Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 37

Away went Frank, in his quick and not very ceremonious manner, penetrating to the kitchen, where Dobbs happened to be. "Dobbs, will you please to lend mamma twopence? It is for a letter."

"Dobbs, indeed! Who's 'Dobbs'?" retorted that functionary in wrath. "I am Mrs. Dobbs, if you please. Take yourself out of my sight till you can learn manners."

"Won't you lend it? The postman's waiting."

"No, I won't," returned Dobbs.

Back ran Frank. "She won't lend it, mamma. She says I was rude to her, and called her Dobbs."

"Oh, Frank!" But the postman was impatient, demanding whether he was to be kept there all day. Jane was fain to apply to Dobbs herself, and procured the loan. Then she ran upstairs with the letter, and her trembling fingers broke the seal. Two banknotes, for 10. each, fell out of it. The promised loan had been sixteen pounds. The Rev. Francis Tait had contrived to spare four pounds more.

Before Jane had recovered from her excitement--almost before a breath of thanks had gone up from her heart--she saw Mr. Ashley on the opposite side of the road, going towards Helstonleigh. Being in no state to weigh her actions, only conscious that the two notes lay in her hand--actual realities--she threw on her bonnet and shawl, and went across the road to Mr. Ashley. In her agitation, she scarcely knew what she did or said.

"Oh, sir--I beg your pardon--but I have at this moment received the money for the back rent. May I give it to you now?"

Mr. Ashley looked at her in surprise. A scarlet spot shone on her thin cheeks--a happy excitement was spread over her face of care. He read the indications plainly--that she was an eager payer, but no willing debtor.

The open letter in her hand, and the postman opposite, told the tale.

"There is no such hurry, Mrs. Halliburton," he said, smiling. "I cannot give you a receipt here."

"You can send it to me," she said. "I would rather pay you than Mr.

Dare."

She held out the notes to him. He felt in his pocket whether he had sufficient change, found he had, and handed it to her. "That is it, madam--four sovereigns. Thank you."

She took them hesitatingly, but did not close her hand. "Was there not some expense incurred when--when that man was put in?"

"Not for you to pay, Mrs. Halliburton," he pointedly returned. "I hope you are getting pretty well through your troubles?"

The tears came into her eyes, and she turned them away. Getting pretty well through her troubles! "Thank you for inquiring," she meekly said.

"I shall, I believe, have the quarter's rent ready in March, when it falls due."

"Do not put yourself out of the way to pay it," he replied. "If it would be more convenient to you to let it go on to the half-year, it would be the same to me."

Her heart rose to the kindness. "Thank you, Mr. Ashley, thank you very much for your consideration; but I must pay as I go on, if I possibly can."

Patience stood at her gate, smiling as she recrossed the road. She had seen what had pa.s.sed.

"Thee hast good news, I see. But thee wert in a hurry, to pay thy rent in the road."

"My brother has sent me the rent and four pounds over. Patience, I can buy bedside carpets now."

Patience looked pleased. "With all thy riches thee will scarcely thank me for this poor three and sixpence," holding out the silver to her.

"Samuel Lynn left it; it is owing thee for thy work."

Jane smiled sadly as she took it. Her riches! "How is Anna?" she asked.

"She is nicely, thank thee, and is gone to school. But she was wilful over her lessons this morning. Farewell. I am glad thee art so far out of thy perplexities."

Very far, indeed; and a great relief it was. Can you realize these troubles of Mrs. Halliburton's? Not, I think, as she realized them. We pity the trials and endurance of the poor; but, believe me, they are as nothing compared with the bitter lot of reduced gentlepeople. Jane had not been brought up to poverty, to scanty and hard fare, to labour, to humiliations, to the pain of debt. But for hope--and some of us know how strong that is in the human heart--and for that better hope, _trust_, Jane never could have gone through her trials. Her physical privations alone were almost too hard to bear. Can you wonder that an unexpected present of four pounds seemed as a mine of wealth?

CHAPTER XXV.

INCIPIENT VANITY.

But four pounds, however large a sum to look at, dwindles down sadly in the spending; especially when bedside carpets, and boys' boots--new ones and the mending of old ones--have to be deducted from it at the commencement. An idea had for some time been looming in Jane's mind; looming ominously, for she did not like to speak of it. It was, that William must go out and enter upon some employment, by which a little weekly money might be added to their stock. He was eager enough; indulging, no doubt, boy-like, peculiar visions of his own, great and grand. But these Jane had to dispel; to explain that for young boys, such as he, earning money implied hard work.

His face flushed scarlet. Jane drew him to her and pressed her cheek upon his.

"There would be no real disgrace in it, my darling. No work in itself brings disgrace; be it carrying out parcels or sweeping out a shop. So long as we retain our refinement of tone, of manner, our courteous conduct one to the other, we shall still be gentlepeople, let us work at what we may. William, I think it is your _duty_ to help in our need."

"Yes, I see, mamma," he answered. "I will try and do it; anything that may turn up."

Jane had not much faith in things "turning up." She believed that they must be sought for. That same evening she went into Mr. Lynn's, with the view to asking his counsel. There she found Anna in trouble. The cause was as follows.

Patience, leaving Anna alone at her lessons, had gone into the kitchen to give some directions to Grace. Anna seized the opportunity to take a little recreation: not that it was greatly needed, for--spoilt child that she was!--she had merely looked at her books with vacant eyes, not having in reality learned a single word. First of all, off went her cap.

Next, she drew from her pocket a small mirror, about the size of a five-s.h.i.+lling piece. Propping this against her books on the table before her, so that the rays of the lamp might fall upon it, she proceeded to admire herself, and twist her flowing hair round her pretty fingers to make a shower of ringlets. Sad vanity for a little born Quakeress! But it must be owned that never did mirror, small or large, give back a more lovely image than that child's. She had just arranged her curls, and was contemplating their effect to her entire satisfaction, when back came Patience sooner than she was expected, and caught the young lady at her impromptu toilette. What with the curls and what with the mirror, Anna did not know which to hurry away first.

"Thee naughty child! Thee naughty, naughty child! What is to become of thee? Where did thee get this?"

Anna burst into tears. In her perplexity she said she had "found" the mirror.

"That thee did not," said Patience calmly. "I ask thee where thee got it from?"

Of a remarkably pliant nature, wavering and timid, Anna never withstood long the persistent questioning of Patience. Amid many tears the truth came out. Lucy Dixon had brought it to school in her workbox. It was a doll's mirror, and she, Anna, had given her sixpence for it.

"The sixpence that thy father bestowed upon thee yesterday for being a good girl," retorted Patience. "I told him thee would likely not make a profitable use of it. Come up to bed with thee! I will talk to thee after thee are in it."

Of all things, Anna disliked to be sent to bed before her time. She sobbed, expostulated, and promised all sorts of amendment for the future. Patience, firm and quiet, would have carried her point, but for the entrance of Samuel Lynn. The fault was related to him by Patience, and the mirror exhibited. Anna clung around him in a storm of sobs.

"Dear father! Dear, dear father, don't thee let me go to bed! Let me sit by thee while thee hast thy supper. Patience may keep the gla.s.s, but don't thee let me go."

It was quite a picture--the child clinging there with her crimsoned cheeks, her wet eyelashes, and her soft flowing hair. Samuel Lynn, albeit a man not given to demonstration, strained her to him with a loving movement. Perhaps the crime of looking into a doll's gla.s.s and toying with her hair appeared to him more venial than it did to Patience; but then, she was his beloved child.

"Will thee transgress again, Anna?"

"No, I never will," sobbed Anna.

"Then Patience will suffer thee to sit up this once. But thee must be careful."

He placed her in a chair close to him. Patience, disapproving very much but saying nothing, left the room. Grace appeared with the supper-tray, and a message that Patience would take her supper in the kitchen. It was at this juncture that Mrs. Halliburton came in. She told the Quaker that she had come to consult him about William; and mentioned her intentions.

"To tell thee the truth, friend, I have marvelled much that thee did not, under thy circ.u.mstances, seek to place out thy eldest son," was the answer. "He might be helping thee."