Delphi Complete Works of Elizabeth Gaskell

by Elizabeth Gaskell

  I have told you of one day of little Tom’s life, when he was eight years old, and lived with his mother. I must now pass over a year, and tell you of a very different kind of life he had then to lead. His mother had never been very strong, and had had a good deal of anxiety; at last she was taken ill, and soon felt that there was no hope for her recovery. For a long time the thought of leaving her little boy was a great distress to her, and a great trial to her faith. But God strengthened her, and sent his peace into her soul; and before her death she was content to leave her precious child in His hands, who is a Father to the fatherless, and defendeth the cause of the widow.

  When she felt that she had not many more days to live, she sent for her husband’s brother, who lived in a town not many miles off; and gave her little Tom in charge to him to bring up.

  “There are a few pounds in the savings-bank--I don’t know how many exactly--and the furniture and bit of stock in the shop. Perhaps they would be enough to bring him up to be a joiner, like his father before him.”

  She spoke feebly, and with many pauses. Her brother-in-law, though a rough kind of man, wished to do all he could to make her feel easy in her last moments, and, touched with the reference to his dead brother, promised all she required.

  “I’ll take him back with me after”--the funeral, he was going to say, but he stopped. She smiled gently, fully understanding his meaning.

  “We shall, maybe, not be so tender with him as you’ve been; but I’ll see he comes to no harm. It will be a good thing for him to rough it a bit with other children--he’s too nesh for a boy; but I’ll pay them if they aren’t kind to him in the long run, never fear.”

  Though this speech was not exactly what she liked, there was quite enough of good feeling in it to make her thankful for such a protector and friend for her boy. And so, thankful for the joys she had had, and thankful for the sorrows which had taught her meekness, thankful for life, and thankful for death, she died.

  Her brother-in-law arranged all as she had wished. After the quiet simple funeral was over, he took Tom by the hand, and set off on the six-mile walk to his home. Tom had cried till he could cry no more, but sobs came quivering up from his heart every now and then, as he passed some well-remembered cottage, or thorn-bush, or tree on the road. His uncle was very sorry for him, but did not know what to say, or how to comfort him.

  “Now mind, lad, thou com’st to me if thy cousins are o’er hard upon thee. Let me hear if they misuse thee, and I’ll give it them.”

  Tom shrank from the idea that this gave him of the cousins, whose companionship he had, until then, been looking forward to as a pleasure. He was not reassured when, after threading several streets and by-ways, they came into a court of dingy-looking houses, and his uncle opened the door of one, from which the noise of loud, if not angry voices was heard.

  A tall large woman was whirling one child out of her way with a rough movement of her arm; while she was scolding a boy a little older than Tom, who stood listening sullenly to her angry words.

  “I’ll tell father of thee, I will,” said she; and, turning to Uncle John, she began to pour out her complaints against Jack, without taking any notice of Little Tom, who clung to his uncle’s hand as to a protector in the scene of violence, into which he had entered.

  “Well, well, wife! I’ll leather Jack the next time I catch him letting the water out of the pipe; but now get this lad and me some tea, for we’re weary and tired.”

  His aunt seemed to wish Jack might be leathered now, and to be angry with her husband for not revenging her injuries; for an injury it was that the boy had done her in letting the water all run off, and that on the very eve of the washing day. The mother grumbled as she left off mopping the wet floor, and went to the fire to stir it up ready for the kettle, without a word of greeting to her little nephew, or of welcome to her husband. On the contrary, she complained of the trouble of getting tea ready afresh, just when she had put slack on the fire, and had no water in the house to fill the kettle with. Her husband grew angry, and Tom was frightened to hear his uncle speaking sharply.

  “If I can’t have a cup of tea in my own house without all this ado, I’ll go to the ‘Spread Eagle,’ and take Tom with me. They’ve a bright fire there at all times, choose how they manage it; and no scolding wives. Come, Tom, let’s be off.”

  Jack had been trying to scrape acquaintance with his cousin by winks and grimaces behind his mother’s back, and now made a sign of drinking out of an imaginary glass. But Tom clung to his uncle, and softly pulled him down again on his chair, from which he had risen to go to the public-house.

  “If you please, ma’am,” said he, sadly frightened of his aunt, “I think I could find the pump, if you’d’ let me try.”

  She muttered something like an acquiescence; so Tom took up the kettle, and, tired as he was, went out to the pump. Jack, who had done nothing but mischief all day, stood amazed, but at last settled that his cousin was a “softy.”

  When Tom came back, he tried to blow the fire with the broken bellows, and at last the water boiled, and the tea was made. “Thou’rt a rare lad, Tom,” said his uncle. “I wonder when our Jack will be of as much use.”

  This comparison did not please either Jack or his mother, who liked to keep to herself the privilege of directing their father’s dissatisfaction with his children. Tom felt their want of kindliness towards him; and, now that he had nothing to do but rest and eat, he began to feel very sad, and his eyes kept filling with tears, which he brushed away with the back of his hand, not wishing to have them seen. But his uncle noticed him.

  “Thou had’st better have had a glass at the ‘Spread Eagle,’“ said he compassionately.

  “No; I only am rather tired. May I go to bed?” said he, longing for a good cry unobserved under the bed-clothes.

  “Where’s he to sleep?” asked the husband of the wife.

  “Nay,” said she, still offended on Jack’s account, “that’s thy look-out. He’s thy flesh and blood, not mine.”

  “Come, wife,” said Uncle John, “he’s an orphan, poor chap. An orphan is kin to every one.”

  She was softened directly, for she had much kindness in her, although this evening she had been so much put out.

  “There’s no place for him but with Jack and Dick. We’ve the baby, and the other three are packed close enough.”

  She took Tom up to the little back room, and stopped to talk with him for a minute or two; for her husband’s words had smitten her heart, and she was sorry for the ungracious reception she had given Tom at first.

  “Jack and Dick are never in bed till we come, and it’s work enough to catch them then on fine evenings,” said she, as she took the candle away.

  Tom tried to speak to God as his mother had taught him out of the fulness of his little heart, which was heavy enough that night. He tried to think how she would have wished him to speak and to do, and, when he felt puzzled with the remembrance of the scene of disorder and anger which he had seen, he earnestly prayed God would make and keep clear his path before him. And then he fell asleep.

  He had had a long dream of other and happier days, and had thought he was once more taking a Sunday evening walk with his mother, when he was roughly wakened up by his cousins.

  “I say, lad, you’re lying right across the bed. You must get up, and let Dick and me come in, and then creep into the space that’s left.”

  Tom got up dizzy and half awake. His cousins got into bed, and then squabbled about the largest share. It ended in a kicking match, during which Tom stood shivering by the bedside.

  “I’m sure we’re pinched enough as it is,” said Dick at last. “And why they’ve put Tom in with us I can’t think. But I’ll not stand it. Tom shan’t sleep with us. He may lie on the floor if he likes. I’ll not hinder him.”

  He expected an opposition from Tom, and was rather surprised when he heard the little fellow quietly lie down, and cover himself as well as he could with his clothes. After some mo
re quarrelling, Jack and Dick fell asleep. But in the middle of the night Dick awoke, and heard by Tom’s breathing that he was still awake, and was crying gently.

  “What! molly-coddle, crying for a softer bed?” asked Dick.

  “Oh, no; I don’t care for that--if--oh! if mother were but alive,” little Tom sobbed aloud.

  “I say,” said Dick, after a pause, “there’s room at my back, if you’ll creep in. There! don’t be afraid. Why, how cold you are, lad!”

  Dick was sorry for his cousin’s loss, but could not speak about it. However, his kind tone sank into Tom’s heart, and he fell asleep once more.

  The three boys all got up at the same time in the morning, but were not inclined to talk. Jack and Dick put on their clothes as fast as possible, and ran downstairs; but this was quite a different way of going on to what Tom had been accustomed. He looked about for some kind of basin or mug to wash in; there was none--not even a jug of water in the room. He slipped on a few necessary clothes, and went downstairs, found a pitcher, and went off to the pump. His cousins, who were playing in the court, laughed at him, and would not tell him where the soap was kept: he had to look some minutes before he could find it. Then he went back to the bedroom; but, on entering it from the fresh air, the smell was so oppressive that he could not endure it. Three people had been breathing the air all night, and had used up every particle many times over and over again; and each time that it had been sent out from the lungs, it was less fit than before to be breathed again. They had not felt how poisonous it was while they stayed in it; they had only felt tired and unrefreshed, with a dull headache; but, now that Tom came back again into it, he could not mistake its oppressive nature. He went to the window to try and open it; It was what people call a “Yorkshire light,” where, you know, one-half has to be pushed on one side. It was very stiff, for it had not been opened for a long time. Tom pushed against it with all his might; at length it gave way with a jerk; and the shake sent out a cracked pane, which fell on the floor in a hundred little bits. Tom was sadly frightened when he saw what he had done. He would have been sorry to have done mischief at any time, but he had seen enough of his aunt the evening before to find out that she was sharp, and hasty, and cross; and it was hard to have to begin the first day in his new home by getting into a scrape. He sat down on the bedside and began to cry. But the morning air blowing in upon him, refreshed him, and made him feel stronger. He grew braver as he washed himself in the pure, cold water. “She can’t be cross with me longer than a day; by to-night it will be all over; I can bear it for a day.”

  Dick came running upstairs for something he had forgotten.

  “My word, Tom! but you’ll catch it!” exclaimed he, when he saw the broken window. He was half pleased at the event, and half sorry for Tom. “Mother did so beat Jack last week for throwing a stone right through the window downstairs. He kept out of the way till night, but she was on the look-out for him, and as soon as she saw him, she caught hold of him and gave it him. Eh! Tom, I would not be you for a deal!”

  Tom began to cry again at this account of his aunt’s anger; Dick became more and more sorry for him.

  “I’ll tell thee what; we’ll go down and say it was a lad in you back-yard throwing stones, and that one went smack through the window. I’ve got one in my pocket that will just do to show.”

  “No,” said Tom, suddenly stopping crying; “I dare not do that.”

  “Daren’t! Why, you’ll have to dare much more if you go down and face mother without some such story.”

  “No! I shan’t. I shan’t have to dare God’s anger. Mother taught me to fear that; she said I need never be really afraid of aught else. Just be quiet, Dick, while I say my prayers.”

  Dick watched his little cousin kneel down by the bed and bury his face in the clothes; he did not say any set prayer (which Dick was accustomed to think was the only way of praying), but Tom seemed, by the low murmuring which Dick heard, to be talking to a dear friend; and though at first he sobbed and cried, as he asked for help and strength, yet when he got up, his face looked calm and bright, and he spoke quietly as he said to Dick, “Now I’m ready to go and tell aunt.”

  Aunt meanwhile had missed her pitcher and her soap, and was in no good-tempered mood when Tom came to make his confession. She had been hindered in her morning’s work by his taking her things away; and now he was come to tell her of the pane being broken and that it must be mended, and money must go, all for a child’s nonsense.

  She gave him (as he had been led to expect) one or two very sharp blows. Jack and Dick looked on with curiosity, to see how he would take it; Jack, at any rate, expecting a hearty crying from “softy” (Jack himself had cried loudly at his last beating); but Tom never shed a tear, though his face did go very red, and his mouth did grow set with the pain. But what struck the boys more even than his being “hard” in bearing such blows, was his quietness afterwards. He did not grumble loudly, as Jack would have done, nor did he turn sullen, as was Dick’s custom; but the minute afterwards he was ready to run an errand for his aunt; nor did he make any mention of the hard blows, when his uncle came in to breakfast, as his aunt had rather expected he would. She was glad he did not, for she knew her husband would have been displeased to know how early she had begun to beat his orphan nephew. So she almost felt grateful to Tom for his silence, and certainly began to be sorry she had struck him so hard.

  Poor Tom! he did not know that his cousins were beginning to respect him, nor that his aunt was learning to like him; and he felt very lonely and desolate that first morning. He had nothing to do. Jack went to work at the factory; and Dick went grumbling to school. Tom wondered if he was to go to school again, but he did not like to ask. He sat on a little stool, as much out of his terrible aunt’s way as he could. She had her youngest child, a little girl of about a year and a half old, crawling about on the floor. Tom longed to play with her; but he was not sure how far his aunt would like it. But he kept smiling at her, and doing every little thing he could to attract her attention and make her come to him. At last she was coaxed to come upon his knee. His aunt saw it; and, though she did not speak, she did not look displeased. He did everything he could think of to amuse little Annie; and her mother was very glad to have her attended to. When Annie grew sleepy, she still kept fast hold of one of Tom’s fingers in her little, round, soft hand, and he began to know the happy feeling of loving somebody again. Only the night before, when his cousins had made him get out of bed, he had wondered if he should live to be an old man, and never have anybody to love all that long time; but now his heart felt quite warm to the little thing that lay on his lap.

  “She’ll tire you, Tom,” said her mother; “you’d better let me put her down in the cot.”

  “Oh, no!” said he, “please don’t! I like so much to have her here.” He never moved, though she lay very heavy on his arm, for fear of wakening her.

  When she did rouse up, his aunt said, “Thank you, Tom. I’ve got my work done rarely, with you for a nurse. Now take a run in the yard, and play yourself a bit.”

  His aunt was learning something, and Tom was teaching, though they would both have been very much surprised to hear it. Whenever, in a family, every one is selfish, and (as it is called) “stands up for his own rights,” there are no feelings of gratitude; the gracefulness of “thanks” is never called for; nor can there be any occasion for thoughtfulness for others when those others are sure to get the start in thinking for themselves, and taking care of number one. Tom’s aunt had never had to remind Jack or Dick to go out to play. They were ready enough to see after their own pleasures.

  Well! dinner-time came, and all the family gathered to the meal. It seemed to be a scramble who should be helped first, and cry out for the best pieces. Tom looked very red. His aunt, in her new-born liking for him, helped him early to what she thought he would like. But he did not begin to eat. It had been his mother’s custom to teach her little son, to say a simple “grace” with her before they b
egan their dinner. He expected his uncle to follow the same observance; and waited. Then he felt very hot and shy; but, thinking that it was right to say it, he put away his shyness, and very quietly, but very solemnly, said the old accustomed sentence of thanksgiving. Jack burst out laughing when he had done; for which Jack’s father gave him a sharp rap and a sharp word, which made him silent through the rest of the dinner. But, excepting Jack, who was angry, I think all the family were the happier for having listened reverently (if with some surprise) to Tom’s thanksgiving. They were not an ill-disposed set of people, but wanted thoughtfulness in their everyday life; that sort of thoughtfulness which gives order to a home, and makes a wise and holy spirit of love the groundwork of order.

  From that first day Tom never went back in the regard he began then to win. He was useful to his aunt, and patiently bore her hasty ways, until for very shame she left off being hasty with one who was always so meek and mild. His uncle sometimes said he was more like a girl than a boy, as was to be looked for from being brought up for so many years by a woman; but that was the greatest fault he ever had to find with him; and, in spite of it, he really respected him for the very qualities which are most truly “manly;” for the courage with which he dared to do what was right, and the quiet firmness with which he bore many kinds of pain. As for little Annie, her friendship and favour and love were the delight of Tom’s heart. He did not know how much the others were growing to like him, but Annie showed it in every way, and he loved her in return most dearly. Dick soon found out how useful Tom could be to him in his lessons; for, though older than his cousin, Master Dick was a regular dunce, and had never even wished to learn till Tom came; and, long before Jack could be brought to acknowledge it, Dick maintained that “Tom had a great deal of pluck in him, though it was not of Jack’s kind.”

  Now I shall jump another year, and tell you a very little about the household twelve months after Tom had entered it. I said above that his aunt had learned to speak less crossly to one who was always gentle after her scoldings. By-and-by her ways to all became less hasty and passionate, for she grew ashamed of speaking to any one in an angry way before Tom; he always looked so sad and sorry to hear her. She has also spoken to him sometimes about his mother; at first because she thought he would like it; but latterly because she became really interested to hear of her ways; and Tom, being an only child, and his mother’s friend and companion, has been able to tell her of many household arts of comfort, which, coming quite unconscious of any purpose, from the lips of a child, have taught her many things which she would have been too proud to learn from an older person. Her husband is softened by the additional cleanliness and peace of his home. He does not now occasionally take refuge in a public-house, to get out of the way of noisy children, an unswept hearth, and a scolding wife. Once, when Tom was ill for a day or two, his uncle missed the accustomed grace, and began to say it himself. He is now the person to say “Silence, boys”, and then to ask the blessing on the meal. It makes them gather round the table, instead of sitting down here and there in the comfortless, unsociable way they used to do. Tom and Dick go to school together now, and Dick is getting on famously, and will soon be able to help his next brother over his lessons, as Tom has helped him.