He had dropped his daughter’s hand, and now held out each of his to the little fellows. Phillis and I followed, and listened to the prattle which the minister’s companions now poured out to him, and which he was evidently enjoying. At a certain point, there was a sudden burst of the tawny, ruddy-evening landscape. The minister turned round and quoted a line or two of Latin.
‘It’s wonderful,’ said he, ‘how exactly Virgil has hit the enduring epithets, nearly two thousand years ago, and in Italy; and yet how it describes to a T what is now lying before us in the parish of Heathbridge, county——, England.’
‘I dare say it does,’ said I, all aglow with shame, for I had forgotten the little Latin I ever knew.
The minister shifted his eyes to Phillis’s face; it mutely gave him back the sympathetic appreciation that I, in my ignorance, could not bestow.
‘Oh! this is worse than the catechism,’ thought I; ‘that was only remembering words.’
‘Phillis, lass, thou must go home with these lads, and tell their mother all about the race and the milk. Mammy must always know the truth,’ now speaking to the children. ‘And tell her, too, from me that I have got the best birch rod in the parish; and that if she ever thinks her children want a flogging she must bring them to me, and, if I think they deserve it, I’ll give it them better than she can.’ So Phillis led the children towards the dairy, somewhere in the back yard, and I followed the minister in through the ‘curate’ into the house-place.
‘Their mother,’ said he, ‘is a bit of a vixen, and apt to punish her children without rhyme or reason. I try to keep the parish rod as well as the parish bull.’
He sate down in the three-cornered chair by the fireside, and looked around the empty room.
‘Where’s the missus?’ said he to himself. But she was there in a minute; it was her regular plan to give him his welcome home – by a look, by a touch, nothing more – as soon as she could after his return, and he had missed her now. Regardless of my presence, he went over the day’s doings to her; and then, getting up, he said he must go and make himself ‘reverend’, and that then we would have a cup of tea in the parlour. The parlour was a large room with two casemented windows on the other side of the broad flagged passage leading from the rector-door to the wide staircase, with its shallow, polished oaken steps, on which no carpet was ever laid. The parlour-floor was covered in the middle by a home-made carpeting of needlework and list. One or two quaint family pictures of the Holman family hung round the walls; the fire-grate and irons were much ornamented with brass; and on a table against the wall between the windows, a great beau-pot of flowers was placed upon the folio volumes of Matthew Henry’s Bible. It was a compliment to me to use this room, and I tried to be grateful for it; but we never had our meals there after that first day, and I was glad of it; for the large house-place, living-room, dining-room, whichever you might like to call it, was twice as comfortable and cheerful. There was a rug in front of the great large fire-place, and an oven by the grate, and a crook, with the kettle hanging from it, over the bright wood-fire; everything that ought to be black and polished in that room was black and polished; and the flags, and window-curtains, and such things as were to be white and clean, were just spotless in their purity. Opposite to the fire-place, extending the whole length of the room, was an oaken shovel-board, with the right incline for a skillful player to send the weights into the prescribed space. There were baskets of white work about, and a small shelf of books hung against the wall, books used for reading, and not for propping up a beau-pot of flowers. I took down one or two of those books once when I was left alone in the house-place on the first evening – Virgil, Cæsar, a Greek grammar – oh, dear! ah, me! and Phillis Holman’s name in each of them! I shut them up, and put them back in their places, and walked as far away from the bookshelf as I could. Yes, and I gave my cousin Phillis a wide berth, although she was sitting at her work quietly enough, and her hair was looking more golden, her dark eyelashes longer, her round pillar of a throat whiter than ever. We had done tea, and we had returned into the house-place that the minister might smoke his pipe without fear of contaminating the drab damask window-curtains of the parlour. He had made himself ‘reverend’ by putting on one of the voluminous white muslin neckcloths that I had seen cousin Holman ironing that first visit I had paid to the Hope Farm, and by making one or two other unimportant changes in his dress. He sate looking steadily at me, but whether he saw me or not I cannot tell. At the time I fancied that he did, and was gauging me in some unknown fashion in his secret mind. Every now and then he took his pipe out of his mouth, knocked out the ashes, and asked me some fresh question. As long as these related to my acquirements or my reading, I shuffled uneasily and did not know what to answer. By-and-by he got round to the more practical subject of railroads, and on this I was more at home. I really had taken an interest in my work; nor would Mr Holdsworth, indeed, have kept me in his employment if I had not given my mind as well as my time to it; and I was, besides, full of the difficulties which beset us just then, owing to our not being able to find a steady bottom on the Heathbridge moss, over which we wished to carry our line. In the midst of all my eagerness in speaking about this, I could not help being struck with the extreme pertinence of his questions. I do not mean that he did not show ignorance of many of the details of engineering: that was to have been expected; but on the premises he had got hold of, he thought clearly and reasoned logically. Phillis – so like him as she was both in body and mind – kept stopping her work and looking at me, trying to fully understand all that I said. I felt she did; and perhaps it made me take more pains in using clear expressions, and arranging my words, than I otherwise should.
‘She shall see I know something worth knowing, though it mayn’t be her dead-and-gone languages,’ thought I.
‘I see,’ said the minister, at length. ‘I understand it all. You’ve a clear, good head of your own, my lad, – choose how you came by it.’
‘From my father,’ said I, proudly. ‘Have you not heard of his discovery of a new method of shunting? It was in the Gazette. It was patented. I thought every one had heard of Manning’s patent winch.’
‘We don’t know who invented the alphabet,’ said he, half smiling, and taking up his pipe.
‘No, I dare say not, sir,’ replied I, half offended; ‘that’s so long ago.’
Puff – puff – puff.
‘But your father must be a notable man. I heard of him once before; and it is not many a one fifty miles away whose fame reaches Heathbridge.’
‘My father is a notable man, sir. It is not me that says so; it is Mr Holdsworth, and – and everybody.’
‘He is right to stand up for his father,’ said cousin Holman, as if she were pleading for me.
I chafed inwardly, thinking that my father needed no one to stand up for him. He was man sufficient for himself.
‘Yes – he is right,’ said the minister, placidly. ‘Right, because it comes from his heart – right, too, as I believe, in point of fact. Else there is many a young cockerel that will stand upon a dung-hill and crow about his father, by way of making his own plumage to shine. I should like to know thy father,’ he went on, turning straight to me, with a kindly, frank look in his eyes.
But I was vexed, and would take no notice. Presently, having finished his pipe, he got up and left the room. Phillis put her work hastily down, and went after him. In a minute or two she returned, and sate down again. Not long after, and before I had quite recovered my good temper, he opened the door out of which he had passed, and called to me to come to him. I went across a narrow stone passage into a strange, many-cornered room, not ten feet in area, part study, part counting-house, looking into the farm-yard; with a desk to sit at, a desk to stand at, a spittoon, a set of shelves with old divinity books upon them; another, smaller, filled with books on farriery, farming, manures, and such subjects, with pieces of paper containing memoranda stuck against the whitewashed walls with wafers, nails, pins, anyt
hing that came readiest to hand; a box of carpenter’s tools on the floor, and some manuscripts in short-hand on the desk.
He turned round half laughing. ‘That foolish girl of mine thinks I have vexed you’ – putting his large, powerful hand on my shoulder. ‘“Nay,” says I; “kindly meant is kindly taken” – is it not so?’
‘It was not quite, sir,’ replied I, vanquished by his manner; ‘but it shall be in future.’
‘Come, that’s right. You and I shall be friends. Indeed, it’s not many a one I would bring in here. But I was reading a book this morning, and I could not make it out; it is a book that was left here by mistake one day; I had subscribed to Brother Robinson’s sermons; and I was glad to see this instead of them, for sermons though they be, they’re . . . well, never mind! I took ’em both, and made my old coat do a bit longer; but all’s fish that comes to my net. I have fewer books than leisure to read them, and I have a prodigious appetite. Here it is.’
It was a volume of stiff mechanics, involving many technical terms, and some rather deep mathematics. These last, which would have puzzled me, seemed easy enough to him; all that he wanted was the explanations of the technical words, which I could easily give.
While he was looking through the book to find the places where he had been puzzled, my wandering eye caught on some of the papers on the wall, and I could not help reading one, which has stuck by me ever since. At first, it seemed a kind of weekly diary; but then I saw that the seven days were portioned out for special prayers and intercessions: Monday for his family, Tuesday for enemies, Wednesday for the Independent churches, Thursday for all other churches, Friday for persons afflicted, Saturday for his own soul, Sunday for all wanderers and sinners, that they might be brought home to the fold.
We were called back into the house-place to have supper. A door opening into the kitchen was opened; and all stood up in both rooms, while the minister, tall, large, one hand resting on the spread table, the other lifted up, said, in a deep voice that would have been loud had it not been so full and rich, but with the peculiar accent or twang that I believed is considered devout by some people, ‘Whether we eat or drink, or whatsoever we do, let us do all to the glory of God.’
The supper was an immense meat-pie. We of the house-place were helped first; then the minister hit the handle of his buckhorn carving-knife on the table once, and said, –
‘Now or never,’ which meant, did any of us want any more; and when we had all declined, either by silence or by words, he knocked twice with his knife on the table, and Betty came in through the open door, and carried off the great dish to the kitchen, where an old man and a young one, and a help-girl, were awaiting their meal.
‘Shut the door, if you will,’ said the minister to Betty.
‘That’s in honour of you,’ said cousin Holman, in a tone of satisfaction, as the door was shut. ‘When we’ve no stranger with us, the minister is so fond of keeping the door open, and talking to the men and maids, just as much as to Phillis and me.’
‘It brings us all together like a household just before we meet as a household in prayer,’ said he, in explan ation. ‘But to go back to what we were talking about – can you tell me of any simple book on dynamics that I could put in my pocket, and study a little at leisure times in the day?’
‘Leisure times, father?’ said Phillis, with a nearer approach to a smile than I had yet seen on her face.
‘Yes; leisure times, daughter. There is many an odd minute lost in waiting for other folk; and now that railroads are coming so near us, it behoves us to know something about them.’
I thought of his own description of his ‘prodigious big appetite’ for learning. And he had a good appetite of his own for the more material victual before him. But I saw, or fancied I saw, that he had some rule for himself in the matter both of food and drink.
As soon as supper was done the household assembled for prayer. It was a long impromptu evening prayer; and it would have seemed desultory enough had I not had a glimpse of the kind of day that preceded it, and so been able to find a clue to the thoughts that preceded the disjointed utterances; for he kept there kneeling down in the centre of a circle, his eyes shut, his outstretched hands pressed palm to palm – sometimes with a long pause of silence, as if waiting to see if there was anything else he wished to ‘lay before the Lord’ (to use his own expression) – before he concluded with the blessing. He prayed for the cattle and live creatures, rather to my surprise; for my attention had begun to wander, till it was recalled by the familiar words.
And here I must not forget to name an odd incident at the conclusion of the prayer, and before we had risen from our knees (indeed before Betty was well awake, for she made a nightly practice of having a sound nap, her weary head lying on her stalwart arms); the minister, still kneeling in our midst, but with his eyes wide open, and his arms dropped by his side, spoke to the elder man, who turned round on his knees to attend. ‘John, didst see that Daisy had her warm mash to-night; for we must not neglect the means, John – two quarts of gruel, a spoonful of ginger, and a gill of beer – the poor beast needs it, and I fear it slipped out of my mind to tell thee; and here was I asking a blessing and neglecting the means, which is a mockery,’ said he, dropping his voice.
Before we went to bed he told me he should see little or nothing more of me during my visit, which was to end on Sunday evening, as he always gave up both Saturday and Sabbath to his work in the ministry. I remembered that the landlord at the inn had told me this on the day when I first inquired about these new relations of mine; and I did not dislike the opportunity which I saw would be afforded me of becoming more acquainted with cousin Holman and Phillis, though I earnestly hoped that the latter would not attack me on the subject of the dead languages.
I went to bed, and dreamed that I was as tall as cousin Phillis, and had a sudden and miraculous growth of whisker, and a still more miraculous acquaintance with Latin and Greek. Alas! I wakened up still a short, beardless lad, with ‘tempus fugit’ for my sole remembrance of the little Latin I had once learnt. While I was dressing, a bright thought came over me: I could question cousin Phillis, instead of her questioning me, and so manage to keep the choice of subjects of conversation in my own power.
Early as it was, every one had breakfasted, and my basin of bread and milk was put on the oven-top to await my coming down. Every one was gone about their work. The first to come into the house-place was Phillis with a basket of eggs. Faithful to my resolution, I asked –
‘What are those?’
She looked at me for a moment, and then said gravely –
‘Potatoes!’
‘No! they are not,’ said I. ‘They are eggs. What do you mean by saying they are potatoes?’
‘What do you mean by asking me what they were, when they were plain to be seen?’ retorted she.
We were both getting a little angry with each other.
‘I don’t know. I wanted to begin to talk to you; and I was afraid you would talk to me about books as you did yesterday. I have not read much; and you and the minster have read so much.’
‘I have not,’ said she. ‘But you are our guest; and mother says I must make it pleasant to you. We won’t talk of books. What must we talk about?’
‘I don’t know. How old are you?’
‘Seventeen last May. How old are you?’
‘I am nineteen. Older than you by nearly two years,’ said I, drawing myself up to my full height.
‘I should not have thought you were above sixteen,’ she replied, as quietly as if she were not saying the most provoking thing she possibly could. Then came a pause.
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked I.
‘I should be dusting the bed-chambers; but mother said I had better stay and make it pleasant to you,’ said she, a little plaintively, as if dusting rooms was far the easiest task.
‘Will you take me to see the live-stock? I like animals, though I don’t know much about them.’
�
��Oh, do you? I am so glad! I was afraid you would not like animals, as you did not like books.’
I wondered why she said this. I think it was because she had begun to fancy all our tastes must be dissimilar. We went together all through the farm-yard; we fed the poultry, she kneeling down with her pinafore full of corn and meal, and tempting the little timid downy chickens upon it, much to the anxiety of the fussy ruffled hen, their mother. She called to the pigeons, who fluttered down at the sound of her voice. She and I examined the great sleek cart-horses; sympathized in our dislike of pigs; fed the calves; coaxed the sick cow, Daisy; and admired the others out at pasture; and came back tired and hungry and dirty at dinner-time, having quite forgotten that there were such things as dead languages, and consequently capital friends.
Part II
Cousin Holman gave me the weekly county newspaper to read aloud to her, while she mended stockings out of a high piled-up basket, Phillis helping her mother. I read and read, unregardful of the words I was uttering, thinking of all manner of other things; of the bright colour of Phillis’s hair, as the afternoon sun fell on her bending head; of the silence of the house, which enabled me to hear the double tick of the old clock which stood halfway up the stairs; of the variety of inarticulate noises which cousin Holman made while I read, to show her sympathy, wonder, or horror at the newspaper intelligence. The tranquil monotony of that hour made me feel as if I had lived for ever, and should live for ever droning out paragraphs in that warm sunny room, with my two quiet hearers, and the curled-up pussy cat sleeping on the hearth-rug, and the clock on the house-stairs perpetually clicking out the passage of the moments. By-and-by Betty the servant came to the door into the kitchen, and made a sign to Phillis, who put her half-mended stocking down, and went away to the kitchen without a word. Looking at cousin Holman a minute or two afterwards, I saw that she had dropped her chin upon her breast, and had fallen fast asleep. I put the newspaper down, and was nearly following her example, when a waft of air from some unseen source, slightly opened the door of communication with the kitchen, that Phillis must have left unfastened; and I saw part of her figure as she sate by the dresser, peeling apples with quick dexterity of finger, but with repeated turnings of her head towards some book lying on the dresser by her. I softly rose, and as softly went into the kitchen, and looked over her shoulder; before she was aware of my neighbourhood. I had seen that the book was in a language unknown to me, and the running title was L’Inferno. Just as I was making out the relationship of this word to ‘infernal,’ she started and turned round, and, as if continuing her thought as she spoke, she sighed out, –
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