that she would
not go to school.
Mr. Harford, not quite accustomed to the popular
use of the verb to terrify, began to ask what the
child had done to alarm her mother so much;
and Nancy, understanding him as little, said,
“Tis all along of Dame Verdon, ma'am. She be
for to say that the new governess will beat them
and send them off to Minsterham, as sure as
they’re alive; and I told Bet not to believe no
such stuff, but her won’t listen to I——’
Mr. Harford was the more mystified. Why
should she send them to Minsterham? And what
was the child afraid of ? Mrs. Carbonel had more
notion. Minsterham was the assize town, and
going thither was a polite form of mentioning
the being before a court of justice.
“Elizabeth need have no fears of a prison,â€
she said. “She is a silly child to be frightened ;
but when she sees that the other children like
school, and that nothing happens to them, she
will know better. Don’t beat her, it will only
frighten her more.â€
“Tf it is your will, ma’am, I'll let her off; but
108 THE CARBONELS
I'll give her the stick another time, as sure as
she is alive, the little toad.â€
“ Hopeful,†said the lady and gentleman to each
other, as soon as she was out of sight, and they
could laugh.
It was indeed uphill work in every sense that
was before Mrs. Thorpe, but the effect was visible
in much improvement in the general demeanour
of the children. A chair was found for her where
she sat among them at church, and prevented the
outrageous misconduct that the ladies had been
unable effectively to check; and the superior
readers were gradually acquiring a very cheap form
of Prayer-book, with only Matins and Evensong
and the Collects, besides the Psalms.
But that the children sat on the chancel steps,
and that kneeling in church was unknown to them,
never occurred as an irreverence to any of the
party, though as Mr. Harford read the ante-
Communion service from the altar instead of
disrobing himself of his surplice in the pulpit
just before the sermon, he had to walk through
the whole school, making those in his way stand
up to let him pass.
The singers, on the establishment of a double
service, began to absent themselves at least
once on a Sunday, so Mr. Harford and the ladies
tried to arrange for the singing of the children
instead. He had no knowledge of music, which
INNOVATIONS 109
was then thought a rather doubtful accomplish-
ment for a young man, and Mrs. Thorpe had, if
possible, less, so all that could be done was for
Dora to train the children by ear; and she
found that their thin, shrill notes were held as
painful by all save a few doting mothers, her
sisters, and herself. The captain laughed at her,
and finally promised her a grinding organ. It
came; it could play four tunes, and all the singers
were naturally offended. But on the first Sunday
there was a great catastrophe, for when once set
on it would not stop, but went on playing its four
tunes long after the Old Hundredth was finished.
Mr. Harford waited to begin the Prayer for King
George till it had finished, hoping that it would
stop, if not at the end of the second tune at least at
the fourth ; but, behold, it started off with the Old
Hundredth again, upon which Captain Carbonel
emerged from his pew, and, with the help of Master
Pucklechurch, bore it out into the churchyard,
where it continued to play till after the service,
when there was time to check its pertinacity by
adjustment of the machinery. At its best, the
singers—even George Hewlett—were much hurt,
and the compromise was made that it never should
uplift its voice when they were present in full
force with bass, flute, and viol, but should only
draw forth its four tunes when there were only the
children to need the accompaniment.
Even then, Dan Hewlett, who unluckily had the
best voice of all, swore that he would never come
to church again while “they had that there horgin
to buzz away like a big bumbledore ;†and he kept
his word.
“You see, ma’am, he has his feelings,†said
Molly.
He would fain have made all his family join in
the secession; but Johnnie would not be kept
away from Sunday School; and Molly had heard
rumours of penny clubs and of prizes at Christmas,
so, though the other children were very irregular,
she kept them on after a fashion.
CHAPTER XI
AN UNPROFITABLE CROP
“ My mother bids me bind my hair.â€â€”Old Ballad.
“Wad H, Mary, Mary, what is to be done about
the hair?†cried Sophy, one Sunday
== after church.
“Isn't it dreadful?†said Dora. “Those fearful
curl-papers sticking out with rolls of old news-
papers! I told them it was not fit to be seen last
Sunday, but there were even Elizabeth and Jane
Hewlett in them to-day.â€
“Yes,†said Mary, “they said that mother's aunt
was coming to tea, so she had curled them before
they came out. I told them I would excuse it for
this once, but that I should send any one home
who came such a figure on Sunday.â€
Elizabeth and Jane, be it observed, were George
Hewlett’s daughters, the most civilized, if the
dullest-witted, of the flock. Polly, Betsy, and Judy
were the children of Dan Hewlett. As a rule, all
112 THE CARBONELS
the old women of the parish were called Betty, all
the middle-aged Lizzie, and the girls Elizabeth.
“Tt is worse on week-days,†said Dora. “One
would think it was a collection of little porcu-
pines!â€
“And so dirty,†began Sophy, but she was
hushed up, for Edmund was seen approaching, and
Mary never allowed him to be worried with the
small, fretting details of school life.
It was a time when it was the fashion for young
ladies up to their teens to have their hair curled in
ringlets round their heads or on their shoulders.
Sophy’s hair curled naturally, and had been
“turned up†ever since she had come to live at
home in the dignity of fourteen, but she and both
her sisters wore falls of drooping ringlets in front,
and in Mary’s case these had been used to be curled
in paper at night, though she would as soon have
been seen thus decorated by day as in her night-cap,
But there was scarcely another matron in the parish
who did not think a fringe of curl-paper the proper
mode of disposing of her locks when in morning
déshabillé, unless she were elderly and wore a front,
which could be taken off and put on with the
best cap.
Maid-servants wore short curls or smooth folds
round side-combs under net caps, and this was
the usual trim of the superior kind of women.
The working women wore thick muslin white caps,
AN UNPROFITABLE CROP 113
under which, it was to be hoped, their hair was cut
short, though often it straggled out in unseemly
elf-locks, Married women did not go bareheaded,
not even the younger ladies, except in the evening,
when, like their maiden sisters, they wore coils of
their back hair round huge upright ornamental
combs on the summit of their heads.
But the children’s heads were deservedly pain
and grief to the Carbonel senses, and Mary was
impelled to go and make a speech in school,
desiring that no more curl-papers should appear
there on Sundays, and recommending that all
hair should be kept short, as her own and her
sister's had been, till the fit age for the “turning
up†was attained. She called up Susan Puckle-
church and Rachel Mole, who had nice smooth hair
neatly parted in the middle, and declared them to
be examples of the way that heads ought to appear.
That afternoon the women stood out at their
gates. “So the lady told you to take pattern by
Widdy Mole’s child, did her?†said Nanny Barton,
loud enough for all her neighbours to hear.
“Ay, mother, by Rachel Mole and Susie
Pucklechurch.â€
“As if I'd go out of my way to follow after a
mean creeper and low thing like Widow Mole,â€
exclaimed Mrs, Barton.
“She knows which way her bread is buttered !
A-making favourites!†exclaimed Nancy Morris.
H
114 THE CARBONELS
“Getting in to work in the garding away from
Farmer Goodenough, as her man had worked for
for years, ay, and his before un,’ chimed in
Nanny Barton.
“And if you could see the platefuls and cup-
fuls as the ladies carries out to her,†added Betsy
Seddon. “My word and honour! No wonder
she is getting lively enough just to bust some day.â€
“That’s the way she comes over them,†said
Nanny Barton.
“That’s what them gentlefolks likes, and Bessy
Mole she knows it,†observed Nancy Morris; at
which they all laughed shrilly.
“As though Id take pattern by her,†exclaimed
Nanny Barton. “Td liefer take pattern by Softy
Sam, or Goodenough’s old scarecrow.â€
“Whatever’s that?†demanded Tirzah, coming
out of the “Fox and Hounds.†“What have they
been after now?â€
“Just the lady’s been a preachin’ down at that
there school, how that she don’t want no curl-
papers there, and that all the poor children’s heads
is to be clipped like boys, and setting up that there
Rachel Mole’s bow]-dish of a poll to set the fashion.â€
“There! AsI telled you,†said Tirzah. “That’s
the way gentry always goes on if they gets their
way i
“They just hates.to see a curl or a bit of ribbon,â€
added Betsy Seddon.
AN UNPROFITABLE CROP 115
“Or to see one have a bit of pleasure,†added
Nancy Morris. “Pucklechurches and Mole, they
never durst send their poor children to the fair a
“ And to hear the lady run out agin’ me for just
having a drop of beer,†exclaimed Nanny Barton.
“Nothing warn’t bad enough for me! As if she
hadn't her wine and all the rest of it, and a poor
woman mayn’t touch one draught, if it is ever
â€
so
“Well, you know, Nan, you’d had a bit more
than enough,†said Tirzah.
“Well, and what call to that was hern or yourn?â€
cried Nancy, facing upon her.
“A pretty job I had to get you home that
night,†said Tirzah ; and they all laughed. “And
you wouldn’t be here now if Tom Postboy hadn’t
pulled up his horses in time.â€
“And was it for her to cast up to me if I was
a bit overtaken?†demanded Nanny.
It may be supposed that after such a conver-
sation as this there was not much chance of the
bowl-dish setting the fashion. There was not the
same ill-temper and jealousy of Susan Puckle-
church being held up as an example, for her family
were the natural hangers-on of Greenhow, and
were, besides, always neater and better dressed
than the others; but Mrs. Mole was even poorer
than themselves, and had worked with them, even
while “keeping herself to herself,†a great offence
116 THE CARBONELS
in their eyes. Thus nobody was inclined to follow
the clipped fashion, except one or two meeker
women, who had scarcely seen that their girls’
hair was getting beyond bounds. It is to be
remembered that seventy years ago, long hair could
hardly be kept in respectable trim by busy mothers
working in the fields, and with much less power of
getting brushes and combs than at present ; so
that the crops were almost the only means of
securing cleanliness and tidiness, and were worn
also by all the little daughters of such gentry as did
not care for fashion, nor for making them sleep on
ating of lumps as big as walnuts. So that Mrs.
Carbonel and her sisters really wished for what
was wholesome and proper when they tried to
make the children conform to their rules, if the
women could only have seen it so, instead of
resenting the interference.
Sunday brought George Hewlett’s two girls with
their hair fastened up in womanly guise, and their
cousins becurled as before ; but there was nothing
particularly untidy, and Mary held her peace.
However, the war was not over, and one day,
when, after a short absence, Dora and Sophy went
into the school, they found five or six girls bristling
with twists of old newspapers, and others in a still
more objectionable condition, with wild unkempt
hair about their necks, and the half-dozen really
neat ones were on the form around Mrs. Thorpe,
AN UNPROFITABLE CROP 117
who proceeded to tell Dora that she was quite in
despair, the more she spoke to the girls about tidy
heads, the worse they were, and she was really
afraid to let her own children or the clean ones sit
near the dirty ones.
Dora’s spirit was roused. “ Very well,†she said,
“Mrs, Carbonel and I will not be disobeyed.
Come here, Lizzie Barton. Your head is dis- —
graceful. Lend me your scissors, Mrs. Thorpe.â€
Lizzie Barton began to cry, with her knuckles in
her eyes, and would not stir ; but Dora was resolute.
One child made a rush for the door; but Dora
desired Sophy to stand by the door and bar the
passage, and called Mrs. Thorpe to hold Lizzie
Barton, who certainly was a spectacle, with half-a-
dozen horns twisted out of old advertisement
papers, but the rest of her hair flying in disgusting
elf-locks. She was cowed, however, into standing
quiet, till her appendages had been sheared off by
the determined scissors. “There, I am sure you
must be much more comfortable,†Dora assured
her. “Get your mother to wash your head, and you
will look so nice to-morrow. Now then, Betsy
Hewlett.â€
Betsy cried, but submitted ; but the next victim,
Sally French, howled and fought, and said,
“Mammy would not have it done.†But Dora
sternly answered, “Then she should keep your
head fit to be seen.†And Mrs. Thorpe held
118 THE CARBONELS
down her hands, with whispers of “Now, my dear,
don’t.â€
And so it went on through nineteen girls, the
boys sniggering all the time. Some cried and
struggled, but latterly they felt it was their fate,
and resisted no longer. Even Mary Cox, who had
a curly head by nature, stood still to be clipped.
Dora’s hands were in a dreadful state, and her
mind began to quail a little; but, having once
started, she felt bound to go on and complete her
work, and when she finally dismissed the school,
there was a very undesirable heap of locks, brown,
black, and carroty, interspersed with curl-papers,
on the floor. The girls looked, to her mind, far
better, and Mrs. Thorpe, a little doubtful, gave her
a basin of water to wash her hands.
Home the two sisters went, their spirits rising as
they laughed over their great achievement, and
looked forward to amusing Mary with the account
of the various behaviour of the victims.
So they burst upon her, as she was planting
bulbs in the garden, and Edmund helping her by
measuring distances.
“Oh, Mary, such fun!†cried Sophy. “We
have been cutting all the children’s hair.â€
“What do you mean, Sophy ?â€
“They had their heads worse than ever,†said
Dora, “so I took Mrs, Thorpe’s scissors and clipped
them all round.â€
AN UNPROFITABLE CROP 119
“My dear Dora, I wish you had not been so
hasty,†Mary was gently saying ; but Edmund was
standing up, looking quite judicial.
“Did you get their parents’ permission?†he
demanded.
“No, of course I never should.â€
“Then what right had you to meddle with the
children ?â€
“They were quite horrid. My hands! They'll
never recover,†said Dora, spreading out her fingers.
“Very likely; but the children were not your
slaves. You have a perfect right to forbid them to
enter your school except on certain conditions, but
not to tyrannize over them when there. You have
done more harm than you will undo in a hurry.â€
“Tam afraid so,†murmured Mary.
Dora had a temper, and answered angrily,
“ Well, I’m sure I did it for the best.â€
“T don’t approve of opinionative young ladies,â€
said Edmund, who was really from old habit quite
like an elder brother.
“Oh, Dora,†sighed Mary, “don’t!â€
Dora felt impelled to argue the matter out on
the spot, but something in Mary’s look withheld
her. She went away, stepping high and feeling
stately and proud ; but when she had walked up and
down her own room a few times, her better sense
began to revive, and she saw that she had acted in
anger and self-will quite as much as from a sense of
120 THE CARBONELS
propriety, and she threw herself on her bed and
shed some bitter tears.
They would have been still more bitter if she
could have heard the exclamations of the mothers
over their gates that evening.
“Well, to be sure, that a young lady should have
treated my poor maid like that!â€
“Her father says, says he, ‘I’ll have the law of
she.â€
“ My Jenny, she come home looking like a poor
mad woman. ‘Whatever has thee been arter?’
says I. ‘’Tis the lady,’ says she.â€
“Lady! She ought to be ashamed on herself, a
making such Betties of the poor children.â€
“Ah! didn’t I tell you,†gibed Tirzah, “what
would come of making up to the gentlefolk, with
their soft words and such. They only want to
have their will of you, just like the blackamoors.â€
“You'll not find me a sending my Liz and Nan,â€
cried Mrs. Morris, “no, not if her was to offer me a
hundred goulden guineas,â€
“T don’t let my gal go to be made into a guy!â€
was the general sentiment ; and Mrs. Verdon, in
her bed, intensified it by warning her neighbours
that the cropping their heads was “a preparation
for sending them out to them foreign parts where
they has slaves.â€
And on Sunday, there were only ten of the
female pupils at school,and poor Dora and Sophia
AN UNPROFITABLE CROP 121
both cried all church time. They thought their
hasty measures had condemned their poor girls to
be heathens and good-for-nothings for ever and ever.
Tirzah Todd laughed at them all. The Todds
had gipsy connections; Todd himself was hardly
ever visible. He was never chargeable to the
parish, but he never did regular work except at
hay and harvest times, or when he was cutting
copsewood. Then old Pucklechurch’s brother,
Master Pucklechurch of Downhill, who always
managed the copse cutting, used to hire him,
and they and another man lived in a kind of
wigwam made of chips, and cut down the seven
years’ growth of underwood, dividing it into pea-
sticks from the tops, and splitting the thicker parts
to be woven into hurdles, or made into hoops for
barrels. They had a little fire, but their wives
brought them their food, and little Hoglah, now
quite well only with a scarred neck, delighted to
toddle about among the chips, and cry out, “ Pitty!
pitty!†at the primroses.
Copse cutting over, Joe Todd haunted fairs and
drove cattle home, or did anything he could pick
up. He lived ina mud hovel which he and Tirzah
had built for themselves on the border land, and
where they kept a tall, thin, smooth-haired dog, with
a grey coat, a white waistcoat, a long nose and tail,
and blue eyes, which gave him a peculiarly sinister
expression of countenance, and he had a habit of
122 THE CARBONELS
leaping up and planting his fore feet on the gate,
growling, so that Dora and Sophy were very much
afraid of him, and no one except Mr. Harford had
ever attempted to effect an entrance into the
cottage. It was pretty well understood that Joe
Todd and his lurcher carried on a business as
poachers, and Tirzah going about with clothes’-pegs,
rush baskets, birch brooms, and in their season with
blackberries, whortleberries, or plovers’ eggs, was
able to dispose of their game to the poulterers at
Minsterham, with whom she had an understanding.
Her smiling black eyes, white teeth,and merry looks,
caused a great deal of business to be done through
her, and servants were not unwilling to carry in
her stories about rabbits knocked down unawares
by a stick, and pheasants or partridges killed by
chance in reaping. Indeed, she had a little trade
in dripping and other scraps with sundry of these
servants, which rendered them the more disposed
to receive her.
ANA
Cater Resxatel
PRIZES
‘* Miss Jenny and Polly
IIad each a new dolly,
With rosy red cheeks and blue eyes,
Dressed in ribbons and gauze ;
And they quarrelled because
The dolls were not both of a size.â€
The Daisy.
OBODY offered a hundred golden guineas
to bring Elizabeth and Anne Morris to
school, nevertheless they appeared there
at the end of the second week. They were
heartily tired of home, where there was washing
to be done, and their eldest sister Patty banged
them about, and they had no peace from the
great heavy baby. Besides, there had been a talk
of prizes at Christmas, and they weren’t going to
let them Moles and Pucklechurches get the whole
of them. Moreover, others were going back, so
why should not they ?
Yes, Nanny Barton’s children “did terrify her
eu
WRC HE
oo
oreo
124 THE CARBONELS
so, she had no peace.†And Betsy Seddon’s Janie
had torn her frock as there was no bearing, and
even the Dan Hewletts were going back. Little
Judy had cried to go, and her Aunt Judith had
trimmed up the heads of her sisters, for Dora
Carbonel had not been a first-rate hair-cutter, and
it was nearly the same with every one, except the
desperate truant, Ben Shales, and the cobbler’s
little curly girl, who was sent all the way to
Downhill to Miss Minifer’s genteel academy,
where she learnt bead-work and very little
besides.
The affair seemed to have done less harm than
Captain Carbonel had expected, yet, on the other
hand, the motives that brought most of the
scholars back were not any real desire for im-
provement, but rather the desire of being inte-
rested, and the hope of rewards. It would take a
long time to make the generality of the people
regard “they Gobblealls†as anything but curious
kind of creatures to be humoured for the sake of
what could be got out of them.
Of the positive love of God and their neighbour,
and the strong sense of duty that actuated them,
few of the Uphill inhabitants had the least
notion. It would be much to say that if these
motives were always present with Edmund and
Mary, it was so in the same degree with Dora and
Sophy ; but to them the school children were the
PRIZES 128
great interest, occupation, and delight, and their
real affection and sympathy, so far as they under-
stood, were having théir effect.
They were hard at work at those same prizes,
which filled almost as much of their minds as
they could those of the expectant recipients, and
occupied their fingers a good deal. And, after all,
what would the modern scholar think of those
same prizes? The prime ones of all, the Bible
and Prayer-book, were of course, in themselves as
precious then as now, but each was bound in the
very plainest of dark-brown calf, though, to tell
the truth, far stronger than their successors, and
with the leaves much better sewn in. There was
only one of each of these, for Susan Pucklechurch
and Johnnie Hewlett, who were by far the fore-
most scholars in the Sunday School.
Then followed two New Testaments and two
Psalters, equally brown, for the next degree.
Sophy had begged for stories, but none were to be
had within the appointed sum, except Hannah
More’s Cheap Repository Tracts, really interesting,
but sent forth without wrappers in their native
black and white. Then there was a manufacture
by the busy fingers, frocks made of remnants of
linsey and print, of sun bonnets of pink or blue
spotted calico, of pinafores, and round capes, the
least of all these being the list tippet, made of the
listing of flannel, sewn on either in rays upon a
126 THE CARBONELS
lining, or in continued rows from the neck, leaving
rather the effect of a shell. There were pin-
cushions, housewives, and work-bags too, and
pictured pocket-handkerchiefs, and Sophy would
not be denied a few worsted balls for the very
small boys, and sixpennyworth of wooden dolls
for the lesser girls, creatures with painted faces,
and rolls of linen for arms, nailed on to bodies
that ended in a point, but all deficiencies were
concealed by the gay print petticoats which she
constructed, and as neither toys, nor the means of
buying them were plentiful, these would be grand
rewards.
The Christmas-tree had not yet begun to
spring in England, magic lanterns were tiny things
only seen in private, and even such festivities as
the tea had not dawned on the scholastic mind.
So, on the afternoon of Christmas Day, all the
children were assembled in school before Mr.
Harford, the ladies, and the schoolmistress,
while the table was loaded with books and
garments, and beside it stood a great flasket
brimming over with substantial currant buns,
gazed on eagerly by the little things, some of
whom had even had a scanty Christmas dinner.
Such a spectacle had never been seen. before
in Uphill, and their hungry eyes devoured it
beforehand.
Mr. Harford made them a short speech about
PRIZES 127
goodness, steadiness, and diligence, and then the
distribution began with the two prime Sunday
scholars, and went on in due order of merit,
through all degrees, down to the mites who had
the painted dolls, and figured handkerchiefs with
fEsop’s fables in pink or in purple, and then
followed the distribution of buns, stout plum buns,
no small treat to these ever hungry children, some
of whom were nibbling them before they were out
of school, while others, more praiseworthy, kept
them to share with “our baby †at home.
Johnnie Hewlett received a Bible, his sister
Polly a warm cape, Lizzie a petticoat, little Judy
a doll, but on the very last Sunday, Jem, always a
black sheep, had been detected in kicking Jenny
Morris at church over a screw of peppermint drops
which they had clubbed together to purchase
from Goody Spurrell. The scent and Jenny’s
sobs had betrayed them in the thick of the combat,
‘and in the face of so recent and so flagrant a
misdemeanour, neither combatant could be al-
lowed a prize, though the buns were presented to
them through Mary’s softness of heart.
These stayed the tears for the moment, but a
fresh shower was pumped up by Jem for the
sympathetic reception of his mother. “It was a
shame! it was; but they ladies always had a
spite at the poor little lad. He should have some
nice bull’s-eyes to make up to him, that he should!
128 THE CARBONELS
What call had they to be at him when it was all
along of that there nasty little Jenny.â€
Nevertheless, at the gate she shared her wrath
with Jenny’s mother. What call had they to want
to make the poor children to be like parsons
at church? Jem shouldn’t be there no more, she
could tell them.
Then Nanny Barton chimed in. “ And look what
they did give! Just a twopenny-halfpenny hand-
kercher that her Tom would be ashamed to wear!â€
He wasn’t, for it was thick and warm, and had
been chosen because his poor little neck looked
so blue. But Molly went on. “ Ladies did ought
to know what became ’em to give. There was
my Lady Duchess, she gave ’em all scarlet cloaks,
and stuff frocks, as there was some warmth in.
That was worth having—given to all alike! No
talk of prizes, for what I’d not demean myself to
pick up out of the gutter.
“And look at mine,†proceeded Molly. “My
Johnnie’s got a Bible, as if there wasn’t another
in the house, let alone Judith’s. His father, he
did say he’d pawn it; but Johnnie he cried, and
Judith made a work, and hid it for him. But his
father, he says he wouldn’t have Johnnie made
religious, not for nothing—Judith she’s quite bad
enough.
“Oh! our Polly—she got a little skimping
cape, what don’t come down to her poor little
PRIZES 129
elbows. If I went for to be a lady, I’d be ashamed
to give the like of that.â€
Happily every one did not receive the gifts in
this spirit. There was much rejoicing over the
Testament, frock, and Psalter of the little Moles,
and their grandfather observed, “ Well, you did
ought to be good children, there were no such
encouragements when I was young.â€
“Except your big old Bible, granfer,†put in
Bessy.
“That was give me by our old parson when me
and your granny was married. Ay, he did cate-
chise we in church when we was children, but we
never got nothing for it.â€
“Only the knowing it, father, and that you have
sent on to us,†put in the widow.
“Ay, and that’s the thing!†said the old man,
very gravely,
CHAPTER XIII
AGAINST THE GRAIN
* And shall the heirs of sinful blood
Find joy unmixed in charity ?â€
KEBLE.
HESE first beginnings were really hard
work, and there was a great amount of
unpopularity to be encountered, for the
people of Uphill were so utterly unused to kind-
ness that they could not believe that anything was
done for them from disinterested motives. Captain
Carbonel took great trouble to set up a coal club,
persuading the President of, St. Cyril’s and the
neighbouring landowners to subscribe, and the
farmers to fetch the coal on the plea that to
have fuel on low terms would save the woods
and hedges from destruction. Tirzah especially,
and half-a-dozen women besides were to be met
with great faggots of limbs of trees on their backs
from Mr. Selby’s woods, and the keepers were held
to wink at it, for, in truth, the want of fuel was
AGAINST THE GRAIN 131
terrible. Mr. Selby talked of withholding his
yearly contribution of blankets, because the people
were so ungrateful. “As if it would do them any
good to make them colder,†cried Dora.
So at last it was arranged that one of the barns
should be filled with coal, and Captain Carbonel
and Mr. Harford, with old Pucklechurch, were to
see it served out at sixpence a bushel every
Monday morning. And then, Pucklechurch re-
ported that the people said, “Depend on it, the
captain made a good thing of it.†So, when he
divided one of his fields into allotment gardens,
for those who had portions too scanty for the
growth of their potatoes, though he let them off
at a rate which brought in rent below the price
of land in the parish, the men were ready enough
to hire them, but they followed Dan Hewlett’s
lead in believing that “that Gobbleall knowed
what he was about, and made a good thing of itâ€;
while the farmers, like Mr. Goodenough, were much
displeased, declaring that the allotments would
only serve as an excuse for pilfering. Truly, what-
ever good was attempted in Uphill, had to be
done against the stream, for nobody seemed to
be on the side of the Carbonels except Mr.
Harford, and a few of the poor, such as the old
~Pucklechurches, Widow Mole and her father, the
George Hewletts, and poor Judith Grey, besides
all the better children, who were easily won.
132 THE CARBONELS
It made the more difficulty that though Captain
Carbonel was a patient man in deed, did not set
his expectations too high, and bore, in fact, with
an amazing amount of disappointment and mis-
understanding ; yet he was not patient in word,
and was apt to speak very sharply when indig-
nant with cruelty, shuffling, or what was more
unlucky, with stupidity. The men used to declare
that he swore at them, which was perfectly untrue,
for a profane word never crossed his lips, but
when he was very angry, he spoke in a tone that
perhaps might excuse them for thinking that his
reproofs were flavoured as had been the abuse to
which they were only too well accustomed.
The tormentors of poor Softy Sam always slunk
out of reach at the most distant report of the
approach of the captain, the curate, or the ladies,
but the men never understood their objections to
the sport that had hitherto been freely afforded by
the idiot, and had a general idea that the gentle-
folk disliked whatever afforded them amusement.
George Hewlett, indeed, knew better ; but then
he had never joined in baiting Softy Sam, and,
indeed, had more than once sheltered him from
his enemies, and given him a bit of food. But
George in his own line was dull and unapt to
learn; or the whole adventure of the Greenhow
drawing-room paper would never have happened.
He might have had it put up wrongly, for that
AGAINST THE GRAIN 133
was wholly the defect of his perceptions, but Dan
would not have been able to secure his unlawful
gains. In fact, Dan had traded on his cousin’s
honest straightforward blindness and stupidity a
good many times already.
Captain Carbonel stormed at George when he
failed to understand directions, or cut a bit of
wood to waste; but without loss of confidence,
and before long, Master Hewlett came to accept
it as the captain’s way, and to trust him as a really
kind and liberal employer. And, unluckily, he did
not always heed the rating so loudly given, or
rather he did not set his mind to comprehend
what lay a little out of his usual beat, and thus
gave additional provocation, though still Captain
Carbonel bore with him, and would not have re-
jected him in favour of the far smarter carpenter
at Downhill, on any of these provocations.
Dan, who was a much sharper fellow, could have
helped a great deal, but his back was up at the
first word, and he would do nothing but sulk.
Moreover, George himself detected him doing
away with. some wood out of that which was to
make Farmer Goodenough’s farm gates, under
colour that it was a remnant only fit for firewood.
Having already announced that he would never
again employ his cousin after another of these pecu-
lations, he kept to his word, and in spite of Molly’s
tears and abuse, and Dan’s deeper objurgations, he
134 THE CARBONELS
persisted. Daniel tried to get work at Downhill,
but all the time declared that them Gobblealls was
at the bottom of it, having a spite at him.
Just at this time Captain Carbonel was driving
the phaeton, with his wife in it, home from Elchester ;
when, just as they were passing Todd’s house, a
terrible scream was heard. Shrieks that did not
mean naughtiness but agony; and a flame was
visible within the door. In one moment the
captain was over the wicket, past the lurcher,
dragging with him his great old military cloak,
which had been over Mary’s knees. Another
second, and he had wrapped little Hoglah in it
from top to toe, stifling the flames by throwing
her down and holding her tight, while her mother
came flying in from the garden ; and Mary, throw-
ing the reins of the horse to the servant, hurried
in.
Tirzah was screaming andsobbing. “ My child!
My dear! Oh, Hoggie! Hoggie! Is she dead!
Oh!â€
“No, no; I think not,†said the captain. And,
indeed, no sooner did he begin to unroll her than
cries broke out, very sufficient answer as to the
child’s being alive, and as her mother vehemently
clasped her they grew more agonizing.
“Let me see how much she is burnt,†said Mrs.
Carbonel. “You had better not squeeze her. It
makes it worse.â€
AGAINST THE GRAIN 135
The child’s poor little neck and bosom proved
to have been sadly burnt. Her mother had been
heating the oven, and had gone out to fetch fresh
faggots, when the little one, trying in baby-fashion
to imitate the proceedings, had set her pinafore on
firee Many more children were thus destroyed
than now, when they do not wear so much cotton,
nor such long frocks and pinafores.
Poor little Hoglah screamed and moaned terribly,
and the thought of her being unbaptized came
with a shock across Mrs. Carbonel. However, she
did not think the injuries looked fatal, and speak-
ing gently to soothe the mother, as she saw the
preparations for baking, she said, “I think we can
give her a little ease, my dear, my dear.â€
Tirzah was sobbing, screaming, and calling on
her dear child, quite helpless at the moment, while
Mary took the moaning child. Captain Carbonel,
with his own knife (finding it more effective than
the blunt old knife on the table), cut off the remains
of the little garments which had become tinder,
and then handed his wife the flour in a sort of
scoop, and as she sprinkled it over the burnt
surface, the shrieks and moans abated and
gradually died away, the child muttered, “ Nice,
nice,†and another word or two, which her mother
understood as asking for something to drink.
Beer, to Mary’s dismay, was the only thing at
hand, but after a sup of that, the little thing’s
136 THE CARBONELS
black eyes closed, and she said something of
“Mammy,†and “Bye, bye.†The great old cradle
stood by, still used, though the child was three
years old, and Mrs. Carbonel laid her carefully
in it.
“JT think she will get well,’ said she to the
mother, “only you must not let the flour be dis-
turbed on any account. She had arranged hand-
kerchiefs, her own, and a red one of Tirzah’s, to
cover the dressing. “I will send you some milk,
and don’t let the coverings be disturbed. Let
her lie; only give her milk when she wants it,
and I will come to see her to-morrow.â€
Tirzah was sobbing quietly now, but she got
out a choked question as to whether the child
could get well.
“Oh yes; no fear of that, if you let the flour
alone, as Mrs. Carbonel tells you,†said the captain.
“Oh, oh! if it wasn’t for you——†the mother
began.
But Edmund wanted to get his wife away before
there was a scene, and cut it short with, “There,
there! We'll come again. Only let her alone,
and don’t meddle with the flour.â€
Tirzah did what no native of Uphill would have
thought of. She clasped Mrs. Carbonel’s hand,
threw herself on her knees, and kissed it.
“ Thank God, not me,†said Mary, much moved.
“But you will give her to God now, and let her
AGAINST THE GRAIN 137
be baptized. I think she will live, but it ought to
be as God’s child.â€
When the curate came in a little later, to hear
how the child was, Tirzah allowed him to baptize
her privately. It might partly have been the
dread of missing the Burial Service, but far more
because in this present mood she was ready to
do anything for madam.
Even when the neighbours thronged in, and
Mrs. Spurrell wanted to take the child up, pull off
the flour, and anoint her with oil and spirit, she
would not hear of it.
“They as saved her shall have their will of her,â€
said she,
“Saved her! She'll sleep herself off to death!
What’s the good of simple stuff like that, with no
sting nor bite in it?†said Nanny Barton.
“Ay,†said Mrs. Spurrell, “this ile as my great-
aunt gave me, as they said was a white witch, with
all her charrums, is right sovereign! Why, I did
Jenny Truman’s Sally with it when her arm was
burnt.â€
“ Ay, and you could hear her holler all over the
place,†said Tirzah ; “and she’ve no use of her arm,
poor maid! No, you shan’t touch my child no
how.â€
Tirzah kept her word, and Mrs, Carbonel came
every day and doctored the child, and Sophy
brought her a doll, which kept her peaceful for
138 THE CARBONELS
hours. The lurcher never barked at them, but
seemed to understand their mission. And a
wonderful old gipsy grandmother of Tirzah’s, with
eyes like needles and cheeks like brown leather,
came and muttered charms over the child, and
believed her cure was owing to them ; but she left
a most beautiful basket, white and purple, for a
present to the lady.
CHAPTER XIV
AN OFFER REJECTED
‘*Oft in Life’s stillest shade reclining
In desolation unrepining,
Without a hope on earth to find
A mirror in an answering mind,
Meek souls there are who little deem
Their daily strife an angel’s theme.â€
KEBLE.
| N the spring Dora was invited to spend a
few weeks with an old family friend in
London, where there were daughters who
had always been her holiday friends, and with
whom she exchanged letters, on big square pages
of paper, filled to the very utmost with small .
delicate handwriting, crossed over so that they
looked like chequer-work, and going into all the
flaps and round the seal. They did not come
above once in a month or six weeks, and con-
tained descriptions of what the damsels had seen,
thought, heard, read, or felt; so that they were
often really worth the eightpence that had to be
paid on their reception.
140 THE CARBONELS
Edmund, who had business in London, took his
sister-in-law there, driving old Major to the cross-
roads, where they met the stage-coach. He went
outside, on the box-seat, and she in the dull and
close-packed interior, where four persons and one
small child had to make the best of their quarters
for the six hours that the journey lasted. Tired,
headachy, and dusty with March dust, at last Dora
emerged, and was very glad to rattle through the
London streets ina hackney coach to Mr. Elwood’s
tall house, where there was a warm welcome ready
for her.
But we need not hear of the pictures she saw,
nor the music she heard, nor the plays she en-
joyed, nor the parties she went to during that
thorough holiday—though perhaps some would
not call it a holiday, since the morning was spent
in lessons in music, drawing, and Italian, in prac-
tising these same lessons, and in reading history
aloud—the reading of some lighter book being
an evening pleasure when the family were alone.
Dora would not have enjoyed it half so much if it
had not been for the times of real solid thought
and interest. Her friends, too, had some poems
still in manuscript lent to them, which made an
immense impression on the young souls, and which
they all learnt and discussed on Sundays, trying
to enter into their meaning, and insensibly getting
moulded by them. They were the poems that
AN OFFER REYECTED 14
Dora knew a few years later as the “ Christian
Year.†They made her home-work still dearer
to her, and she had never let her interest fade
among all her pleasures, but she was accumulating
little gifts for the children, for Betty Pucklechurch,
Widow Mole, Judith Grey, and the rest.
One day, when some intimate friends of the
Elwoods were spending the day with them, some-
thing was said about Dora’s home; and one
of the visitors exclaimed, “Uphill—Uphill, near
Poppleby,—is that the place?â€
SoVieS ha
“Then I wonder whether you can tell me any-
thing about our dear old nursery maid, Judith Grey.â€
“Judith Grey! Oh yes! She is the very nicest
person in all Uphill,†cried Dora. “Is it your
father that gives her a pension?â€
“Yes. You know it was while carrying little
Selina downstairs, that she put her foot into the
string of James’s humming-top, and tumbled down
all the stone stairs. She managed to save Selina
—dear old Judy !—but she hurt her back most
dreadfully, and she can’t ever be well again, so
papa gives her an allowance. She writes cheer-
fully, but we should like to hear more about her.
We all were so fond of her.â€
“Indeed, I don’t wonder. She is so good and
patient. Such a dear thing! Mary and I call
her the bright spot in our parish.â€
142 THE CARBONELS
“ She lives with a sister, I think. Is she nice?â€
Dora had her opportunity, and she painted Dan
Hewlett and his household in no flattering colours,
Molly was a slattern, and Dan was a thief, and
the children ate up Judith’s dainties, and they all
preyed upon her. It was a perfectly horrid life
for a good, well-trained, high-principled person to
lead. In fact, she poured out all the indignant
accusations that she and Mary had been wont to
make between themselves or to Edmund; and she
sent Caroline and Anne Barnard home greatly
shocked at what she had told them of their dear
Judy’s surroundings.
Mrs. Barnard came the next day, and begged to
hear Miss Carbonel’s account. Dora was a little
more moderate than she had been to the young
ladies ; but, any way, it was sad enough, and Mrs.
Barnard gave hopes that something should be
done. All the family sent little presents of books
or articles of dress, and Dora promised to write
and let her know of their reception.
It was one of the great pleasures of the return
to spread them out before Judith, and to tell of
her sight of the dear young ladies and their
mother, and how tall, and what a fine girl little
Miss Selina had become. But she did not seem
quite so happy when she perceived that Dora had
disclosed a good deal of her circumstances ; and
observed that her sister was always a good sister
AN OFFER REFECTED 143
to her. Which Dora took leave to doubt, espe-
cially when she recognized Miss Barnard’s pretty
gift of a blue turnover, all on one side, upon young
Polly’s dirty shoulders. Judith waited, and hoped,
and gave up hope, and found fault with the Bar-
nards before she heard anything; but at last she
did. The Barnards’ old housekeeper, with whom
Judith had lived, had married their head gardener.
He had died, and she was settled in a cottage
in the park, where she would be very happy to
receive Judith, and make her comfortable. The
place was only thirty miles off, and if she con-
sented, Mrs. Barnard would pay a visit she had
been asked to make to the Duchess, and take
Judith back in the easy carriage, so as to spare
her all fatigue.
Dora and Sophy were in a state of transport,
and wanted to rush off at once with the good
news, but Mary withheld them. She thought it
might be too much for so frail an invalid, and
insisted on going with them and telling Judith
herself. Nor would she go till after Sophy’s morn-
ing studies were over, and they had had luncheon,
which, by-the-by, was not an early dinner, but a
slender meal of cold meat, cake, or bread and
cheese, of which Edmund never partook at all.
She devised this delay on purpose to wear down
the excitement, and Dora had begun to say how
they should miss Judith, only it was all for her good.
144 THE CARBONELS
Molly was out, as the sisters hoped, tossing the
meadow hay, and Judith sat alone by the fire.
Mary told her very gently of the scheme, and she
kept on saying, “Thank you, ma’am,†while the
tears came into her eyes. Mrs. Carbonel gave her
Mrs. Barnard’s letter to read, but the tears came
so thick and fast that she could not see it at first,
nor indeed fully grasp the meaning, while two
pairs of eyes were devouring her countenance as
she read. Mrs. Carbonel guessed how it was, and
saw that the transports which Dora and Sophy
expected were not by any means near, so she
gently said, “ We will leave you to read the letter,
and come again to-morrow to hear what you
think.â€
“Thank you, ma’am; thank you,’
Judith, as well as she could among her tears.
“How stupid she is!†cried Sophy, as they
emerged into the road.
“I don't believe she could read Mrs, Barnard’s
letter,†said Dora.
“No, not for tears,†said Mary.
“Do you think she could have understood you?â€
added Sophy.
“Oh, yes; she understood well enough.â€
“But how could she be so dull as not to be
delighted?†said Sophy.
“So ungrateful, too!†added Dora.
“My dear Dora! It was the embarrassment of
d
said poor
AN OFFER REFECTED 145
her gratitude that touched me so much,†exclaimed
Mary.
“Do you really think she will not be enchanted
to get away from that dismal hole, and live with
honest people ?†asked Sophy.
“ My dears, I think you have quite forgotten that
Mrs, Dan Hewlett is her sister.â€
“Nobody would think so,†said Dora.
“Tf she could only take Johnnie and Judy away
with her,’ said Sophy, “before their father has
spoiled them.â€
“You can’t think she would refuse such an
offer!†added Dora. “To be with a good, nice
woman, and at peace among her friends. It really
would be quite wicked in her to refuse.â€
Nevertheless, Mary withstood all the entreaties
of her sisters to go with her to hear Judith’s
decision. Edmund heard them persuading her,
and in his peremptory manner desired them to
desist. So they hovered about the garden and
home-field waiting for news.
But the news was not what they expected. Mrs.
Carbonel found Judith very tearful, but resolute.
“T could not do it, ma’am! Iam sorry, sorry to
the heart, to seem ungrateful for her kindness ;
but, indeed, I could not do it. I cannot leave my
sister and the children.â€
“You would be so much more comfortable—so
much better looked after.â€
K
146 THE CARBONELS
“Yes, ma’am, I know that. Mrs. Gregg is one
of the best of women, and so kind. It is very good
of her to be willing to take me in; but-—-—â€
“You need not be afraid of the journey. Mrs.
Barnard will come for you.â€
“Oh yes, ma’am, I know; but there’s my sister,
ma’am, and her children. I could not leave
them.â€
“T was afraid they did not know how to take
care of you, and that your brother-in-law was
rough with you.â€
“My sister have been much better of late, since
you have been here, ma’am ; and the poor children,
ma’am, I can do something for them.â€
“T see that John and Judy seem to respond to
your care; but is it right to give up all your
comfort and peace, and even your health, for so
little as you are enabled to do for them? It would
be better if there were some appreciation of your
care, or some attention paid——â€
“Molly is generally good to me. Yes, she is,
ma’am ; and poor little Johnnie, there ain’t nothing
he would not do for me. I’m greatly obliged to
Mrs, Barnard and the dear young ladies. I would
dearly like to see them again; but Molly is my
sister, and my sister is my sister, and I can’t feel it
right to leave her.â€
‘I honour you, Judith. It is a right feeling,
But when they neglect you, and prey upon you,
AN OFFER REFECTED 147
can it be incumbent on you to give up all for their.
sakes ?â€
“T don’t know, ma’am; but my poor sister, she
has a hard life, and I think her husband would be
worse to her if I went away. I couldn’t have no
comfort in thinking of them if I did.â€
“Do they know of this? Have they been per-
suading you ?â€
“No, ma’am ; I did not say a word. Molly was
out, and I wanted to think it out without being
worried and terrified.â€
“Quite right, Judith, I am glad they do not
know,†said Mary, who had learned that “ terrified â€
did not mean frightened, but “tormented.†“I can
well believe you have decided in true unselfishness,
and in the fear of God. But if you see reason to
change your mind, let me know in the course of
the week.â€
Dora and Sophy were really quite angry at
Judith’s refusal, especially Dora, who had taken
all the trouble of representing her condition to the
Barnards.
“T should call it ungrateful,†she said, “only I
believe it is pure weakness and folly. Those
people have been bullying her and tormenting her
out of consenting.â€
“You are wrong, Dora,†said her sister, “they
know nothing about it! This is all her own doing.â€
“And,†said Edmund, “if you were older, Dora,
148 THE CARBONELS
you would know how to appreciate a very noble
act of self-denial.â€
Dora did not at all like Edmund to talk of her
being older; but what he had said gave her some-
thing to think about, and she began to reverence
the feeling that made Judith Grey choose the rough
and ungenial life with the Hewletts, to comfort and
sympathy with her friends.
Mrs. Carbonel and Judith were mistaken in
thinking the transaction could pass unknown to
the rest of the family. Polly was near at hand,
but had hidden herself, on the lady’s approach, for
fear of being called to account for not being at
school, and she reported to her mother that
“Madam Gobbleall had been ever so long with
aunt, a-trying to persuade her to go away, and
live with them fine folks as she was in service
with.â€
Molly had a certain real affection for her sister ;
but to both her and Dan, the removal would be
like the loss of the goose that laid the golden
eggs, and there is no saying what poor Judith had
to go through. Molly came and cried torrents of
tears, taking it for granted that Judith meant to
go, and must be frightened out of it. It was of
no use to declare that she had refused the lady.
Molly was so much in the habit of semi-deception,
that she could not believe the assurance; and to
hear her lamentations over her dear sister, for
AN OFFER REYECTED 149
whom no one could do like a blood-relation, and
her horror at the idea of strangers being preferred
to herself, one would have thought—as indeed she
believed herself —that she was Judith’s most
devoted and indefatigable nurse. And to think
of them Gobblealls being so sly, such snakes in
the grass, as to try to get her away, unknownst!
She would not have them prying about her house
again.
Dan declared it was all the cunning of them,
for fear Judith should become chargeable to the
parish, and there! her fine friends would die, or
give her up, or she would just be thrown on the
parish, and passed on to a strange workhouse, and
then she would see what she got by leaving her
kin. It was just like their sly tricks!
In point of fact, if Judith had become charge-
able to the parish, Dan’s remarks would have been
equally true of Uphill, whence she would have
been handed to the place where her father had
lived, and it was the object of every place to
dispose of all superfluous paupers. But Dan and
Molly wished her to imagine them willing to keep
her freely, in case of a failure of the supplies!
Poor thing! They really thought that their
opposition had induced her to drop the idea, and
that it was for their own ease, or the good of the
rates, that the Carbonel ladies had tried to per-
suade her to leave them. Molly did not forbid the
150 THE CARBONELS ‘
ladies the house—there was too much to be made
out of the pickings from their presents—so Judith
did not lose the cheerfulness and comfort they
brought her; but Dan laid up the proposal in his
mind as another cause of hatred and ill-will to
Captain Carbonel.
Seleere) Ses elelra
SE aaa Sela
CHAPTER XV
SCALES OF JUSTICE
“Thou hast appointed justices of peace to call poor men before
them for matters they were not able to answer.†SHAKESPEARE,
emi TIEN the Parable of the Wheat and the
‘1 ares was spoken, the Blessed and only
Wise foresaw the extreme difficulty of
rooting out the tares without injuring the wheat,
when the work is done by the ignorant or hasty
hands of the servants.
So it was at Uphill. Captain Carbonel was
made a county magistrate, and thus had more
power in his hands, and his most earnest wish and
prayer was to use it for the good of the parish.
But things were very difficult. At the vestry, the
farmers agreed with him that Barton and Morris
ought not to have additional parish relief, great
strong men as they were, who had both refused
extra hours of labour offered by farmers, of a kind
they did not like, and now demanded help on the
152 THE CARBONELS
score of their large families. In fact, it had become
the custom to demand relief for every fresh child
that was born, and the men were often idle in con-
sequence. There were men with many children
who had never come on the parish, because they
were trustworthy and sober, and their wives were
thrifty. Each magistrate could point to several of
these, and each knew how the small and struggling
ratepayers were oppressed. Nor could it be fair
that these men should be maintained in idleness or
dawdling at the expense of the hard-working small
shopkeepers.
Every gentleman on the bench who had weakly
yielded before, and had given an order to whoever
tramped over to ask for it, was very glad to have
some one who would speak out, and take the bur-
then of unpopularity. So the order was not given,
and Barton and Morris walked home disappointed,
but not till they had each taken a pint or two of
beer at the “ Blue Lionâ€â€™ on their way home, uttering
many curses on “that there Gobbleall.†Captain
Carbonel did not hear those same curses, but as he
rode home he saw the two men stagger out of the
“Blue Lion,†refreshed not only by their own pints,
but by those of sympathizers. And the sight did
not make him sorry for what he had done, knowing
well that George Hewlett, Cox the cobbler, and
Mrs. Holly, the widow with a small shop, were
almost borne down with the rates, and not seeing
SCALES OF $USTICE 153
why they should toil that Billy and Nanny Barton
should lounge and drink.
Billy Barton, however, did more. He joined an
expedition which Dan Hewlett was already or-
ganizing with Joe Todd, as much for revenge as
profit, to have a night of poaching in Mr. Selby’s
woods, in which there were a number of fine phea-
sants, not so many as at present where preserves
are strictly kept, but poaching was more profitable
in some ways, since in those days poulterers were
not allowed to sell game openly, but gave a higher
price to men who could contrive to convey it to
them, and then sold it at a great profit to preten-
tious people, who had no friends to give it to them,
but who wanted to show it at their dinner-parties,
Tirzah Todd, as usual, was the means of disposing
of most of these gains. Her lively ways made
poulterers and servants inclined to further her
dealings.
She was a great deal too sharp to carry any
save her lawful wares to Greenhow Farm; but in
the last year since the Carbonels had come, espe-
cially since the captain had been a magistrate, the
trade had been less prosperous and required more
caution. Once Captain Carbonel had found a wire
for a hare in his hedge, and had made it known
that he should prosecute any one whom he caught
out. He was no eager sportsman himself, but he
had a respect for the law.
154 THE CARBONELS
The poachers arranged a raid upon the Selby
woods, in which Joe Todd, Dan Hewlett, and Billy
Barton all took part. The first of these was too
sharp to be caught by the keepers. He had all
the litheness and cunning of his gipsy blood, and
was actually safe in the branches of a tree over-
head, while Dan, having put his foot into a rabbit-
hole, was seized by one keeper, with his gun and a
bag of spoil, and Billy Barton, in his bewilderment,
ran straight into the arms of another, with a phea-
sant’s tail poking up his short smock frock as it
stuck out of his pocket.
Of course Mr. Selby could not commit for an
offence against himself, so Hewlett and Barton
were hauled off to Captain Carbonel, while their
wives begged to see madam, and they were con-
ducted to the verandah, for the justice business was
going on in the large kitchen. No doubt they
expected, though Nanny had read no novels, that
the magistrate would sit enthroned in the most
public place in the house, that the women would
weep, that the ladies, with softened hearts, would
throw themselves before him, like Queen Philippa
at Calais, and beg off the victims. Of what could,
should, or ought to be done, they had no notion ;
and of course they were both in terrible distress,
Nanny crying passionately into her apron, and
protesting, whenever she could get voice between
her sobs, that if the good lady would get the good
P. 155
THEIR HUSBANDS,
PLEADING FOR MERC\ FOR
SCALES OF FUSTICE 155
gentleman to forgive him this time—he would
never, never do so no more. While Molly Hew-
lett, who had some remnants of old respectability
about her, was trying her utmost to induce Mrs.
Carbonel to intercede.
It was the first time. He was led toit. It was
for sport. He had never done it before. To be
sure madam would not let’em be hard on poor
Judith’s brother. No Hewlett—no, nor any Grey
—had ever been in prison before! He was just
drove to it, because that there George would give
him no work! She and her poor children would
have to come to the workhouse, and poor Judith!
Nanny, too, began to cry out about her poor children
and the parish.
Meanwhile Mrs. Carbonel had been trying to
get in a word to make them understand that the
matter did not rest with the captain, and that he
had no choice at all in the question but to commit
them to gaol to take their trial. He had no power
to let them off, and she could do nothing, though
she was sincerely sorry for the wives; but they
neither heard nor tried to hear, and as the cart was
driven up by Master Pucklechurch, the keeper,
and the constable Cox, to the back door for the
handcuffed prisoners, weeping and wailing of the
loudest arose, and the women darted round to
embrace their husbands, evidently expecting Mrs.
Carbonel to assure them that she would charge
156 THE CARBONELS
herself with the support of their families while
they were in prison.
She was so much distressed, and so pitiful, that
she was just going to do something of the kind,
but her husband’s gesture stopped her. Billy Bar-
ton howled more loudly than his wife, and, as
he could not raise his hands to his face, presented
a terrible spectacle, though the captain declared
there were no tears to be seen. Dan stood grim,
stolid, and impassive, and if he spoke at all, it
was in a muttered oath at the noise his wife was
making. It was a great relief when the cart was
driven off, followed by the two women, and
Captain Carbonel exclaimed—
“Poor creatures! That Barton is a fool, but
Mr. Dan is something worse.â€
“Oh, those poor women! Why would you not
let me speak, Edmund, and promise that they
should not starve?†.
“The parish will take care of that, Mary; you
need not be afraid.â€
“Tt sounds so hard-hearted,†said Dora and
Sophy to each other.
But Edmund did not prevent, nor wish to
prevent, their going to see Judith, nor taking
with them much more solid food than she was
in the habit of eating, Thick sandwiches and
lumps of cold pudding were likewise conveyed
to the Barton children at school, so that probably
SCALES OF YUSTICE 157
they fared much better than was their usual
habit.
Judith said she was sorry that Dan should go
for to do such a thing, but she was less indignant
than Dora expected, and she cried, though more
quietly than her sister, when he was sentenced to
three months’ imprisonment. It was to be said
for Molly Hewlett, that enough of her old training
remained about her to keep her a sober woman,
but Captain Carbonel saw Nanny Barton reeling
out of the “Blue Lion†on the day of the con-
viction, much the worse for the treatings she had
enjoyed by way of consolation.
If George Hewlett had any strong feelings
about his brother’s disaster, he did not communi-
cate them; he went about his work just as usual,
and whistled as much as ever. But he took
Johnnie, who was only eleven years old, into his
' workshop, and gave him eighteenpence a week
for doing what he could; and he turned out handy,
diligent, and trustworthy, so as to be fully worth
the money, and thus to stay on when his father
came out of prison.
Dan was much the same man as when he went
into gaol, save that his hatred to Captain Carbonel
had increased.
CHAPTER XVI
LINCH-PINS
“ And leave them laughing, Ho! Ho! Ho!â€
Robin Goodfellow,
SOTICE was sent from the Bishop of the
diocese that he was about to hold a
Confirmation at Poppleby in six weeks’
time. This was matter of rejoicing to Mr,
Harford, who had mourned over the very few
communicants. Before he came the Celebrations
had been only three times a year, and were
attended by most of the aged paupers. To the
joy of the Carbonels, the feast was monthly after
his coming; but the first time the aged people
were there, and all lingered, George Hewlett, the
clerk, said, when the curate looked to him for
information—
“The alms, sir. They be waiting for the money
in the plate.â€
LINCH-PINS 159
“Why, that is to be reserved for the sick and
distressed.â€
“Mr. Selby, he always give it out to them, and
so did Mr. Jones afore him, sir. They be all
expecting of it.â€
Mr. Harford thought that it might be best not
to disappoint the old people suddenly, so he
stood at the vestry door counting heads, and
numbering among them two whom he had already
been somewhat startled to see present themselves,
namely, Dame Spurrell, whom he had heard abus-
ing her neighbour with a torrent of foul words, and
who pretended to be a witch, and Tom Jarrold,
whom Hewlett had described to him as the
wickedest old chap in the parish.
He took counsel with the churchwardens,
Farmers Goodenough and Rawson, who both
agreed that they were a bad lot, who didn’t
deserve nothing, but it helped to keep down the
rates. Then he talked to Captain Carbonel, who,
being a reverent man, was dismayed at what he
heard.
“Just paying the old souls for coming in no fit
state,†he said.
“Then you advise me to change the system?â€
“You have no other choice,’ returned the
soldier. “Read out your standing orders, and
preach, if you will, explaining the matter.â€
This Mr. Harford did, but not by any means
160 THE CARBONELS
all the persons concerned were present, and he
afterwards went round among them explaining
that, though they were to be helped in any dis-
tress, and the alms would be kept for the purpose,
it was profane to give them out as a sort of pay-
ment to those who partook. Old Radford, Widow
Mole’s father, was the only person who seemed to
enter into the scruples.
“Yes, sir,†he said, “it went agin me to sim to
be paid for coming to the Lord’s Table, and I
wouldn’t ne’er ha’ done it, but a shilling is a
shilling to my poor daughter, and when I could get
to church, it was hard on her to miss the chance.â€
The next Celebration was only attended by the
Carbonels, old Mrs. Rawson, and Radford; nor at
the next ensuing Whitsuntide were the numbers
much increased. In spite of all that Mr. Harford
could preach, and say in private, the main body of
the parishioners would not listen to the invitation.
And the disaffected grumbled among themselves,
that he kept the money for himself, and no one
would never see the colour of it. There really
were only thirteen communicants in the parish
when these had seceded. And Mr. Harford looked
to the Confirmation to bring more intelligent and
devout worshippers, though the time for prepara-
tion was short.
He found that most people had been con-
firmed at Minsterham Cathedral, and there were
LINCH-PINS 161
reminiscences of great holidays, few and far
between, and no difficulty was made as to the
young people, up to twenty years old, being
nominated for Confirmation. There was some
disappointment that it should be only at Poppleby,
as furnishing so much less of a day’s pleasure ;
and when it was found that Mr. Harford expected
the candidates at regular classes and private
lectures, there were objections. Farm lads could
not be spared, maids in farmhouses still less.
“What should parson want to be always at ’em,â€
said Mrs. Goodenough. “Old Mr. Jones, he never
made no work with them.â€
However, she had two daughters to be con-
firmed, and the reigning “Lizzie†was allowed to
go as an escort to them. The elder lads, who were
really grown men, would not come at all, and could
never be found. “They wouldn’t be catechiz—not
they.†The Sunday scholars, male and female,
came pretty well, but not in large numbers, and
the age fixed for Confirmation was fifteen, so that
those who were fresh from teaching were not many.
Sophia Carbonel was a candidate, and very much
in earnest, but Mr. Harford preferred giving her
books to read and questions to answer in private,
as with most of the others he had to begin at the
very beginning. The Misses Goodenough knew
almost nothing—far less than Susan Pucklechurch
and Rachel Mole, who were the gems of the female
L
162 THE CARBONELS
class, as was Johnnie Hewlett of that of the youths.
The brightest of these was, however, in some
respects, Fred Allen, of the general shop. He had
been at school at Downhill, and could really read
and write better than Johnnie, and far better than
any one else ; for the chief scholars only made what
Betty Pucklechurch called “a sad hackering job of
un,†and most scarcely knew a letter, having for-
gotten whatever they might have learnt at Dame
Verdon’s before they went out bird-starving. Fred
Allen began by answering, when asked what was
done in Confirmation, “ Taking all your godfather’s
and godmother’s sins upon you, and becoming liable .
to be balloted for the militia!†It was a startling
view, and, as far as Mr. Harford could make out, it
was shared by most of the candidates; but, then,
they had very little notion of what sin meant, as, if
they had a general idea, it was plain that they did
not seriously expect to suffer for their sponsors’
sins after Confirmation, or that the sponsors suffered
for theirs previously.
The curate taught, questioned, explained, and
exhorted. Fred Allen knew little, but his wits were
sharper, and he took in Mr. Harford’s instructions
more readily, and remembered them better, while
apparently most of the other minds were, and re-
mained, a blank. Only he could not refrain from
causing horse-laughs outside, and making grins at
every opportunity.
LINCH-PINS 163
But, with much anxiety, and after many exhorta-
tions, Mr. Harford gave out his tickets. The girls
were to be conveyed—the most of them—in the
Greenhow waggon, driven by old Pucklechurch, the
boys to walk. Mr. Goodenough would drive his
daughters ; and Sophia, in her white dress and cap
(nobody wore a veil then), would be with her sisters
and brother in the chariot with post-horses. Captain
Carbonel and Mr. Harford went outside on the
box,
They had passed Downhill, and were getting on,
as well as their horses could, through the muddy
ground at the bottom, freshly stirred up by a
previous wet day. Before them was a steep, short
ascent, but at the bottom of this there was a sudden
stop. The captain put his head in at the window
and said, “ Only the cart—no harm,†and strode on
following Mr. Harford, while the ladies craned
their heads out, and Dora, exclaiming “An acci-
dent,†ran after him, and Mary only just withheld
Sophy, in consideration of her white dress, on the
post-boy’s assurance, with a scarcely suppressed
grin, “No harm done, ma’am. Only they lads,â€
For what the two gentlemen and the amused
post-boy had seen was this. The squadron of boys
had overtaken the cart full of girls, when, just as
the waggon had come to the pitch of the hill, all
the load of maidens were seen tumbling out at the
back, and as the horses of the chariot halted, the
164 THE CARBONELS
girls’ screams, mingled with the horse-laughter of the
boys, was plainly to be heard. Only Susan Puckle-
church, sitting on the front seat with her father,
remained in her place. The girls were giggling
and helping one another up, nearly all unhurt, but
some very angry, and Bessy Linwood was scolding
violently, Pucklechurch likewise in his most growl-
ing voice, “Ye young good-for-noughts! Ill lay
the cart whip about your idle, mischievous backs,â€
while the party of boys were still laughing, and
one voice was heard to shout, “ Rubbish shot here.’’
A peal of laughter followed, but was cut short by
Bessy Linwood’s, “ Here’s parson ; you'll catch it.â€
Then, at the top of her voice, “ Sir, ’tis them boys!
They’ve bin and pulled out the linch-pins and shot
us all down into the mud!â€
“Ts this so?†said the captain sternly, while
silence came down on the party, except for the
sobs of Jenny Hewlett, who had gone into a dirty
pool, and whom Rachel Mole and Betsy Seddon
were brushing down vigorously.
“ Quite true, sir,†returned Pucklechurch. “ They
young dogs got behind, and played the poor maids
this trick.â€
“Who did?†demanded Mr. Harford.
Bessy Linwood spoke up and said it was “all on
?em,†but she saw Fred Allen at it.
No doubt, the fun of the thing had been too
much for the boys, in their holiday mood of
LINCH-PINS 165
thoughtlessness, and they stood looking sheepish,
but Mr. Harford was very stern and sharp with
them.
“Lads, do you think that, if you could play such
a trick, you can be ina fit state to take solemn vows
upon you?â€
No one spoke up except Fred Allen. “We
didn’t do ’em no harm,†he said.
“No harm! To disturb all good thoughts in
their minds and your own, and drive out all serious
impressions by this mischievous trick! Now, will
any one come forward and say he is sorry ?â€
Mr. Harford waited, but no one stirred. He bade
the girls get in again, and Pucklechurch drive them
on. He waited again, but no one spoke. Indeed,
Allen and another big youth were seen making for
a gap in the hedge.
“Will no one say he is sorry for what was an
idle trick, but very wrong when you ought to be
thinking how you would be giving yourselves up to
God ?â€
They stood like stocks, and Captain Carbonel
said, “Has no one the grace to regret a very
improper and thoughtless action?â€
Still no one moved.
“Then,†said the clergyman, “there is no choice
left to me. It would be profanation to take
persons in such a mood to make vows, and kneel
to receive God’s grace, which they evidently make
166 THE CARBONELS
light of Whoever will not come and apologize
must go home.â€
There was no movement among the white round
frocks. Boys are like sheep: what one does, the
others do, and few are to be found to stand alone.
Mr. Harford looked anxiously at Johnnie Hewlett
and one or two more, from whom he expected
better things, but they only looked down, with
their hands in their pockets and sullen faces ; and
Captain Carbonel held up his watch to show that
they should all be too late. There was nothing
to be done but to return to their seats, and urge
the post-boy to hurry on.
The bells of Poppleby church might ring
merrily, but the heart of the curate was very
heavy with the questions—whether this misfortune
could be owing to his not having impressed the
lads enough while preparing them, or to his having
been too hasty and peremptory in his indignation.
Captain Carbonel said they were such intoler-
able louts that to disappoint them was all the
better, and they would know how to present
themselves more seriously another time, but Mr.
Harford much doubted whether they would ever
present themselves again.
“Tt would just be mockery for them to make
the vow,†said the captain.
“ Ah! they miss the grace,†said the curate.
Harriet Allen was crying all through the time
LINCH-PINS 167
of the Confirmation when she perceived that her
brother’s head was not among the boys. Indeed
the only male candidate from Uphill was Will
Cox, who had gone with his cousins from Down-
hill. Most of the boys were glad to. have got off
making the vow, for, in spite of all Mr. Harford’s
teaching, there were some who still believed that
they would take all their god-parents’ sins upon
them, or, at any rate, that they should feel more
bound to take heed to their ways.
Johnnie Hewlett indeed was sorry when he went
home to his aunt, and had to tell her why he had
not been confirmed after all.
“Oh, Johnnie, Johnnie, you didn’t go for to
upset the maids?â€
“IT? No. Iwas at the bottom of the hill with
Harry Coles.â€
“Then why couldn’t you have said so?â€
He hung his head and twisted his hands.
“Oh, Johnnie, what was it? Was it only the
going along with the others ?â€
Still he made no reply, but Judith saw in his
face that this was the reason.
“Oh, my boy! To think that you did not feel
that God’s blessing and grace were worth standing
out for against a lot of idle chaps ; and now you
won't be able to take the Sacrament ! â€
“ Father never would let I,†returned the boy.
“Oh, my dear, dear lad, don’t you know that
168 THE CARBONELS
you might have got strength, and would get
strength, to stand up for yourself, and do what
you ought. Oh dear! My hope is gone!†she
cried bitterly, and though Johnnie got away from
the sight, her distress really found its way into
his heart, while he said very little except, “ There,
there, auntie, never mind. Maybe I'll try again
next time.â€
“You promise me, John Hewlett; even if I’m
not here to see?â€
“Yes, I promise, aunt,’ said he, glad to have
silenced her regrets, and hoping the fulfilment
was a good way off.
The parishioners, especially those who had only
sons and not daughters, were very angry. They
did not value Confirmation greatly, but that the
curate after “making such a work with the poor
lads as never was,†should have presumed to
reject them made them furious. Mr. Allen even
threatened to write to Dr. Fogram, but as he
did not know how to address a letter to what he
called “ Oxford College,†he contented himself with
walking off with his belongings to Downhill church
every Sunday—that is, when they went anywhere.
CHAPTER XVII
PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS
‘* For some cry quick and some cry slow,
But while the hills remain,
Uphill, too slow, will need the whip,
Downhill, too quick, the chain.â€
TENNYSON,
EVERAL years had passed away, and
Mary’s Approach had never been made,
though the lane had been improved
and worn a good deal smoother, and the Duchess
and other grandees had found their way along it.
There were other expenses and other interests.
Dora was married. A fellow-soldier of Captain
Carbonel’s had come on a visit, and had carried
the bright young sister off to Malta. She was
a terrible loss to all the parish, and it would have
been worse if Sophia had not grown up to take
her place, and to be the great helper in the school
and parish, as well as the story-teller and play-
mate, the ever ready “Aunt Sophy†of the little
children.
170 THE CARBONELS
And these years had made the farm and garden
look much prettier and neater altogether. The
garden was full of flowers, and roses climbed up
the verandah ; and the home field beyond looked
quite park-like with iron railings between, so that
the pretty gentle Alderney cows could be plainly
seen.
The skim-milk afforded by those same cows
went in great part to the delicate children in the
village, though Mrs, Carbonel had every year to
fight a battle for it with Master Pucklechurch and
his wife, who considered the whole of it as the
right of the calves and little pigs, and would
hardly allow that the little human Bartons or
Morrises were more worth rearing.
There had been a visitation of measles through
the village—very bad in the cottages, and at
Greenhow the three little children had all been
very ill; the second, Dora, died, and the elder
one, little Mary, remained exceedingly delicate,
screaming herself ill on any alarm or agitation,
and needing the most anxious care.
The cottagers had learnt to look to Greenhow
and the “Gobblealls†as the safe resource in time
of any distress, whether of a child having eaten
too many blackberries, or of a man being helpless
from “rhumatiz ;†a girl needing a recommenda-
tion to a service, or “ Please, sir, I wants to know
if it is allowed for a man to kill my father?†which
PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS 17t
was the startling preface to George Truman’s
complaint of a public-house row in which his
father had got a black eye.
Still, there was less fighting among the men and
much less among the women, since Nanny Barton
and Betsy Seddon had lodged counter-accusations
after a great quarrel over the well, when Nanny
had called Betsy, among other choice epithets, “a
sneaking hypercriting old cat of a goody,†and
Betsy had returned the compliment by terming
Nanny “a drunken, trapesing, good-for-nothing
jade, as had no call to good water.†On which
Nanny had torn out a large bunch of Betsy’s hair,
and Betsy had used her claws to make long
scratches on Nanny’s cheeks, the scars of which
were cherished for the magistrates! It was ex-
pected in the village that Betsy would get off, being
that she and her husband worked for Captain
Gobbleall, and Nanny was known, when “a bit
overtaken,†to have sauced Miss Sophy. Never-
theless they were equally fined, with the choice of
three weeks’ imprisonment, and, to every one’s
surprise, the fines were produced.
Betsy thought it very hard that she should be
fined when she worked in the captain’s fields; and
she lamented still more when he insisted on the
family removing to a vacant cottage of his own
between two of his fields. It was in better con-
dition, had more garden, and a lower rent, and her
172 THE CARBONELS
husband, who was a quiet man, never quarrelling
unless she made him, much rejoiced. “She have
too much tongue,†he said, and she had to keep
the peace, for the captain declared that, after the
next uproar in his fields, he should give her no
more work there. And though she declared it
was not her, but “they women who would not let
her alone,†things certainly became much quieter.
For Captain Carbonel was an active magistrate,
busy in all the county improvements, and pre-
serving as much order in the two parishes as was
possible where there was no rural police, only the
constable, Cobbler Cox, who was said to be more
“ skeered of the rogues than the rogues was of he,â€
and, at Downhill, Appleton, the thatcher, who
was generally to be found enjoying himself at the
Selby Arms. Still, fewer cases came up to the
bench than in former times, and Uphill hardly
furnished one conviction in a quarter. The
doctors at the infirmary said that they knew an
Uphill person by the tidier clothing. This was
chiefly owing to the weekly club, of which the
women were very glad. “It is just as if it was
given,†they said, when the clothes came in half-
yearly, and decent garments encouraged more
attendance at church, There was no doubt that
Uphill was more orderly, but who could tell what
was the amount of real improvement in the people’s
hearts and souls?
PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS 173
That first Confirmation had only produced two
additional communicants, Sophia Carbonel, and
Susan Pucklechurch, who was in training in the
Greenhow nursery. Not one of the others came
tothe Holy Feast. Their parents, for the most part,
said they were too young, and, as these parents
never came themselves, the matter seemed hope-
less unless some deeper religious feeling could be
infused by diligent care.
In one case, where there was a terrible illness
and a slow recovery of George Truman, he became
strongly impressed, and so did his wife, a very nice,
meek woman, who had been in a good service.
They both came to the Holy Communion the
month after the man was out again, but he did
not keep it up. “Sir, if you knew what the talk
was like out in the fields, you would not wish it,â€
he said. Which gave Mr. Harford much to think
about.
The next Confirmation, three years later, col-
lected nearly the same number of boys and girls,
and Mr. Harford walked with the boys himself,
and sent Mrs. Thorpe with the girls, so that there
was no such scandal as before. The only lad who
presented himself from among those rejected of
the former year, was Johnnie Hewlett. He was by
this time older than any of the other candidates,
and he had learnt in a measure to stand alone,
though it was chiefly his promise to his aunt that
174 THE CARBONELS
brought him now. Hestill worked with his cousin
George Hewlett, and was a good deal trusted, and
made useful. His father had, however, drifted
farther and farther away, since George had abso-
lutely refused to employ him again in his business.
“You never know where you are with such as
he,†said George, and with good reason; but Dan
laid it all to “they Gobblealls and their spite.â€
It was so far true that it was the depredations at
Greenhow Farm that first convinced George that
Dan was an absolute pilferer, though he had before
suspected it, and tried to shut his eyes to the doubt.
Dan, being a really clever workman, far brighter-
witted than George, had lived upon chance jobs at
Downhill or Poppleby, together with a good deal of
underhand poaching, which he kept as much as
possible from the knowledge of his family, never
being sure what Molly might not tell her sister,
nor what Judith might disclose to the ladies. Polly
had made a miserable marriage, and Jenny was in
service at a public-house, Jem, a big idle lad, whom
no one employed if it could be helped, Judy was
still at home, and a comfort to her aunt.
It was his aunt that chiefly induced John to live
at home, though he could easily have lodged away
and have been nearer to the workshop. His father
had let him alone, and not interfered with his
Sunday School going, as long as he was a mere
boy, till this second time, when, at eighteen, and
PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS 175
grown to man’s stature, he was going up as a
candidate with the younger ones. Then the father
swore “he was not* going to have his son make a
tomfool of hisself to please that there parson.â€
“J have promised,†said John.
“Promised? What—parson or ladies, or any
sneaks that come meddling where no one wants
"em ?â€
“’Twere not parson,†said John.
“ Then ’twas one of they Gobblealls’—with an
oath. “That ain’t of no account.â€
“’Tweren’t,†again said John.
No more was to be got out of him than
“’Tweren’t,†and “I shall keep my word.†He
was too big to be beaten ; a tall, strong, well-made
youth, and Dan was obliged to let him alone, and
only swear at him for turning his back on his old
father, and being no better than a Methody.
In point of fact, Molly and the two younger
children were chiefly supported by John’s earnings
and Judith’s pension, for whatever Dan earned
at Downhill or picked up in his various fashions
was pretty sure to be swallowed either by the
“ Blue Lion †or by the “ Fox and Hounds.†Judith
was entirely in bed upstairs, and the kitchen had
lost all the little semblance of smartness it once
had. While Molly might have been taken for
sixty years old instead of forty-five, though that
was not unusual among the hard-working women,
176 THE CARBONELS
who got aged and dried up with weather in the
fields and with toil and care at home—even when
they had kindly, sober husbands.
Judith’s room was a place of peace and order, so
kept by the help of little Judy and of John, both
of whom loved her heartily, and felt as if she were
a mother to them. She had brought home to
them all the good that they knew. She had
always made them say their prayers by her as
children, and John continued to do so still, “for
old sake’s sake if for no other reason.†They had
always repeated to her what they had heard at
school, and by-and-by the text and substance of
the sermons as far as they could; and she told
them her own thoughts, freely and earnestly,
thoughts that came partly from the readings of
Mrs. Carbonel and Mr. Harford with her, but far
more than she knew from her own study of the
Bible, backed by her earnest spiritual mind, which
grew deeper and deeper as her earthly sufferings
increased. Of course she had tried to do the same
with her sister and the other children, but none of
them would endure it. Molly always had some-
thing to do elsewhere, and said what was all very
well for a sick woman like Judith could not be
expected in one who had such a lot of trouble that
she did not know which way to look.
Poor thing! Neither Judith nor Mr. Harford
could persuade her that there was a way to look
PROGRESS OR NO PROGRESS 177
which would have lightened all these troubles!
But John had learnt how to stand alone, and he
did so, not only by presenting himself for confirma-
tion, but by becoming a Communicant. Not
another lad did so, but his cousin George and his
wife had begun at last, under the influence of Mr.
Harford’s sermons, and so had a few more in
the parish. John, in his cousin’s workshop, was
shielded from a good deal of the evil talk and
jesting that went on among his fellows in the
fields.) He “took after†George in being grave
and quiet, and he loved no company better than
his invalid aunt’s ; but to be a steady and religious
youth was a more difficult matter in those days
than at present, for harmless outlets for youthful
spirits had not been devised, and to avoid mischief
it was almost needful to abstain from almost all
the company and pleasures of a country lad.
M
CHAPTER XVIII
THE THRESHING-MACHINE
“ When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.â€
CowPER.
~ APTAIN CARBONEL had made his
farming answer better than his friends,
or still more the farmers, had predicted.
He had gone to the markets and talked with the
farmers, and not shown off any airs, though, as they
said, he was a gentleman, so known by his honest,
straightforward dealing. Nor had he been tempted
to launch out into experiments and improvements
beyond what he could properly afford, though he
kept everything in good order, and used new
methods according to the soil of his farm.
Master Pucklechurch growled at first, and fore-
told that nothing would come of “thicken a’†;
that the “ mangled weazel,†as he called the mangel
THE THRESHING-MACHINE 179
wurzel, would not grow; and that the cows would
never eat “that there red clover as they calls
apollyon ;†but when the mangel swelled into
splendid crimson root and the cows throve upon —
the bright fields of trifolium, he was as proud as
any one, and he showed off the sleek sides of the
kine, and the big mis-shapen roots of the bect
with the utmost satisfaction.
Equal grumbling heralded the introduction of
a threshing-machine, which Captain Carbonel pur-
chased after long consideration. The beat of the
flail on barn floors was a regular winter sound
at Uphill, as in all the country round, but to get
all the corn threshed and winnowed by a curious
revolving fan with four canvas sails, was a trouble-
some affair, making farmers behindhand in coming
to the market. And as soon as he could afford
the venture the Captain obtained a machine to be
worked by horse-power, for steam had hardly been
brought as yet into use even for sea traffic, and
the first railway was only opened late in 1830, the
time of the accession of William IV.
The farm people, with old Pucklechurch at their
head, looked at the operations of the machine with
some distrust, but this gradually became wonder
and admiration on the part of the Greenhow
labourers, for threshing with the flail was very
hard work for the shoulders and back, and Captain
Carbonel took care to find employment for the
180 THE CARBONELS
men in winter time, so that his men did not join
in the complaint of Barton and Morris that there
wouldn’t be nothing for a poor chap to get his
bread by in the winter. In truth, the machine
and its work were a perfect show to the neighbour-
hood for the first harvest or two, when Seddon was
to be seen sitting aloft enthroned over a mist of
dust, driving the horse that went round and round,
turning the flails that beat out corn from the
ears in the sheaves with which Pucklechurch and
Truman fed the interior.
All Greenhow was proud of its “Mr, Machy,â€
as the little Mary called it, thinking perhaps that
it was a wonderful live creature.
The neighbourhood remained quiet even when
George IV. died, and there was much hope and
rejoicing over the accession of his brother, who
was reported to be the friend of the people, and to
mean to make changes in their favour. Poor old
George Hewlett was, however, much exercised on
the first Sunday, when, in the prayers for the king,
Mr. Harford inadvertently said George instead of
William, and George Hewlett, the clerk, held it to
be praying for the dead, which he supposed to be
an act forbidden.
There was, of course, an election for the new
parliament, but it did not greatly affect Uphill, as
nobody had any votes, except Captain Carbonel,
the farmers, and the landlord of the “Fox and
THE THRESHING-MACHINE 181
Hounds,†and the place was too far from Minster-
ham for any one to share in the election news,
except Dan Hewlett and Joe Todd, who tramped
over thither to hear the speeches, swell the riotous
multitude, and partake of all the beer to which
both sides freely treated all comers. They came
home full of news, and reported in the bar of the
“Fox and Hounds†that there were to be grand
doings in this new parliament ; the people wasn’t
going to stand it no longer, not if the right gentle-
men got in; but there would be an end of they
machines, as made horses do men’s work, and take
the bread from their poor children. Beer would
be ever so much cheaper, and every poor man
would have a fat pig in his sty. That is, if Mr,
Bramdean, as was the people’s friend, got in.
“Why, he was the one as our Captain Gobble-
all was agin,†observed Cox, who had come in to
hear the news.
“To be sure he was ; Gobbleall is hand and glove
with all the tyrums. Ha’n’t he got a machine?â€
said Dan, in an oracular manner.
“No one will never tell me as how our captain
ain’t a friend o’ the people,†returned Seddon.
“Don’t he get coals reasonable for us, and didn’t
he head the petition for your pig, Jim, and draw
it up, too?â€
“Ay, but what right had he to say my missus
shouldn’t take it out of the parish?†said Jim
182 THE CARBONELS
Parsons. “We'd a made a couple of pounds
more, if she'd been free to go her rounds, as Betty
Blake did.â€
“Ay, that’s the way of ’em. They grudges us
everything what they don’t give themselves,†said
Dan, “and little of that, too.â€
No one understood the spirit which desired to
make people independent, and raise them above
indiscriminate beggary, and Todd said, with a grim
laugh, “They would not see us make a little purse
for ourselves, not if they can help it.â€
Seddon feebly said the ladies was free enough
with their gifts. “They had never had no one
before to help the women folk and the children.â€
“Pig’s wash! Much good may it do ’em,â€
said Dan, so contemptuously that Seddon durst
not utter another word in the general laugh,
though he carried home a little can of milk every
day, and he and others well knew the store that
their wives set by the assistance of their little
ones.
They knew it well enough, though they were
afraid to maintain the cause of the Gobblealls
before such an orator as Dan; and nothing worse
than these grumblings took place all harvest time,
where the whole families were fully employed, the
men each taking a portion of the field, while their
wives and children aided in the reaping and bind-
ing, and earned sums amongst them which would
THE THRESHING-MACHINE 183
pay the quarter’s rent, buy the pig, and provide
huge boots for the father, if for no others of the
family. The farmers provided substantial luncheons
and suppers for the toilers in the field; and, when
all was over, and the last load carried, amid joyful
shouts, there was a great harvest supper at each
farm, where songs were sung, dances were danced,
and there was often a most unlimited quantity of
beer swallowed.
No one had then thought of harvest thanks-
givings ; but at Greenhow there was as usual the
farm supper, but with only ale enough for good
and not for harm; the ladies came to hear the
songs in the great farm kitchen, and the party had
to break up at nine o’clock. The women, especially
Mrs. Mole, were glad ; but the men, even the steady
ones, did not like having only half an evening of
it, and “such a mean sup of beer.†It really was
excellent strong beer—far better than the farmers’
brew—but that did not matter to the discontented,
who, instead of letting themselves be taken home by
their wives, adjourned to the “ Fox and Hounds,â€
and there sat over their pint cups, replenished
from time to time, while they discussed the
captain’s meanness, and listened to a dirty old
newspaper, which told of the doings of Jack Swing,
who was going about in Wiltshire, raising mobs,
threatening farmers and squires, and destroying
machines. There was much excitement among
184 THE CARBONELS
the gentry, about Reform, but apparently the poor
cared not about it.
To the Uphill mind, Wiltshire was as strange
and distant a country as Australia, and this made
little impression, so that, as the days went on,
everybody went to their usual work, and there
was no alarm. z
“Oh no,†said Mrs. Carbonel, “the people here
have far too much good sense to want to molest
their best friends. They quite admire our thresh-
ing-machine; and see what a saving of labour
itis!â€
However, it was thought right to raise a body
of yeomanry for the defence of the country, in
case the disaffection should become more serious,
and the assistance of Captain Carbonel at the
county town was urgently requested to organize
the members of it. He left home for a few days
without the least anxiety. And Mr. Harford, too,
went on the Monday to attend a college meeting
at Oxford, and would not return till he had visited
his patient lady-love. The Selbys were away,
spending the autumn at Cheltenham,
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CHAPTER XIX
A NIGHT JOURNEY
“ And he must post, without delay,
Along the bridge and through the dale,
And by the church and o’er the down.â€
WORDSWORTH,
Ra mOHN HEWLETT had finished his day’s
> | work, and come home in the dusk of an
= October evening. He found the house
hung all over with the family linen, taken in to
shelter from a shower; but not before it had
become damp enough to need to be put by the
fire before it could be ironed or folded. His
mother was moaning over it, and there was no
place to sit down. He did not wonder that Jem
had taken his hunch of bread and gone away with
it, nor that his father was not at home; but he
took off his boots at the back door, as his aunt
never liked his coming into her room in them
—though they were nothing to what he would
186 THE CARBONELS
have worn had he worked in the fields—and then
climbed up the stairs.
Judith was sitting up in bed, with her teapot,
tea-cup, and a piece of stale loaf, laid out on a
tray before her; and little Judy beside her, drink-
ing out of a cracked mug. Judith’s eyes had a
strange look of fright in them, but there was an
air of relief when she saw Johnnie.
“Well, aunt, is that all you have got for tea?â€
“Poor mother has been hindered; but never
mind that,†returned Judith, in a quick, agitated
tone. “Judy, my dear, drink up your tea and run
down to help mother, there’s a dear.â€
“Vou haven’t brought nothing, Johnnie,†Judy
lingered to ask.
“No, not I. I’ve worked too late to go to
shop,†said Johnnie.
“Go down, my dear, as I told you,†said Judith,
with a little unwonted tone of impatience, which
made the youth certain that she had something
important to tell him; and as soon as the little
girl began clumping down the stairs, she held out
her hand and said in the lowest of voices, “Come
near, Johnnie, that you may hear.†He came near ;
she put out her hand to pull him on his knees, so
that his ear might be close to her, and whispered,
“Jack Swing is coming to Greenhow to-morrow.â€
“The captain away! How do you know?â€
“A man came and talked with your father in
A NIGHT FOURNEY 187
the back garden-—just under this window. Mother
had run up to shop for a bit of soap; but they
thought she might come in any minute, and so
went out at the back door, so that I heard them
all the better.â€
“They never thought of that! Well?â€
“They mean to come on Greenhow, ask for
money and arms, break up the machine, and burn
the ricks if they don’t get what they want. Father
said they might be sure of the Downhill men,
and most of ’em here, for they all hate that there
machine that is to starve poor folk in winter time ;
and those that were not of that way would be
afraid to hold back, or they would show them the
reason why.â€
“And the captain away! It is enough to be
the death of madam and the little ones.â€
“That's just what I thought. Oh, Johnnie dear,
can’t you help to save them, and hinder it?â€
“Master wouldn't go along with such doings,â€
said John.
“T wouldn’t answer for George! He’s a steady
man, and would do no harm if he’s let alone; but
he’s a mortal fearsome one! No, John, there’s no
help for it, but that you should get over in time
to fetch the captain, and let him take away the
ladies, or stand up for them. He’ll know what to
be at!â€
“ But will it get father into trouble?†asked John,
188 THE CARBONELS
“Not among so many. He’s sharp enough. The
captain, if he were only at home, would see how
to get them away. Anyway, think of the poor
ladies and the little children !â€
John stood fora minute or two by the window
thinking, while Judith sat up in her bed gazing
at him with eager, anxious eyes; and at last he
turned back, and would have spoken aloud but
that she raised her hand to caution him. He
knelt down again beside her, and said, “No, aunt,
I couldn’t rest to think of all those rough brutes
of chaps from we don’t know where coming and
playing their rigs, and bullying the ladies, with
no one to help. There was a lady frightened
to death with them,—master was reading it out
in the paper. Yes, I'll go and fetch the captain
home to take care of them. Where is he?â€
“Miss Sophy told me he was at the hotel at
Minsterham with a lot of them. Have you ever
been there, Johnnie?â€
“Yes. Once I went with master in the cart
when he wanted a bit of mahogany wood for
Mrs. Goodenough’s chairs. It is a long way,â€
said Johnnie, looking wistfully at the darkening
window ; “but I'll do it, please God.â€
“Yes. Please God, and He will help you.
You’ve had your tea. No! Well, drink up this,
—it is cold enough—and take this hunch of
bread. I am afraid there’s nothing better to be
A NIGHT FOURNEY 189
had. And here’s sixpence, in case you want a bit
of food.â€
“T’ve got ninepence of my own,†said John,
feeling in his pocket ; and though most of his pay
went to his mother for his washing and board, he
always kept a little back every week.
“There, then, you’d best be off, my dear lad.
Keep out of sight, you know, as long as you are
in the village.â€
Johnnie bobbed his head; and his aunt threw
her arms round his neck, and kissed him, as she
had not done since he was in petticoats ;’and then
she murmured, “God bless you, my darling lad,
and take care of you.â€
Johnnie did not feel the prayer needless, for in
spite of his eighteen years he had all a country
lad’s dislike of being out alone in the dark; and
to this was added the sense that it was a time
when evil-minded people might be about, who
would certainly assault and stop him if they
guessed his errand. To meet his father would
make it certain that he would be seized, abused,
beaten, and turned back, with the reproach of
being an unnatural son—turning against his father.
Of this, however, there was little chance, as Dan
Hewlett was pretty certain to be either in the
“Fox and Hounds†or in the “ Blue Lion†collect-
ing partisans, And Johnnie, getting out through
the back door, then by the untidy garden, and over
190 THE CARBONELS
the wall of the empty pig-stye, out into a stubble
field. He was not afraid of his mother missing
him till bedtime, as it was the wont of the youths
—especially of those who had comfortless homes
—to wander about in parties in the evening, bat-
fowling sometimes, but often in an aimless sort
of way, doing little bits of mischief, and seeking
diversion, which they seldom found, unless there
was any solitary figure to be shouted at and
startled. His father was not likely to come in
till after he was turned out of the public-house; so
John strode, all unseen, across the field, and through
the gateway into the next. He did think of the
possibilities of bringing arrest and prosecution
upon his father; but this did not greatly trouble
him, for at this early period no regular measures
of defence had been taken against the rioters ; and
as they went about disguised, and did not, as a
rule, threaten life, they generally escaped scot-free.
And the idea of a rude mob terrifying Mrs,
Carbonel to death was terrible tohim. Even since
the day when she had stood before him in the
Sunday School at the wash-house at Greenhow,
she had been his notion of all that was lovely and
angelic in womanhood. She had'said many a kind
word to him over his work, and little Miss Mary
had come and watched him with intense interest,
eager chatter, and many questions when he was
mending the gate.
A NIGHT $OURNEY 19t
He was obliged to go down to the bridge at
Downhill so as to cross the river, but there were
lights in the houses, and a sound of singing in
the “Blue Lion,†which made him get into the
fields behind as soon as possible, though by this
time it was quite dark, so that he had to guide
himself as well as he could by the lights in the
windows. This led to a great many wanderings
and stumbles, since he did not know every field
with its gates and gaps as well as he knew Uphill,
so that he lost a good deal of time by blundering
about, looking for a lighter space in the hedge
which might or might not lead into the next field.
He made his way up to the opening. It proved to
be a gap, but lately mended, and he ran a couple
of thorns deep into his hand before he tumbled
over into a ditch.
This was a grass field, and he heard the cough-
ings of an old sheep, and the suppressed baaings
of the others, finding himself presently outside their
fold. He guided himself along by the hurdles and
came to deep ruts in stiff clay, but these led toa
gate, and that into a narrow and muddy lane. This
he knew would bring him back to the high road,
and that was comparatively plain sailing.
Still there was Poppleby to go through, though
not for several miles, which he tramped along,
quietly enough, not meeting any one, but beginning
to hear the sounds of the night-ioving animals.
192 THE CARBONELS
Owls flew about with their hootings and snappings,
startling him a good deal, as much from some
notions of bad luck as from wonder at first if it
were a human shout. Then the lights of Poppleby
were welcome to his eyes, and as they were chiefly
in the upper windows he thought the town must be
safe to walk through without fear of being met and
stopped. Gas-lamps hardly existed then and
Poppleby was all dark except for the big lamps
over the public-house doors, and this was well for
Johnnie, for just as he was about to pass the “ Blue
Lion,†the door was thrown open, and a whole
party came swaggering and staggering out, singing
at the tops of their voices. Johnnie had time to
throw himself into a garden behind a hedge, and
heard them pass by, holloaing rather than singing
out —
“Down, down with they machines
That takes the poor folks’ bread.â€
There was something too about “Friends to the
people and foes beware†; but what startled Johnny
the most was that he knew his father’s voice in the
shout, and for one moment saw the light of a
lantern fall across a face that could belong to no
one else but his father. It could hardly be told
whether, as he lay trembling there, the sight made
him the more dislike his expedition, or the sound
of those cries the more anxious to bring protection
to his friends at Greenhow. Anyway, he had given
A NIGHT ¥OURNEY 193
his word to his aunt, and he must go through with
it, and he fancied that he could get to Minsterham
before the keepers of late hours were shut up for
the night, and might return again to see how things
were going, and get excused by his cousin.
Not till the shouts had died away in the distance
did he venture out, and plodded once more into the
darkness, under over-hanging trees, meeting nothing,
except one carriage, whose bright lamps came on
like two fiery eyes, glowing more and more as they
came nearer, and the black shadow of horses,
driver, and close carriage rushed by, and left him
again, deciding that it must be the doctor’s chariot.
Then came another long long spell, so long that he
thought it must be near morning, and was sur-
prised to hear behind him in the frosty air the
church clock at Poppleby striking far too many
strokes, and what he hoped had been one turned
into either eleven or twelve! He hoped it was
twelve.
There were the branching roads, and it was far
too dark to read the sign-post, so that he could only
take the one that seemed to him the most likely ;
but when he had gone what might be any distance
on the road, it seemed to get narrower and rougher
than he expected, and then came an opening as if on
to a common, such as he was sure did not exist on
the way to Minsterham. He must have got upon
the Elchester road, and there was nothing for it
N
194 THE CARBONELS
but to turn back. However, there was a pale
brightness showing in the sky, and the moon came
up, an old moon without very much light in her,
but she was a great comfort to him, and told
him how the night was going.
On and on, and then there was a sound of
trampling of horses and of wheels coming nearer,
great light eyes growing larger and larger, and the
mail-coach flashed and thundered by with the four
horses, and presently, far away he could hear the
guard’s horn announcing the approach to a wayside
inn where the horses were changed ; but by the
time Johnnie had made his weary way up to the
place, it was far away on the road, indeed, he
saw the lamps flash as it went up Wearyfoot Hill,
but all the inn was silent again by that time even
at the stables, and the hotel was a dark mass
against the sky—the only light in it the moon
reflected from the windows. A dog barked as he
went past, but he kept far upon the other side of
the road and was reassured by hearing the rattling
of a chain.
Wearyfoot Hill! Yes, it was Wearyfoot to him,
as he dragged up it. He could not remember
whether it was four or five miles from Minsterham.
There was a milestone standing on the bank, and
he tried to read it, but the moon would not reveal
more than the large initial letters of L for London
and M for Minsterham, and he sat down at last
A NIGHT FOURNEYV 195
and leaned against the stone, trying to trace out
the figure above Minsterham with his fingers,
Behold, though four and five were both ringing
in his head, he must have fallen asleep, for he
felt quite cold and stiff, the moon was much
higher in the sky, the stars were paler, and there
was a mist all round. He rose up, ashamed, and
shook himself, colder and more uncomfortable
than before, but feeling it was a new day, and
that, were it four miles or five, he was now near
Minsterham. He said his morning prayers as he
tramped along, stamping to warm his feet, and
recollected that Aunt Judith would be lying awake
praying for him. He found that when the first
discomfort of awakening had passed off, he really
was the better for his short sleep, and marched
on more vigorously, presently hearing a cock
begin to crow, and birds to twitter. Dawn was
beginning, presently a lark sprang up and began
to send down a wonderful cheerful song, that
quite raised Johnnie's spirits ; then over the quiet
misty fields came the deep note of the great
Minsterham clock pealing out, what was only a
half hour, but John knew that it would be much
louder in his ears next time it spoke.
A waggon lumbered by, and then a labourer
or two going to their work, but John kept out of
their way, not wanting to be asked questions ;
there began to be red in the eastern mist, the
196 THE CARBONELS
clock sounded again, and from the slope of the
hill, the spires of the churches in the town
seemed to be rising out of a great lake of woolly
mist. The clock went through all the four
quarters, then solemnly told out five strokes—
Johnnie’s weary night journey was over.
dl coor
vs
CHAPTER XX
THE ROYAL HOTEL
**O haste to aid, ere aid be vain.â€
Scotr.
goa LOUGH Johnnie’s journey was over, his
i| troubles were not at an end. When he
came to the first houses, the way seemed
still to lengthen out before him, and everything
appeared to be still asleep, though the daylight
was coming in as brightly as a foggy morning
allowed. Nor did he know his way ; he had only
driven to a timber-yard once with his cousin, and
dined with him at a little public-house close by,
and had no more than a dim recollection of shops,
which looked quite different now, with all their
shutters up. Only a milk-cart, coming in with
full tins, seemed to give a sign that people would
want their breakfast some time or other; and next
appeared a very black sweep with his cart, and
two miserable little bare-footed boys running
198 THE CARBONELS
beside it, as black as the silhouette over Mrs.
Thorpe’s chimney.
Half-past five struck, and charwomen began to
come out of side alleys, baker’s shops to take
down their shutters. Johnnie ventured to ask one
of the apprentice boys doing so the way to the
Royal George Hotel.
“D’ye want to bespeak the best apartments?â€
was all the answer he got, as the lad stopped
his whistling and looked superciliously at Johnnie’s
battered, dusty working dress, and old straw hat.
He found he should only be laughed at and
walked on, renewing his question when he saw a
good-natured-looking woman in a black bonnet
and stout canvas apron, apparently going out for
a day’s washing.
“Ts it the Royal or the King George Tavern
as you mean, my son?†she asked him,
“Oh! the Royal—the one where the gentlemen
goes,†said Johnnie. “I’ve got a message for one
of ’em.â€
“Bless you, my lad, they won’t never let you
in at this time of morning,†said the woman.
“It’s very particular,†returned John. “I came
off at night to tell him.â€
She looked at him curiously. “And what might
it be, young man! Some one taken very bad, no
doubt.â€
“No—not that,†said John, and she looked
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“DYE WANT TO BESPEAK THE BEST APARTMENTS?’ p. 198
THE ROVAL HOTEL 199
so kind, he could not help telling. “But he
have got a machine, and Jack Swing is coming,
and if he don’t come home to see to the poor
ladies H
“Bless me, and who may it be?â€
“ Captain Carbonel—out at Uphill.â€
‘ Never heard tell of the place.â€
“Tt’s out beyond Poppleby.â€
“My! And you've comed all that way to-
night ?â€
“The ladies are very good. He’sa right good
gentleman. All one to the poor as to the rich.â€
“T say! You are a good young man, to be sure!
I'd go with you and get to the speech of Lavinia
Bull, the chambermaid, what I know right well ;
but if I’m not at Mrs. Hurd’s by six o’clock, she’ll
be flying at me like a wild cat. Mercy on me,
there it goes six! Well, if that fine dandy, Boots,
as is puffed up like a peacock, won’t heed you,
ask for Lavinia Bull, and say Mrs. Callendar sent
you, and he will call her fast enough.â€
John thanked her and was going off at once,
but she called out, “ Bless the boy, he’s off without
even hearing where to go! Just opposite the City
Cross, as they calls it.â€
It was not much like a cross to Johnnie’s mind,
being a sort of tower, all arches and pinnacles and
mouldered statues, getting smaller up to the
spiring top; but he knew it, and saw the hotel
200 . THE CARBONELS
opposite with all its blinds down, nothing like
astir yet, except that some one was about under
the great open doorway leading -into a yard, half
entrance, to the hotel.
He could see a man brushing a shoe, and went
up with “ Please, sir——†But he was met by, “ Get
off, you young vagabond, we want none of your
sort here.â€
“Please, sir, I have a message for Miss Bull;â€
he hesitated.
“She ain’t down. Get off, I say. We don't
have no idle lads here.â€
“Tt’s very particular—from Mrs. Callendar.â€
“ Old witch! Have she been burning any one’s
shirt fronts. I say, Jem, you see if Lavinia is in
the kitchen, and tell her old Callendar has been
burning holes in her stockings or collars, and has
sent a young scarecrow to tell her.â€
John opened his mouth to say it was no such
thing ; but the under shoeblack, who was a sort
of slave to Boots, made an ugly face at him,
and was gone, turning coach wheels across the
yard. In another minute Lavinia, a nice brisk-
looking young woman, had come up with, “ Well,
young man, what has Mrs. Callendar been after
now?â€
“Please, ma’am, nothing; but she said as how
I was to ask for you. It’s for Captain Carbonel,
ma’am, a message from Uphill—that’s his home.â€
THE ROYAL HOTEL 201
“Captain Carbonel—that’s Number Seven,†she
said, consulting a slate that hung near the bar.
“He was to be called at eight o’clock. Won't
that do?â€
“Oh no, no, ma’am,†implored John, thinking
that the captain was taking his rest away from
home. “It’s very particular, and I have come all
night with it.â€
“You have got to call Number Five for the
High Flier at half-past six,†she said, turning to
Boots. “Could not you take up word at the same
time?â€
“Catch me running errands for a jackanapes
like that,†said Boots, with a contemptuous shrug,
turning away, and brushing at his shoe.
“Never mind him,†said good-natured Lavinia.
“What shall I say, young man?â€
“Oh, thank you, miss. Say that John Hewlett
have brought him a message from Uphill.â€
“Jack Owlet! Oh my! Hoo! hoo!†exclaimed
the blacking. boy, as soon as Lavinia had dis-
appeared up the stairs, dancing about with his
hands on his hips. “Look here, Tomâ€â€”to a
boy with a pail, who had just come in—‘here be
an Owlet’s just flown in out of the mud. Hoo!
hoo! Where did you get that ’ere patch on your
back.â€
“Where you never got none,’ responded the
other boy. “Mother stitched it for him.â€
202 THE CARBONELS
“ Ay, sitting under a hedge, with her pot hung
up on three sticks and a hedgepig in it,†added
the younger Boots. “Come, own up, young gipsy!
Yer come to get a tanner out of Number Seven
with your tales.â€
“T’m no gipsy,†growled John ; “but——â€
“ Come, come,†called out Boots, “none of your
row. And you, you impudent tramp, don’t ye be
larking about here, making the lads idle. Get
out of the yard with ye, or I call the master to
you.â€
The landlord might probably have been far
more civil; but poor Johnnie did not know this,
and could only move off to the entrance of the
court, so that when Lavinia in another moment
appeared and asked where he was, Boots answered—
“How should I tell? He was up to mischief
with the boys, and I bade him be off.â€
“Well, Number Seven is ever so much put
about, and he said he would be down in a jiffy!
So there!â€
Lavinia held up her skirts, and began in her
white stockings to pick her way across the yard,
while Boots sneered, and began brushing his shoe,
and whistling as if quite undisturbed ; and in
another moment Captain Carbonel did appear,
coming down the stairs very fast, all unshaven,
and with a few clothes hastily thrown on, and
quite ran after Lavinia, passing her as she pointed
THE ROYAL HOTEL 203
out beyond the entrance, where John was discon-
solately leaning against the wall with his hands
in his pockets, feeling how utterly weary and
hungry he was, and with uneasy thoughts about
his father coming over him.
“Oh, there you are, John Hewlett! What is
it? No one ill?†exclaimed the captain.
“No, sir; butâ€â€”coming nearer and lowering
his voice—“ Jack Swing, sir.â€
“Jack Swing! We had notice of him out at
Delafield.â€
John shook his head, and looked down.
“What! Do you know any ne my boy?
Here, come in—tell me!â€
“Please, sir, they’ve laid it out to come to
Greenhow this very day as is, to break the machine
and get the guns and money.â€
The captain started, as well he might ; but still
demanded, “ How do you know?â€
John held his head down, most unwilling to
answer.
“Look here, my lad, you’ve done well coming
to warn me; but I must be certain of your news
before acting on it. -We were to ride off to Dela-
field to-day, and I must know if this is only a
rumour.â€
“Aunt heard them,†said John, between his
teeth. “She heard them planning it for to-
morrow—that’s to-day—and she laid it on me
204 THE CARBONELS
to let you know to save the ladies from being
frought.â€
“Your aunt heard it?â€
“Through the window in the back garden.
They planned to get all the chaps at Downhill
and all, and go at the machine.â€
“The villains! Who did? No, I'll not ask
that, my lad,†said the captain, knowing only too
well who it must have been; “you have acted
nobly, and I am for ever obliged to you. Come
in, and have some breakfast, while I dress and
report this, and see what is to be done. You are
sure there is time?†;
“They was to go about at dinner-time to get
the folks,†John squeezed out of his mouth, much
against his will.
“Then there’s time. Thank you with all my
heart, John! Tl see you again. Hereâ€â€”to a
barmaid who had appeared on the scene— give
this young man a hearty good breakfast and a
cup of ale—will you?—and I'll be down again
presently. Stay till I come, Hewlett, and I’ll see
you again, and how you are to get home! Why,
it is twenty miles! Were you walking all night?â€
“Only I went to sleep a bit of the time when
Iwas trying to make out the milestone; I don’t
rightly know how long it was,†said John, so much
ashamed of his nap that the captain laughed, and
said—
THE ROYAL HOTEL 205
“Never mind, Johnnie, you are here in the very
nick of time; eat your breakfast, and Pll see you
again.â€
The good-natured barmaid let John have a
wash at the pump with a bit of yellow soap and
the round towel, and he was able to eat his break-
fast with a will—a corner of cold pie and a glass
of strong ale, such a breakfast as he had never
seen, though it was only the leavings of yesterday’s
luncheon. Everybody was too busy just then to
pay him any attention, and he had time to hear
all the noises and bells seem to run into one dull
sound, and to be nodding in his chair before he
was called by a waiter, with—
“Ha, youngster, there, look alive! the gentle-
men wants you.â€
Now that sleep had once begun upon him,
assisted by the ale, John looked some degrees less
alive, though far more respectable than on his first
arrival. He was ushered into the coffee-room,
where three or four gentlemen sat at one table,
all in blue and silver, with the captain, and as
he pulled his forelock and bobbed his head, the
elder of them—a dignified looking man with grey
hair and whiskers and a silver-laced uniform,
said—
“So, my lad, you are come to warn Captain
Carbonel of an intended attack on his property ?â€
“Yes, sir,’ John mumbled, looking more and
206 THE CARBONELS
more of a lout, for he had thought the captain
would just go home alone to defend his wife and
his machine, and was dismayed at finding the
matter taken up in this way, dreading lest he
should have brought every one into trouble and
be viewed as an informer.
“ What evidence have you of such intentions?â€
John looked into his hat and shuffled on his
foot, and Captain Carbonel, who knew that Sir
Harry Hartman, the old gentleman, was persuaded
that Delafield was the place to protect, was in
an agony lest John should be too awkward and
too anxious to shield his family to convince him.
He ventured to translate the words into “How do
you know?â€
His voice somehow made John feel that he
must speak, and he said, “ Aunt heard it.â€
“What’s that? Who is aunt?†said Sir Harry,
in a tone as if deciding that it was gossip ; but this
put John rather more on his mettle, and he said,
“My aunt, Judith Grey, sir.â€
“ How did she hear?â€
“Through the window. She heard them laying
it out.â€
“She is bedridden,†put in the captain; “but a
clever, sensible woman.â€
“Whom did she hear or see?â€
“ She couldn’t see nobody, sir. It was a strange
voice,†John was trying to save the truth.
THE ROYAL HOTEL 207
“Oh! and what did she hear?â€
“They was planning to go round the place and
call up the men—that’s to-day,†said John.
“ Are you sure it was to-day? Did she tell you
she heard it?â€
“Yes, sir. And,†John bethought him, “there was
a great row going on at the ‘Fox and Hounds,
and when I came past Poppleby, a whole lot of
them come out singing ‘Down with the machines.’â€
“That’s more like it, if it was not a mere
drunken uproar,†said Sir Harry.
“T suppose you did not know any of the voices?â€
said one of the other gentlemen.
John could hold his tongue this time.
“And you came all this way by night, twenty
miles and odd, to warn Captain Carbonel, on your
aunt’s information?†said Sir Harry, thoughtfully.
“Are you sure that she could hear distinctly ?â€
“One can hear in her room talk in our garden
as well as if it was in the room,†replied John.
‘*Well! you are a good lad, well intentioned,â€
said Sir Harry. “Here’s half-a-crown to pay your
journey back. We will consider what is to be
done.â€
John had rather not have taken the half-crown,
but he did not know how to say so, so he pulled
his forelock and accepted it.
Captain Carbonel came out of the coffee-room
with him, and called to the hostler to let him lie
208 THE CARBONELS
down and rest for a couple of hours, when the
Red Rover would change horses there, and then
call him, and pay for his journey back to Poppleby.
So John lay down on clean straw and slept, too
much tired out to put thoughts together, and un-
aware of the discussion among the gentlemen.
For Sir Harry Hartman was persuaded that it was
Delafield that needed protection, and was inclined
to make little of John Hewlett’s warning, thinking
that it rested on the authority of a sick nervous
woman, and that there was no distinct evidence
but that of the young man who would not speak
out, and only went by hearsay.
Captain Carbonel, who was, of course, in an
agony to get home and defend his property, but
was firmly bound by his notions of discipline,
argued that the lad was the son of the most dis-
affected man in the parish, and that his silence
was testimony to the likelihood that his father
was consulting with the ringleader. The invalid
woman he knew to be sensible and prudent, and
most unlikely either to mistake what she heard,
or to send her nephew on such a night journey
without urgent cause, and he asked permission to
go himself, if the troop were wanted elsewhere, to
defend his home. Finally, just as the debate was
warming between the officers, a farmer came in
from Delafield, and assured them that all was
quiet there. So the horses were brought out, and
THE ROYAL HOTEL 209
there was much jingling of equipments, and
Johnnie awoke with a start of dismay. He had
never thought of such doings. He had only
thought of Captain Carbonel’s riding home, never
of bringing down what seemed to him a whole
army on his father.
CHAPTER XXI
JACK SWING
** Richard of England, thou hast slain Jack Straw,
But thou hast left unquenched the vital spark
That set Jack Straw on fire.â€
Sir H. TAyror.
rem OBODY knew who Jack Swing was.
, Most likely he really was more than
one person, or rather an impersonal
being, worked up as a sort of shadowy puppet to
act in the cause of future reform.
There were hot’ spirits abroad, who knew that
much was amiss on many points, and who burned
to set them right; and there were others who
were simply envious and jealous of all that had
power or authority, and wanted to put these down
for their own profit. They thought that the way
to get their cause attended to was to make the
other party afraid of the people, and they did not
know or understand that those who delayed to
grant their wishes only desired patience, and to
FACK SWING 211
do the work in the best and wisest way. All that
they demanded, and more too, has since been
given to the people, but gradually, as was ex-
pedient, and without tumult or disturbance.
So there was a desire to frighten the gentry by
showing the strength of the people, in anticipation
of the Reform Bill to be proposed the next year.
It would not have made much difference to the
country people, for no one would have a vote
whose rent did not amount to ten pounds a year,
and they would not have cared much about it if
they had not been told that if it was passed, every
man would have a fat pig in his sty, and be able
to drink his daily quart of beer, moreover, that
the noblemen and gentlemen were resolved on
keeping them out of their rights, making bread
dear, and depriving them of their wages by setting
up machines to do all the work.
This last came near home, and stirred up the
minds that would have cared for little else. Just
as four hundred years before, Jack Straw was an
imaginary champion whose name inflamed the
people to rise, so now Jack Swing, or whoever it
was who acted in that name, sent messages round
that such and such a place should be attacked at
such and such a time.
There was always some one in the town who
could be fired with the idea that inciting riot and
revolt was patriotism, and that a good cause could
212 THE CARBONELS
be served by evil methods, who cast aside such
warnings as “Rebellion is like the sin of witch-
craft,†or “The powers that be are ordained of
God.†Besides, the infection spread, and to hear
what Jack Swing was doing elsewhere encouraged
others not to be behindhand with their neighbours.
So the mandate had gone out, and there were a
few at Elchester ready to arrange for a rising at
Uphill and Downhill. Dan Hewlett was known to
them in the public-house, and he had an especial
spite at Captain Carbonel, beginning from his
knowledge of the tacit detection of his abstraction
of the paper at Greenhow, going through his dis-
missal from working there, aggravated by the
endeavour to remove Judith, embittered by the
convictions as a poacher, and, perhaps, brought to
a height by the influence over his eldest son. He
hated the captain enough to be willing to direct the
attack upon Greenhow, especially as it was known
that the master was absent and engaged in sum-
moning the yeomanry “to ride down the poor
chaps,†as it was said, “who only wanted bread for
their children’s mouths,â€
There were men both at Uphill and Downhill,
and even at Poppleby, who were quite willing to
listen. The Poppleby folk, some of them, believed
that riot was the only way to get reform, more of
the villagers thought it was the only way of getting
rid of the machines, the object of mysterious dread
YACK SWING 213
for the future, and more still, chiefly ne’er-do-wells
and great idle lads, were ready for any mischief
that might be going; and full of curiosity and
delight at what Jack Swing might be about to do.
These youths, some of them at work and some
not, dispersed the news through the village and
fields that there was to be a great rising of the
people’s friends, and that Gobbleall’s machine was
to be somewhere. All were to meet at the randygo
—supposed to mean rendezvous—at the cross-road,
and as for those who did not, it would be the
worse for them, and worse than all for them that
told clacking women who might carry the tale up
to Greenhow.
The summons was indeed not given till the
men were well out of reach of their clacking
women, but at work in the fields, and then a party
began—not to march—they could not have done
that to save their lives, but to tramp out of
Poppleby, shouting to any one whom they saw in
the fields to come with them and stand up for the
people’s rights. At Downhill their numbers in-
creased by all the noisy fellows, and some who
fancied great good was to be gained somehow,
though some wiser wives called out to them not
to get into a row, nor let themselves be drawn into
what they would be sorry for. At the “Fox and
Hounds†they tarried and demanded a glass of
beer all round, which Mr. Oldfellow was really
204 THE CARBONELS
afraid to refuse. He was a timid man, half on their
side, half on that of the gentry, and he saw there
were enough of them to sack his cellars if he
demurred.
There, too, amid much laughter, they all dis-
guised themselves, some blackening their faces
with soot, others whitening them with chalk, and
some putting on the women’s cloaks, bonnets, or
aprons,
Then they collected Uphill men.
“We are come for your good,†said Jack Swing,
or the man who passed for him, wearing a long
Punch-like nose. “We are come to help you;
and where’s the mean coward that won’t come
along with us in his own cause? There will be
no living for poor folks if those new-fangled
machines be allowed to go on, and them Parlia-
ment foll vote out all that makes for the people.
Down with them, I say! Up with Reform, and
down with all the fools and cowards who won’t
stand up for themselves.â€
All this, garnished with foul words and abuse,
and roared out from the top of the horse-block,
was addressed to the crowd that began to gather.
Dan Hewlett, with a horrid white face, was
going about persuading the men, and so were
others. “Bless you, we don’t want to do no harm
to the ladies, nor the children. We only wants
to do away with them toady machines, as they
FACK SWING 215
wants to do all the work instead of men’s hands,
as the Almighty meant, and is in Scripture.â€
This was the plea to the better disposed, like
Tom Seddon, who held out, “You'll not hurt
madam nor the little ones. She’ve been a kind
lady, and the captain, he’s a good master, I will
say that ; and I don’t want to hurt ’em.â€
“Nobody wants to hurt them ; only to do away
with they machines.â€
“T tell you what,†was George Truman’s answer,
“them machines are the captain’s, none of yours
nor mine, and I won’t go for to damage’em. No!
I won’t have my face blacked nor whited, I’m an
honest man, and not ashamed to show it. So I
be going to my work.â€
And off he went to his day’s work at Farmer
Goodenough’s, and the others hissed him and
hooted him, but did him no harm. Nobody made
such a noise as Softy Sam, and together this
frightened Jem Gibbs out of following him, though
he much wished to do so. Will Mole, as soon as
he heard any sounds, ran away headlong down
towards the meadows, and hid himself in the long
rushes. Cox, the constable, thought discretion the
better part of valour; and long before the rabble
rout appeared, set off to carry a pair of shoes home
to Mrs. Pearson at the Lone Farm.
Master Hewlett, the carpenter, looked in vain
for John, his apprentice, and growled and grumbled
216 THE CARBONELS
that he did not appear; then, on perceiving the
uproar, decided that he was gone after that “there
father of his’n.†He wouldn’t have thought it of
Jack. No; he wouldn’t; but sure enough it was
“bred in the bone of him!†Master Hewlett went
on with his planing; and when the troop, now
amounting to about thirty grown men, besides a
huge rabble of boys and girls, came along, and
Dan shouted to him to come and stand up for the
rights of the people, and down with that there
“tyrum Gobbleall†and his machine to grind
down the poor, he answered—
“Machine ain’t nothing to me. I minds my
own business, and thou beest a fool, Dan, not
to mind thine! And where’s that lad of thine?
A trapesing after mischief, just like all idle
fellows?â€
“He bain’t a labourer, and has no feeling for
them as is,’ said Dan. “We wants your axe,
though, George.â€
* “Not he! I dares you to touch him,†said
George Hewlett in his unmoved way, smoothing
off a long curled shaving, which fell on the ground.
“There, that’s the worth of you all and your
Jack Swing! Swing, ye will, Dan, if you don’t
take the better care.â€
Some one made a move as if to seize the axe,
but George made one step, and lifted quietly the
stout bit of timber he had been planing, and it was
GACK SWING 217
plain that a whole armoury of carpenter’s tools
was on his side the bench.
“Come along,†said Dan, “he’s a coward and
mean-spirited cur. Us shan’t do nothing with he.â€
So on they went, all the kindnesses and benefits
from Greenhow forgotten, and nothing remembered
at the moment but grievances, mostly past, but
more looked forward to as possible!
The women did remember. Judith Grey was
in an agony, praying as she lay for Mrs. Carbonel
and. the children. Widow Mole knew nothing,
but was weeding the paths at Greenhow; Betsy
Seddon and Molly Barnes were crying piteously
“at thought of madam and her little girl as might
be frought to death by them there rascals.†But no
one knew what to do! Some stayed at home, in
fear for their husbands, but a good many followed
in the wake of the men, to see what would happen,
and to come in for a little excitement—whether it
were fright, pity, or indignation.
“?Pon my word and honour,†said Lizzy Morris,
“that there will be summat to talk on.â€
Prey ens eselreatrel =o eee
[petra relre ren Sle rel pela re Eel ele a Scalpel fal ela
CHAPTER XXII
GREAT Mary AND LITTLE MARY
“ Who'll plough their fields? Who'll do their drudgery for them ?
And work like horses to give them the harvest?â€
SOUTHEY.
ARS. CARBONEL, having seen her two
| little ones laid down for their midday
nap, was sitting down to write a note to
her husband, while Sophia was gone to give her
lesson at the school, when there came a tap to the
drawing-room window, and looking up she saw
Tirzah Todd’s brown face and her finger making
signs to her. She felt displeased, and rose up,
saying, “Why, Tirzah, if you want me, you had
better come to the back door!â€
“Lady, you must come out this way. ’Tis Jack
Swing a-coming, ma’am—yes, he is—with a whole
lot of mischievous folks, to break the machine and
burn the ricks, and what not. Hush, don’t ye
hear ’em a hollering atop of the hill? They be
GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY 219
gathering at the ‘Fox and Hounds,’ and I just
couldn’t abear that you and the dear little children
should be scared like, and the captain away. So,â€
as Mrs. Carbonel’s lips moved in thanks and alarm,
“if you would come with me, lady, and take the
children, and come out this way, through the
garden, where you wouldn’t meet none of ’em, I'll
take you down the short way to Farmer Pearson’s,
or wherever you liked, where you wouldn’t hear
nothing till ’tis over.â€
“Oh, Tirzah! You are very good. A fright
would be a most fearful shock, and might be quite
fatal to my little Mary. But oh, my sister and
the servants and the Pucklechurches, I can’t leave
them.â€
“My Hoggie was at home with the baby, and I
sent her off to see Miss Sophy at the school, and
tell her to come up to Pearson’s,â€
“ But the Pucklechurches ? â€
“Nobody will hurt them! Nobody means to
hurt you,†said Tirzah, “I knows that! My man
wouldn’t ha’ gone with them, but so as they pro-
-mised faithful not to lay a finger on you, so you
give ’em the money and the guns; but men don’t
think of the dear little gal as is so nesh, so I
thought I'd warn you to have her out of the way.
Bless my heart, they'll be coming. That was
nigher.â€
Mrs. Carbonel’s mind went through many
220 THE CARBONELS
thoughts in those few moments. She could not
bear to desert her husband’s property and people
in this stress, and yet she knew that to expose her
tender little girl to the terrors of a violent mob
would be fatal, And she decided on accepting
Tirzah’s offer of safety and shelter. She ran up-
stairs, put on her bonnet, took her husband’s most
essential papers out of his desk and pocketed them,
together with some sovereigns and bank-notes, then
quietly went into the nursery, where she desired
Rachel Mole to put on her bonnet, take up the
baby, and follow her, and herself was putting on
little Mary’s small straw hat and cape, telling her
that she was coming with mamma for a walk to
see Mrs. Pearson’s old turkey cock, when Mrs.
Pucklechurch burst in with two or three maids
behind her.
“Oh, ma’am, Jack Swing’s coming and all the
rabble rout. What ever shall we do?†was the
gasping, screaming cry.
“Only be quiet. There’s nothing for any one to
fear. If they do harm, it is to things, not people.
I only go away for the sake of this child! No,
Mary dear, nobody will hurt you. You are going
for a nice early walk with mamma and baby and
Rachel, Youâ€â€”to the maids—“ may follow if you
will feel safer so, but I do not believe there is any
real danger to you. Betty Pucklechurch, please
tell your husband that I do beg him not to resist.
GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY 221
It would. be of no use, his master would not wish
it, only if he will take care that the poor cattle and
horses come to no harm.â€
“THe have gone to drive ’em off already to
Longacre,†said Betty. “I tell’d he, he’d better
stand by master’s goods, but he be a man for his
cows, he be.â€
“Quite right of him,†said Mrs. Carbonel.
“Have you baby’s bottle, Rachel? Now, Mary
dear, here’s your piece of seed cake.â€
The shouts and singing sounded alarmingly as
if approaching by this time, and little Mary
listened and said, “Funny mens singing.â€
It was very loud as the fugitives gained the
verandah, where Tirzah waited with an angry
light in her black eyes. “@h! won't I give it to
Joe Todd,†she cried, “for turning against the best
friend Hoglah ever had—or me either.â€
Mary, carrying her little Mary, and trying to
keep a smile that might reassure her, followed
Tirzah across the orchard on the opposite side of
the house. They had to scramble through a gap
in the hedge; Tirzah went over first, breaking it
down further, then the baby was put into her arms,
and Rachel came next, receiving Mary from her
mother, who was telling her how funny it was to
get over poor papa’s fence, all among the apple
trees, and here was Don jumping after them.
Don, the Clumber spaniel, wanted a bit of Mary’s
222 THE CARBONELS
cake, and this and her mother’s jump down from
the hedge and over the ditch, happily distracted
her attention, and made her laugh, while the three
maids were screaming that here were the rascals,
hundreds of them a-coming up the drive ; they saw
them over the apple trees when on the top of the
hedge, and heard their horrid shouts. “Oh, the
nasty villains, with black faces and all!â€
Mrs. Carbonel dreaded these cries almost as
much as the mob itself for her delicate child, and
went on talking to her and saying all the nursery
rhymes that would come into her head, walking as
fast as she could without making her pace felt,
though the little maid—albeit small and thin for
five years old—was a heavy weight to carry for
some distance over a rough stubble field for
unaccustomed arms. Tirzah had the baby, who
happily was too young to be even disturbed in his
noontide sleep, and Rachel Mole had tarried with
the other maids, unable to resist her curiosity to
see what was doing at the farm since they were
out of reach.
The fugitives reached a stile which gave entrance
to a rough pathway, through a copse, and it was
only here, when her mother sat down on the trunk
of a tree taking breath with a sense of safety, that
little Mary began to cry and sob. “Oh, we are
lost in the wood! Please, please, mamma, get out
of it, Let us go home.â€
GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY 223
“No indeed, Mary, we aren’t lost! See, here’s
the path. We are going to see Mrs, Pearson’s
pussy cat and her turkey.â€
“T don’t want to. Oh! the wolves will come
and eat us up,†and she clung round her mother in
real terror,
“Wolves! No, indeed! There are no wolves
in England, darling, here or anywhere.â€
“Rachel said the wolves would come if I went
in here.â€
“Then Rachel was very silly. No, there
are no wolves. No, Mary, only—see! the little
rabbit. Come along, take hold of my hand, we
will soon get out. Never mind; God is taking
care of us. Come, we will say our hymn as we
go on.â€
The mother said her verse, and Mary tried to
follow, in a voice quivering with sobs. Those
imaginary wolves were a far greater alarm and
trouble to her than the real riot at her father’s
farm. She clung round her mother’s gown, and
there was no pacifying her but by taking her up
in arms.
“Let me take her, ma’am,†said Tirzah Todd,
making over the sleeping Edmund to his mother.
“Come, little lady, I’ll carry you so nice.â€
“No, no! Go away, ugly woman,†cried Mary
ungratefully, flapping at her with her hands in
terror at the brown face and big black eyes.
224 THE CARBONELS
“Oh, naughty, naughty Mary,†sighed the
mother, “when Tirzah is so good, and wants to
help you! Don’t be a naughty child!â€
But the word naughty provoked such a fit of
crying that there was nothing for it but for Mrs.
Carbonel to pick the child up and struggle on as
best she could, soothing her terror at the narrow
paths and the unknown way, and the mysterious
alarm of the woodlands, as well, perhaps, as the
undefined sense of other people’s dread and agita-
tion. However, the crying was quiet now, and the
sounds of tumult at the farm were stifled by the
trees, so that after a time—which seemed terribly
long—the party emerged into an open meadow,
whence they could see the gate leading to the
high road, and beyond that the roof of Mrs.
Pearson’s house. ;
But something else was to be seen far up the
road. There was the flash of the sun from
helmets! The Yeomanry were coming!
“There’s papa!†cried Mrs. Carbonel. “ Papa
in his pretty silver dress. Run on, run on, Mary,
and see him.â€
Mary was let down, still drawing long sobs as
she half ran, half toddled on, allowing herself to
be pulled by Tirzah Todd’s free hand, while her
mother sped on to the gate, just in time for the
astonished greeting of one of the little troop.
“Mrs. Carbonel! What?â€
GREAT MARY AND LITTLE MARY 225
And the next moment her husband was off his
horse and by her side with anxious inquiries.
“Yes, yes, dear Edmund! We are all safe.
Good Tirzah came to warn us. Make haste!
They are a¢ the farm. We shall be at Mrs. Pear-
son’s. She (pointing to Tirzah) sent to fetch
Sophy from school. She'll be there. Here are
the children all safe.’’
“ Papa, papa,†cried little Mary, feeling his silver-
laced collar, and stroking his face as he kissed her.
And from that time she was comforted though
he had to leave her again at once. She had felt
a father's arm.
“Tirzah Todd!†exclaimed Captain Carbonel,
“T shall never forget what you have done for us.
Never!â€
Tirzah curtsied, but said, “ You'll be good to my
man, sir?â€
It was but a moment’s halt ere Captain Carbonel
rode on to overtake the rest of the troop, who, on
hearing that the outrage was really taking place,
were riding on rapidly.
Mrs. Carbonel had not far to go before reaching
the hospitable farm, where Mrs. Pearson came out
to receive her with many a “Dear, dear!†and
“Dear heart!†and entreaty that she and the dear
children would make themselves at home.
But Sophy was not there, and had not been
heard of, and Mrs. Carbonel, in her anxiety, could
Pp
226 THE CARBONELS
not rest on the sofa in the parlour, after she had
persuaded little Mary into eating her long-delayed
dinner of some mutton hastily minced for her, and
had seen her safely asleep and cuddling a kitten.
Mrs. Pearson was only too happy to have the baby
to occupy her long-disused wicker cradle, and
Tirzah had rushed off to the scene of action as
soon as she had seen the lady safely housed.
MEP EREEEE ERE ER EE tttitet tbteettette tte titles
CHAPTER XXIII
THE MACHINE
“ Tn bursts of outrage spread your judgment wide,
And to your wrath cry out, ‘ Be thou our guide.
WORDSWORTH.
29
OPHY was endeavouring to make the
children remember who Joseph was, and
thinking them unusually stupid, idle,
and talkative, when, without ceremony, the door
was banged open, and in tramped Hoglah Todd,
with the baby in her arms, her sun bonnet on her
neck, and her black hair sticking wildly out.
“Please, ma’am,†she began, “Jack Swing is up
a-breaking the machine, and mother says you are
to go to Farmer Pearson’s to be safe out of the
way !â€
“ Hoggie Todd,†began Mrs. Thorpe, “that’s not
the way to come into school,†but she could not
finish, for voices broke out above the regulation
school hush: “Yes, yes, father said,†and “Our
228 THE CARBONELS
Jem said,†and it ended in “Jack Swing’s a-coming
to break up the machine.†Only one or two said
“Mother said as how it was a shame, and they’d
get into trouble.â€
“Your mother sent you?†said Sophy to
Hoglah.
“Yes, ma'am. She’s gone up herself to tell
madam, and take she to Pearson’s, and her said
you'd better go there, back ways, or else stay here
with governess till twas quieted down.â€
“Hark! They are holloaing.â€
Strange sounds were in fact to be heard, and
the children, losing all sense of discipline, made a
rush to snatch hats and bonnets, and poured out
in a throng, tumbling over one another, Hoglah
among the foremost. Mrs. Thorpe, much terrified,
began to clasp her hands and say, “Oh dear! oh
dear, the wicked, ungrateful men, that they should
do such things. Oh! Miss Sophy, you will stay
here, won’t you ?â€
“No, I must go and see after my sister and the
children,†said Sophy, already at the door.
“But they'll be at Mr. Pearson’s. The girl said
so. Oh, stay, ma’am! Don’t venture. Pray,
pray u
But Sophy had the door open, and with “I can’t.
Thank you, no, I can’t.â€
There were the confused sounds of howling and
singing on the top of the hill. Betsy Seddon, at
THE MACHINE 229
her cottage door, called out, “Don’t go up there,
miss ; it’s no place for the likes of you!†but Sophy
only answered, “ My sister,†and dashed on.
She could get into a field of Edmund’s by
scrambling over a difficult gate, and, impelled by
the sight of some rough-looking men slouching
along, she got over it—she hardly knew how—and,
after crossing it, came upon all the cows, pigs, and
horses, with Pucklechurch presiding over them.
He, too, said, “ Doan’t ye go up there, Miss Sophy.
Them mischievous chaps will be after them pigs,
fools as they be, so I brought the poor dumb things
out of the way of them, and you'd better be shut
of it too, miss.â€
“But, my sister, Master Pucklechurch! I must
see to her.â€
“She'll be safe enow, miss. They don’t lift a
hand to folks, as I’ve heard, but I'll do my duty
by the beastises.â€
He certainly seemed more bent on his duty to
the “beastises†than that to his wife or his master’s
wife ; and yet, when Sophy proved deaf to all his
persuasions, he muttered, “ Wilful must to water,
and Wilful must drink. But, ah! yon beastises be
safe enow, poor dumb things, so J’'ll e’en go after
the maid, to see as her runs into no harm. She
be a fine, spirity maid whatsome’er.â€
So on he plodded, in the rear of Sophy, who,
with eager foot, had crossed the sloping home field,
230 THE CARBONELS
and gained the straw yard, all deserted now except
by the fowls. The red game cock was scratching
and crowing there, as if the rabble rout were not
plainly to be seen straggling along the drive.
Still there was time for Sophy to fly to the house,
where, at the door, she met Mrs. Pucklechurch.
“Bless my soul and honour, Miss Sophy. You
here! The mistress, she’s gone with the children
to Mr. Pearson’s, and you'll be in time to catch
her up if you look sharp enough.â€
“T shall not run away. Some one ought to try
to protect my brother’s property.â€
“Now, don’t ’ee, don’t ’ee, Miss Sophy. You'll
do no good with that lot, and only get hurt
yourself.â€
But Sophy was not to be persuaded. She went
manfully out to the gate, and shut it in the face
of the disguised men, who came swaggering up
towards it.
“What’s your business here?†she demanded,
in her young, clear voice.
“Come, young woman,†said a man in a false
nose and a green smock-frock, but whose voice
had a town sound in it, and whose legs and feet
were those of no rustic, “clear out of the way, or
it will be the worse for you!â€
“What have you to do here on my brother's
ground?†again asked Sophy, standing there in
her straw bonnet and pink cotton frock.
THE MACHINE 23t
“We don’t want to do nothing, missâ€â€”and that
voice she knew for Dan Hewlett’s—“ but to have
down that new-fangled machine as takes away
the work from the poor.â€
“What work of yours did it ever take away,
Dan Hewlett?†said she. “Look here! it makes
bread cheaper——â€
She had thought before of the chain of argu-
ments, but they would not come in the face of the
emergency; and besides, she felt that her voice
would not carry her words beyond the three or
four men who were close to the gate. She might
as well have spoken to the raging sea when, as the
gate was shaken, she went on with a fresh start,
“T call it most cowardly and ungrateful i
At that moment she was seized from behind
by two great brawny arms, and borne backward,
struggling helplessly like a lamb in a bear’s
embrace. She saw that, not only was the gate
burst in, but that the throng were pressing in
from the garden side, and she was not released
until she was set down in Mrs. Pucklechurch’s
kitchen, and a gruff voice said, rather as if to a
little child, “Bide where you be, and no one
will go for to hurt you.â€
It was a huge figure, with a woman’s bonnet
stuck upright over his chalked face, and a red cloak
covering his smock-frock, and he was gone the
next moment, while Mrs, Pucklechurch, screaming
232 THE CARBONELS
and sobbing, clutched at Sophy, and held her
tight, with “Now, don’t, Miss Sophy, don’t ye!
Bide still, I say!â€
“But, Edmund’s machine! His things and all!â€
gasped Sophy, still struggling.
“Bless you, miss, you can’t do nothing with the
likes of them, the born rascals ; you would, may be,
get a stone yourself, and what would the master
say to that ?â€
“Oh! what are they doing now?†as a wild
hurrah arose, and all sorts of confused noises.
Mrs, Pucklechurch had locked the door on her
prisoner, but she was equally curious, and anxious
for her old man; so, with one accord, they hurried
up the stairs together, and looked out at an
upper window, whence they could only see a
wild crowd of hats, smock-frocks, and women’s
clothes gathering about a heap where the poor
machine used to stand, and whence a cloud of
smoke began to rise, followed by a jet of flame,
fed no doubt by the quantity of straw and chaff
lying about, Sophy and Betty both shrieked and
exclaimed, but Betty’s mind was chiefly full of
her old man, and she saw his straw hat at last.
He was standing in front of the verandah, before
the front door, and, as they threw the window
open, they heard his gruff voice—
“NotI. Be off with you! I baint a going to
give my master’s property to a lot of rapscallion
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THE MACHINE 233
thieves and robbers like you, as should know
better.â€
Then came the answer, “We don’t want none
of his property. Only his guns and his money
for the cause of the people.†And big sticks were
brandished, and the throng thickened.
“Oh, don’t ye hurt he!†screamed Betty. “He
that never did you no harm! Don’t ye! Oh,
Dan Hewlett! Oh—h!â€
“Then throw us out the guns, old woman,â€
called up the black-faced figure, ‘and we'll let
him be.â€
“Tf you do,†shouted Pucklechurch—and then
there was a rush in on him, and they could see
no more, for he must have backed under the
verandah. Betty made a dash for the-front stairs,
to come to his help, Sophy after her; but, before
they could even tumble to the bottom, there was
“a change in the cries—
“The soldiers! the soldiers! Oh—hoo—hoo—
hoo!†There was a scamper and a scurry, a
trampling of horses. The two trembling hands,
getting in each other’s way, unfastened the door,
which was not even locked, and beheld Puckle-
church gathering himself up with a bleeding head,
a cloud of smoke and flame, and helmets and
silver lace glancing through it. There had been
no need to read the Riot Act; the enemy’ were
tearing along all ways over the fields, except
234 THE CARBONELS
a few whom the horsemen had intercepted. Dan
Hewlett and the black-faced leader, without his
long nose, were two ; the other three were—among
the loudest, poor Softy Sam, who had been yelling
wildly—big lads, or young men, one from Down-
hill, the others nearer home, howling and sobbing
and praying to be let go. Captain Carbonel’s first
thought was whether Pucklechurch was hurt, but
the old man was standing up scratching his head,
and Betty hovering over him. Then his eyes fell
on his sister-in-law, and he exclaimed—
“You here, Sophy! Your sister is very anxious!â€
But the fire was by this time getting ahead,
and no one could attend to anything else. The
prisoners were put into the servants’ hall, and
locked in; the horses were tied up at a safe
distance, the poor things rearing with alarm at
the flame ; the men were, under Sir Harry Hart-
man and Captain Carbonel’s orders, made to form
a line from the pond, and hand on the pails and
buckets that were available; but these were not
very many, though the numbers of helpers were
increased by the maids, who had crept back from
the orchard, and by the shepherd and some even
of the mob, conscious that they had been only
lookers on, and “ hadn’t done no harm.â€
It was a dry season, and the flames spread,
catching the big barn, and then seeming to fly in
great flakes like a devouring winged thing to the
THE MACHINE 238
Pucklechurches’ thatch. Betty and her husband
flew to fling out their more valued possessions,
and were just in time to save them; but thence
the fire, just as the water in the nearest pond was
drying up, caught a hold on the dairy and the old
thatched part of the farmhouse. Bellowings were
heard from the captives that they would be burnt
alive, and some one, it was never known who, let
them out, for no sign of them appeared when all
was over, though their prison was untouched by
the fire. For even at that moment the Poppleby
fire-engine galloped up the road, and was hailed
with shouts of joy. It had a hose long enough to
reach down to the brook in the meadow, and the
hissing bursts of water poured down did at last
check the flames before they had done much harm
to the more modern portion of the house, though
all the furniture was lying tumbled about in heaps
on the lawn—Mary’s piano, with the baby’s cradle
full of crockery on the top of it, and Edmund’s
writing desk in the middle of a washing stand all
upside down.
The first thing Edmund did when the smoke
wreaths alone were lingering about, was to send his
groom down to the cellar, with a jug in his hand, to
bring up some beer, which he proceeded to hand
in the best breakfast-cups to all and sundry of
the helpers, including Sir Harry Hartman, Sophy
helping in the distribution with all her might.
236 THE CARBONELS
“Miss Carbonel, I think?†said Sir Harry,
courteously, as she gave him the cup. “Were you
the garrison ?â€â€™
Sophy laughed. “Yes, sir, except old Puckle-
church and his wife.â€
“Then I may congratulate you on being the
bravest woman in Uphill,†said the old gentleman,
raising his hat.
It was getting dark, and they had to consider
what was next to be done. Captain Carbonel
was anxious about his wife and children, and Sir
Harry was urging him to bring them to his house,
while Mr. Grantley, from Poppleby, who had come
up on the alarm, urged the same upon him. It
ended in a guard being told off, consisting of Cox,
the constable of Uphill, who had emerged from
no one knew where, the Downhill constable,
and the shepherd, with one of the yeomen, who
were to be entertained by Pucklechurch and the
cook, and prevent any mischief being done to the
scattered furniture before morning. The Puckle-
churches and Mrs, Mole, with Barton, were doing
their best to bring in and attend to the live stock,
all of which had been saved by Pucklechurch’s care.
Then they rode off together, Sophy and the
housemaid having already started across the fields,
bearing whatever necessary baggage they could
collect or carry for Mrs. Carbonel and the little
ones.
THE MACHINE 237
Mrs. Carbonel was at the door when her husband
rode up, having only just managed to hush off her
little Mary to sleep, and left her and the baby
with Rachel Mole to watch over them. Poor thing,
she had been in a terrible state of anxiety and
terror for all these hours, so much the worse
because of the need of keeping her little girl from
being agitated by seeing her alarm or hearing the
cries, exclamations, and fragments of news that
Mrs. Pearson and her daughters were rushing
about with.
When she saw him first, and Sophy a moment
afterwards, she sprang up to him as he dismounted,
and greeted him with a burst of sobs and thankful
tears.
“Why, Mary, Mary, what’s this? One would
think I had been in a general engagement. You,
a soldier’s wife! No; nobody’s a hair the worse!
Here is Sir Harry Hartman wondering at you.â€
To hear of the presence of a stranger startled
Mrs, Carbonel into recovering herself, with “I
beg your pardon,†and her pretty courtesy, with
the tears still on her face; while the old gentle-
man kindly spoke of the grievous afternoon she
had had, and all the time Mr. and Mrs. Pearson
were entreating him to do them the honour to
come in and drink a glass of wine—for cake and
wine were then considered to be the thing to offer
guests in a farmhouse.
238 THE CARBONELS
Sir Harry, aware of what farmhouse port was
apt to be, begged for a glass of home-brewed ale
instead, but came in readily, hoping to persuade
Mrs. Carbonel to send for the Poppleby post-
chaise, and let him take her and her children
home. She was afraid, however, to disturb little
Mary, and Mrs. Pearson reckoned on housing
them for the night, besides which his park was too
far off. So it was settled that Sophy, for whom
there really was no room, should go to Poppleby
Parsonage with Mr. Grantley for the night, and
she and Sir Harry only tarried to talk over the
matter, and come to an understanding of the
whole as far as might be.
“Who warned you?†asked the captain.
“The last person I should expect—Tirzah
Todd, good woman,†said Mrs. Carbonel. “She
came and called me, and helped me over the
hedges.â€
“And Hoglah came after me,’ said Sophy,
“and told me to come here, only I could not.â€
“Vou were the heroine of the whole, Miss
Carbonel,†said Sir Harry.
“Oh, don’t say so; I didn’t do any good at
all,†said Sophy, becoming much ashamed of her
attempt at haranguing. “Old Pucklechurch was
the one, for he saved all the dear cows and horses,
and was nearly letting himself be killed in the
defence. But, oh! all the rest of them. To think
of them treating us so after everything!â€
THE MACHINE 239
“Most likely they were compelled,†said gentle
Mrs. Carbonel.
“They will hear of it again,†said Sir Harry.
“Could you identify them, Miss Carbonel?â€
“A good many,†said Sophy, “though they had
their faces chalked—that horrid Dan Hewlett
for one.â€
“There can be no doubt of him, for he was
one of the prisoners that got away,†said Captain
Carbonel, in a repressive manner. “He has
always been a mischievous fellow; but the re-
markable thing is that it was his son who came
to summon us this morning—John Hewlett, a
very good, steady lad. By-the-by, has any one
seen him? I sent him home by the Elchester
coach. I wonder what has become of him.â€
CHAPTER XXIV
MISTUDGED
‘That weary deserts we may tread,
A dreary labyrinth may thread,
Through dark ways underground be led.â€
ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.
qOOR Johnnie was not very happy at that
moment. He had descended from the
coach at Poppleby, and set out to walk
to Downhill, wondering how he should be received
at his cousin’s workshop. Everything seemed
strangely quiet as he crossed the fields, where he
had wandered last night, but there were now and
then far-off echoes of voices and shouts. He
avoided the village of Downhill, and made his
way towards the little street and common of
Uphill, but not a creature could he see except
Todd’s donkey and a few geese.
The workshop was shut up, no one was about
either there or at the house. He considered a
moment whether to try to see what was doing at
MISFUDGED 24
Greenhow, or to go and tell his aunt how he had
fared, and that he knew the captain must be at
home by this time.
He was glad he had decided on the latter, for
the cottage door stood open, and Judith was .
sitting up in bed, her eyes wide open, and her
breath panting with anxiety and terror.
“Oh, Johnnie, my dear! There you are! Oh,
they are all gone! The ladies, the dear ladies,
and the little babies,†she gasped, and fell back
almost fainting.
“The captain is there by this time, and the
soldiers, never you fear,’ said John. “ Here,
you'd better take this,†trying to drop out some of
the cordial he knew she took in her attacks.
“The soldiers! Your father—your poor
father!†she gasped again, and she was so ill that
John, dreadfully frightened, could only hold her
up on one arm, and press the cordial to her lips
with the other hand. It was an overdose, but
that hardly mattered ; and before very long, just as
she was beginning to quiet down, there approached
a fresh sound of screaming, and his mother burst
into the house. “Oh, my poor man! My poor
Dan!†she cried. “They have got him! The
soldiers have got him!†and, as John was laying
down his aunt to come and hear, she rushed up
the stairs with “And it is all your doing, you
unnatural, good-for-nothing varmint! That was
Q
242 THE CARBONELS
what you were after all night, you and your aunt,
the adder that I have warmed at my bosom!
Turning against your own poor father, to set them
bloody-minded soldiers on him! And now he'll
be taken and hanged, and I shall be a poor
miserable widow woman all along of you!â€
This was poured forth as fast as the words
would come out of Molly’s mouth, but before they
had all streamed forth, Judith was choking in a
hysterical fit, so like a convulsion that Johnnie
could only cry “Aunt! aunt! Mother, look!â€
And Molly herself was frightened, and began to
say, “There! there!†while she helped him to hold
her sister, and little Judy flew off, half in terror
and half in search of help, crying out that aunt
was in a fit.
Help of a certain sort came—a good deal more
of it than was wanted—and the room was crowded
up, and there were a good many “ Poor dears!â€
“ There, nows!†and proposals of burnt feathers and
vinegar; but Mrs. Spurrell, who was reckoned the
most skilled in illness, came at last, put the others
out, especially as they wanted to see about their
husbands’ teas, and brought a sort of quiet, in
which Judith lay exhausted, but shuddering now
and then, and Molly sobbed by the fire. John
gathered from the exclamations that the Carbonel
family were safe somewhere, that Miss Sophy had
gone on like the woman preacher at Downhill,
MISFUDGED 243
that Greenhow had been on fire, but nobody was
hurt, though the soldiers had ridden in upon
them “so as was a shame to see,†and had got
poor Dan and Ned Fell, and all sure locked up.
John was shocked at this, for he had not meant
to do more than send Captain Carbonel home to
protect his family, and had not realized all the
consequences. In a few minutes more, however,
his father himself tramped in, and the first thing
he did was to fall on the lad in a fury, grasping
him by the collar, with horrible abuse of him for
an unnatural informer, turning against his own
father, and dealing a storm of heavy blows on
him with a great stick, Down clattered Mrs.
Spurrell, asking if he wished to kill his sister-in-
law?
“A good thing too—a traitor in one’s house,â€
he burst out, with more raging words and fresh
blows on poor John, who never cried out through
all ; but his mother rushed down the next moment,
crying out that she would not have her son mauled
and beaten, and laying fast hold of the stick.
It was turning into a fight between husband
and wife, and Mrs. Spurrell, who had more of her
senses about her than any one else, called out,
“ Off with you, John Hewlett! I'll tackle ’em!â€
Poor Johnnie had no choice but to obey her.
Bruised, worn out, hungry, uncertain of everything,
and miserable about his aunt, he could only wander
244 THE CARBONELS
slowly away, feeling himself a traitor. He found
his way to the workshop, and had just thrown him-
self down in the wood-shed, when he heard his
master’s voice calling out—
“Who's there?â€
“Me! Johnny! Father’s in a mortal rage with
me for telling the captain, but I never thought as
how all the soldiers would come.â€
“And a very good thing they did, to put a stop
to such doings as never was,†said Mrs. Hewlett’s
voice. “Bless me, the dear children and the ladies
might have been burnt in their beds!â€
“Come in, Johnnie, and have a bit of supper,â€
said George Hewlett.
“And tell us all about it,†said his wife. “We'll
_give you a shake-down for the night if you can’t go
home.â€
John was thankful, and Mrs, Hewlett set before
him a good meal of bread, cheese, cold bacon, and
beer ; but he was too dull and dejected, as well as
much too tired, to be able to talk, and scarcely
could remember all that had happened. He knew
it was not manners to put his head down on his
arms on the table, but he really could not hold it
up, and he had dozed off almost with the food in
his mouth.
“Poor chap! He’s fair worn out,†said the elder
George. “ Make his bed ready, mother.â€
And when it was ready, the younger George
MISFUDGED 245
absolutely kicked him into being awake enough to
tumble into it. Even then his sleep was for a good
while tossing, dreamy, and restless ; but, by-and-by,
it grew sounder, and he lay so still in the morning
that his kind hostess hindered her boys from dis-
turbing him. He had not long been awake, and
had only said his prayers, and washed at the pump,
when horses’ feet were heard, and Cousin George
called to him to come out and speak to the captain.
He came, with hair wringing wet, and shy, awkward
looks,
“My lad,†said the captain, “I cannot tell you
how much I thank you for your bravery and spirit
the night before last. You did me and mine a
benefit that I shall always remember, though I feel
it would just be insulting you to offer you any
present reward! Nor, indeed, could it be sufficient
for what you have done.â€
“Thank you, sir,†mumbled John, hardly know-
ing what he or the captain said.
“ And,†added Captain Carbonel, “your father
got away. If he is taken, what you have done for
us may be remembered in his favour.â€
Again John managed to say, “Thank you, sir.â€
And the captain rode off to offer the like thanks to
Tirzah Todd; but her cottage was shut up, the
donkey gone, and she, with her husband and Hoglah
out on a broom-selling expedition. He was not
clear of the riot, and she did not want him to hear
246 THE CARBONELS
her thanked. They must have gone away with
their gipsy kin, for they never came back while the
Carbonels were in England, and only a sovereign
could be left for them with Mr. Harford, who
promised to stand Tirzah’s friend if any opening
for assisting her offered.
Dan had been told that rioters generally got off
without difficulty. It was not easy to trace them,
and their safety was in numbers and their semi-
disguise ; and Jack Swing, or the man with the
nose, had escaped on various similar occasions,
wearing a different disguise at each place. It had
not come into their calculations that they had gone
so far as to rouse the spirit of the landowners, who
had at first dealt gently with the disturbances, but
who now felt that strong measures must be taken
to prevent the mischief from going further. He
thought himself safe when he had once got away
from the strong-room at Greenhow, and he was
slouching about his garden when Cox the constable,
backed by two stout men, came with a warrant,
from Sir Harry Hartman, for the apprehension of
Daniel Hewlett for peace-breaking and arson. He
began to argue that it was not he more than any
one else, and he hadn’t set fire to nothing, but
he was told that he must reserve his defence
for his trial, and the handcuffs were put on, and
he was carried off in a cart, just as John was
hurrying up the lane, having got leave from his
MISÂ¥UDGED 247
master to see how his aunt was, before beginning
work.
Molly had seen her husband taken to prison
before, and she did not realize that this was a
much more serious affair than were his poaching
misdemeanours, so that she was not so much over-
powered as might have been expected; and, as he
was taken by the well-known constable instead of
the soldiers, she did not treat it as John’s fault.
Besides, she was really afraid of, as she said,
“upsetting†Judith by another outcry, so she only
moaned in a low, miserable voice about what was
to become of her and her poor children, though
after all, what with the parish, Judith’s help, and
- John’s earnings, she would be no worse off than
was common with her. Jem was supposed to “keep
himself,†and only Judy was really on her hands.
She would hardly let her son go up and see
Judith. “Now, you'll be terrifying of her, and
she’ll be upset again and holler, and go into a
fitees
However, he took off his boots and went up
softly. Judith was all alone, lying still, but he had
never seen her look half so ill, though she opened
her eyes and smiled when the creaking stair
announced him, and when he bent over her she
said, “ Dear lad, you bain’t hurt!â€
“Oh no; not at all.â€
“ And the dear ladies are safe ?â€
248 THE CARBONELS
“Yes; Tirzah Todd came and took them
away.â€
’ “Thank God!â€
“ But you are bad, auntie ?â€
“Oh, never mind. All’s right! You've done
your duty, and I can only thank God for my good
lad.â€
Her voice grew faint, her eyes closed, and John
was obliged to go away—but the look of peace
stayed with him.
CHAPTER XXV
JUDITH
‘ And of our scholars let us learn
Our own forgotten lore.â€
KEBLE,
aga LL TLE Mary Carbonel was not the worse
Mi for all the agitations, from which, indeed,
she had been so carefully shielded, but
her mother was sadly broken down by all she had
undergone, and likewise by mortification at the
whole conduct of the Uphill people. After all
the years that she and her husband and sisters had
striven for them, it was very hard to find that so
very few would exert themselves for their protec-
tion, and that so many would even turn against
them. It was hard to make allowance for the
bewilderment of slow minds, for sheer cowardice,
and for the instinct of going along with one’s own
class of people. She and Sophy prayed that they
might forgive the people, but it was impossible
250 THE CARBONELS
just then not to feel that there was a good deal
to forgive, and Captain Caiger was always telling
them that all their trouble came in trying to help
the good-for-nothing people.
They had moved into the George Hotel at
Elchester. It was a good large inn, such as used
to exist in coaching days, where travellers stopped
for meals, and sometimes spent a night, and the
rooms were so comfortable that they were glad to
stay there, while Captain Carbonel could go back-
wards and forwards to make arrangements about
the repair of Greenhow. Of course, when he came
to look the place over with a builder from Elchester
it turned out that a great deal more was needed
than simply re-building what had been burnt; and
he was in difficulties about the cost, when an offer
came which he was glad to accept.
The Seven Ionian Islands had been put under
the protection of England since they had been set
free from the Turkish dominion, and the Governor,
Sir Thomas Maitland (King Tom as he was often
called), was very active in building, making roads,
and improving them in every way possible. He
wanted an English officer to superintend his
doings in the little isle of Sta. Maura, and being
acquainted with Major Sandford, Dora’s husband,
the proposal was made that Captain Carbonel
should undertake the work for two or three years,
bringing out, of course, his family with a handsome
YÂ¥UDITH 251
salary. It was a most opportune offer, giving him
the means of renewing Greenhow, of a visit to
the sister, and of restoring his wife’s health, which
had been much tried by her child’s death, little
Mary’s delicate state, and the alarm of the riots.
So it was gladly accepted, and the departure was
to take place as soon as the trials were over,
for a special commission had been appointed to
try the rioters; and poor Sophy was much dis-
tressed at having so evidently recognized Dan
Hewlett when she found that “rioting and arson,â€
that is, burning, made a capital offence, so that it
was a matter of life and death.
But there was another to whom this same dis-
covery made a great difference—namely, Dan
Hewlett himself. When he found that his life was
at stake, he declared himself willing to turn King’s
evidence, if his pardon were secured to him, and
this was really important, as he was able to identify
Jack Swing, who really was the chief mischief-
maker, being a young clerk whose head had been
turned by foolish notions about liberty for the
people, and who really acted more generously, and
with less personal spite, than most of his unhappy
followers. However, Dan was content to purchase
his own life by denouncing the leader whom he
had followed, and he was promised safety after the
trial should be over, until which time he must
remain in prison at Minsterham.
252 THE CARBONELS
Captain Carbonel had consulted George Hew-
lett, when arranging the ruins at Greenhow, as to
what had best be done for John, whose services
he could not forget. George considered for a
night, and the next day said—
“Well, sir, I beg your pardon, but the best thing
as could be done with that there John would be
to put him somewhere to learn the cabinet-making.
He is a right sharp, clever hand, and knows pretty
well all I can teach him; and he would get on
famous if he had the chance. And it bain’t so
comfortable for him here. Some of’em owes him
a grudge for bringing the soldiers down on ’em,
and calls him an informer; and it will be all the
worserer for him when his father comes home—
the scamp that he is! I’m ready to wish my
name wasn’t the same. Wuss shame by far than
to be strung up to turn agin him as he was hand
and glove with!â€
“I am quite of your opinion, Hewlett; and I
fully think John would be best out of the way,
poor fellow. I will inquire for a good master for
him.â€
“Thank you, sir. I would have had the boy up
to sleep at my place, but he won't leave his poor
aunt. He be the chief comfort she has, poor
thing. But she won’t be here long anyway; and
if ever there was a good woman, ’tis Judith Grey.â€
It was quite true. Mr. Harford, who had come
YUDITH 283
home on Saturday, walked over to Poppleby,
partly for the sake of saying that Judith was
certainly near the close of her trials, and that it
was her great wish to see one of the dear ladies
again, though she durst not ask one of them to
come into Dan’s*house. Indeed Mr. Harford had
only drawn the expression of her desire out of her
with difficulty.
Mrs, Carbonel was not well enough for a trying
interview, so it was Sophy who drove from El-
chester with her brother-in-law, grave and thought-
ful, and only wishing to avoid everybody; for
she could not yet forget how no one had shown
any gratitude, nor desire to shield those who had
been so long their friends. The Poppleby doctor
had been sent to see Judith, and had pronounced
that the old disease had made fatal progress,
accelerated by the hysterical convulsions caused
by the night and day of suspense and anxiety,
and the attack on her nephew, as well as the
whole of Dan’s conduct. He did not think that
she could last many more days.
So Sophy arrived at the well-known cottage,
and was met at the door by Molly, with her apron
to her eyes, and a great deal to say about her
poor sister, and “it wasn’t her wishâ€; but Mr.
Harford, who was on the watch, began to answer
her, so as to keep her from going upstairs with
the visitors. Little Judy, now a nice, neat girl of
254 THE CARBONELS
fourteen, was sitting by her, but rose to go away
when the lady came in.
Judith was leaning against pillows, and the pink
flush in her cheeks and her smile of greeting
prevented Sophy from seeing how ill and wasted
she looked, thin and weak as were the fingers that
lay on the coverlet.
“Why, Judith, you look much better than I
expected. You will soon be as well as ever.â€
Judith only smiled, and said, “Thank you,
ma’am! I hope Mrs. Carbonel is better.â€
“Yes, She is getting better now, and she is
very sorry not to come and see you; but perhaps
she may be able before we go away.â€
“ And little Miss Mary, ma’am?â€
“She has been quite another creature since we
have been at Poppleby—not at all fretty, and
almost rosy.â€
“Tam glad. And you are going away, ma'am?â€
“Ves; off toa beautiful island in the Mediter-
ranean Sea, close to all the places where St. Paul
preached. You know Dora is at Malta, where he
was shipwrecked.â€
“Yes, ma’am; I like to know it. You will give
my duty to her, Miss Sophy, and thank her—oh!
so muchâ€â€”and Judith clasped her hands—* for
all she and you and Mrs, Carbonel have been to
me. You seemed to bring the light back to me,
just as my faith was growing slack and dull.â€
YUDITH 256
“Yes; I will tell her, Judith. I don’t like leav-
ing you, but it won’t seem long till we come back ;
and we will send you those beautiful Maltese
oranges.â€
Judith smiled that beautiful smile again. “Ah,
Miss Sophy, you have been very good, and helped
me ever so much; but my time is nearly over,
and I shall not want even you and madam where
Iam going. I shall see His face,†she murmured ;
and lifted up her hands.
Sophy was rather frightened, and felt as if she
had done wrong in talking of oranges. She did
not know what to say, and only got out something
about Johnnie and a comfort.
“Yes, that he is, Miss Sophy, and little Judy
too. The boy, he is that shy and quiet, no one
would believe the blessed things he says and reads
to me at night. He dea blessing, and so be Judy,
all owing to the Sunday School.â€
“Oh! to you, Judith, You made him good
before we had him, though Mary and Dora did
help,†said Sophy, with rising tears. _
“ And oh! I am so thankful,†she said, clasping
her hands, “for what the captain is doing for
the boy.â€
“Fle deserves it, I am sure,†said Sophy.
“Tt will keep him easier to the right way, and
it would be harder for him when I am gone, and
his father come home! And Mr. Harford, he says
356 THE CARBONELS
he will find a good place for Judy. She is a good
girl, a right good girl.â€
“That she is.â€
“ And, maybe, Mrs. Carbonel and you, when you
come home, would be good to my poor sister.
She’ve been a good sister to me, she has, with it
all, but it has all been against her, and she would
be a different woman if she could. Please re-
member her.â€
“We will, we will if we can,â€
Then Judith went on to beg Sophy to write to
her former mistress, Mrs, Barnard, with all her
thanks for past kindness. That seemed to exhaust
her a good deal, and she lay back, just saying
faintly, “If you would read me a little bit, miss.†~
The Prayer Book lay nearest, and Sophy read
“Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in
peace†as well as she could amid the choking
tears, She felt as if she were lifted into some
higher air, but Judith lay so white and still that
she durst not do more than say “ Good-bye, dear
Judith.†She was going to say, “I will come and
see you again,†but something withheld her. She
thought Judith’s lips said, “Up there.†She bent
down, kissed the cheek, now quite white, and crept
down, passing Molly at the turn.
Two days later Mr. Harford came to say that
Judith was gone. Her last communion with
Johnnie, and with George Hewlett, had been given
YÂ¥UDITH 257
to her the day before, and she had not spoken
afterwards, only her face had been strangely
bright.
The Carbonels could only feel that her remnant
of life had been shortened by all she had under-
gone for their sakes, and Edmund and Sophy
both stood as mourners at her grave, Sophy feeling
that her life had been more of a deepening,
realizing lesson than anything that had gone
before, making her feel more than had ever come
yet into her experience, what this life is compared
with eternal life.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE GOLDEN CHAINS
«« A form unseen is pulling us behind,
Threads turn to cords, and cords to cables strong,
Till habit hath become as Destiny,
Which drives us on, and shakes her scourge on high.â€
Isaac WILLIAMS.
(vac mâ„¢APTAIN CARBONEL lost no time after
et A Judith Grey’s funeral in sending John
Ice Hewlett to his new master, Mr. Jones.
The place was the Carbonels’ old home, in a county
far away from Uphill. George had wished the lad
to go toacabinet-maker whom he knew at Minster-
ham, but he was convinced by the captain’s advice
to let him be quite away from the assizes, which
would not only be pain and shame to him, but
would mark his name with the brand of the same
kind as that of an informer. This Mr. Jones was
well known to the Carbonel family as an excellent
THE GOLDEN CHAINS 259
man—a churchwarden, and sure to care for the
welfare, spiritual as well as bodily, of those com-
mended to him.
And it happened, not unfortunately for John,
that, in the captain’s handwriting, his rather un-
common name was read as Newlett, and for some
time after he arrived he never found out the
mistake, and was rather glad of it when he did
so, since no one connected him with the rick-
burner who gave evidence against his leader.
Dan himself came home to find that he was
held in more utter disgrace than for all his former
disreputable conduct, which only passed for good-
fellowship. If he had been hanged, or even trans-
ported, he would only have been “poor Dan
Hewlett,’ and his wife would have had all the
pity due to widowhood; but everybody fought
shy of him, and the big lads hooted at him. He
could not get work, Judith’s pension had failed,
and they lived scantily on what Farmer Good-
enough allowed Molly to earn, as an old hand, to
be kept off the parish. Little Judith was ap-
prenticed to Mrs. Pearson, according to the old
fashion which bound out pauper girls as apprentices
to service, and which had one happy effect, namely,
that they could not drift foolishly from one situation
to another, though, in bad hands, they sometimes
had much to suffer. But Mrs, Pearson was a kind,
260 THE CARBONELS
conscientious mistress, and Judy was a good girl,
so that all went well.
Dan slouched about, snared rabbits and hares,
and drank up the proceeds thereof at little public-
houses where he was not known, or where the
company was past caring about his doings. At
last, he was knocked down in the dark by the
mail coach, and brought home in a cart, slowly
dying.
Mr. Harford came to see him, and found his
recollections of old times reviving, when he had
been Dame Verdon’s best scholar. “I could beat
old George any day at his book. And, then, I
was church singer, and had the solos,†he said,
evidently thinking sadly of his better days. “And
my wife, she was that tidy—only she did put too
much on her back!â€
The screen, which Judith had of late years kept
with the panel with the laburnums on the back
side, had by accident been now turned so that he
saw them ; and, when Mr. Harford came the next
day, he broke out—
“Them flowers! Them flowers, sir!â€
Mr. Harford could not understand.
“Them golden chains, sir. They was at the
bottom of it.â€
Mr. Harford understood still less.
“They talk of devils’ chains, sir, and how they
THE GOLDEN CHAINS 261
drags a man down. Them was a link, sure enough.
That paper there, sir, I keeps seeing it at night
by the rushlight, and they gets to look just like
chains.â€
Then Mr. Harford understood that he meant
the laburnums on the paper—golden chains, as
they are often called.
“T was working with George,†he said, “before
them Carbonels came, and when there was a piece
of the parlour paper left over, I took it for a
parkisit. I didn’t let George know; he always
seemed too particular. "Twas more than I had
reckoned on; and one bit I papered Mrs. Brown’s
room, at Downhill, with; and one bit that was
left my wife put on the screen, Then, when the
captain made a work about it, I thought it was
mean and shabby in him, and I never could lay
my mind to him or his after that—special after
Miss Sophy came and spied it out. I went agen
’em more and more, and all they wanted for the
place ; and it riled me the more that my lad should
be took up with them and his aunt. And so the
ill-will of it went on with me, worse and worserer.
Molly, I say, take the devils’ chains away. They’ve
got a hold of me.â€
That was his delirious cry. Mr. Harford prayed
with him and for him, but never could tell how
much was remorse and how much might be
262 THE CARBONELS
repentance. He was quieter as his strength failed,
and his wife said he made a beautiful end, and that
she was sure the Holy Name of the Saviour was
on his lips, and Mr. Harford trusted that she was
right, with the charity that hopeth all things.
CHAPTER XXVII
MISSED AND MOURNED
‘¢ Nor deem the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain.â€
LONGFELLOwW.
asked Nanny Barton, as she stood at
her gate, while some of her neighbours
came slowly out of church, about two years later.
“My man, he did ask Shepherd Tomkins,†said
Betsy Seddon, “and all the answer he got was,
‘You don’t desarve it, not you. As if my man
had gone out with that there rabble rout !â€
“And I’m sure mine only went up to see what
they were after, and helped to put out the fire
beside.â€
“ Ay,†said Cox, behind her, “but not till the
soldiers were come.â€
“Time they did come!†said Seddon. “ Rain
264. THE CARBONELS
comes through the roof, and that there Lawyer
Brent won't have nothing done to it till the captain
comes home.â€
“Yes,†added Morris, “and when I spoke to him
about my windows, as got blown in, he said
“cottages were no end of expense, and we hadn’t
treated them so as they would wish to come back
nohow.’â€
“Think of their bearing malice!†cried Nanny
Barton.
“I don’t believe as how they does,†responded
the other Nanny. “They have sent the coals and
the blankets all the same.â€
“Bear malice!†said Mrs. Truman, who had
just walked up. “No, no. Why, Parson Harford
have said over and over again, when he gave a
shilling or so or a meat order, to help a poor lady
that was ill, that ’twas by madam’s wish.â€
“And Governess Thorpe, she has the bag of
baby-linen and half a pound of tea for any call,â€
said Mrs. Spurrell.
“But one looks for the friendly word and the
time of day,†sighed Betsy Seddon.
“The poor children, they don’t half like their
school without the ladies to look in,†said Mrs.
Truman. “It is quite a job to get them there
without Miss Sophy to tell them stories.â€
“T can’t get mine to go at all on Sundays,†said
Nanny Morris.
MISSED AND MOURNED 265
“And,†added Betsy Seddon, “I’m right sure
my poor Bob would never have ’listed for a soldier
if the captain had been at home to make Master
Pucklechurch see the rights of things, and not turn
him off all on a suddent.â€
“Master Pucklechurch, he don’t believe they are
never coming back,†said Widow Mole, who had
just come that way as an evening walk with her
children. “He says little miss, and madam too,
have their health so much better out there, that
they won't like to come home. And yet they have
made the place like a picture. I was up there to
help Sue Pucklechurch clean it up, and ’tis just a
pleasure to see all the new outhouses and sheds,
as you might live in yourself, and well off too.â€
“And that it should all be for them Puckle-
churches,†sighed Seddon.
“T heerd tell,†said Mrs. Truman, “that Lawyer
Brent was to come and live in the house, and that
was why they are making it so nice.â€
On this there arose a general wail of lamenta-
tion, and even of indignation. Nobody loved
Lawyer Brent, who was a hard, if a just, man,
anxious for his employer’s good, but inclined, in
spite of all cautions, to grind the tenants. To
hear of his coming to Greenhow was dismal news
to all concerned, and there was such a buzz of
doleful inquiries that Mr. Harford stopped on his
way home to ask what was the matter.
266 THE CARBONELS
“Oh no,†he said, when heheard. “Captain and
Mrs, Carbonel are coming home in the spring,
only they wished to travel slowly, so as to see
something of foreign parts. You need not be
afraid. We shall have them back again, and I
hope nobody will be as foolish as before. I am
sure they have quite forgiven.â€
And, on a fine spring day, the bells were ringing
at the church, and everybody stood out at the
cottage doors, curtseying and bowing with delight
and welcome ; and Mrs. Carbonel and Miss Sophia
and Miss Mary, looking rosy, healthy, and sub-
stantial, and even little Master Edmund was
laughing and nodding, and looking full of joy.
While the captain walked up with Mr. Harford,
and greeted every one with kindly, hearty words.
No one could doubt that they were glad to be
at home again, and after all that had come and
gone, that they felt that these were their own
people whom they loved.
CONCLUSION
“The work be Thine, the fruit Thy children’s part.â€
KEBLE.
BOOK at Uphill Priors in the year 1880.
| Here are the mothers coming out of the
mothers’ meeting. They look, in their
neat hats and jackets, better on this week-day than
any one would have done on Sunday sixty years
ago. They are, many of them, the granddaughters,
or grandsons’ wives, of the inhabitants in those old
times; but they have not the worn, haggard faces
that their parents had when far younger, except
one or two poor things who have drunken hus-
bands. Miss Carbonel (young Miss Carbonel)
and the vicar’s wife have been working with
them, and reading to them things that the Bettys
and Nannys of those days would not have under-
stood or cared for.
268 THE CARBONELS
The white-haired lady, who stops her donkey-
chaise to exchange some affectionate, kindly words,
and give out a parcel or two—she is Miss Sophia ;
and those elderly women who cluster round for a
greeting, they are her old scholars. Those black
eyes are Hoglah’s; that neat woman is Judy!
Yes, she has lived among them, and worked
among them all her life, never forgetting that “no
good work can be done without drudgery.†She
has her Girls’ Friendly Society class still in her
own little house, though she has dropped most of
her regular out-of-door work of late years. For
the vicar—there is a vicar now—and his daughters
teach constantly in the schools. The children are
Swarming out now, orderly and nice, even superior
in appearance to some of the mothers they run up
to; and as to learning, the whole parish can read
and write, and the younger ones can send out a
letter that would be no disgrace to a lady or a
gentleman,
There is a machine, with its long tail of spikes,
coughing along as it blows off the steam at
Farmer Goodenough’s. No one dreams of
meddling with it to do any harm. Wages are
better, food is cheaper, and there are comforts in
the house of every one tolerably thrifty that the
grandmothers look at as novelties. John and
George Hewlett, carpenters and builders, have
CONCLUSION 269
a handsome shop and large workshop in the
street.
All this has come in the way of gradual
change, brought about not by rioting, but by
the force of opinion, and the action of those in
authority.
But how have people been fitted to make a
good use of these things—not to waste them,
but to use them as God’s good gifts? There has
been a quiet influence at work ever since “ they
Gobbleallsâ€â€ came up the roughness of the lanes,
and “Mary’s approach†was given up.
Captain Edmund, and Mary his wife, lie in
their quiet graves, but the work they did—by
justice, by kindness, by teaching, by example—has
gone on growing, and Miss Sophia looks at it,
and is thankful, as she still gives her best in love
and experience to the young generation who
are with her and look up to her for help and
counsel.
The church is beautiful now, not only to look
at, nor merely in the well-performed music of the
services, but in the number and devotion of the
worshippers and communicants. Of course, all is
not perfect in the place—never, never will it be
so in this world; but the boys and youths can,
and often are, saved from a fit of thoughtless
heathenism by their clubs and their guilds, and
270 THE CARBONELS
the better families are mostly communicants.
Blots there are, and the vicar sometimes desponds
when some fresh evil crops up; but Miss Sophia
always tells him to hope, and that—
“The many prayers, the holy tears, the nurture in the Word,
Have not in vain ascended up before the Gracious Lord.â€
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The artist was only nine years old and lived in Crooked Alley ; his
canvas was the pavement of a London street, his colours no more than a
motley collection of odds and ends of coloured chalks, But his story tells
of the higher and better work that he did in a simple, unaffected way.
BY PENELOPE LESLIE
DOROTHY’S STEPMOTHER
By PENELOPE LesLig, Author of “Troublesome Cousins,†&c.
‘With Frontispiece by C. J. Stanitanp. Cloth boards,
gilt, price 15.
Motherless little Dorothy went into the wood to look for fairies, and
found instead a very amiable young lady who eventually became not only
the fairy godmother to her Cinderella, but even filled up the vacant place
in the home and brought sunshine into Dorothy’s life again.
In addition to the preceding, the following Prize
Books are also published by the Society :—
BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
Author of ‘* The Heir of Redclyffe,†‘* Cameos from English History,†&c.
THE COOK AND THE CAPTIVE
With Five Full-page Illustrations by W. S, Sracey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 3s. 6¢.
This story is descriptive of life in Gaul in the times of Franks and
Burgundians, telling how young Attalus is given as a hostage to a
barbarian chief, of the good he is able to effect among his heathen
surroundings, and of his rescue and his final escape to his own home.
‘‘A historical romance suited to youthful readers. ... Told with all the art in
narration that Miss Yonge has long been noted for.â€â€”ReEcorp.
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4 NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG
BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE—continued
THE TREASURES IN THE MARSHES
With Three Full-page Illustrations by W.S.Stacry. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 25. 6d.
This tale is concerned with the finding of Anglo-Saxon treasures in
marshy land by members of two neighbouring families, and describes the
different ways in which the treasures were dealt with and the ultimate
consequences.
“Miss Charlotte Yonge describes . . . a variety of family incidents in her inimitable
way, drawing lessons so cleverly from her story that young people will remember both
the tale and its teaching.†—YoRKSHIRE Post.
THE CROSS ROADS
With Five Full-page Illustrations by J. F. WEEDON. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6a,
A story of life in domestic service at Langhope Mead, with some
amusing sketches of character both in the servants’ hall and in the
neighbouring village.
“ The story is vigorously written throughout, and abounds in amusing incidents and
exciting episodes.â€â€”EDUCATIONAL TIMES.
THE CONSTABLE’S TOWER
Or, The Times of Magna Charta. With Four Full-page Illus-
trations by C. O. Murray. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 35.
A tale of the days of Magna Charta, showing the nobility of the charac-
ter of Hubert de Burgh, and concluding with a spirited description of
the sea-fight off Dover.
“ One of the best children’s books published this season.†—WESTERN ANTIQUARY.
THE SLAVES OF SABINUS
With Five Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6d.
A powerful story of the Christian Church in the days when Vespasian
was the Roman Emperor, and his more genial son Titus was newly
returned from his conquest of the Jews.
“It is a story on a theme that draws all hearts—Christian faith and martyrdom in
the first century.†GUARDIAN.
THE CUNNING WOMAN’S GRANDSON
A Story of Cheddar a Hundred Years Ago. With Five Full-
page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled boards,
cloth gilt, price 35. 62.
An attractive story of the social and religious improvements that were
made in the Cheddar district through the philanthropic zeal of Miss
Hannah More and her sisters.
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER.
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 5
BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE—continued
UNDER THE STORM
Or, Steadfast’s Charge. With Six Full-page Illustrations.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s. 6d.
In “Under the Storm†the author of “The Heir of Redclyffeâ€
depicts the troublous experiences of the family of a small yeoman farmer
during the great Civil War.
« ©Under the Storm’ is in all respects worthy of the reputation of the author of ‘The
Heir of Redclyffe.’†—SPEcTATOR.
OUR NEW MISTRESS
Or, Changes at Brookfield Earl. With Four Full-page Illus-
trations by C. J. Sranitanv. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 35.
“‘ Our New Mistress†depicts with much truth to life the difficulties
met with by a young trained schoolmistress in taking charge of a village
school where innovations are not welcomed.
‘The schoolmistress’s story has just the dash of primness which makes it quite
perfect.â€â€”-SPECTATOR.
BY FRANCES MARY PEARD
Author of ‘*The Rose Garden,†“The Country Cousin,†‘‘ Paul’s
Sister,†&c.
THE ABBOT’S BRIDGE
With Five Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacy. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6d.
A story of life on the road in the time of Edward the Third, and of
the great rising of the townspeople of Bury St. Edmunds against the
authorities at the Abbey.
“Miss Peard should find her popularity increased by ‘The Abbot’s Bridge.’
is a capital story, vigorously told,†—MaNCHESTER GUARDIAN.
THE LOCKED DESK
With Five Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Staczy. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6d. :
In this book Miss Peard has left the historical field in which most of
her previous tales for young people have lain, giving us instead a story of
the present day, in which certain documents in Mrs. Barton’s locked desk
play an important part.
THE BLUE DRAGON
With Five Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6d.
‘‘ The Blue Dragon†is the sign of an inn at Chester, where the scene
of the story is laid, in the discontented, turbulent times that followed
immediately upon the battle of Bosworth Field.
“« Every page is full of stirring interest.†—CuurcH TimEs.
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6 NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG
BY FRANCES MARY PEARD—continued
SCAPEGRACE DICK
With Four Full-page Illustrations. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 3s. 6d.
A spirited story of adventure in England and the Low Countries in the
days of the Commonwealth.
‘A book far boys, which will be read with equal pleasure by their sisters.â€
Patt Matt Gazette.
PRENTICE HUGH
With Six Full-page Illustrations. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 35. 6d.
‘* Prentice Hugh†gives a graphic account of life during the reign of
Edward the First, mainly in the cathedral city of Exeter,
‘Another excellent book. . . . Both boys and girls will enjoy reading ‘ Prentice
Hugh’; it is in all respects one of the best books of the season.â€â€”St. JAMES’S GAZETTE.
TO HORSE AND AWAY
With Five Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 62.
The fortunes of a Royalist family in the times of the Great Civil War
form the leading theme of Miss Peard’s story, which, together with many
adventures, gives a few graphic scenes from the life of Charles II. in his
flight from Worcester Field.
“To Horse and Away’ will certainly give pleasure to girls and boys alike.â€
SaTurDay REVIEW.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “‘MADEMOISELLE MORI†&c.
STEPHANIE’S CHILDREN
With Five Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STaninanp,
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6a.
The story of the escape of Stéphanie, a young widow of high family,
and her two step-children, from France during the Great Revolution,
Descriptive also of the life led among the colony of évzzgrés in London.
“ Another proof of the versatility and charm of writing that is already well known
in the author of the ‘Atelier du Lys,’ and will prove a delightful addition to a girl’s
library.â€â€”SaTurpDay REVIEW.
NOT ONE OF US
With Five Full-page Illustrations by J. F. WEEDON. Bevelled
beards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6a.
Descriptive of the career of a young schoolmistress in Northern Italy,
and of the manners and customs of the folk dwelling in the valley of
Fiorasca,
‘This charming picture of Alpine life . . . is as good as anything done by the writer
of ‘ The Atelier du Lys.’â€â€”SpecraTor.
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER,
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 7
SY THE AUTHOR OF MADEMOISELLE MORI †&c.—continued
KINSFOLK AND OTHERS
With Five Full-page Illustrations by C. O. Murray. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6d.
A study in the conflicting duties that claim the obedience of Olive
Garth, who has been brought up from her earliest days by her grand-
mother, and whose mother returns from Australia after an absence of
seventeen years.
BANNING AND BLESSING
With Five Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s. 6d.
Descriptive of country life on the confines of wild Dartmoor, at the
beginning of the present century. The banning of Lois Smerdon, the
black witch, at length comes to an end, and so plentiful are the blessings
which follow that all ends happily and full of promise for the future.
‘4 capital specimen of a book for girls.†—SATURDAY REVIEW.
A LITTLE STEP-DAUGHTER
With Six Full-page Illustrations. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 35. 6a.
“A Little Step-daughter †is descriptive of life in the South of France
in the early part of the eighteenth century.
“The anonymous authoress of ‘ Mademoiselle Mori’ is one of the most delightful
of writers for girls. Her books are characterised by a delicacy of touch rarely met with.â€
STANDARD.
BY M. & C. LEE
Authors of ‘The Oak Staircase,†‘‘ Joachim’s Spectacles,†&e,
MISS COVENTRY’S MAID
With Three Full-page Illustrations by GERTRUDE D, HAMMOND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 62.
The identity of Miss Coventry’s maid is a mystery to all but her young
mistress, and the mystery remains until after the performance of She Stoops
to Conguer at a certain country house where Miss Coventry had been
invited to stay.
“The Misses Lee have hit upon an idea for their story which, as far as we know, is
new. «.. The situation is a good one and is well worked out.†—SPECTATOR.
ST. DUNSTAN’S FAIR
With Three Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 62.
‘©St, Dunstan’s Fair†tells of the folks living in a small country
village in Kent, in the year of Waterloo, of what happened at the Fair
itself, and of the consequences to Nancy Springett and poor George
Colgate. ;
‘CA very pretty story with some pathetic scenes in it."-SATURDAY REVIEW.
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8 NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG
BY M & GC. LEE—continued
THE FAMILY COACH
With Four Full-page Illustrations by J. F. WEEDon. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
A story of a family of children, their schemes and plans, and the
misfortunes that consequently ensue, in the course of a journey from
London to Mentone, where they are to meet their parents, who have just
returned from India,
‘©€The Family Coach’ is as attractive within as without.â€â€”TimEs.
GOLDHANGER WOODS
A Child’s Romance. With Two Full-page LIllustrations.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
‘*Goldhanger Woods†is the story of the romantic adventure of a
young girl a hundred years ago among a band of desperate smugglers.
‘This ‘child’s romance’ is ingeniously planned and well executed.â€â€”SpECTATOR.
MRS. DIMSDALE’S GRANDCHILDREN
With Four Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STaniLanp.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
A large number of Mrs. Dimsdale’s grandchildren are gathered
together one Christmas at the Downs House in Sussex. Milly, in emula-
tion of Aunt Hetty, writes a play. Difficulties intervene, but everything
comes right in the end, and the story concludes with an account of the
ea of stir and spirit.†—GuaRDIAN.
BY M. BRAMSTON
Author of ‘A Woman of Business,†‘* Rosamond Ferrars,†&c.
THEIR FATHER’S WRONG
With Three Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STaniLanp.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 6d.
The story of the children of a man who had been gradually entangled
in a dynamite conspiracy, and of their successful endeavour to repair, as
far as possible, the wrong and suffering which their father’s action had
brought upon innocent people.
‘We like this story better than anything that the author has yet given us.â€
EDUCATIONAL TIMEs.
WINNING HIS FREEDOM
With Three Full-page Illustrations by W.S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 6d.
The lesson taught by Miss Bramston’s story is that of honesty and
truth at all costs, as shown in the way in which young Piers Aylward freed
himself, after much pain and trouble, from the slavery imposed upon him
by his cowardly cousin Henderson.
‘Winning his Freedom’ is an admirable book for schoolboys.†RECORD.
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER.
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 9
BY M. BRAMSTON—continued
LOTTIE LEVISON
With Two Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
A South London story for young women and elder girls, describing
how Lottie Levison was filled with a longing to teach others the means of
getting the happiness which she had gained for herself.
‘An excellent story with a fine and unhackneyed moral. . . . Lottie isa very real and
very inspiring heroine.â€"—MonTHLY PAacKET.
BY:
THE ADVENTURES OF DENIS
With Three Full-page Illustrations by J. F. WEEpon. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 6d.
The adventures in question are closely connected with the rising of 1745
and the retreat of Prince Charles Edward from Derby to the north again.
‘©The Adventures of Denis’ isa charming tale of 1745, which would delight any one
to read.â€â€”-SaTuRDAY REVIEW.
ABBY’S DISCOVERIES
With Three Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Sracry. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 25. 6d.
The story of the successive discoveries, in very ordinary matters, that
little Abigail made in her earliest years, and the meaning and lessons
which they have for all those concerned in bringing up the young.
‘We have not seen a better book about the feelings and experiences of childhood
than this since we read the ‘My Childhood’ of Madame Michelet.â€â€”SPEcTaTor.
A VILLAGE GENIUS
A True Story of Oberammergau. With Two Full-page Illus-
trations by J. F. WEEDON. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 2s.
A tale of Oberammergau and of the life of Rochus Dedler, the com-
poser of the music that is still used at the Passion Play there.
‘* A sympathetic and charming sketch.†—BooKSELLER.
DANGEROUS JEWELS
With Four Full-page Illustrations by J. F. WEEpon. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 35.
The opening scenes of this story are laid in Brittany at the time of the
great French Revolution, but the scene changes, and the later chapters
give some vivid descriptions of rough life in a lonely hut on the moorlands
of Devonshire.
‘Plenty of stirring incident, and the scenes are novel and unhackneyed.â€
MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.
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10 NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG
BY M. BRAMSTON-—continued
A PAIR OF COUSINS
With Three Full-page [Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 6d.
The pair of cousins are Flower Callaway, who has a weakness for
appearing interesting and attractive in the eyes of others, and Avis
Goldenlea, a healthy-minded girl of real sterling worth.
‘*The simplicity of Miss Bramston’s new stor y is one of its greatest charms.â€
iP y &
SCHOOLMISTRESS.
THE HEROINE OF A BASKET VAN
With Three Full-page Illustrations. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 2s. 6d.
The heroine is little Phenie, whom her father, Jonathan Redmoor,
takes with him to travel about the country in his basket van.
“There are plenty of incidents in the tale to interest the reader, and, as such a story
should end, Phenie finds her right place after all.†—ScHOOLMASTER.
UNCLE IVAN
With Three Full-page Illustrations. Bevelled boards, cloth
gilt, price 25. 6d,
“Uncle Ivan†gives a striking and eventful picture of life in England
and Russia about forty years ago; together with some insight into the
methods of the Russian Government for dealing with political crime,
‘*A charming book, and one that must give pleasure to boys and girls, not to mention
any of their elders who may take it up to pass an idle hour.â€â€”SaTuRDAY REVIEW.
SILVER STAR VALLEY
With Four Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
In this story Miss Bramston gives a striking and vivid picture of life
among a mining community in the Rocky Mountains.
‘' Miss Bramston’s story is spirited and interesting throughout.â€
SaturDAY REVIEW.
BY C. R. COLERIDGE
Author of ** An English Squire,†‘The Girls of Flaxley,†&c,
A BAG OF FARTHINGS
With Two Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
The ‘bag of farthings †contains the prizes for which certain boys and
girls run races, and some of the coins become mingled and interchanged
with three gold napoleons that are lost. The story tells how Bertie Brown
is wrongfully suspected of theft, and how at length he discovers the real
culprit and clears his own character.
“The delicate touch with which these pictures are handled is worthy of all praise.
SPECTATOR,
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER,
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG II
BY G. R. COLERIDGE—continued
MAX, FRITZ, AND HOB
With Four Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacry. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
A tale of adventure four hundred years ago, the scene of which is laid
principally at the Castle of Lindenberg, in the Bavarian highlands,
“ Sure of a welcome from boys. . ... History and fiction are happily blended... «
The narrative is bright and attractive."—St. JAmEs’s GAZETTE.
FIFTY POUNDS
A Sequel to “The Green Girls of Greythorpe,†&c. With
Four Full-page Illustrations by W. S. STACEY. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 35.
A sequel to ‘‘ The Green Girls of Greythorpe,†showing what became
of the principal characters in that story after they had_ grown into young
men and young women, ‘The interest of the present story, however, to
the reader is in no sense dependent on its predecessor.
‘The book is very bright, the story never flags.â€
Gurus’ FRIENDLY SocigTY ASSOCIATES’ JOURNAL.
THE GREEN GIRLS OF GREYTHORPE
With Four Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 35.
A story of an old endowed institution that has come under the notice
of the Charity Commissioners, who decide that a reorganisation and
extension of the school is necessary, and that the education it affords must
be brought into harmony with modern requirements.
‘The story is very prettily told, and, although quiet in tone, contains a full share
of incident and interest.""—STANDARD.
MAUD FLORENCE NELLIE
Or, Don’t Care. With Four Full-page Illustrations by C. J.
STANILAND. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
A story, showing how a veritable scapegrace of a boy, Harry Whittaker,
and his careless sister, Florrie, are gradually brought to see the costs
that may be entailed by the spirit which says “‘ Don’t care†to every
gentle correction of a fault.
REUBEN EVERETT
With Four Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 6d.
Miss Culeridge’s ‘‘ Reuben Everett†is the story of ‘*a truant bird, that
thought his home a cage,†and describes the early days of training colleges
and railways in England.
‘©* Reuben Everett’ isa story remarkably true to life.â€â€”Rgcorp.
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I2. NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG
BY MARY H. DEBENHAM
Author of “ The Princesses of Penruth,†&c.
THE MAVIS AND THE MERLIN
With Two Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
In ‘‘The Mavis and the Merlin’? Miss Debenham gives some graphic
pictures of the storm that raged in the Low Countries during the latter
half of the sixteenth century, when William the Silent was making his
resolute attempt to found the Dutch Republic.
_ ‘A spirited tale of the Dutch struggle for liberty under William of Orange. ... The
climax... is well worked up and most exciting.†-MANCHESTER GUARDIAN,
MY GOD-DAUGHTER
With Two Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
‘‘ My God-daughter†is little Theodosia (the motherless child of some
strolling players) named after the god-mother, Miss Theodosia Cartaret.
The story relates how the players’ children were lost and how they were
found again, in London, at the time when the Gordon Riots were at their
height.
“Miss Debenham has a very graceful way of telling her stories. . . . This is a most
attractive little book.†—JouRNAL OF EDUCATION.
MOOR AND MOSS
With Three Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacry. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 25. 6d.
A story of the Border in the first half of the sixteenth century, of the
struggles that were for ever taking place and the raids that were being
made.
__ ‘‘A story of high courage and reckless daring. . . . For its historical interest and
literary charm, a book to be heartily commended.†—WeESTERN ANTIQUARY.
FOR KING AND HOME
With Three Full-page TIllustrations by J. F. WEEDOoN.
___ Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s. 6d.
Of the rising in La Vendée during the great French Revolution, and of
the adventures that subseqently befell a well-to-do family there, together
with an English cousin Dorothy, who was staying at the chateau at the
time.
‘ The events are well combined and cleverly conceived. ’"—MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.
MISTRESS PHIL
With Two Full-page Illustrations by C. O. Murray. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
‘¢ Mistress Phil†is Phillis Juliana Cheviot, and the story describes
her stay at Waltham Cross in the year 1760, and the results that followed
from it, giving also some lively pictures of mail-coaches and highwaymen.
** A book good enough for anybody to read, of whatever age.â€
ScHooL BoArD CHRONICLE.
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER.
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 13
BY MARY H. DEBENHAM—continwed
A LITTLE CANDLE
With Five Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 3s. 62.
Miss Debenham’s story is concerned with Scotland in the stormy
days of Claverhouse, The ‘Little Candle†is Bride Galbraith, who,
by her tenderness and grace, comforts and softens the time of trial and
affliction,
‘The character (of Bride Galbraith) is a very beautiful one, and Miss Debenham has
drawn it with exquisite touch.â€â€”PuBLISHERS’ CIRCULAR.
FAIRMEADOWS FARM
With Two Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
The scene is laid in Hampshire about the time of Monmouth’s rebellion,
The story gives some vivid pictures of the opening at Winchester of Judge
Jeffreys’ harsh campaign against the rebels, and of the clouds that hung
over the neighbourhood for a time in consequence.
‘*A simple yet capitally related story, and the pathetic features are very effectively
realised.†—LivERPOOL CouRIER.
ST. HELEN’S WELL
With Two Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILanp.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
*¢St. Helen’s Well†is a story of events that followed the rising in
1745 in favour of the Young Pretender.
‘* The perils and hardships of the adventure are graphically described. '—GUARDIAN.
BY FREDERICK C. BADRICK
Author of ‘* Starwood Hall,†‘‘ The Puff of Wind,†&c.
THE GOLDEN BUCKLE
With Five Full-page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6d.
A story of London in the year of the Great Plague, showing how one
John Garside, a hosier in Holborn, and his family took refuge on board
The Golden Buckle, then lying in the river,
** All who recollect the dramatic power of the author's ‘ Peckover’s Mill’ will heartily
greet ‘The Golden Buckle,’ telling of London in the year of the Great Plague, and the
life of the shop-keeping class in the latter half of the seventeenth century.â€
Lreeps Mercury.
KING’S FERRY
In the Days of the Press-gang. With Three Full-page Illus-
trations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 2s. 6d.
Concerning a certain ship’s doctor who came to Weymouth in press-
gang days, and, staying at King’s Ferry, tempted Simon Lydgate, the
ferryman, to do wrong ; of the punishment that fell on Lydgate, and of the
joy and peace that followed the home-coming of his boy, Wat.
Like its predecessors, this volume is full of picturesque pictures of old life and
manners.†—TIMES.
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14 NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG
BY FREDERICK GC. BADRICK—coxntinucd
JOAN’S VICTORY
With Two Full-page Illustrations by J. F. WEEDON. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 1s. 6d.
Descriptive of a young woman of quick, passionate temper and stub-
born purpose, and of the means by which a young child unconsciously
brought her back to her better self and helped to soften her heart.
“ Admirably detailed. Joan is really a very powerful psychological study.â€
PECKOVER’S MILL maa
A Story of the Great Frost of 1739. With Five Full-page
Illustrations by W. S. Stacry. Bevelled boards, cloth
gilt, price 35. 6d.
A story of a Jacobite conspiracy that was on foot in the time of the
great frost of 1739, showing how Silas Peckover came home from abroad
and took possession of the home of his forefathers, and how the sweet
womanliness and honesty of Mistress Ruth influenced him for good.
“Silas Peckover is a character quite worthy of Ainsworth.â€â€”Acapvemy.
CHRIS DERRICK
A Stormy Passage in a Boy’s Life. With Two Full-page
Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Bevelled boards, cloth
gilt, price 2s.
This story supplies some lively sketches of what a mutiny often led to at
the beginning of the present century, and of the narrow shifts that smugglers
ran in escaping from the revenue officers.
“A spirited story of adventure.†—SPECTATOR.
STARWOOD HALL
A Boy’s Adventure. With Two Full-page Illustrations by G3
J. Sranitanp. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
A stirring story of how an honest boy fell into the clutches of a band of
highwaymen, or ‘ gentlemen of fortune,†in the middle of the last century.
‘The pictures of rural manners . . . strike us as being extremely life-like.†—Times,
BY ESME STUART
Author of ‘* The Little Brown Girl,†‘‘ The Belfry of St. Jude’s,†&c.
A SMALL LEGACY
With Two Full-page Illustrations by J. F. Weepon. Bevelled
boards, cloth gilt, price 2s.
A story for children, describing the life led by the coastguardsmen
and their families at St. Alban’s Head, and showing how it is possible for
boys and girls to be brave and honourable in all their actions.
“The picture of the quaint little American is most skilfully drawn, and his quaint
sayings are throughout very amusing.†—EnucaTIONAL TIMEs.
NATIONAL. SOCIETY'S. DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER.
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 15
BY ESME STUART—continued
A NEST OF ROYALISTS
With Two Full-page Illustrations by J. F. WEEDON. Cloth
boards, gilt, price 1s. 6d.
A story of Blois in the year 1832, of an English family—the Merediths
—who went to live there, and of the circumstances under which they
became connected with a Royalist plot against the rule of Louis Philippe.
‘* A story of historical interest, going back to 1832 or thereabouts. .. . An amusing
and instructive volume for the young folks.’—WESTERN ANTIQUARY.
THE SILVER MINE
An Underground Story. With Four Full-page Illustrations by
W. S. Stacey. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 35.
An account of life on the rocky Devonshire coast, an unsuccessful
attempt to reopen a disused silver mine, and a long-standing family feud
between the Redwoods and the Pennants, with the incidents that served
to bring it to an end.
‘A very bright, attractive story. The children are natural, and the style is fresh
and spirited.†JouRNAL oF EDUCATION.
THE VICAR’S TRIO
With Five Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 35. 6d.
The story of how young Lord Faulconbridge, a peevish and irritable
boy, is brought to see that the rank and wealth with which he has been
endowed bring with them equally great responsibilities.
CAST ASHORE
With Four Full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND.
Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
It was little Mona who was cast ashore on the North Lancashire
coast, after the total wreck of the ship in which she was travelling under
the care of her father’s servant, Hanson. How the unprincipled Jephtha
Toppin afterwards lures her away, with a view to earning a reward, and
how she is eventually rescued—both are told with considerable power and
vividness.
‘© A most exciting and yet perfectly wholesome tale of adventure."—BANNER,
FOR HALF-A-CROWN
With Four Full-page Illustrations. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 35.
Half-a-crown is the price that Mrs. Chemmo, a retired housekeeper
living in the cathedral city of Hedderstone on an annuity from her former
mistress, pays for a little waif, Natalia, to an Italian colony in a squalid
Portsmouth alley.
‘There is a freshness and brightness about the book which too many of the books
for girls in which religious sentiments are at all introduced lack very wofully.â€
Pay Matt GazerTre.
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER
1/6
3/-
3/6
3/-
3/-
2/6
4/-
4/-
16 NATIONAL SOCIETY’S NEW STORY BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG
BY ESME STUART—continued
CARRIED OFF
A Story of Pirat8é Times. With Four Full-page Illustrations
by J. F. WeEepon. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
It is fearless Harry Fenn, the son of an Essex yeoman farmer, who
is ** carried’off†by Captain Henry Morgan, the famous buccaneer, and
his men, to the West Indies, where the Spanish settlements are attacked,
and adventures in plenty follow.
“Miss Stuart has gone with the times, and has given us a vigorous and well-told
story of the days of the buccaneers.†—STANDARD.
BY M. E. PALGRAVE ‘
Author of
‘* Under the Blue Flag,†‘* Miles Lambert’s Three Chances,†&c.
IN CHARGE
A Story of Rough Times. With Five Full-page Illustrations
by W. S. Stacry. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt, price 3s.
A stirring story of the days when smugglers were in plenty and free-
trading (as it was called) was in full swing.
“Full of incident and interest, very pleasantly told, and breathes an excellent spirit
throughout.â€â€” WESTERN Morninc News.
A PROMISE KEPT
With Four Full-page Illustrations. Bevelled boards, cloth gilt,
price 2s, 6d.
A story with a lofty purpose, showing the amount of self-denial that
is necessary in those who leave their home and kindred to engage in
missionary work in far-off lands. 2
“‘Tts tone is elevated and serious. Its purpose is to show the need of aiming at
a high standard of life, and the failure of those who only dream noble things.â€
NaTIONAL CHURCH.
TROUBLESOME COUSINS
By Penetope Lesuiz, Author of “ Marjory’s White Rat,†&c.
With Frontispiece by W. S. Stacey. Cloth boards, gilt, ©
price rs.
“¢Troublesome Cousins†is a story specially suited for very young
children, and describes some of the scrapes in which Stella Weston and
her cousin Guy found themselves, partly through their restlessness and
partly through their desire to be independent.
“The various incidents are amusing, and the interest of the reader is well main-
tained... . A very acceptable gift-book with a good moral tendency.â€
a SCHOOLMASTER.
LOST ON THE MOOR
By “Tarry.†With Frontispiece. Cloth boards, gilt, price 15.
The story of Little Jack, how he was lost on the moor in a thick fog
through his brother’s disobedience, and how he was found and finally
restored to his home,
_ ‘An evening will be very pleasantly spent and attended with much good in reading
this interesting story.â€â€”ScHOOLMASTER.
NATIONAL SOCIETY’S DEPOSITORY, SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER.
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