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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c053c3d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60899 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60899) diff --git a/old/60899-0.txt b/old/60899-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index eb304df..0000000 --- a/old/60899-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12424 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mary Jane Married, by George R. Sims - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Mary Jane Married - Tales of a Village Inn - -Author: George R. Sims - -Release Date: December 12, 2019 [eBook #60899] -[Most recently updated: December 2, 2023] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY JANE MARRIED *** - - - - - MARY JANE MARRIED - - UNIFORM WITH THE PRESENT VOLUME. - - _Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d._ - - MARY JANE’S MEMOIRS. - - By GEORGE R. SIMS. - - _WITH A PHOTOGRAPHED PORTRAIT OF MARY JANE._ - - -“A quite Defoe-like revelation. It is, in effect, a series of social -sketches drawn by a keen and humorous observer. Can be heartily -recommended to all and sundry.”--_Globe._ - -“A very entertaining autobiography.... Mary Jane has a faculty for -observing character, and a power of delineating its movements and -development, not distantly related to those of Mr. Sims himself. Mary -Jane has so full a fund of exciting incident to draw upon, and so -pleasant a manner of philosophizing, in her homely way, upon the ups and -downs of a servant’s life, that should she ever take the field as a -novelist independently of her present sponsor, he will have a formidable -rival to contend with.”--_Scotsman._ - -“Mr. Sims has portrayed in an amusing manner the trials, woes, and -triumphs of domestic servants. There is such an amount of truthfulness -in the narrative that we can almost accept the portrait of Mary Jane as -that of the authoress of the memoirs Mr. Sims is supposed to edit, and -to believe that it is really genuine.”--_Metropolitan._ - -“There are some pages in these memoirs which it is impossible to read -without laughing heartily, while the chapters devoted to the account of -the Chelsea mystery are almost tragic in their intense realism.... -Dickens never did anything better than ‘Mrs. Three-doors-up,’ or ‘Mr. -Saxon, the author, and his mother-in-law.’. The book is full of -unvarnished naturalism of a healthy, sensible, wholesome kind. It is -quite the best thing Mr. Sims has yet written.”--_Whitehall Review._ - -“Those who have not yet made Miss Buffham’s acquaintance will here find -in her a very entertaining narrator of vast experiences in the way of -domestic service.”--_Daily News._ - -“Much of the book is broad comedy, and most laughter-provoking, and -reminds one of the best of the famous ‘Mrs. Brown.’. Generally, the book -is remarkable for its Defoe-like verisimilitude, and added to this is an -inexhaustible fund of humour and broad though harmless fun.”--_Public -Opinion._ - -“Genuine amusement awaits the public in the perusal of Mary Jane’s -experiences, edited by the popular writer who has put them into book -form. This view of the world from the housemaid’s pantry is full of -shrewd observation and apparently unconscious humour, and is throughout -diverting.”--_Morning Post._ - -“Mary Jane’s experience of domestic service makes a very entertaining -book. She sees some strange things, and describes them in a lively, -good-tempered way.”--_St. James’s Gazette._ - -“Mr. Sims is a clever story-teller, but he is to be admired for his -philanthropic spirit even more than for his artistic skill. Mary Jane’s -observations are shrewd and suggestive. There is a realistic tone about -the whole which makes these records interesting.”--_Congregational -Review._ - - - ALSO BY GEORGE R. SIMS. - - _Each the same size and prices._ - - =ROGUES AND VAGABONDS.= - =THE RING O’ BELLS.= - - _LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY._ - - - - - MARY JANE MARRIED - - TALES OF A VILLAGE INN - - BY - - GEORGE R. SIMS - - AUTHOR OF “MARY JANE’S MEMOIRS,” “THE DAGONET BALLADS,” - “ROGUES AND VAGABONDS,” “THE RING O’ BELLS,” ETC. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - London - CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY - 1888 - - [_The right of translation is reserved_] - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -CHAPTER PAGE - -I. MARY JANE EXPLAINS 1 - -II. THE SQUIRE’S ROOM 15 - -III. MISS WARD’S YOUNG MAN 28 - -IV. THE REVEREND TOMMY 43 - -V. THE LONDON PHYSICIAN 57 - -VI. MR. AND MRS. SMITH 71 - -VII. MR. SAXON’S GHOST 84 - -VIII. MRS. CROKER’S “NO. 2” 99 - -IX. OLD GAFFER GABBITAS 112 - -X. DASHING DICK 127 - -XI. OUR ODD MAN 141 - -XII. TOM DEXTER’S WIFE 155 - -XIII. A LOVE STORY 168 - -XIV. THE YOUNG PLAY-ACTOR 183 - -XV. THE BILLIARD MARKER 196 - -XVI. THE SILENT POOL 210 - -XVII. THE OWEN WALESES 223 - -XVIII. MR. WILKINS 236 - -XIX. ONE OF OUR BARMAIDS 250 - -XX. MR. SAXON AGAIN 263 - -XXI. THE VILLAGE WITCH 277 - -XXII. CONCLUSION 291 - - - - -MARY JANE MARRIED. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -_MARY JANE EXPLAINS._ - - -It is no use my trying to stop myself. I’m sure I’ve tried hard enough. -When I changed my name from Mary Jane Buffham to Mary Jane Beckett by -marrying Harry, my sailor sweetheart (God bless him!), I said to -myself--Now, Mary Jane, my girl, no more pens and ink. You’ve written a -book and had it published, and the newspaper gentlemen have been most -kind in what they said about it. You’d better be satisfied with that, -and do your duty in that state of life unto which you have been called, -that state being mistress of a sweet little hotel--inn, some people will -call it, but it’s quite as much right to be called an hotel as lots of -places that have “Hotel” up in big letters all over them--in a pretty -village not very far from London. Of course I have enough to do, though -Harry takes a good deal off my shoulders; but there are so many things -that a landlady can do to make a house comfortable that a landlord -can’t, and I take a great pride in my dear little home, and everybody -says it’s a picture, and so it is. Harry says it’s my training as a -thorough servant that makes me such a good mistress, and I dare say it -is. Our house is called “The Stretford Arms,” and we put “Hotel” on the -signboard underneath it soon after we had it, and made it pretty and -comfortable, so that people--nice people--came to stay at it. - -But, oh dear me, before we got it what a lot of trouble we had! If you -have read my “Memoirs” you know all about me and Harry, and how I left -service to marry him, and he made up his mind--having a bit of money -saved, and some come to him from a relative--to take a nice little inn -in the country; not a public-house, but something better, with plenty of -garden to it for us to have flowers, and fruit, and fowls, and all that -sort of thing; and we made up our minds we’d have one with a porch and -trellis-work, and roses growing over it, and lattice windows, like we’d -seen in a play before we were married. - -We hadn’t gone into business when my book came out in a volume. When the -publisher sent me a copy, I thought, “Oh, how proud I shall be when I -show this to Harry!” I declare I could have cried with rage when I took -the brown paper off and saw the cover. It was most wicked, and upset me -awfully. There on the cover was a picture of me sitting in my kitchen -with a horrid, grinning policeman, with his arm round my waist. I threw -the book on the floor, the tears streaming down my face. It was such a -bitter disappointment. - -Harry came in while I was crying, and he said, “Why, my lass, what’s the -matter with you?” And I sobbed out, pointing to the book, “Look at that, -Harry!” Harry picked the book up, and when he saw the cover his face -went crimson under the sunburn. - -He said, “Did this ever happen, Mary Jane?” and I said, “No, Harry. Do -you think I would ever have demeaned myself like that?” - -He looked at the grinning idiot of a policeman for a minute, and then he -brought his fist down hard right on his nose (the policeman’s). Then he -said, “Put it out of my sight, and never let me see it again.” But -presently he said, “There must be something about you and a policeman in -the book, or they wouldn’t have put him hugging you on the cover. Which -chapter is it? I’ll read it and see what the truth of this business is.” - -I recollected then that there _was_ something about a policeman, so I -said, “No, Harry, dear, don’t read it now; you’re not in a fit state of -mind. But whatever there is, I swear he didn’t sit in my kitchen with -his arm round my waist; and he--he--he wasn’t--a grinning idiot like -that.” - -I took the book away from Harry, and wouldn’t let him see it then. But -he kept on about it all the evening, and I could see it had made him -jealous as well as savage; and it was very hard--all through that horrid -picture the pleasure I had looked forward to was quite spoilt. But so it -is in this world; and how often it happens that what we have been -longing for to be a pleasure to us, when it comes is only a -disappointment and a misery! - -Harry said to me that evening that he would go to London and see the -publishers, and have it out with them about the picture. He said it was -a libel on my character, and he wasn’t going to have his wife stuck -about on all the bookstalls in a policeman’s arms. But, I said to him, -the publishers didn’t mean any harm, and it was no good being cross with -them, or making a disturbance at their office. - -But some time afterwards I wrote a little note to Messrs. Chatto and -Windus about it, and Mr. Chatto wrote back that he was very sorry the -picture had caused words between me and my husband, and, in the next -editions, it should be altered, and soon after that he sent me a proof -of the new cover, and it was Harry with his arm round my waist instead -of the policeman, which makes all the difference. - -There were many things that I shouldn’t have written, perhaps, if I’d -been quite sure that they would be published, and my husband would read -them; but, after all, there was no harm, and I only wrote the truth. I -wrote what I saw, and it was because it was the real experience of a -real servant that people read it, and, as I have reason to know, liked -it. And now, after I have been landlady of a village hotel, doing a nice -trade both in the bar and in the coffee-room (why coffee-room, I don’t -know, for there is less coffee drunk in it than anything), I find myself -putting down what I have seen and heard on paper, just as I did in my -“Memoirs.” - -People say to me sometimes, “Law, now, fancy your noticing that!--I -never did;” and that’s the secret of my being an authoress, I suppose. I -keep my eyes open, and my ears too; and if I see a character, I like to -watch it, and find out all about it. - -I’ve seen some strange characters in our inn, I can tell you; and as to -the people in the village, why, when you come to know their stories, you -find out that every place is a little world in itself, with its own -dramas being played out in people’s lives just the same as in big towns. -Yes, there are village tragedies and village comedies, and the village -inn is the place to hear all about them. I haven’t got an imagination, -so I can’t invent things, and I think it’s a good thing for me, because -I might be tempted to make up stories, which are never so good as those -that really happen. I thought when I came to this village I should have -nothing to write about, but I hadn’t been in it long before I found my -mistake. I hear a lot, of course, in the bar-parlour, because it’s like -a club, and all the chatty people come there of an evening and talk -their neighbours over, and I hear lots more in the house from the market -women and from our cook and the people about the place, and I can -promise you that I have learnt some real romances of real life--rich and -poor, too--since I became the landlady of the ‘Stretford Arms.’ - -We didn’t get into the place all at once. Oh dear me, what an anxious -time it was till we found what we wanted! and the way we were tried to -be “done,” as Harry calls it, was something dreadful. Harry said he -supposed, being a sailor, people thought he didn’t know anything; but -when we came to compare notes with other people who had started in the -business, we found our experiences of trying to become licensed -victuallers was quite a common one. - -We had a beautiful honeymoon first; but I’m not going to write anything -about that, except that we were very happy--so happy that when I thanked -God for my dear, kind husband and my happy life, the tears used to come -into my eyes. But all that time is sacred. It is something between two -people, and not to put into print. I don’t think a honeymoon would come -out well in print. It is only people who are having honeymoons who would -understand it. - -After we had had a nice long honeymoon, Harry began to think it was -time we looked out for something; so he said, “Now, little woman, this -is all very nice and lazy and lovely, but we must begin to think about -the future. The sooner we look for a place the better.” - -So every day we read the advertisements in the papers of public-houses -and inns and hotels in the country which were for sale. - -Whenever we saw “nice home,” or “lovely garden,” or “comfortable home -just suited to a young married couple,” we wrote at once for full -particulars. When we wrote to the agents about the best ones, I found -that it was very like the paragon servants advertised--they had just -been disposed of, but the agent had several others equally nice on hand -if we would call. - -It was very annoying to find all the “lovely gardens” and “charming -homes,” which were so cheap, just gone, and to get instead of them -particulars of a horrid place at the corner of a dirty lane, with only a -back yard to it, or something of that sort. - -We went to see some of the places the agents or brokers sent us, and -they were very much nicer in the advertisements than they were in -themselves. - -One house we went to look at we thought would do, though the situation -seemed lonely. We wrote we would come to see it on a certain day, and -when we got there, certainly there was no mistake about its doing a good -trade. They asked a lot of money for it, but the bar was full, and in -the coffee-room were men who looked like farmers having dinner and -ordering wine, and smoking fourpenny cigars quite fast. And while we -were having dinner with the landlord in his room, the servant kept -coming in and saying, “Gentleman wants a room, sir,” till presently all -the rooms were gone, and people had to be turned away. - -“It’s like that now nearly always,” said the landlord. “If it wasn’t -that I must go out to Australia, to my brother, who is dying, and going -to leave me a fortune made at the diggings, I wouldn’t part with the -house for anything.” - -“Where do the people all come from?” said Harry. “The station’s two -miles off.” - -“Oh,” said the landlord, “there’s something against the Railway -Hotel--it’s haunted, I believe, and this last month everybody comes on -here. If you like to start the fly business as well, you’ll make a lot -of money at that. Flys to meet the trains would fill you up every day.” - -We went away from the house quite convinced that it was a great bargain, -and Harry said he thought we might as well settle with the agents, for -we couldn’t do better. - -But when we got to the station we had just missed a train, and had an -hour to wait, so we went to the Railway Hotel. I sat down in a little -room, and had some tea, while Harry went into the smoke-room to hear the -talk, and see if he could find out about the place being haunted, and if -it was likely to be haunted long. - -In half an hour he came back looking very queer. “Mary Jane,” he said, -“that swab ought to be prosecuted”--meaning the landlord of the inn we -had been after. - -Then he told me what he’d found out in the smoke-room, hearing a man -talk, who, of course, didn’t know who Harry was. He was making quite a -joke about what he called the landlord’s “artful dodge,” and he let it -all out. - -It seems the place we had been after had been going down for months, and -the landlord had made up his mind to get out of it before he lost all -his capital. So to get a good price he had been getting a lot of loafers -and fellows about the village to come in and have drinks with him and -fill up the place, and the day we came nobody paid for anything, and the -farmers in the coffee-room were all his friends, and it was one man who -kept taking all the bedrooms that the servant came in about when we were -there. - -Wasn’t it wicked? But it opened our eyes, and showed us that there are -tricks in every trade, and that we should have to be very careful how we -took a place by its appearance. - -But, cautious as we were after that, we had one or two narrow escapes, -and I may as well tell you something about them as a warning to young -people going into business. Of course we laughed at the tricks tried to -be played on us, because we escaped being taken in, but if we had -invested our money and lost it all in a worthless concern, we shouldn’t -have been able to laugh. Perhaps Harry would have had to get another -ship, and I should have had to get another situation, and be a servant -again. And a nice thing that would have been with my ba---- - -But I must not anticipate events. I know more about writing now than I -did when I put my “Memoirs” together, and I’m going to see if I can’t -write a book about our inn, and our village, and all that happened in -them, without troubling the gentleman who was so kind to me over my -first book. I wish he had seen to the outside as well as the inside, and -prevented that nasty, impertinent, grinning policeman behaving so -disgracefully in my kitchen on the cover. - -I say we can afford to laugh now; and there are many things in life to -laugh at when we are on the safe side that we might cry at if we -weren’t. I know that I always laugh when people say about me not having -changed my initials, but being Mary Jane Beckett instead of Mary Jane -Buffham, and they quote the old proverb: - - “Change your name and not the letter, - Change for the worse and not the better.” - -I laugh, because I _have_ changed for the better; and Harry’s as good as -gold and as gentle as a baby--well, a good deal gentler, for I shouldn’t -like Harry to pull my hair, and put his finger in my eye, and kick me -like my ba---- - -But I am anticipating again. - -I was writing about the houses we went to look at before we fixed on the -‘Stretford Arms.’ There was one not quite in the country, but out in a -suburb of London--a new sort of a suburb: rather melancholy, like new -suburbs are when some of the houses are only skeletons, and the fields -are half field and half brickyard, and old iron and broken china lie -scattered about, with a dead cat in a pond that’s been nearly used up -and just shows the cat’s head; and a bit of rotten plank above the inch -or so of clay-coloured water. And there’s generally a little boy -standing on the plank, and making it squeeze down into the water and -jump up again, and smothering himself up to the eyes in squirts of the -dirty, filthy water, which seems to be quite a favourite amusement with -little suburban boys and girls. I suppose it’s through so much building -always going on. - -We went to look at a nice house, that certainly was very cheap and -nicely fitted up, in this new suburb; and there was a fair garden and a -bit of a field at the back. It stood on the high-road, or what would be -the high-road when the suburb was finished, and we were told it would -one day be a fine property, as houses were letting fast, and all being -built in the new pretty way; you know what I mean--a lot of coloured -glass and corners to them, and wood railings dotted about here and -there, something like the Swiss Cottage, where the omnibuses stop--Queen -Anne, I think they call them. - -We wanted to be more out of town, but we heard such glowing accounts -from the broker about this place, we hesitated to let it go. The -landlord, we were told, was giving up the business because he had to go -to a warmer climate for the winter, being in bad health, and, having -lost his wife, he had nobody to leave behind to look after the place. If -ever you try to take a business, dear reader, I dare say you will find, -as we did, that the people who are going to sell it to you never give up -because things aren’t good, but always because they’ve made so much -money they don’t want any more, or because they have to go and live a -long way off. I suppose it wouldn’t do to be quite truthful in -advertising a business for sale, any more than in giving a servant a -character. If the whole truth and nothing but the truth was told in -these cases, I fancy very few businesses would change hands and very few -servants get places. - -We had only seen this house in the new suburb once on a very fine day in -the autumn, and it looked very nice, as I told you; but, as luck would -have it, we made up our minds to go down without saying we were coming, -one wet Saturday afternoon. “Let’s see how it looks in bad weather,” -said Harry. So I put on my thick boots and my waterproof, and off we -went. - -Certainly that new suburb didn’t look lively in the rain. The mud was up -to your ankles in the new roads, and the unfinished houses looked soaked -to the skin, and seemed to steam with the damp. - -When we got to the house we went in and asked for the landlord. “He’s -very ill in bed,” said the barmaid, who had her face tied up with a -handkerchief. - -“What’s the matter with him?” said Harry. - -“Rheumatics,” said the barmaid. “He’s regular bent double, and twisted -into knots with it.” - -The barmaid didn’t know us or our business, so Harry gave me a look not -to say anything, and then he got the girl on to talk about the house. - -“House!” she said, putting her hand to her swollen face; “‘tain’t a -house; it’s a mausolium--it’s a mortchery. Why, the cat as belongs to -the place can’t hardly crawl for the rheumatiz. And the master, who came -here a healthy, upright young man a year ago, he’s a wreck, that’s what -he is, and the missis died here. If he don’t sell the place and get out -of it soon he’ll die here too.” - -“And how long have you been barmaid here?” asked Harry. - -“Oh, I ain’t the regular barmaid. She’s gone away ill. I’m the -’ousemaid; but I serve in the bar when any one wants anything, which -isn’t often now, for the people declare as they catch cold only standing -in the place.” - -“What’s the matter with it?” I asked. - -“What’s the matter with it?” said the girl. “Why, damp’s the matter with -it. It was built wet, and it’ll never get dry. And there ain’t no -drainage yet; and when it rains---- Well, you should see our cellars!” - -“I think I will,” said Harry, “if you’ll allow me;” and by pitying the -girl, and one thing and another, Harry managed to get her to let him see -the cellars. - -It was really something shocking. The cellars were full of water, and -the beer and the spirits were actually floating about. - -“It’s only on days when it’s pouring wet we get like that,” said the -girl; “but the damp’s always in the house.” - -“Yes,” said Harry, “it would be.” With that he finished his glass of -beer and biscuit, and said “Good day,” without troubling to leave word -for the landlord that he had called. - -“My dear,” he said, when we got outside, “I don’t think this place’ll -do. I want a business ashore, not afloat.” - -“Oh, Harry,” I said, almost with a little sob, for it did seem as if we -were never to be dealt fairly with--“oh, Harry,” I said, “isn’t it -dreadful? Fancy that we might have gone into that place and died there -for all these people cared.” - -“Self-preservation, my dear,” said Harry; “it’s only a natural thing, if -you come to think of it. This poor fellow wants to get out, and to get -himself out he must let somebody else in. So long as he doesn’t die -there, it doesn’t much matter to him who does.” - -I didn’t answer, but I felt quite sad all the way home. It seemed to me -that life was one great game of cheat your neighbour, and I began to -wonder if to get on in business we should have to cheat our neighbours -too. And that evening, when we were in our lodgings, sitting by the nice -cosy fire, and I was doing my work, and Harry was smoking his big brown -meerschaum pipe, I told him how sad I felt about all this trickery and -deceit, and I asked him if perhaps there might not be some business that -we could buy that wasn’t so full of traps and dodges as the public-house -business. He shook his head, and said, “No. He was sure a nice little -country inn was what would suit us, and it was only a question of -waiting a little, and keeping our wits about us, and we should get what -we wanted, and be none the worse for the experiences we picked up in the -search.” - -And we did pick up some experiences, and I wish I had time to write them -all out: I am sure that hundreds of thousands of pounds of hard-earned -money would be saved, and many suffering women and helpless children be -shielded from misery. - -Harry has got his eyes pretty wide open, and he knows how to take care -of himself, but he has often said to me that in trying to get a -public-house he met more land-sharks lying in wait for his money than -ever he saw in Ratcliff Highway lying in wait for the sailors. I should -like to show up some of these nice little advertisements of desirable -houses you see in the daily papers, but perhaps it wouldn’t do. I’m -always so afraid of that law which sends you to prison for writing what -is true--the law of libel, I think it is called. But this I will say, -that I hope no young married couple with a bit of money will ever take a -public-house except through a really respectable broker. Don’t be led -away by a beautiful description: and when you call on the broker and he -won’t tell you where it is till you have signed a paper, don’t sign it. -If you do you’ll have to pay for it. The broker and the man who is -selling the property will “cut you up”--that’s what Harry calls -it--between them, and you’ll probably go into the house only to leave it -for the place which is called “_the_ house,” and where there are plenty -of people who have got there through putting all their little fortune -into one of these “first-class houses” as advertised. - -We had plenty of them tried on us, and of course we saw plenty of -genuine concerns. Some brokers are very nice, and all is square and -above-board; and they let you know all about the property, and tell you -the truth about it, and don’t make you sign anything before they tell -you where it is to be seen. - -At one place which _wasn’t_ a swindle we had an adventure which I can’t -help telling. It was a very pretty place just by a lock on the river, -with gardens and roses, and a place for a pony, and quite a pretty view, -and the rooms very cosy and comfortable, and Harry and I quite fell in -love with it. - -“I do believe this place will do, dear,” I said, being quite worn out -with seeing so many. - -“Yes,” said Harry, “it’s a perfect little paradise. I think we could be -very happy here, my darling, and the customers seem nice, quiet sort of -people, don’t they?” - -We talked like that before we’d made our business known and been shown -over the place. - -Presently we went round the outhouses, and as I was going on a little -ahead I went into one before our guide came up. I went right in, and -then I gave a shriek and ran out, feeling as if I should fall to the -ground. - -There, lying on the straw, stark and staring, I had seen the dead body -of a man, and, oh, that dreadful face! I shall never forget it while I -live. - -“What’s the matter?” cried Harry, running to me and catching me in his -arms just as I was fainting. - -“Oh, oh!” I gasped; “there’s a dead man in there.” - -“Oh, that’s nothing,” said the guide. “There’s always something of the -sort in that shed. It’s kept on purpose.” - -“What!” I stammered; “always a corpse there?” - -“Yes, ma’am. You see, most of the people as throws theirselves into the -river get carried into this lock, so we’re always on the look-out for -’em, and this is the inquest house. Lor’, ma’am, you wouldn’t believe -what a lot of custom they bodies bring to the house! What with friends -coming to identify ’em, and the inquest and the funeral, it’s a very -good thing for the house, I can tell you.” - -“Oh, Harry,” I said, as soon as I felt a little better; “I could never -be happy here. Fancy these roses and flowers, and yet always a corpse on -the premises. Let’s go away; we don’t want to see any more.” - -But we did get settled at last. We found the place where I’m writing -these Memoirs--the ‘Stretford Arms.’ It is called so after the -Stretfords, who were the great family here, and it’s on what used to be -their property, and nice people they were--some of them--but a queer lot -some of the others, with stories in the family to make the _Police News_ -Sunday-school reading to them. The house is very pretty, quite -countryfied, and standing back from the road, with a garden on each side -of it, and lots of trees. And the windows are latticed, and there are -creepers growing all over the walls, and it looks really just like the -pretty house Harry and I saw in the melodrama and fell in love with. - -We got it through a respectable broker, who was very useful to us, and -told us everything we had to do, and put us right with the brewer and -the distiller, and managed “the change” for us capitally, and gave us -excellent advice about the house and the class of customers we should -have to deal with, and was very obliging in every way. - -He told us that it was just the house to suit us, and we should just -suit the house. He said it was a mistake to suppose that a man who could -manage one house could manage another. “There are men for houses and -houses for men,” he said, “and this was the house for a quiet, energetic -young couple, with taste and pleasing manners, and plenty of domestic -management.” - -It was nice of him--wasn’t it?--to say that, and he didn’t charge for it -in the bill. He explained that it was a house which might easily be -worked up into a little country hotel, if it had a good housewife to -look after it; and Harry and I both felt that we really were lucky to -get it, and we made up our minds to try and make it a nice, quiet hotel -for London people, who wanted a few days in the country, to come and -stay at. - -I remember hearing my old master, Mr. Saxon, say how nice it was to know -a really pretty country inn where one could have a room and breathe pure -air for a few days, and eat simple food, and get away from the fog and -the smoke, and feel truly rural. - -“Harry,” I said, “as soon as we’re straight, and everything’s in order, -I’ll write and let a lot of my old masters and mistresses know where I -am. Perhaps with their recommendation we might get a nice little -connection together for the hotel part. The local people will keep the -bar going all right.” - -“Yes,” said Harry, “that wouldn’t be a bad plan; and don’t you think -that literary gentleman you lived with--the one that had the bad -liver--might come, and recommend his friends? I should think it was just -the house for a literary gentleman. Why, I believe I could write poetry -here, myself.” - -The dear old goose!--I should like to see his poetry. He’s always saying -that some day _he_ shall write his Memoirs, and then I shall be nowhere. - -Oh dear, what fun it would be! But he wouldn’t have patience to go on -long; he hates pens and ink. - -But when he said about the literary people I didn’t answer all at once. -I should like Mr. Saxon to come, but I don’t think I should like it to -be a literary house altogether. Literary gentlemen are so queer in their -ways, and they are _not_ so particular as they might be with the ink, -and they do burn the gas so late, and some of them smoke in bed; and -there was another thing--if we had a lot of literary people down, they -might get hold of the characters and the stories of the place, and then -where would my book be? - -So I said, “No, dear; I think we’ll ask Mr. Saxon to come, but we won’t -try to get any more writers just yet. What we want are nice, quiet -married couples and respectable elderly gentlemen--people who can -appreciate peace and quietness, and won’t give much trouble.” - -Ah me! when I think of the respectable elderly gentleman who _did_ come, -and then remember that I thought elderly respectable gentlemen were -desirable guests, I feel inclined to---- - - * * * * * - -Oh, dear, dear, how unkind of you, baby! You needn’t have woke up just -as I’ve got a few minutes to myself. All right, dear, mamma’s coming. -Bless his big blue eyes! Oh, he _is_ so like Harry! - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -_THE SQUIRE’S ROOM._ - - -After we got into our new house everything was very strange at first. -Harry knew something about the business, having been with a relative, -who was in the same line, for six months that he didn’t go to sea; but -to me it was something quite new. - -We took on the people who had been with the late owners, and that was a -great help to us--one girl, the barmaid, being a very nice young woman, -and a great comfort to me, telling me many things quietly that prevented -me looking foolish through not knowing. - -She was about four-and-twenty, and rather pretty; Miss Ward her name -was, and she didn’t mind turning her hand to anything, and would help me -about the house, and was quite a companion to me. She said she was very -glad we had taken the place, because she hadn’t been comfortable with -the people who had left it. The master was all right, but his wife was -very stuck up, having been the daughter of a Government clerk, and she -wouldn’t have anything to do with the business, saying it was lowering, -and only dressed herself up and sat in her own room, and read novels, -and wanted everybody about the place to attend on her instead of the -customers, and was very proud and haughty if any of them said “Good -evening, mum,” to her, hardly having a civil word for them, though it -was their money she dressed herself up on. - -She and her husband were going to have a real hotel instead of an inn, -she having come into money, which was why we got the place so cheap. - -Certainly it was left beautifully clean, that I will say; and there was -an air of gentility about the place that was comforting. When Harry had -first talked about going into this sort of business I felt rather -nervous. My idea of an inn was a place where there were quarrels and -fights, and where you had to put people out, and where wives came crying -about ten o’clock to fetch their husbands home. - -But I felt quite easy in my mind as soon as we were settled down in the -‘Stretford Arms,’ and very nice and cosy it was of an evening in our -parlour, with three or four nice respectable people sitting and smoking, -and Harry, “the landlord” (dear me, how funny it was to hear him called -“landlord” at first!), smoking his pipe with them, and me doing my -needlework. Every now and then Harry would have to get up and go into -the bar, to help Miss Ward, and say a word or two to the customers, but -they were all respectable people; and the light and the warmth and the -comfort made a nice dozy, contented, sleek feeling come over me. - -I don’t know what made me think it, but the first night in our little -parlour I felt as if I ought to purr, because I felt just as I should -think a cat must feel when she settles down comfortably in front of the -fire, on that round place that is in the middle of a fender. - -I didn’t go into the bar much, having the house to see to, and getting -the rooms to look pretty, and fitting them up as bedrooms, we being -quite determined to make it a little hotel where people could stop. - -We made one of the rooms look very pretty, and bought some old volumes -of _Punch_ and _Fun_ for it, and a picture or two, and called it the -coffee-room; and we kept another room for the local people to have bread -and cheese and chops in. As soon as we were quite ready we had “Hotel” -put up big, and I wrote nice letters to all my masters and mistresses, -and I wrote specially to Mr. Saxon, asking for his patronage. - -I was very anxious to get him, because I thought perhaps if we made him -comfortable he would put us a nice paragraph in some of the papers he -wrote for, and that would be a good advertisement. - -I soon began to find out a good deal about our customers and our -neighbours, and the people who lived in the village. The most famous -people, as I have said before, were the Stretfords, the family whose -land our house was on, and whose arms were on our signboard. - -We hadn’t anything to do with the Stretfords ourselves, and they didn’t -live in the place any longer, the house having passed to a stranger, and -all the property being in other people’s hands, but the place was -saturated with stories of the old Squire’s goings-on. Poor old Squire! -He was dead long before we took his “Arms,” and everything belonging to -him had gone except his name; but the old people still spoke of him with -love and admiration, and seemed proud of the dreadful things he had -done. - -When I say dreadful I don’t mean low dreadful, but high dreadful--that -is, things a gentleman may do that are not right, but still -gentlemanly--or, rather, they were gentlemanly in the Squire’s time, but -wouldn’t be thought so nowadays. - -I’ve heard old people tell of “the days when they were young,” and the -things that were thought nothing of then for a gentleman to do. There is -a dear old gentleman with long white hair who uses our house, who lived -servant in a great family in London sixty years ago, and his father -before him, and the stories he tells about the young “bloods”--that is -what he calls them--are really wonderful. - -They were a nice lot certainly in those days. If they went on like it -now they would be had up before a magistrate, and not allowed to mix -with respectable people. They were great drinkers and great fighters and -great gamblers, and thought nothing of staggering about the streets and -creating a disturbance with the watch or pulling off knockers, and doing -just the sort of mischief that only very young fellows and little rough -boys do in the streets now. - -Squire Stretford was one of the good old sort of country gentlemen, with -red faces and ruffled shirts, who carried snuffboxes and sticks with a -tassel to them, and didn’t think it any harm to take a little too much -to drink of an evening. And he was a great gambler, and would go up to -London to his club and gamble, till, bit by bit, he had to part with all -his property to pay his debts. - -He had a daughter, a fine, handsome girl she was, so I was told, and a -lovely rider. Miss Diana her name was, and she was in love with a young -fellow who lived at a great house not far from the Hall--a Mr. George -Owen. His father was a pawnbroker in London, having several shops; but -the son had been to Oxford, and had never had anything to do with taking -in people’s watches and blankets and flat-irons. When Miss Diana told -her papa that if she couldn’t have George Owen she would never have -anybody, he was in a dreadful rage. “Good heavens, Di,” he said, “you -must be mad! Marry a fellow who lends money on poor people’s shirts and -flannel petticoats? Marry the man that’s got our plate, and your poor -mother’s jewels; a Jew rascal, who only lends about a quarter what -things are worth, and sells them in a year if you don’t redeem them? -Why, you’ll be proposing the dashed fellow who serves me with a writ for -my son-in-law next!” - -It was no good for the poor young lady to argue that young Mr. Owen was -a private gentleman, and hadn’t anything to do with the business--the -old Squire wouldn’t listen to her. “If ever you marry that man, Di,” he -said, “you’re no daughter of mine, and I’ll never speak to you again as -long as I live.” - -Miss Di never said any more, but moped a good deal; and Mr. Owen never -came to the Squire to ask for her hand, because, of course, she’d told -him that it was no use. - -But the Squire went on just as reckless as before, gambling and enjoying -himself, and being up in London more than ever. - -One morning he came down by the first train from London, looking very -pale, and he went straight up to the Hall, and got there just as Miss Di -had come down to breakfast. “Di,” he said, “I’m going away, and you’ll -have to go away too. I’ve lost the Hall.” - -It was true; he’d actually played for the Hall, the old place where he -was born, and lost it at cards, having parted with everything else long -before. They say that altogether he must have gambled away a hundred -thousand pounds--at any rate he was ruined, for all his estate and all -his property had been lost, and he was in debt. - -Miss Di looked at her pa, and said, “What am I to do?” - -“Come abroad with me,” he said; “we must live cheaply for a little while -somewhere.” - -“No, I sha’n’t,” said the girl; “as long as you kept a home for me, I -obeyed you as your daughter. As you have gambled my home away, I shall -go where there is one for me. I shall marry George Owen.” - -And marry him she did very soon after. The Squire wasn’t at the wedding, -you may be sure. He went away abroad, and lived there for years--how -nobody knew; and strangers took the Hall and the lands; and the name of -Stretford, that had been in the place for hundreds of years, died out of -it; the village inn, the ‘Stretford Arms,’ being the only thing that -kept it alive. - -And it was in the best bedroom of that inn--a dear old-fashioned room it -is, with a great four-post bedstead, and an old oak chest, and a big -fireplace with old brass dogs for the logs of wood--that the old Squire -lay, years afterwards, dying. - -It was years before we came to the place, but the room the old Squire -lay in seemed a sacred place to me directly I had heard the story, and -over and over again when I’ve had a fire lighted there for a guest who -was expected, I’ve stood and watched the firelight flickering on the old -oak panels, and I’ve seen the old Squire’s handsome face lying on the -pillow of the great four-post bedstead. - -He had come back from abroad, terribly broken and ill and poor. He said -he knew he was dying, and he wanted to die as near the old place as -possible. He wouldn’t have anything to do with his daughter, Mrs. Owen, -and would never take a penny from her, though she was very rich; and -when he came back, and she wanted to see him and get him to consent to -be taken to her house, he said, “No, he didn’t want to die in pawn. He’d -as soon have the sheriff’s officer or a Jew money-lender sitting by his -death-bed as a pawnbroker or a pawnbroker’s wife.” - -It’s wonderful how with some people this family pride will keep up to -the last. Of course it isn’t so much nowadays, when ladies of title -marry rich tradesmen, and are very glad to get them, and noblemen don’t -mind making a marine-store dealer’s daughter a lady, if her pa has -enough money to give her a fine dowry. - -But the Squire was one of the proud old sort that began to go out when -railways began to come in. That’s how Mr. Wilkins, the parish clerk, who -uses our parlour regularly of an evening, puts it. It was Mr. -Wilkins--quite a character in his way, as you’ll say when you know more -about him--who told me the story of the old Squire after whose Arms our -house is named. - -The people who had our house at the time were the Squire’s butler and -his wife, and of course they made their dear old master as comfortable -as they could, and made his bill as light as possible, for he would pay -for everything with the little bit of money he’d got, and would swear -just as he used to do in former days if they didn’t let him have his -bill regularly. - -One day he said to the doctor, “Doctor, how long do you think I shall -live?” - -“Why do you ask?” said the doctor. - -“Because I must cut my cloth according to my measure,” said the Squire. -“I want to know how long I’ve got to spread my money over. My funeral -will be all right, because I’ve paid for that beforehand.” - -Which he had, as was found out afterwards. - -Well, the doctor was in a fix. He knew if he said a long time the poor -old gentleman would begin to starve himself and do without his wine, and -if he said a short time he thought it would be cruel; so he said that it -all depended upon the turn his illness took. - -It was in the winter time that the Squire lay ill at the “Arms,” and -Christmas was coming. - -As it came nearer, the Squire grew weaker and weaker, and everybody saw -he was going home. One evening the landlady went up to the Squire’s -rooms, and found him out of bed with his dressing-gown on, sitting in a -chair and looking out of the window. It was a bright, frosty evening and -the moon was up, and you could see a long way off. - -She went in on tiptoe, fancying he might be asleep, and not wanting to -wake him, and she saw he was looking out over the fields right away to -the old Hall. It stood out in the moonlight far away, looking very -haunted and gloomy, as it often does now when I look at it from that -very window. - -The tears were running down the old man’s face, and he was quite -sobbing, and the landlady heard him say to himself, “The dear old place! -Ah! if I could only have died there I could have died happy.” - -Mr. Owen used to come every day to ask after the Squire, and the -landlady told him about this, and he set about thinking if something -couldn’t be managed. He knew the Squire wouldn’t take charity or be -beholden to anybody, or accept a favour; and the thing was--how could he -be got back to the Hall believing it was his own? - -Mr. Owen told his wife--the Squire’s daughter--and they both put their -heads together, as the saying is. Miss Di, as she was always called -about here, suddenly had an idea, and Mr. Owen went to London that -night. - -The next day the Squire was told that an old friend wanted to see him, -and when he was told it was a friend of the old wild days he said, “Let -him come--let him come.” - -The friend was Colonel Rackstraw--that was the name, I think--a great -gambler, like the Squire--and it was to him the Squire had lost the -Hall. - -It was quite a meeting, those two old fellows seeing each other again, -they say, and they began to talk about old times and the adventures they -had had, and the Squire got quite chirrupy, and chuckled at things they -remembered. - -“Ah, Rackstraw,” says the Squire presently, “I never had your luck; you -were always a lucky dog, and you broke me at last. I didn’t mind -anything but the old place--that settled me.” - -“Well,” says the Colonel, “I haven’t done much good by it. There it -stands. The people I let it to have cleared out (which wasn’t true), and -I’ll sell it cheap.” (He’d sold it long ago, and the people living in it -were big wholesale tailors.) - -“So the old place is for sale?” says the Squire. - -“Yes; will you buy it?” - -“I, my dear fellow! I’m a pauper.” - -“Of course, of course; I forgot,” says the old Colonel. “Well, I’ve -come to cheer you up a bit. I suppose you never touch the pictures now?” - -“No, no,” says the Squire, “not for a long time. I haven’t had any money -to lose.” - -“I should like to have had a quiet game with you for auld lang syne,” -says the Colonel. “Shall I ring for a pack?” - -“I should like it. I should like to have one more turn with you, old -friend, before I die; but--but----” - -“Oh, come, it’ll do you good--cheer you up; and as to the stakes--well, -we’ll play for silver, just to make the game interesting.” - -After a lot of coaxing the old Squire consented, and the Colonel got the -cards, and pulled a table up to the bed, and they began to play. - -The Squire soon forgot everything in playing. The old excitement came -back; his cheeks got red, and his eyes grew bright, and he kept making -jokes just as they say he used to do. - -He had wonderful luck, for he won everything, and he was so excited he -must have fancied himself back again at the club by the way he went on. -When he had won they made the stakes higher, and he kept winning, till -he had won quite a lot. The Colonel had bank-notes in his pocket and he -paid them over, and presently he said-- - -“Look here, Stretford, I’ll play you double or quits the lot.” - -The Squire was like a boy now. “All right,” he said; “come on.” He won, -and the Colonel had to owe him a lot of money. - -When the Squire was quite worked up the Colonel cried out, “A thousand!” -He lost it. “Double or quits!” He lost again--and so on till he had lost -a fortune: and then he pretended to be awfully wild, and brought his -fist down on the table and shouted out, “Confound it, I’m not going to -be beaten! I’ll play you the Hall against what you’ve won.” - -I wish you could hear Mr. Wilkins tell the story as he told it to Harry -and me in our bar parlour. He made us quite hot the way he described -this game with the Colonel and the dying Squire, and he made it quite -real, which I can’t do in writing. We were quite carried away, and I -knew when it came to the Hall being staked, and Mr. Wilkins described -the Squire sitting up, almost at death’s door, and laughing and -shouting, and evidently carried away by “the ruling passion” (that’s -what Mr. Wilkins called it), that he must have believed himself back -again at his club and the devil-may-care fellow he was in those days. - -“Done!” said the Squire. - -And then they played for the old Hall that the Squire had lost ten years -ago. - -And the Squire won it! - -As he won the game he flung the cards up in the air, and shouted out so -loud that the landlady ran up, thinking he was in a fit or something. - -“I’ve won it!” he cried. “Thank God--thank God!” Then he fell back on -the bed, and burst out crying like a child. - -The doctor came in to him and gave him something, and by-and-by they got -him to sleep. - -“He’ll rally a bit,” said the doctor; “the excitement’s done him good, -but he’ll go back again all the quicker afterwards.” - - * * * * * - -The next morning it was all over the village that the Squire was better, -and was going back to the Hall again; that he’d come into money or -something, and had bought it back again. Mr. Owen arranged -everything--him and Miss Di--or Mrs. Owen, I should say. - -The people came from far and near, and gathered about the old place when -they heard that the Squire was coming, and they determined to give him a -grand welcome. - -The doctor had a long conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Owen that morning, -and determined to try the experiment. He got the Squire up and dressed, -and, well wrapped up, he was carried down and put in a close carriage, -and then they drove away to the Hall. - -The people shouted like mad when they saw the Squire coming, and they -took the horses out, and dragged the carriage right up to the doors. - -The landlord of the “Arms” was there in his old butler’s coat, and he -received the Squire, and he was taken into the big room, which had been -the justice-room, and the villagers all crowded in; and the Squire, -sitting in his old easy-chair by the fire, received them, and, after he -had had some stimulant, made a little speech that brought tears into the -people’s eyes, and thanked them, and said he should die happy now, for -he should die master of the dear old place. - - * * * * * - -After that the Squire never left his bed, but he was very happy; he lay -in the old room--the room his wife had died in--and all the old things -were about him, just as he had left them; and on Christmas Day he told -the doctor to send for his daughter and “the pawnbroker.” - -They came, and the Squire kissed his daughter, and said he was so happy -he couldn’t let anything mar his happiness; so he forgave her and kissed -her, and then held out his hand and said, “Mr. Owen, they tell me that -for a pawnbroker you are a very decent fellow.” - -He didn’t live very long after that--only a few weeks; but he saw his -daughter every day, and she was holding his hand when he died. It was -just in the twilight he went--only the firelight let everything in the -room be seen. - -He had been sinking for days, and hadn’t said much; but he seemed to get -a little strength for a moment then. He had had his wife’s portrait -brought from Mrs. Owen’s and hung on the wall opposite his bed. He -looked at that--a long, loving look--and his lips seemed to move as if -he was saying a little prayer. - -Then he pressed his daughter’s hand, and she stooped and kissed him, and -listened to catch his words, for he spoke in a whisper. - -“God bless you, dear,” he said; “I’m at peace with everybody, and I’m so -glad to die in the old place. Tell the pawnbroker”--a little smile -passed over his face as he whispered the word--“tell the pawnbroker that -I forgave----” - -Miss Di could catch no more. The lips moved, but no sound came. Then all -was quiet. A little gentle breathing, then a deep long sigh--a happy -sigh--and then--the end. - - * * * * * - -When Mr. Wilkins first told me and Harry that story, the way he told it -(oh, if I could only tell it in writing like that!) made me cry, and -Harry--he pulled out his handkerchief and had a cold just like he had -when the clergyman was reading our marriage service. Several times while -that service was on I thought Harry had a dreadful cold, but he said -afterwards, “Little woman, it wasn’t a cold; it was the words and the -thoughts that came into my heart and made it feel too big for my -waistcoat; and I felt once or twice as if I should have liked to put my -knuckles in my eyes, and boo-hoo, like I used to when I was a boy.” - -It came home to us, you see, having the ‘Stretford Arms;’ and it being -in our house that it all happened, long, long ago--and that room, the -Squire’s room, was my pride after that, and I kept it a perfect picture; -but I never dusted it or arranged it without thinking of the poor old -gentleman sitting in the big armchair, and looking out in the moonlight -at the old home that he had lost--the home his race had lived and died -in for hundreds of years. - -Of course as soon as we’d got over the first effect of the story, we -asked Mr. Wilkins to explain how it had been done, though we guessed a -good deal. - -He told us that it was all through Mr. George Owen--(“He was a brick,” -said Harry, and though I couldn’t call him a brick, because somehow or -other “brick” isn’t a woman’s word, I said he was an angel, which Harry -says is the feminine of “brick”)--and it was he who had arranged the -whole thing. - -The wholesale tailors were going away for three months, and Mr. Owen had -got them to let him rent the place of them for the time, and longer if -he wanted it, and then he had gone off to London and found the Colonel, -who was an old bachelor living in Albany something--whether the barracks -or the street I forget--and, knowing the whole story from Miss Di, he -had begged him to come down and assist in the trick--if trick is the -word for such a noble action. - -The Colonel had played to lose, the money being Mr. Owen’s, and it had -all been arranged, and he was very glad to do it for his old friend, for -though a born gambler, the Hall had always stuck in his throat--to use -a common saying. - -I wrote the story down when Mr. Wilkins had told it us, because I -thought if ever I wrote the memoirs of our inn, I couldn’t begin with a -better one than the story of old Squire Stretford, seeing that the -strangest part of it took place in our house, and that our house is the -‘Stretford Arms,’ and the Stretfords are bound up with the history of -the place. - -Mr. and Mrs. Owen left the neighbourhood soon after that; they sold -their house, and went to live in another part of the country, and the -wholesale tailors came back again. The eldest son of the tailors has the -place now, and he sometimes comes in and has a chat with Harry. When he -was a boy he ran away to sea, and his people never knew what had become -of him for ever so long, and gave him up for dead, till one morning his -ma came down to breakfast and found a letter from him, dated from some -awful place where cannibals live. It was some island that Harry knew -quite well, having been there with his ship, but since cannibalism had -been done away with, it being many years after the wholesale tailor’s -eldest son was in those parts. - -Of course he is a middle-aged man now, this eldest son, and settled -down, and has the business, and is quite reformed; but he likes to come -and talk to Harry about that cannibal island, and foreign parts which -they have both visited. I think it is likely to be a very good thing for -us in business, Harry having been a sailor. People seem to like sailors, -and, of course, if they can talk at all, and can remember what they have -seen, their conversation is sure to be interesting. - -When Harry sometimes begins to spin a yarn of an evening, everybody -leaves off talking and listens to him, not because he is the landlord, -but because he has something to say that is worth listening to, about -places and people that nobody else in the company knows anything about. -I wish I could use some of his stories here, but I can’t, because I am -only going to write about what belongs to our hotel and the village, and -the things that I see and hear myself. - -When the gentleman who lives at the Hall that was the home of the -Stretfords for so many years comes in of an evening, of course we always -ask him in the---- - - * * * * * - -The cat asleep in baby’s cradle! Oh, Harry! and I only left you with him -for half an hour while I did my writing. Don’t laugh! please don’t -laugh! I’ve heard the most terrible things about cats in babies’ -cradles. I declare I can’t trust you with baby for a second. Thought -they looked so pretty together, did you? A nice thing if I’d found my -dear baby with its breath sucked by the cat, and its father looking on -laughing! - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -_MISS WARD’S YOUNG MAN._ - - -I told you that when we took over the ‘Stretford Arms’ we kept most of -the people about the place, and among them the barmaid, Miss Ward--Clara -we generally called her. She was a great help to us, knowing the ways of -the place and the customers; for you may be sure everything was very -strange to us at first. - -If I were to tell you that once or twice I really felt inclined to sit -down and cry, you would laugh at me; but it was true. I said to Harry, -when we went to bed the first night, quite worn out, “Harry, we shall be -ruined! We’ve gone into a business we know nothing about, and we shall -lose all our money.” - -Harry laughed, and said I was a goose, and he was soon fast asleep. But -I lay awake for ever so long, imagining all manner of dreadful things; -even seeing ourselves seized for rent, the customers having all gone -away through my knowing nothing about the business. And when I wasn’t -thinking of that, I was seeing a great big navvy come into the bar and -begin to swear, and throw quart pots at the plate glass, and Harry -jumping over the bar and having a fight with him, and both of them -rolling over on the floor, and knocking their heads against the -spittoons. - -If once I begin to think instead of going to sleep, I think dreadful -things, and they seem quite real at the time. I wonder why it is that -everything in your life seems going wrong sometimes when you lie awake -at night, and when you’ve been to sleep and wake up in the morning -everything seems to have come right again? - -I know that the first night at our new home, when I didn’t sleep, beside -the things I’ve told you, I imagined people coming and taking our rooms, -and staying for a week and not paying their bills, and I couldn’t get -out of my head a story I had once heard about a gentleman who stayed a -month at an hotel, and lived on the fat of the land, borrowed ten -pounds, and went away leaving a very heavy box, and when the box was -opened it was full of nothing but bricks. - -And I was dreadfully frightened about the licensing laws. I didn’t know -much about them, but I had read cases in the papers about landlords -being summoned, and the first night, when it was closing time, and the -customers in our bar and smoking-room were slow in going, and Harry had -to say, “Now, gentlemen, please!” twice, and still they stopped talking, -and one old gentleman didn’t seem as if he’d ever get into his overcoat, -being a little paralyzed on one side, I felt inclined to drop down on my -knees and say, “Oh, do go; please go! Fancy if the policeman comes and -Harry’s summoned!” - -Of course I soon got over this sort of thing, and now they tell me I -make a very good landlady indeed; but at first everything made me -dreadfully nervous, and I made a few mistakes. - -Miss Ward, as I told you, was our right hand. She was a tall, rather -pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes, and about five-and-twenty, with a -history, which she told me one afternoon when we were slack, and we were -both sitting in the parlour doing needlework. - -Her father was a farmer in Essex, but, times being bad, she was taken by -her uncle, who had a large hotel and no children of his own, and brought -up like a lady, only just superintending things that her aunt, being an -invalid, couldn’t see to. - -Her uncle had made a fortune with his hotel, and could have retired, but -instead of that he took to sporting, and went to race meetings, and was -a good deal away from home. - -After a time, people began to notice a change in his manner, and he -neglected his business altogether, and would come home sometimes with -his dog-cart full of legs of mutton, and poultry, and things, which he -said he’d bought cheap. One day he brought home fifty ducks in his trap; -and another day he brought six mastiff dogs, and they were all kept -chained up in the yard, and a nice noise they made. - -But that wasn’t the worst. He got very violent if his wife objected to -his buying things, and she said she was sure he wasn’t right in his -head. After a terrible quarrel about his buying four billiard tables, -and having them sent home, with nowhere to put them, he went off, and -was away for weeks, and when he came back he never said where he’d been, -but letters began to come, and his wife opened them, and it seemed he’d -been about the country and had bought horses and traps everywhere, and -had left them at different yards at hotels, and there they were, eating -their heads off--the horses, not the traps. - -And they found out that he’d bought a sailing vessel at Brighton, and it -was lying on the beach; and in London he’d been to a sale and bought a -lot of pictures, and had them sent to a furniture depository, where they -were standing at a fearful rent. - -It seemed as though he couldn’t think of enough ways to fool his money -away, and they found he’d got rid of thousands. - -His wife went to a solicitor to see what could be done to stop him -getting rid of any more, and when he found it out he jumped about the -place and smashed the furniture, and went down in the cellar with a -hammer and broke bottles, till you could have swum about the place in -mixed wine. - -Everybody said that his brain was softening, or something of the sort, -and he would have to be put under restraint. Poor Clara told me they had -a dreadful time with him, and it came to the worst one evening, when -there was a ball and supper being given in the big room belonging to the -hotel. Everything was ready for the supper; pies and jellies, and -creams, and tipsy cakes: and her uncle went into the supper-room when -the table was all beautifully laid; and when the guests began to come -in, he ordered them all out, saying it was his house, and he wasn’t -going to have a pack of people dancing and singing, when they ought to -be in bed and asleep; and, before anybody knew what he was going to do, -he seized the jellies and the creams and threw them at the guests, -regularly bombarding them, so to speak, before anybody could stop him. -It was a dreadful sight. The poor ladies shrieked, as jellies and creams -came all over them; and one gentleman was smothered all over his head -with a dish of tipsy cake, the custard running down over his face. - -The people who were just coming in at the doorway couldn’t get back, -because the people behind pressed forward; and there were tongues, and -hams, and patties, and fowls, and jellies, and greasy things flying -right and left and all among them--that madman seizing things with both -hands to hurl at them. - -When Miss Ward told me about it first, I couldn’t for the life of me -help laughing. I could see the jellies and the creams hitting the -people, and I thought how ridiculous they must have looked; but, of -course, it was very dreadful, and that was the finishing stroke to the -house. People wouldn’t come there to have things thrown at them by the -landlord. And when he was put in an asylum, where he died, it was found -out he had got rid of so much money, and was liable for so much more, -that his affairs had to be wound up and the business sold. Out of the -wreck there was only just enough left for the aunt to live on, and so -Miss Ward had to go out as a barmaid, her own father not being able to -offer her a home, through a large family, and farming having become so -bad. - -She had had a good education, though, and could play the piano and spoke -a little French, and was very ladylike; and that, I dare say, made me -take to her at once. I liked her so much that I always tried to make the -place as easy for her as I could; and when one day she said she hoped I -would have no objection to her young man coming there to see her -occasionally, I said, “Oh dear no; certainly not.” - -I knew myself how hard it was never to be able to speak a word to your -sweetheart, when perhaps he’s got plenty of time of an evening, now and -then, just to come and say a few words to you and cheer you up. - -When I told Harry he was quite agreeable. You may be sure he remembered -how he used to come and see me, and how much happier we had been when we -could see each other comfortably without deceiving anybody. - -“She’s a nice girl,” he said, “and I’m sure her young man will be -respectable, and not one of those low fellows, who get in with barmaids -and lead them on to change bad money for them, and do all manner of -dreadful things with the till.” - -It was about a week after that, one Sunday afternoon, that Miss Ward’s -young man, who lived in London, came to our house for the first time. -Directly I saw him I didn’t like him. He’d got red hair, which, of -course, oughtn’t to be against a man, because it’s a thing he can’t -help--but there was what I call a “shifty” look in his face. He never -looked at you when he spoke to you, and when you shook hands with him, -his hand was one of those cold, clammy hands that I never could abide. - -But he was very agreeable. He brought me a cucumber and a bunch of -flowers, and, it being teatime, we asked him to join us. He was very -affectionate and nice to Miss Ward, and as they sat there with us, and -she kept looking up in his face, and showing how proud she was of every -word he said, my thoughts went back to the day when Harry came home from -sea, and my good, kind mistress let him come down in the kitchen and -have tea with us, and that softened me towards Miss Ward’s young -man--Mr. Shipsides his name was--and I made up my mind I’d done him a -wrong in not liking him. - -How he did talk, to be sure! All that teatime nobody else could get a -word in edgeways. He told us all about the business he’d bought in -London, and what a nice home he was getting together, to be ready for -Miss Ward when she married him. Poor girl, how her eyes brightened as he -talked of all the beautiful things she was to have in her home! - -He said that he’d taken a splendid shop, and stocked it in the grocery -line, having been an assistant at a grocer’s, and come into money -lately, and that he had the promise of all his former masters’ customers -to deal with him. He told us the first day he opened he had the shop -crowded all day, and had to take on two extra assistants, and that -among his customers were dukes, marquises, earls, and barons. - -Harry looked up at that and said, “Do you mean to say that swells like -that come to your shop after their grocery?” “Not themselves,” said Mr. -Shipsides; “but their names are on my books.” “You’re doing very well,” -said Harry, “if you’ve got a business like that--you must be making -money fast.” “I am,” said Mr. Shipsides; “but of course I can’t put much -by yet, because I’ve got relatives’ money in the business that helped to -start me, and that’s all got to be paid out first, and the place cost me -a lot of money to fit up and stock; but by-and-by, if things go on as -they are now, I shall be on the high-road to fortune, and Clara will -ride in her carriage.” - -Of course, I said I hoped she would; but all the same, it made me wince -a little. I had just a little feeling of womanly jealousy, which, I -suppose, was only natural, at the idea of my barmaid riding in her -carriage, while I was taking a twopenny ’bus, in a manner of speaking, -for, of course, where we lived there were no twopenny ’buses, or -sixpenny ones either for the matter of that. - -I think it took Harry a bit aback, too, hearing the fellow go on like -that, for he said, “I hope when you’ve got your carriage you’ll drive -down here with it. It’ll do us good, you know, to let folks see that -we’ve got a connection with carriage people.” - -Miss Ward laughed at that, but Mr. Shipsides coloured up almost as red -as his hair, and I saw he didn’t like it, so I turned the conversation. -But he always got it back on to himself, and the wonderful fellow he -was, and the wonderful things he was going to do. He made out that he -was very highly connected, although he’d been a grocer’s assistant, and -said his father was the son of a baronet, but had married against his -father’s (the baronet’s) wish, and had gone away--being proud--and never -spoken to any member of the family again; and when he died had made -himself and his brothers and sisters vow they would never seek a -reconciliation. - -“I never heard of a Sir anything Shipsides,” Harry said. - -“That’s very likely,” said the fellow, “because that wasn’t the name. -My father was so indignant that he changed it by Act of Parliament; but -his real name was one that is known and respected throughout the length -and breadth of the land.” - -And afterwards we found out that his father wasn’t dead at all, but -alive, and that he was---- - -But I mustn’t anticipate. - -Mr. Shipsides, after tea was over, had a cigar with Harry while Miss -Ward went into the bar, the house being opened again. Harry got out a -box of cigars and put them on the table, always doing the thing well, -like a sailor, for though he is in business on shore, he’ll never quite -get rid of the sea. I had to go upstairs to see to things, and Harry -went into the bar, so Mr. Shipsides was left alone with a bottle of -whiskey and the box of cigars. He didn’t stop long, saying he had to -catch a train back to town, so he said good-bye to Miss Ward and shook -hands with Harry in the bar, and went off. - -And when Harry went into the parlour the whiskey-bottle was half empty, -and quite a dozen cigars were gone, and as Shipsides couldn’t have -smoked them in the time, he must have filled his pockets. - -Harry and I looked at each other when we found it out, but I said, -“Don’t say anything before Miss Ward, it will only hurt her feelings;” -but after that I tried to get into her confidence about her young man, -having an uneasy feeling that he wasn’t quite good enough for her. - -But what she said about him made him out to be quite a beautiful -character. She said that he had brought up his younger brother and his -sisters, and had paid for their education out of his salary, and that he -was a most steady young fellow, and had been teacher in a Sunday-school, -and was always asked to tea with the clergyman on the Sundays that he -didn’t come to see her. - -“But how did he get the money to buy this grand business he talks -about?” I said. - -“Oh,” she said, “it was left him in his late master’s will. His master -had a great respect for him because he managed his business so well -while he was ill. It wasn’t quite enough to start the business, but the -rest he borrowed from his friends.” - -“Well, my dear,” I said, “I hope you’ll be very happy.” - -“I’m sure we shall,” she said; “he’s so steady and so affectionate, and -he consults me about everything for our home, and everything I want I’m -to have.” - -“Aren’t you going to live at the business, then?” I asked. - -“Oh no,” she said; “Tom” (that was his Christian name) “says it’s not a -nice locality to live in, so he’s taken a house a little way out.” - -I didn’t say any more, but I thought a good deal. Still, the poor girl -might be right about her lover; and his filling his pockets with the -cigars might only be a peculiarity. The richest people often do that -sort of thing, because I remember Harry telling me about a nobleman, -Lord Somebody, who was invited to lunch on board a ship in harbour that -Harry was on. There was a beautiful cold champagne luncheon laid out, -and Harry saw this nobleman, while everybody was eating, put two roast -fowls in his coat-pockets, and then try to get a bottle of champagne in -as well. The captain was very indignant, and went up to him and said, -“You can eat as much as you like, sir, but don’t pocket the things.” -Lord Somebody turned very red, and said, “Dash it, sir! do you know I’m -a nobleman?” “You may be a nobleman,” said the captain; “but I’m hanged -if you’re a gentleman; and if you don’t put those cold fowls back on the -table you’ll go ashore a jolly sight quicker than you came aboard.” The -lord who did that was a well-known nobleman, and very rich, so that -pocketing things isn’t any proof of a man being a nobody or poor. - -Two or three days after that Harry went to London on business, and when -he came back he said, “I say, little woman, do you remember that -Shipsides telling us that dukes, marquises, earls, and barons were his -customers?” - -I said, “Yes, I do.” - -“Well,” said Harry, “I know where he got that from. There’s a tea -advertised all along the railway lines in all the stations, and it says -on it, ‘as supplied to dukes, marquises, earls, and barons.’ He’s seen -that, and that put it into his head. If he’d tell one lie he’d tell -another, and mark my words, Mary Jane, Miss Ward’s young man is a -humbug.” - -Two Sundays after that Mr. Shipsides came down again, but we didn’t ask -him in to tea. We had company, which was one reason, but really we -didn’t want to encourage him, feeling sure he was a man who would take -advantage of kindness. - -But it was an awful nuisance, for all the evening he was leaning over -the bar, talking to our barmaid, and taking her attention off her work. -I didn’t like to say anything, no more did Harry, especially as we -weren’t very busy, many of our regular customers not being in on Sunday -evenings, when we did more of a chance trade than anything--principally -people who’d been down to the place for the day from London, or people -driving home to town, and that sort of thing. - -When it was closing time the fellow didn’t offer to go, so Harry said, -“I say, Mr. Shipsides, the train for London goes in ten minutes. You’ll -have to hurry to the station to catch it.” - -He went away then, and we closed the doors; but about twenty minutes -afterwards there came a ring at the bell, just as we were going upstairs -to bed. - -Harry went to the door, but didn’t open it, saying, “Who’s there?” - -“Me,” said a voice. - -“Who’s me?” - -“Mr. Shipsides.” - -And if it wasn’t him come back again. So Harry opened the door and asked -him what he wanted. - -“I’ve missed the train,” he said; “so I’ll have to take a room here for -the night.” - -Harry didn’t know what to say, so he let him in, and gave him a candle, -and showed him upstairs to a room. - -We didn’t like it at all, but Harry said we couldn’t turn a customer -away; and of course Shipsides only came as a customer, and would have to -pay for his room. - -The next morning he came down, and walked into the coffee-room as bold -as brass, and ordered his breakfast. He had eggs and bacon and a chop -cooked, and then he wanted hot buttered toast and marmalade. - -I waited on him, though I didn’t like it, but I wouldn’t send Miss Ward -in. Harry said it was better not. - -He talked away to me nineteen to the dozen, but quite grand, just as if -he was patronizing our house, and he had the impudence to say that the -tea wasn’t strong enough, and would I make him some more, and when he -began to tell me how he liked his tea made I flushed up and said, “I -think I ought to know how to make tea, Mr. Shipsides.” - -“Oh! of course,” he said; “but where do you buy your tea? Perhaps it’s -the fault of the article, and not the making.” - -“Oh!” I said; “the tea is all right--it’s the same that’s supplied to -the dukes, marquises, earls, and barons. You’ve seen it advertised at -all the railway-stations.” - -I couldn’t help saying it, he made me so indignant. He didn’t say -anything, but I made the next tea very weak on purpose, and he drank it -without a murmur. - -After he’d done his breakfast I put the time-table in front of him, and -I said, “The next train’s at 9.15. Hadn’t you better go? You’ll be late -to business.” - -“Oh no,” he said. “Now I’m here I’ll stop for the day. I’ve a customer -at one of the big houses near here. I’ll go and look him up.” - -He went out, but he came back at dinner-time and ordered a dinner in the -coffee-room. He wanted fish, but I said, “We don’t have fish on -Mondays--it isn’t fresh.” So he had soup and a fowl and bacon, and when -I said, “What beer will you have?” he said, “Oh, I’ll drink a bottle of -wine for the good of the house. Bring me a bottle of champagne.” - -I went to Harry about it, and he went in and said, “Look here, old man; -let’s understand each other. Of course, you’re not here at my -invitation.” - -“Oh no,” answered the fellow. “I’m here for my own pleasure, Mr. -Beckett, and I suppose I can have what I like, if I pay for it.” - -“Certainly,” said Harry; and he went and got him the champagne. - -I could see Miss Ward didn’t quite like it. She felt that it wasn’t -quite the thing, she being our barmaid, for him to come staying there, -and swelling about the place, instead of attending to his business in -London. - -But _he_ didn’t see there was anything out of the way, evidently, for -after dinner he went into the bar-parlour and called for a cigar: “One -of your best, old man, and none of your Britishers”--that’s what he had -the impudence to say. - -You may be sure Harry didn’t put the box down by him this time. He got a -cigar out and put it in a glass, and brought it to him. - -The champagne had evidently made him even more talkative than usual, for -he began to find fault with the place, and to tell us what we ought to -do. I stood it for a little while, and then I let out. “Mr. Shipsides,” -I said, “I think we are quite capable of managing our own business, -although it isn’t like yours--one that manages itself.” - -“Oh, no offence, I hope,” he said, “only you’re young beginners, and I -didn’t think you were above taking a hint. I’ve stayed at some of the -best hotels in the kingdom in my time, you see, and I know how things -ought to be done.” - -I was so wild that I took my work-basket and went and sat in the bar; -and presently he came there and began talking to Miss Ward, which I -thought very rude, and it didn’t look well at all. - -Harry had gone out to see the builder, who was going to fix up some -stabling for us, as we meant to have a nice place for people driving to -put up their traps and horses; and the cook wanted to speak to me in the -kitchen about the oven, which had gone wrong, so I went to her; and -presently I thought it was a good chance to call Miss Ward out of the -bar and tell her to give Mr. Shipsides a gentle hint that he was making -too free. - -So I said, “Cook, just tell Miss Ward I want her for a moment.” - -Miss Ward came, and I spoke to her as nicely as I could, and she saw -that I was right, and promised to tell her young man that we would like -him to keep his place, and not interfere with our business. - -We went back together, and, when we get to the bar, if there wasn’t that -fellow actually serving a customer, just as if he were the landlord of -the place. It took my breath away. “Well, I never!” I said. “If your -young man stops here much longer, Miss Ward, he’ll put his name up over -the door.” - -Poor girl, she blushed to her eyes. “It is only his way,” she said; “he -doesn’t mean any harm.” Then she went into the bar and whispered -something to him, and he came and took his hat and went out. But he came -back at teatime and ordered his tea in the coffee-room, and rang the -bell for more coals to be put on the fire, and made such a fire up that -it was enough to roast the place, and while he was sitting toasting -himself in front of it two coffee-room customers arrived, a lady and -gentleman who had come by train--very nice people. They took our best -bedroom, and had some nice luggage that looked very genteel. They -ordered dinner in the coffee-room for seven o’clock, and when I went in -to lay the table that fellow had gone and sat down at the piano, and was -banging away at it and singing a horrid music-hall song. - -“Don’t do that,” I said, quite sharply. “There are ladies and gentlemen -staying in the house, and they won’t like it.” - -He shut the piano and went and stuck his back against the fire, and -stood there with his coat-tails over his arm. - -“Harry,” I said to my husband when he came in, “you _must_ get rid of -that fellow. If you don’t, I will!” - -So Harry went to him and said, “Look here, Shipsides, I don’t think our -hotel is good enough for you. I should be glad if you’d pay your bill -and take your custom somewhere else.” - -He looked Harry up and down in his nasty, red-haired, contemptuous way, -and then he said, “All right, Beckett”--no Mr., mind you--“all right, -Beckett; if you’re independent, so am I. I’ll say good-bye to Clara and -be off.” - -“When you’ve paid your bill,” says Harry. - -“Oh, that’ll be all right! I’ll send you a cheque.” - -“I don’t want a cheque for twenty-five shillings,” says Harry. “Cash’ll -do for me.” - -“I haven’t got the cash with me,” says the fellow; “and if my cheque -isn’t good enough, you can stop it out of Clara’s wages.” - -And with that he walks into the bar, kisses Clara before the customers, -sticks his hat on one side, defiant like, and walks out of the place as -bold as brass. - -And that was the last we saw of Miss Ward’s young man, and the last she -saw of him too, poor girl--for bad as we thought him, he turned out to -be worse. - -A few days after he went, Harry had to go to town to see the brewers, -and, having an hour or two to spare after he’d done his business, he -thought he’d go and look at Shipsides’ shop, and see what sort of a -place it was. - -He knew the address, because Miss Ward used to write to her lover at it, -and sometimes her letters lay about to be sent to post. - -When he got to the street and found the number, it was a grocer’s--but -quite a little common shop, full of jam in milk-jugs and sugar-basins, -and flashy-looking ornaments given away with a pound of tea; and the -name over the door wasn’t Shipsides at all. - -Harry walked in, and said, “I want to see Mr. Shipsides.” - -A little old man, in a dirty apron, behind the counter looked at him, -and said, “Private door; knock twice.” - -Harry thought that was odd; but he went out and knocked twice, and -presently a woman came and asked him what he wanted. - -“Mr. Shipsides,” said Harry. - -“Oh!” says she, “are you a friend of his?” - -“Yes,” says Harry, not knowing what else to say at the moment. - -“Then,” said the woman, “p’r’aps you’ll tell me when you saw him last, -for I haven’t seen him for a week; and he’s been and let himself in -unbeknown to me, and taken his box out somehow, and we want to summons -him for the rent.” - -When Harry saw how the land lay--that’s his sailor way of putting it, -and I’ve caught lots of sailor expressions from him--he altered his -tack--that’s another--and told the woman that he wanted money of Mr. -Shipsides too; and at last he got her to talk freely, and she told him -that the fellow was very little better than a swindler, and she went -upstairs and brought down a lot of letters and showed them to Harry, and -told him they had all come that week for the fellow--and what did he -think she ought to do? - -They were all in different female handwritings, and two were in Miss -Ward’s, which Harry recognized. - -“It’s my belief,” said the woman, “he’s a regular bad ’un, and has been -imposing on a lot of young women, and he ought to be ashamed of himself, -for, after he’d left, a poor woman came here after him and said she was -his wife and was in service, and she wanted him to come to her missus -and explain as she was married, as she was going to be turned away -through circumstances which, being a respectable married woman, ought -not to count against her.” - -Harry told me that when he heard that he felt that if he could have met -the fellow he’d have knocked him down--sailors being very chivalrous, I -think the word is, I mean, when women are concerned; and all the way -home he thought of poor Miss Ward, and how I was to break it to her that -her lover was a scoundrel. - -I had to do it; and, in trying to do it gently, I blurted it all out, -and the poor thing fainted right away, and was so ill afterwards she had -to go to bed. I went and sat with her and comforted her, and she cried -and told me everything. That mean fellow had actually had thirty pounds -out of her--all her savings, that she’d drawn out of the Post Office -Savings Bank to give him, towards the capital he wanted for the grand -business he was doing with dukes, marquises, earls, and barons. - -It was a long time before she got over the shock, but it was a lesson to -her, and at last she began to see that she was well rid of such a -vampire. - -And a long time after that we found out--that is, Harry did--a lot more -about the beauty. Happening to go to another house one day--a -public-house in London--Harry, who knew the landlord, told him about our -barmaid and her lover, and when he described him the landlord said, -“Why, that’s the fellow who had twenty pounds out of the barmaid at the -‘Hat and Feathers’ at Hendon!” And then Harry’s friend went and talked -about it in the trade, and by-and-by it was found out that Mr. Shipsides -had got over one hundred and fifty pounds out of different barmaids at -different places, and that he was engaged to marry them all, and he’d -stayed at some of the houses, just like he had at ours, and never paid -a farthing--only at one place he’d borrowed five pounds of the landlord -as well. - -The last that we found out about him was that he’d gone to Australia -with the wife of a small shopkeeper he’d lodged with afterwards, and -that she’d robbed her husband of one hundred pounds to go with him. I’m -sorry for her when she got to Australia and her hundred pounds was gone. - -Miss Ward wasn’t with us long after that. I don’t think she felt quite -comfortable. She fancied perhaps that in---- - - * * * * * - -“_Is_ it a bad half-sovereign? Of course it is, you stupid girl! What’s -the good of bringing it to me now? Why, the fellow’s half a mile away by -this time! Thought he must be respectable, as he asked for a sixpenny -cigar? Nonsense! He wanted nine and sixpence change for _this_ thing. I -declare I can’t sit down quietly for ten minutes but something goes -wrong!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -_THE REVEREND TOMMY._ - - -What a lot there is in the world that you must die not knowing anything -about because you don’t get mixed up with it! I don’t know if that’s -quite the way to say what I mean, but it came into my head looking over -the things I had put down in my diary that I thought would be worth -telling about in my new book of experiences as the landlady of a village -inn. - -At first it was all so new and strange to me that I didn’t quite gather -what it meant, some of it. As a servant, of course, I saw a good deal, -and many strange characters, but in their family life mostly. A servant -can’t see much of the outside life of her people--in fact, if you come -to think of it, servants don’t see much outside at all, unless it’s -shaking a cloth in the garden; and many a time when I was a servant have -I made that a very long job on a fine morning, with the sun shining and -the birds singing; for it was so beautiful to breathe the fresh air, and -feel the soft wind blowing in your face with just a dash of the scent of -flowers in it. A dash of the scent!--dear, dear, that’s how your style -gets spoiled by what you have to hear going on round you! I suppose my -style will get public-housey in time, if I’m not careful. It’s hearing -the customers say, “Just a dash of this in it, ma’am,” and “Just a dash -of that,” and so on. - -Seeing the outside view of life--life away from the home--and being -always in a place where all sorts of people and all sorts of characters -come, I have learned things that I might have been a servant a hundred -years and never have known. You get a pretty good view of life under -the roof of an inn, and not always a view that makes you very happy--but -there’s good and bad everywhere, even in the church. - -I know of a clergyman who was a very fine preacher indeed, and a strict -teetotaller and never entered a public-house, but he managed to be very -cruel to his wife on gingerbeer and lemonade. And it came out afterwards -in the courts, when the poor lady tried to get a separation, fearing for -her life, that on the day her husband had knocked her down and emptied -the inkpot down her throat, he had gone off straight to a school meeting -and delivered the prizes for the best essay on being kind to animals, -and had made all the people cry by the beautiful way he spoke about dogs -and horses and cats. - -Our clergyman, the curate, is very different to that, though I must say -he is eccentric. He comes into our coffee-room now and then, and will -have a glass of ale and sit and read the newspaper, because he lives by -himself in lodgings up in the village. He likes talking to Harry, and he -seems to like talking to me; but though he’s a very agreeable gentleman, -I’m always rather sorry to see him come in, especially when his pockets -look bulgy. He’s one of those people who go about in awful places with -hammers, and chip bits of rock and stone off, and dig up bits of ground; -and he’s always got his coat-pockets full of sand and grit, and chalk -and bits of stone, and sometimes a lot of weeds and ferns pulled up by -the roots. I asked Mr. Wilkins, the parish clerk, what the name for -these people was, and he told me geologist, those that went after the -stones, and botanist, those that went after the roots; and he said Mr. -Lloyd--“the Reverend Tommy” he is called in the village when he isn’t -there to hear--was both, and was a great authority, and wrote papers -about rocks and roots and the rubbish he dug up, for learned societies -to read, and that he belonged to a good many of them, and had a right to -put half the letters of the alphabet after his name if he chose. - -I’ve seen the Reverend Tommy come into our place of an afternoon as red -as a turkey-cock, the perspiration pouring down his face, mudded all -over his clothes--he always wore black, which made it look worse--and -looking that dirty and untidy and disreputable that if he hadn’t been -known he’d have been taken for a tramp. - -It certainly was very trying for me to see him sit down in our nice, -neat, pretty little coffee-room, putting pounds of mud on the carpet, -and turning all the dirty things out of his pockets on to our nice -tablecloth. Poor dear man; I’m sure he never thought he was doing any -harm, for he didn’t live in this world; he lived in a world of hundreds -of thousands of years ago--a world that our world has grown up on top -of, so it was explained to me afterwards. - -I’d never heard of such things before. Of course I knew there was a -Noah’s Ark, and that the Flood drowned lots of animals, and carried lots -of things out of their proper places and put them somewhere else, as -even a small flood will do. A flood that happened where my brother John -lives, who went to America years ago, as I told you in my “Memoirs,” -washed his house right away, and floated it miles down the river, and -put it on an island, and it’s been there ever since, and he and his -family in it, they liking the situation better, and, as he says, having -been moved free of expense. John wrote me about that from America -himself, so it must be true, and it is a most wonderful place for -adventures, according to John. Of course, if a flood can do that -nowadays, the great Flood that covered the earth must have mixed up -things very much before it went down. - -It was this Flood that made Mr. Lloyd go about with a hammer looking for -bits of the animals that were drowned in it, as far as I could make out. -And when he found bits he was almost mad with delight. “Fossils” he -called the things, but how he could know they were bits of animals was a -wonder to me; they might have been anything. He showed me a lump of -chalk one day that he said was a bit of an animal that had lived in our -village thousands of years ago! - -He made a horrid mess with his things while he was having a glass of ale -and looking at his “specimens,” as he called them, but it was nothing to -where he lodged. His landlady told me that she never went into the room -because he didn’t like her to, but he made his bed himself, and it was -just pushed up in the corner, and all the rest of the room was bones and -rocks and bits of chalk, and on the wall he’d got skulls and shinbones -and bits of skeletons of different animals, and some pictures of animals -so hideous that the landlady’s daughter, a young married woman, on a -visit to her mother, going in out of curiosity and not knowing what she -was going to see, had a shock that made her mother very, very anxious -about her, and especially as the poor girl would keep on saying, for -some time afterwards, “Oh, mother, that hideous animal with the long -nose! I can see it now.” - -But it was all right, fortunately; because, when the landlady told me -that it was all over, I asked, and she said, “It’s all right, my dear, -thank goodness, and a really beautiful nose.” - -She came to have tea with us one evening soon after that, and through -our talking about her daughter and the fright in Mr. Lloyd’s room, it -led to her telling me many things about our clergyman that I didn’t -know. I knew he was a dear, kind old gentleman, and, when his head -wasn’t full of the Flood and old bones, just the clergyman for a village -like ours. Kind to the old and gentle to the young, treating rich and -poor alike, he was always ready with a good, comforting word of -wholesome Christianity for those who were in trouble. - -He came to our place often after he got to know us, because he liked to -come in of an evening now and then, and have a pipe with Harry in our -own private sitting-room. He had never been in foreign countries, and he -loved to hear about all the places Harry had seen, but he didn’t care -much about the towns and the people. He always wanted to know more about -the soil and the trees and the animals, and what the cliffs and rocks -were like, and asked Harry all sorts of funny questions, which of course -he couldn’t answer, as it wouldn’t do for the mate of a merchantman to -go about the world with his head full of Noah’s Ark and the Flood. He -asked Harry if he hadn’t brought skulls from New Zealand, and other -places he had been to, and I said, “No, indeed he hasn’t. Do you think -I’d have married him if he’d carried dead men’s heads about with him?” - -I was sorry directly I’d said it, and coloured up terribly--which is a -horrible failing I have. I believe I shall go red when I’m an old woman; -it isn’t blushing--that’s rather pretty, and I shouldn’t mind it--it’s -going fiery red, which is not becoming. - -Mr. Lloyd noticed how hot I’d gone, and he smiled and said, “Don’t mind -me, Mrs. Beckett. I know you didn’t mean anything.” But there was a look -in his face presently that told me I had touched a sore place. It was -only a shadow that crept across his face, and a look that came into his -eyes, but it told me a good deal, and after he’d gone I said to my -husband-- - -“Harry, Mr. Lloyd’s been in love at some time and has had a -disappointment.” - -“Old Tommy in love!” said Harry; “then it must have been with a young -woman who lived before the Flood. Nothing after that date would have any -attraction for him.” - -“Don’t be so absurd, Harry,” I said. “Women know more about these things -than men do, and I’m as certain as that I sit here that Mr. Lloyd has -been crossed in love, and that it’s through skulls.” - -Something happened to stop our conversation--a gentleman and lady, I -think it was, who wanted apartments--and Mr. Lloyd and his skulls went -out of my head, till his landlady came to tea, and I got talking about -him. - -Then I told her what had been my idea, and I asked her if she knew -anything. - -“Know anything about the Reverend Tommy being in love, my dear?” she -said. “Why, that’s the story of his life!” - -“I knew it,” I said; and I thought what a triumph it would be for me -over Harry, for I must confess I do like to prove him wrong now and -then. Men--even the best of them--will persist in thinking women don’t -know much about anything except how to boil potatoes, how to make beds, -and how to nurse babies, and I have known a husband who even wanted to -show his wife how to do that till she lost her temper, and said, “Oh, as -you know such a lot about it, perhaps you’ll tell me whose babies you’ve -been in the habit of nursing!” - -Harry--though I don’t want to say a word against him as a husband and a -father, for a better never breathed, God bless him!--has little faults -of his own, and good-tempered as I am and hope I always shall be, yet -once or twice he has nearly put me out, and made me speak a little -sharp, and it’s generally been about baby. A nicer, plumper, healthier -baby there doesn’t exist, but Harry is that foolish over him, you’d -think he (the baby, not Harry) was made of glass and would break. Of -course I’m very fond of showing him to my female friends who come to see -me, and sometimes I just undress him a little to show them what lovely -little limbs he has. If Harry comes in, he begins to fidget at that -directly. “You’ll give that child his death of cold,” he says; “the idea -of taking him out of his warm bed and stripping him.” - -Of course that makes me indignant. No mother likes to be told how to -nurse her own child before other mothers. - -Once when he came in like that I didn’t take any notice, but I just -undressed baby a little more. It was a very warm room, and there was a -bright fire, so it didn’t hurt, and I thought I would just show the -other ladies that I didn’t give the management of the nursery over to -Harry. - -What made me do it, perhaps, more than anything was, that Mrs. Goose--a -dreadful mischief-making old woman, that I must tell you about -by-and-by--was in the room, and she curled her lip in a very irritating -way, and said-- - -“Well, I never! What do sailors know about babies? I should like to have -seen my husband interfering between me and my infant when I was young!” - -“Ah,” said Harry, “things were different in olden times, I dare say.” - -“Olden times!” says she. “My youngest is only eighteen come next -Michaelmas, Mr. Beckett; but, of course, a man who would teach his wife -how to manage her infant----” - -“Oh, please don’t take any notice, Mrs. Goose,” I said; “it’s only one -of my husband’s funny ways.” And I took baby’s nightgown right off, and -let him kick his dear little legs up, and crow on my lap, with only his -little flannel on. - -“Funny ways or not, my dear,” said Harry, “that baby belongs to me as -much as it does to you, and I’m not going to have its constitution -ruined just to amuse a lot of old women.” - -With that, if he didn’t come and pick up baby and its nightgown, put the -gown on, take baby in his arms, and walk upstairs with it to its cot. - -“Harry, how dare you!” I cried; and I felt so indignant I could have -stamped my foot, for that horrid Mrs. Goose had seen it, and I should be -the laughing-stock of the village. - -I ran upstairs after Harry, quite in a passion, and I pushed the door -to; and, gasping for breath, I said, “Don’t you ever do that again! I -won’t be insulted in my own house before people.” - -“Mary,” he said, gently; “come here, my lass.” - -“No, I won’t,” I said; and then I felt as if I could shake myself like I -used to in a temper at school, and then I began to cry. - -He had put baby in its little cot; and he came and took my hand and drew -me towards him. - -“My little wife,” he said, “we’ve scarcely had a wry word since we’ve -known each other--never an unkind one. Don’t let our first quarrel be -about the child we both love so dearly. Come, my lass, kiss me and make -it up. There may be troubles ahead that we shall have to face, and that -we shall want all our strength to meet. Don’t let’s begin making -troubles for ourselves about nothing.” - -I didn’t kiss him quite at once. I stood for a minute trying to look as -cross as I could, but I couldn’t keep it up. He clasped my hand so -lovingly, and there was such a grieved look in his eyes, that I gave an -hysterical little cry, and threw my arms round his neck, and hid my face -on his breast and cried. Oh, how I cried! But it wasn’t all sorrow that -I had been naughty; I think a good many of the tears were tears of -joy--the joy I felt in having a husband that I could not only love, but -honour and respect and look up to. And I sobbed so loudly that baby put -out his dear little fat arm, and said, “Mum, mum;” and then I fell on my -knees by the cot, and thanked God for my baby and my Harry, and I -didn’t care for all the Mrs. Gooses in the whole wide world. - -Writing about our first quarrel over baby has led me away from what I -was going to tell you about the Reverend Tommy. Harry wasn’t at the -tea-table, we being extra busy in the bar, so I and Mr. Lloyd’s landlady -were alone. - -She didn’t want much urging, I found, to talk about her lodger--in fact, -I should think he was the principal subject of conversation, whenever -she went out to tea. - -I’m not going to repeat all the things she told me about his queer ways -at home, because I don’t think people who let lodgings ought to be -encouraged to pry into the private life of their lodgers and reveal it, -or to tell about their ways and habits in the room for which they pay -rent, and where they ought to be as private as in their own home. - -Before we got the ‘Stretford Arms,’ Harry and I were in lodgings for a -short time, and some day I will tell you something about _that_. - -But the story about the Reverend Tommy that his landlady told me I can -repeat, because it was about his past life; and it seems he used to talk -about it himself sometimes, but always among the gentry. I mean, it was -a subject--kind and unassuming as he was--that he never spoke of to his -inferiors. I can quite understand the feeling. I could tell the ladies -and gentlemen who stay at our place about Harry, and my having been a -servant; but I should not care to talk in the same way to our barmaid, -or our potman, or our cook. - -This was the story--not as the landlady told it; for if I told it her -way, I should have to wander off into something else every five minutes. -If there is one thing I dislike it is people who can’t stick to the -point when they are telling a story. - -The Reverend Tommy, years and years ago, it seems, and long before he -came to be our clergyman, was the curate at a place just beyond Beachy -Head, an old-fashioned village that was on the Downs, hidden in among -them, in fact--a place full of very old houses and very old people, -quite shut away from the world; for you could see nothing of anything -except the trees and the tops of the hills, the village lying down in a -deep, deep hollow. - -At least, that is the sort of village I gathered it was from the -landlady, who said Mr. Lloyd had described it to her and showed her -photographs of it. - -He was quite a young man then, and, though the place was dull, it suited -him, because of the cliffs and hills and places round about, where no -end of wonderful old bones and fossils and things were to be found. - -All the time that he could spare he was climbing the cliffs and -hammering away at them to find the treasures that he thought such a lot -of. They were only fisher folk who lived near the cliffs, and they soon -got used to the young clergyman, who climbed like a goat, and would be -let down by ropes, and do things that would have made Mr. Blondin feel -nervous, and all to hammer away at the cliffs and the rocks. - -Mr. Lloyd’s favourite place was a cliff just beyond Beachy Head--it was -a very dangerous one, and many years ago a man had been killed there--a -young fellow who used to do just what Mr. Lloyd did. People told him -about it, but it didn’t frighten him. He said, “Oh, he must have been -careless, or gone giddy. I’m all right.” But it was a very nasty place, -being a straight fall from top to bottom, with only horrid jagged bits -of cliff sticking out. - -I can quite understand what it was like, because on our honeymoon we -went for a day or two to the seaside, and Harry showed me a cliff that -he had gone over when he was a boy after a seagull’s nest, and it made -me go hot and cold all over to look at it, and when we stood at the edge -I clutched hold of Harry’s coat and felt as if we must go over, it -looked so awful. I hate looking over high places; it gives me a dreadful -feeling that I must jump over if somebody doesn’t catch hold of me and -keep me back. That’s a very horrid feeling to have, but I have it, and -nobody ever got me up on the Monument. I can’t even bear to look down a -well-staircase. I always see myself lying all of a heap, smashed on the -floor at the bottom; and even when once in London I used to have to go -over Westminster Bridge, I always walked in the middle of the road -among the cabs and carts and omnibuses, even in the muddiest weather. - -Perhaps the young woman that I’m coming to presently in this -story--story it isn’t, because it’s true, but you know what I mean--had -the same sort of feeling,--vertigo, I think they call it. At any rate, -one evening when the Reverend Tommy was out with his hammer and his coil -of rope and things that he used, right on the highest and loneliest part -of the cliff, he saw a young woman looking over. It was a summer -evening, and quite light and quite still. There wasn’t a soul in sight -but this young woman, and the Reverend Tommy wondered what she was doing -there all alone. As he got close to her he saw she was quite a young -woman, and very nicely dressed, and that she was very pretty. - -But before he could get right up to her--she hadn’t heard him coming, as -he was walking on the turf of the Downs--this young woman gave a little -cry, swung forward, and in a second had disappeared over the edge of -that awful cliff. - -The young clergyman rushed to the spot, knelt on the edge and peered -over, and then he saw this poor girl hanging half-way between life and -death. As she had fallen, one of the rugged juts I told you of had -caught under the bottom of a short tight-fitting cloth kind of jacket -she wore, and there it held her. It made my blood run cold when the -landlady described it to me, as she had heard it of a lady Mr. Lloyd had -told it to. - -He shouted out to her, but he got no answer; so he made up his mind she -had fainted. He looked about and shouted, but he could see nobody near. -Then he looked over the cliff again, and it seemed to him that the -girl’s jacket was giving way under the strain, and that in a minute she -would be hurled to an awful death on the rocks below. - -I don’t know how he did it, because the landlady couldn’t tell me, not -knowing about ropes and things, but in some way Mr. Lloyd made his rope -fast. I think he drove a big stake or wooden peg into the turf, and -piled stones on it--at any rate, he made his rope fast, as he thought, -and then, with his hammer in his pocket, he swung himself over and went -down bit by bit, steadying himself every now and then by digging his -foot into holes in the side of the cliff. - -He managed to swing himself right down by the side of the poor girl, and -spoke to her and told her to have courage; but she was senseless. - -He lowered himself a bit more, and then with his hammer beat out a place -in the cliff where it was hard, just room enough for him to put his two -feet in and take the strain off the rope. - -Then he looked above him and below him to see if there was any place -that was safe to stand on without the rope, as he wanted to tie that -round the poor girl’s body. - -He found a place just on the other side where he could stand and hold on -by a jutting piece of cliff, and he got there somehow--he never -remembered himself quite how--but his hands were fearfully bruised in -doing it, and it was as much as he could do to hold on when he got -there. - -The girl had come to a little, but it was getting darker, and he could -only just see her face by the time he had made himself quite firm on the -little ledge. - -When he spoke to her she answered him, and cried to him to save her, and -he told her not to attempt to move or struggle, and, with God’s help, he -_would_ save her. - -She was quite quiet; she seemed dazed, he said--and no wonder at it; I -should have lost my senses altogether--and he managed to get the rope -across her, and then pass it round under her arms, but he couldn’t leave -go with both hands to tie it, and he had to beg and pray of her to try -and do it herself. She was afraid at first to move her arms, for fear -she should fall; but he found that her heels were resting on a bit of -cliff, so that there would not be so much danger if she did it quietly. - -Well, at last she got it tied round her all right, and then, with one -hand, he made the knot she had tied the rope in quite firm, she helping -him; and then it was quite dark, and there they were, with the sea -moaning below them, and the stars up above them. - -When she felt a little safer she began to groan and cry, and say that -she should die, and to pray, and to say that God had punished her for -all her sins. - -He comforted her, and told her to be a brave girl, but that she must -stop quite still, for he had to climb up the face of the cliff again to -the top if she was to be rescued from her awful position. - -She begged and prayed of him not to leave her, but he said he must--that -he could do nothing more for her if he stopped there, and they would -have to wait till the daylight for help, because the coastguard’s beat -lay some distance away from the edge, and it was no good shouting, as -the wind blew strong from the land and carried their voices right out to -sea. - -When he had made her a little braver he began to go slowly up the side -of the cliff, using his hammer to make little steps. - -It was an awful climb, and every minute it seemed as though he would -have to loose his hold and fall, and be dashed to pieces. But he was one -of the best cliff-climbers in England, and young and strong then, and at -last he reached the top. - -He was so numb and worn out and bruised when he got to the top that he -fell down on the grass and lay there quite a minute before he could -move. Just as he was pulling himself together, he looked up and saw the -coastguard in the distance. - -He shouted at the top of his voice, and the coastguard came running to -him, and, when he heard what was the matter, shook his head. “It’ll be -an awful job pulling the poor girl up,” he said. “She won’t have the -sense to keep kicking herself away from the side of the cliff, and it’s -likely she’ll be dreadfully injured.” - -“Well, it’s the only chance,” said the parson; “we must be careful, and -go slow.” - -They were careful, and they went slow--so slow that when they at last -dragged the poor girl up she was in a dead swoon, and she never spoke or -opened her eyes, but lay there like a dead thing. They saw that she was -cut and injured, too, for blood was on her face, and when they touched -her arm she groaned and shuddered. - -Of course, something must be done, so the parson picked her up in his -arms and carried her, senseless as she was, across the Downs to the -place where he lodged. - -Luckily, it wasn’t far, and he had told the coastguard to go at once -into the village and knock up the doctor and send him. - -The young clergyman’s landlady stared, you may be sure, when she saw her -lodger coming home at that time of night carrying a young woman; but he -explained what had happened, and the landlady gave up her room, and laid -the poor girl on her bed, and got brandy and bathed her face with cold -water, and at last brought her to. - -It was a month before the girl could be moved, she was so injured, and -all that time, when he could, the clergyman, would sit with her and read -to her--for none of her friends came to see her. - -She said she had no friends, when they asked her--that she was an orphan -and a shop-girl in London; that she had been ill, and left her situation -to come to the seaside, and had gone out in the evening, and turned -giddy, and fallen over the edge of the cliff. They sent to her lodgings -in Eastbourne and got her boxes for her, but no letters came for her, -and she never offered to write any. And--well, you can guess what would -happen under such circumstances--the young clergyman fell head over -heels in love with the beautiful girl he had saved. - -She was very beautiful. The landlady told me she had once seen a -photograph of her that the Reverend Tommy kept in his room, and that it -was an angel’s face. - -The end of it was the Reverend Tommy proposed to the girl--Annie Ewen, -she said her name was; and, without stopping to think how little he knew -of her or her antecedents, they were married the month after the rescue -from the cliff. - -They were happy for a month--very happy. The girl seemed grateful to the -young clergyman, and tried all she could to deserve his affection; but -the cloud soon came into the sky, and a big, black cloud it was. - -One day, when the clergyman came home, he found his wife crying. She -said it was a headache--that she was ill, and out of sorts. The next day -when he came home, after his parish work, the house was empty. His young -wife had gone, and left behind her a letter--a letter which no one ever -saw but the man to whom it was written; but what it was was guessed at -through other things that were found out afterwards. - -The girl hadn’t fallen over the cliff. She had thrown herself over--to -kill herself; to kill herself because a man she believed true was false, -and had deserted her, and she had the same terror of shame and disgrace -that many a poor girl has who knows that she is to be left alone to bear -the punishment of loving a man too much and trusting him too well. - -She told the clergyman she wished to save him the shame of what must be -known if she stopped there; that he could say she had gone to her -friends, who were abroad, for a time. - -The blow broke poor Mr. Lloyd, for he worshipped that woman. He would -have forgiven or borne anything. He tried to find her and tell her so, -and would have opened his arms for her to come back to him and be his -honoured wife. - -He did find her at last; but when he found her he could not say the -words he wanted to speak. It was too late. - -He found her a year afterwards with another man--the man who had caused -her to seek the death from which the clergyman had saved her. But she -loved the other man best, and though he had refused to marry her and -save her from shame she had gone back to him. - -Oh dear me! I’m a woman myself, and I know what queer things our hearts -are; but it does seem to me sometimes that it is easier for a bad man to -win and keep a girl’s love than for a good man. This girl, you see, -would rather be what she was with a man who treated her badly than the -loved and honoured wife of the young clergyman who had saved her. Woman -certainly are---- - - * * * * * - -What’s the matter in the bar? It’s that new barmaid. “Oh, Miss Jenkins, -how careless of you! I’m so sorry, sir. I hope it hasn’t hurt you very -much. You _must_ be careful how you open soda-water, Miss Jenkins, or -somebody’s eye will be knocked out with a cork, and I wouldn’t have such -a thing happen here for the world. Come into the parlour, please, sir, -and sit down. I’ll hold a knife to it to stop it going black. I _am_ so -sorry!” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -_THE LONDON PHYSICIAN._ - - -Our hotel being just a nice driving distance from London, and a very -easy and convenient distance by train, and the village being really very -quaint and pretty, and nice scenery and walks all round us, we made up -our minds that, if we were lucky, we should soon be able to make it a -staying-place--that is, a place people would come and stop at for a day -or two, or perhaps a week, who wanted a little fresh air and not to be -too far from town. We had every accommodation, and very pretty bedrooms, -and private sitting-rooms, and all we wanted was the connection--the -last people never having worked it up as an hotel, being satisfied with -the local trade and the coffee-room customers, of which there were a -good many in the summer. - -Harry said, as soon as we had put our nice new furniture in and done the -rooms up a little, that he thought we ought to advertise. The -refurnishing was very nice, but it cost a lot of money; and, as we paid -for everything in cash, of course we had to buy useful cheap things. I -had to select the things, as Harry said he was no good at that; so we -went to London together, and looked over one or two big furniture -places. - -It was a great treat, but, of course, nothing was very new to me, as I -had lived in good houses and seen lots of beautiful furniture and had -the care of it--and a nice bother it was to keep dusted, I can tell you, -especially in London, where directly you open a window the dust and dirt -seem to blow in in clouds, and if you _don’t_ open a window it gets in -somehow. It was the ornamental carving, and the chairbacks and things -with fret-work, that used to be the greatest worry. Fret-work it was, -and no mistake, and I used to fret over it, for it would take me hours -to work my duster in and out and get the things to look decent. - -Harry had never seen such beautiful things as we were shown before, and -he kept standing and staring at them really with his mouth almost open, -and it was as much as I could do to get him to leave the beautiful -things and look at the ordinary ones that we wanted. - -The salesman--a very nice young man--when he saw Harry admired the -things, kept showing us cabinets and suites and bookcases that were -really grand. “How much is that wardrobe?” said Harry, pointing to a -very fine one. “Two hundred and forty pounds,” said the salesman; and I -thought Harry would have dropped into a thirty-pound armchair that was -just behind him. - -He whispered to me that it seemed wicked for people to give all that -money for a wardrobe just to hang a few old clothes up in. - -“A few old clothes?” I laughed, and wondered what he would have said if -he could have seen the number of dresses some ladies have, and known the -prices they pay for them. But I didn’t begin talking to him about that, -because I wanted to get our business done and get back again home, and -he would have liked to stop there all day looking at the things and -talking to the nice salesman. - -We chose what we wanted--a few simple things, cheap but pretty, and in -the very newest style, and Harry gave a cheque for them. I can’t tell -you how proud I felt as I stood by and saw my husband take out his -cheque-book and flourish the pen round; and the way he said, “Let’s see, -what’s the day of the month?” was really quite grand. - -It was three days before the goods came down, and when they did, on a -big van, there was quite a little crowd outside to see them unloaded. -When they had been carried upstairs and put in their places, and I had -finished off the rooms with the mats and the toilet-covers that I had -made all ready, and had put the antimacassars in the sitting-rooms, and -stood the ornaments that we had bought on the little cabinet, everything -looked lovely. - -And all that afternoon I kept going into the different rooms and looking -at them and admiring them, and I fancied I could hear the guests, when -they were shown in, saying, “How very nice! how very neat and -comfortable! what excellent taste!” and paying me compliments on my -sitting-rooms and bedrooms. - -Oh dear me! I know more about hotel customers now than I did then, and I -don’t expect any of them to go into raptures about anything. It’s -generally the other way; they always find something to grumble at. We -had one gentleman who, all the time he was with us, did nothing but -grumble at the pattern of the wall-paper in his bedroom (a very _pretty_ -paper it was, being storks with frogs in their mouths, and some other -animal sitting on its hind legs that I’ve never met anybody who could -tell me its name), and he declared that he had the nightmare every night -through looking at it; and another gentleman wanted all the furniture -shifted in his room because it was green, and he hated green; and -another said the pattern of the carpet made him bilious; and we had a -lady who used to go on all day long to me about the bedroom furniture, -and say it was so vulgar that if she lived with it long she believed -that she would begin to use vulgar language. Then she went into a long -rigmarole about the influence of your surroundings, or whatever you call -it, till I quite lost my patience, and said we couldn’t refurnish the -house for everybody who came. - -It was the same with the beds. One person wouldn’t sleep in a wooden -bedstead, because---- Well, you know the usual objection to wooden beds, -but such a thing, I am sure, need never have been mentioned in my house, -for one has never been known; and if they do get into bedsteads it’s the -fault of the mistress of the house and the servants in nine cases out of -ten. - -Another gentleman, who was put in a room with a brass bedstead--the only -room we had to spare--shook his head, and said he was sorry he had to -sleep on brass, as it destroyed the rural character of the place. Give -him a good old four-poster and he felt he _was_ sleeping in the country, -but with a brass bedstead you might just as well be in London. - -And if the customers didn’t grumble about the bedsteads, they did about -the beds. It was really quite heart-breaking at first, when we were very -anxious to please, and so, of course, listened to everything people had -to say, so as to alter what was wrong, if possible. But it was no use. -We had nearly all feather beds at first, and then the customers all -hated feather beds and said they weren’t healthy, and we bought -mattresses, and then half the people that came said they preferred -feather beds, and couldn’t sleep on mattresses. - -And as to the bolsters and the pillows, the grumbling about them used to -be terrible. I think we must have had an extra fanciful lot of people, -for one swore the pillows were too hard, and another that they were too -soft. There was one old gentleman who stayed with us three weeks, and -all that time we never managed to make his bed right. I made it myself, -the housemaid made it, and I even got cook to come and make it, to see -if by accident she could make it right. But it was no use; every morning -he swore he hadn’t slept a wink because the bed wasn’t made his way, and -he kept on about it till he had his breakfast, and then he began to -grumble about the tea, and say nobody in the house knew how to make a -decent cup of tea. Then it was the same with the bacon, and with the -eggs: they were never right. I believe that old gentleman was what you -call a born grumbler; nothing was ever right while he was with us. He -grumbled so much that I said to Harry we must be careful with his bill, -for I felt sure he would fight every item, as some of them do; but when -I took it to him he just looked at the total and threw down a couple of -banknotes, and never said a word or examined a single item. - -I’ve found that often with people who grumble at everything--they don’t -grumble at the bill; and people you think have been pleased with -everything, you have to argue with them for half an hour to make them -believe they’ve had a meal in the house. - -But these people aren’t so much bother as the customers who make it a -rule to grumble at the wines and the spirits and the beer. Harry used to -get quite wild at first when they used to send for him over a bottle of -wine, before a lot of people, and say, “Landlord, just taste this -wine.” Harry used to have to take a glass, of course, and put on a -pleasing expression, and taste it and say, “There’s nothing the matter -with it, sir!” - -But, they would have it that it wasn’t sound, or it was new, or it was -corked, or it was something or the other; and the same with the spirits. -There are a lot of people who go about and pretend to be great judges of -sixpenny-worths of whiskey and brandy, and sniff at it, and taste it, -and palate it as if you were selling it ten shillings a bottle and -warranting it a hundred years old. And they’re not at all particular -about saying out loud that it isn’t good. I heard one gentleman say one -day, when our coffee-room was quite full of customers, “Very nice people -who keep this house; pity they sell such awful stuff.” - -It made me go crimson; I felt so indignant, because it wasn’t true. -Harry is most particular, and if anything were wrong he would speak to -the distillers at once; but there is nothing wrong, for he is an -excellent judge of whiskey and brandy himself, and we always pay the -best price to have the best article, because that is what we believe in. -Some people, especially young beginners, do doctor their stuff, I know, -to make a larger profit; but it is a great mistake, for it soon gets -known, and the house gets a bad name. - -I’ve heard a gentleman myself, when asked to go into a certain house -with a friend, say, “No, thank you; if I have anything to drink there, -I’m always ill for a week afterwards.” The tricks of the trade are all -very well, but trade that’s done by trick doesn’t last long, and in -inn-keeping, as in any other business, honesty is the best policy in the -long run. - -These complaints worried us very much, and made Harry almost swear--a -thing which, being a sailor, he can’t help sometimes, but doesn’t do -often, and then only something very mild, quite different to real -sea-swearing, which I’ve heard is very strong indeed. - -He was telling another gentleman in our business who came to see us one -day about it, and the gentleman said, “My boy, we all have to put up -with that sort of thing. But I’ll tell you what to do. If you give a man -a good bottle of wine, and he grumbles at it, and pretends there’s -something wrong with it, the next bottle he orders give him the worst -you’ve got in your cellar, and it’s ten to one he’ll smack his lips and -say, ‘Ah, that’s something very different now.’ Then you say, ‘Yes, sir; -it was a mistake yesterday--a mistake of the cellarman’s.’ ‘Ah,’ he will -say, ‘I am a connoisseur, and my opinion of a wine is taken by the best -judges.’ You humour him and flatter him a bit, and if he stays long -enough he’ll drink up all the common wine that you’ve got, pay the top -price, and recommend your house everywhere for its ‘capital cellar.’” - -Of course Harry wouldn’t play such a trick, but it would have served -some of the customers right if he had. There are people who think it -shows what a lot they know to grumble at the quality of -everything--especially at hotels, where some gentlemen never forget to -let everybody know that they are capital judges of wines and spirits. -With the cigars, too, there is trouble sometimes, though, of course, not -so much, as hotel customers who smoke good cigars generally carry their -own Havannahs, and for the ordinary cigars, except in the bar and the -smoking-room, there is not much call. - -But sometimes a gentleman who is sitting in our parlour talking to us, -will ask for a Havannah cigar, and Harry will offer him one of the -best--and they are really good, for Harry is a judge, and has been with -his ship to Havannah, and smoked them green. And I’ve known a -gentleman--after smoking the Havannah a little while--say, it was a -British cigar in a Havannah box; he could tell by the flavour. And the -same gentleman, one evening that we were out, asked for a cigar, and our -barmaid gave him one of the threepenny ones by mistake, and he liked it, -and said that was something like a cigar. He said Harry had been -swindled in the others. - -Of course I don’t say all gentlemen are like this. Plenty of them who -come to our place do know good wine and good cigars, and when they get -them, appreciate them, and don’t mind paying for them. - -It is always the people who grumble so much about the quality that are -the worst judges, and they do it to be thought good judges. I only -mention these things to show what innkeepers have to put up with, and -how difficult it is for them always to please their customers, though -they try as hard as they can. - -Soon after our hotel was quite ready and repainted and repapered, we -determined to advertise. We put an advertisement in a London paper, and -the next morning we had twenty or thirty letters. “Oh, Harry,” I said, -“that advertisement has brought us a lot of customers already.” I -expected all the letters were ordering apartments. So when I opened them -I was very disappointed. They were all from different newspapers, and -guide-books, and railway time-tables, and things of that sort, enclosing -our advertisement cut out, and saying, “The cost for inserting this -advertisement in so-and-so will be so much;” and soon after that, we -began to be pestered with men coming in with big books in a black bag -which were just coming out, and they talked for an hour to try and -convince us that we ought to put our advertisement in their books. - -Some of these books were going all over the world, and everybody was -sure to read them; they would be put in every hotel in Europe and Asia -and Africa and America, and I don’t know where else besides. - -Harry listened for a long time, till the advertisement man began to -point out that we should be advertised all over the world for thirty -shillings, and then Harry said, “Thank you--but we can’t go into your -book till we’ve enlarged our premises. If we are to have customers from -Europe and Asia and Africa and America, we shall want a barracks instead -of a village hotel.” - -But our first advertisement did bring us some customers, and from -London, too. It was very nicely worded, because we had copied one that -was in the _Daily News_, and altered it to suit our hotel. We said: -“Pretty and quiet little country hotel. Charming apartments. Picturesque -scenery. Moderate terms. Very suitable for ladies and gentlemen desiring -home comforts, perfect privacy, and salubrious air.” - -We got several answers to the advertisement from people who didn’t come. -The questions they asked were awful--it took me a whole day nearly to -answer them. Were we on gravel soil? Where did we get our water from? -Was the church High or Low? How far off was the nearest doctor? Was the -air bracing or relaxing?--and, some of them, if these things were all -satisfactory, were good enough to say that they would come if we could -take them on inclusive terms. One lady and her three daughters, after -writing four pages every other day, wanted the best sitting-room and -three bedrooms, fire and light, breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, and -late dinner, for two guineas a week for the four of them, no extras to -be charged. - -It was about a week after our advertisement appeared that we got our -first visitor through it. A very nice old gentleman, with beautiful -silver hair and gold spectacles, and a hand portmanteau, arrived one -evening, and told us that he’d seen our advertisement, and he’d come to -give the place a trial. - -He told us that he was a London physician, and had been ordered a few -days’ holiday; and he had seen our advertisement, and thought, if it -suited, it would be just the place for him to send some of his patients -to. He said he had a big practice among City men, and he had often to -tell them to go and sleep in the country for a week or so because of -their nerves; but as they wanted to get to business every day he -couldn’t send them far, and we were just the right distance. - -Harry was delighted when he heard the gentleman say that, because it was -just the sort of connection he wanted--people who wanted to be quiet and -go to bed early, and wouldn’t want a lot of waiting on till all hours of -the morning; and people of that sort, business people, are always so -respectable. - -You may be sure we made the celebrated London physician as comfortable -as we could, and gave him the best rooms, and waited on him hand and -foot, and I went into the kitchen myself to look after cook while his -meals were being prepared, because our cook was what you call “unequal.” - -One day everything would be beautiful, a credit to the best hotel in the -kingdom, and the next day everything would be spoiled. And she always -was at her best when we’d nobody particular in the house, and she was -always at her worst when it was a very particular customer. And she had -a vile temper, too, as most cooks have, through standing so much over -the fire, and wanted a lot of humouring, especially when she knew -everything depended on her and I was anxious. - -When the London physician came, I remembered how particular doctors are -about food for their patients, especially for those that have nerves, -and stomachs, and gout, and other things that come from overwork and -anxiety, some of them saying that a badly-cooked dinner is at the bottom -of many ailments that people suffer from, such as dyspepsia and -indigestion. - -So I stopped in the kitchen as much as I could to keep cook up to the -mark for the London physician, and, to make her try her best, I told her -if she suited she was to have her wages raised when we began to get -busy. - -She _did_ try her best, and came out really quite grand once or twice in -entrées and fancy puddings that I didn’t know she knew anything about, -so that all the time the London physician was with us his dinners were -fit for a nobleman. - -He enjoyed them, too, and no mistake, and there wasn’t much that went up -that came down again. “Ah, my dear madam,” he said to me one day, when I -came to clear away and found that he’d finished a whole apple charlotte, -and only left a quarter of a wine-jelly that cook had made--“ah, my dear -madam, your salubrious air has made a new man of me. Why, before I came -down here the very sight of food almost made me ill!” - -He was very affable and chatty, not only to me, but to everybody, and we -all liked him very much. Of an evening, he said he felt lonely in his -sitting-room, so he would come down and sit in the bar-parlour, and have -his pipe and talk with Mr. Wilkins, and the one or two of our neighbours -that made it a sort of a local club. - -He was a very nice talker, and full of anecdotes. So he soon got to be -quite a favourite, and Mr. Wilkins told him about the people in the -neighbourhood, and of course that story about the Squire’s room that I -told you when I began these Memoirs. - -He said it was a very pretty story, and then he asked about the people -who lived at the Hall now. “Oh,” said Mr. Wilkins, “it’s the eldest son -of the Phillipses, the wholesale clothes people, who lives there now. -The old people are dead, and he’s the master of the place, and lives -there with his family. They’re very rich, for his father made an immense -fortune in business.” (Mr. Phillips was the gentleman I told you about -who comes and talks to Harry sometimes about foreign parts, through -having run away to sea himself when a boy.) - -“Is he married?” said the London physician. - -“Oh yes,” I said, joining in the conversation; “he married a very rich -young lady, and has a large family.” - -“Let’s see,” he said, “she was a Miss Jacobs, wasn’t she?” - -“Yes, sir; that was the name. She’s a very beautiful woman. I’ve got a -picture of her in an illustrated newspaper, if you’d like to see it.” - -“Thank you, I should very much.” - -I went and got out a back number of an illustrated lady’s paper that had -Mrs. Phillips in it, sketched at the Lord Mayor’s ball. - -“That’s her, sir,” I said, pointing to her picture; “but she’s really -handsomer than she looks here. That dress was made for her in Paris, it -says here. Everybody noticed her at the ball, not only because she was -so beautiful, but because of her diamonds. They say she’s got the finest -jewellery in the county.” - -The London physician looked at the picture, and said she was certainly -very handsome; and then he asked about the house they lived in, and if -the grounds were very fine. - -“Fine!” said Mr. Wilkins; “they’re grand! Haven’t you seen them?” - -“No; I didn’t know that they were open.” - -“They aren’t,” said Mr. Wilkins; “but I can always go when I like and -take a friend. I’m going up there to-morrow to see the head gardener. If -you’d like to go, sir, I should be very pleased to show you over the -place.” - -“Thank you. I’ll go with pleasure. I should like to leave a card at the -hall, as I knew Mrs. Phillips’s brother once. I might inquire after his -health. Is Mr. Phillips at home?” - -“No; he’s on the Continent. Mrs. Phillips would have been with him, but -she’s ill in bed.” - -“Oh, I’m sorry for that,” said the physician. “Never mind, I can see the -grounds with you.” - -The next day Mr. Wilkins called and took our guest up to the Hall, and -when he came back he said, “What a delightful old place! I don’t wonder -at the old Squire feeling the loss of it so much.” - -“Did you see the house, sir?” I said. - -“Oh, yes; Mr. Wilkins got the butler to take me over it. What a -beautiful drawing-room!” - -“Yes, it is, sir,” I said. “Ah, you can do a lot with money--and they’re -rolling in it.” - -He had been with us nearly a week when this happened. The morning after -that he said he must go to London for the day to make some arrangements, -but he would be back in the evening, and he hoped, if he found all well -at home, to be able to stay a few days longer. He said he’d be back by -the six o’clock train, and would I have dinner ready for him at -half-past. - -He came back and said he was very sorry, but he found he shouldn’t be -able to stay as he had hoped, so would I have his bill ready for him in -the morning, when he would have to return to town. - -“I hope you have been comfortable, sir?” I said. - -“Very comfortable indeed, Mrs. Beckett, and I shall certainly recommend -all my patients who want a few days’ change and rest to come to you.” - -That evening, about nine o’clock, one of our customers came into the -bar-parlour looking very pale. It was Mr. Jarvis, the miller, whose mill -was about five minutes’ walk from the lodge gates of the Hall. - -“What’s the matter, Jarvis?” everybody said, for they saw something was -wrong directly they looked at him. - -“Oh,” he said; “it’s nothing. I shall be all right directly; but I’ve -had a narrow escape. You know how narrow the lane is near my place. -Well, as I was walking along coming here I heard wheels, and before I -could get out of the way a dog-cart came along at a fearful pace, and -the shaft caught me and threw me into the hedge. It was a mercy I wasn’t -killed. I shouted after the man who was driving, and he turned round -and used the most fearful language at me. What with the fright and my -rage at being treated like that, it’s no wonder if I look queer. Give me -six o’ brandy neat, Mrs. Beckett, please.” - -“How disgraceful!” said the London physician. “Do you know the driver?” - -“No, he don’t belong about here. I couldn’t see his face, because he -didn’t carry no lights; but he were a Londoner. I could tell by the way -he spoke.” - -The conversation turned on Londoners and their horrid ways in the -country, and how they drove over people; and Mr. Wilkins said that there -ought to be something done to stop it, for at holiday times and on -Sundays a lot of roughs came from London, and, when they got drunk in -the evening, drove at such a rate and so carelessly that it was a mercy -people weren’t killed every day. - -He said there ought to be two or three of the inhabitants in places that -suffered from the nuisance made special constables, and be about every -Sunday evening to look out for the wretches, and have them caught and -brought to justice. - -The conversation was still on the same subject when it was closing time, -and they all had to go. The London physician told me he was going by the -half-past nine train in the morning, and to be sure and have his bill -ready: and I promised to see that it should be. Then he said good night -and went to bed; and we went to bed about a quarter of an hour after, -and I went to sleep and dreamed that a man in a dog-cart was driving -over me, and I was running away, and the faster I ran the faster he -drove, and I was just falling down and the dog-cart was coming over my -body, when somebody shouted, “Hi! hi! hi!” and I woke up with a start. - -And somebody _was_ shouting “Hi!” and hammering at our bedroom door. - -I sat bolt upright in bed to see if I was awake, and then I woke Harry, -who’d sleep, I believe, if somebody was hammering on his head instead of -on the door. - -“Harry!” I screamed, “there’s something the matter. See who it is.” - -He got up and opened the door, and there was Jones, our village -policeman. - -“Hullo!” says Harry, “how the devil did you get in?” - -“Walked in,” he said; “do you know your front door’s open?” - -“What!” said Harry. “Why, I bolted and barred it myself.” - -“It’s open now, then,” said Jones. “I only found it out by accident. It -looked shut all right when I passed it twice before, but just now when I -came by I could see a streak of light, and I pushed it and it flew back -wide open, so I found my way upstairs and woke you. You’d better come -down.” - -Harry was out after the policeman in a minute, and I got up and dressed, -knowing something must be wrong, for I’d seen Harry bolt up that door -with my own eyes. - -It was about five in the morning, and just getting daylight. I went down -all of a tremble, and my heart beating loud enough to be heard all over -the house. I found Harry and the policeman examining the door. - -“It’s been done from the inside,” said Harry; “that’s certain. What can -it mean?” - -“Who’s in the house?” said the policeman. - -“Only the servants and ourselves and the gentleman who’s been staying -here for a week,” I said. - -“Go and see if the servants are in bed, please, ma’am,” said Jones. - -I went and knocked at their doors, and they thought they were all -oversleeping themselves, and late, and jumped up directly I knocked. - -“Well,” said the policeman, when I told him, “you’d better see if that -gentleman’s in the house still.” - -“Oh, nonsense!” I said; “I can’t go and disturb him at this hour. -Whatever would he think? Besides, it mightn’t be wise to let him know -about this. It isn’t a thing to do the house good.” - -“I’d like you to go,” said Jones, “just for me to be able to say I -ascertained as no one had left the house. Which is his room?” - -“I’ll take you,” said Harry; and they went upstairs together. Presently -Harry came tearing down. - -“Mary Jane;” he said, looking as scared as if he’d seen a ghost, “the -London physician’s gone, and he’s taken his portmanteau with him!” - -I couldn’t speak. I dropped down flop on the stairs with horror. - -And at that very minute a man on horseback came dashing through the -streets, and pulled up by our door as Jones ran out to see what it could -be. - -It was a groom from the Hall. “I’m going to the station for help,” he -said. “The Hall’s been broken into in the night by burglars, and the -missus’s jewellery----” - - * * * * * - -“_What’s that?_ It’s in the best sitting-room, Susan. It’s something -smashed. Oh dear me, whatever can it be? What! the _best_ vase! Of -course; the cat got on the mantelpiece! Well, whose fault is it? I told -you you’d shut it in one day by accident, and now you see what’s -happened!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -_MR. AND MRS. SMITH._ - - -It was a long time before I got over the burglary at the Hall. It was a -most daring thing, and the detective that came down from London, said it -was the work of an old hand. A nice haul the wretches had made, though -they hadn’t got all Mrs. Phillips’s diamonds and jewels, because, it -seems, the best had been sent to the bank, but they had taken a lot that -were in her room, and valuable plate and things, and got clean away with -everything. - -We didn’t learn all about it till next day. The first story that went -about when people got up in the morning was that Mrs. Phillips had been -murdered in her bed, but, thank goodness, it wasn’t as bad as that; but -the nurse that slept in the next room to her, got a nasty knock on the -head, hearing a noise and coming in, which made her so queer that she -was a long time before she could say what the man was like she saw in -the room, ransacking the things. - -But what gave us the most dreadful shock first of all, was the -disappearance of the London physician, and him going out in the middle -of the night and leaving our front door open. - -Directly we told the policeman, he said, “He’s the man.” - -“What man?” I said. - -“Why, the man that committed the burglary.” - -I couldn’t believe that. I said it was nonsense. A London physician -wouldn’t go breaking into people’s houses at night. But he certainly was -gone, and his hand portmanteau too, and he didn’t come back again the -next morning, and then we recollected about his going up to the Hall -with Mr. Wilkins, and his having seen the grounds and been shown over -the house by the butler. - -But it was such a dreadful idea that it was a very long time before I -could believe it, and I didn’t quite till the detective came down from -London and began to ask questions. - -We’d never asked the physician his name, and no letters had come for -him, which he explained by saying, that as he wanted to be quite quiet -and rest, he had ordered no letters to be forwarded, only he was to be -telegraphed to in case of anything very particular, and of course we -should have taken up any telegram that came, and said, “Is this for you, -sir?” because there was nobody else staying in the house. His going away -like that and not coming back again, wasn’t what a first-class London -physician would have done, so it was evident he’d deceived us about -himself, and if he’d done that, why shouldn’t he be the burglar? - -The detective said it was a “put-up job”--that’s what he called it. He -said the Hall had been “marked,” and this fellow had come to stay at our -house so as to take his observations and find out all he could, and “do -the trick” (those were the detective’s words) as soon as he saw a good -opportunity. - -Poor Mr. Wilkins was nearly mad to think that he’d been the one to take -him over the grounds and introduce him to the butler, and so let him -find out all he wanted to, and you may be sure that we were pretty mad, -too, that the burglar who burgled the Hall should have been a visitor -staying at our house. Our first visitor, too, and one we’d been so proud -of, and thought was going to do us such a lot of good! - -It wasn’t his not paying his bill so much that we minded as the scandal! - -Harry said, “Well, we wanted to get something about our house in the -papers, and, by Jove, missus, we’ve got it! It’s all over the county -now. I shouldn’t wonder if our hotel wasn’t known as ‘The Burglar’s -Arms.’” - -“Oh, Harry,” I said, “don’t say that--it’s awful. If we got a name like -that no respectable person would pass a night here.” I began to think, -when Harry said that, about an inn I’d seen on the stage, where awful -things are done--a murder, I think; by two awful villains who stayed -there, though they made you laugh. Their names were Mr. Macaire and Mr. -Strop, I think; but how the landlord could have taken them in dressed as -they were, and putting bread and cheese and onions in their hats, and -stuffing their umbrellas with meat and vegetables, I couldn’t -understand. You could see they were bad characters, but no one would -ever have suspected that silver-haired, golden-spectacled old gentleman, -who really looked just what he said he was--a London physician. - -I must confess that for a good many nights after the awful discovery I -didn’t feel very comfortable. It made me nervous to think that we should -never know who was sleeping under our roof. I’m sure I should never have -suspected that nice amiable old gentleman of being a burglar. - -We got over it after a bit, and when no trace was found of the burglar, -and the excitement was over, I didn’t think so much about it. All that -was found out was that the man in the dog-cart who nearly drove over the -miller was an accomplice. They traced the wheels away from the Hall, and -the detective said the man in the dog-cart had waited for the physician -and driven him off with the “swag.” (That’s what the detective called -it.) - -A few days after that another old gentleman came, and wanted a room, but -he’d only got a black bag, and I was so nervous that I told him we were -full, and he went back to the station, and went on somewhere else. - -Of course it was a stupid thing to do, but my nerves were bad, and being -an _old_ gentleman and having no luggage it gave me a turn, and I sent -him away on the spur of the moment. - -Afterwards we found out he was a big solicitor in London, and very -savage with myself I was for my foolishness. - -Soon after that two more customers came, and I was not a bit frightened -of them, for they were just the sort of people we wanted. It must have -been a little more than a fortnight after the burglary that the station -fly brought us a young lady and gentleman with some lovely -luggage--honeymoon luggage I saw it was at once by the new dress -trunks, and the new dressing-bags, and I knew it was a honeymoon by the -way the young gentleman helped the young lady out of the fly and the -bashful way he came in and said, “Can I have apartments here for myself -and my wife?” - -“Certainly, sir,” I said; “I will show you the apartments we have -vacant.” - -We had all the apartments vacant, but of course it’s never business to -say that. I took him upstairs, the lady following, and showed him the -best sitting-room and the best bedroom, and he said to his wife, “I -think these will do, dear, don’t you?” and she said, “Oh, yes! they are -very nice indeed,” and then she went to the window and looked out into -the garden, and said, “Oh, what a pretty garden!”--and then he went and -looked out too, and she slipped her arm through his, and they stood -there together, and I saw him give her a little squeeze with his arm, -and it made me think of my own honeymoon, when Harry used to squeeze my -arm just like that. - -When I went downstairs the young gentleman followed me to settle with -the fly, and I told him not to bother about the things--everything -should be sent upstairs directly. He was very shy and awkward, I -thought--shyer and awkwarder than Harry had been; but then, of course, -he wasn’t a sailor, and sailors have a knack of accommodating themselves -to circumstances at once. - -When I went up to take their orders for dinner, I knocked at the door, -and I heard them move before the young gentleman said, “Come in.” - -I’m sure they were sitting side by side on the sofa, and when I went in -he was standing up by the fireplace, and the young lady was looking out -of the window, with her face close to the glass, just as if they hadn’t -been within a mile of each other! - -“What time will you have dinner, please?” I said; “and what would you -like?” - -He turned to her and asked her what I had asked him. - -“Six o’clock, I think, dear,” she said. - -“And what shall we have?” - -“What you like, dear.” - -I saw that they didn’t quite know what to say, so I suggested what we -could get easiest, and they said, “Oh, yes; that will do capitally,” and -seemed quite pleased that I had helped them. - -“Will you take dinner, here, sir,” I said, “or in the coffee-room?” - -“Oh, here, please, if you don’t mind,” said the young lady, turning -round from the window in a minute, and looking at me quite anxiously. - -“Oh, it’s no trouble,” I said. “All your meals can be served here.” - -“Thank you,” she said; and they both seemed quite relieved at not having -to go down in the coffee-room. - -Before dinner they went out for a little walk, and I stood at the door -and looked after them as they strolled away. - -Oh, how happy they looked!--his arm through hers, and his head bent down -a little listening to her. It made a tear come into my eye as I watched -them. - -I think it is so beautiful to see young sweethearts together like that, -in the first beautiful sunshine of their married life, without a care, -without a thought except for each other. I think it must be one of the -most beautiful things in life, that first happy married love, that first -“together,” with no good-bye to come, and the future looking so bright -and peaceful. Troubles _must_ come, we know. It’s very few couples who -can go on to the end of the journey loving and trusting and worshipping -like that; but even when the troubles come, there is that dear old -happy, holy time--the purest and most sacred happiness that we get in -this world--to look back upon; and it is so bright in our memory that -its light can reach still to where we stand in the darkness, and make -that darkness less. - -I know it’s sentimental, as they call it, to talk like that; but I can’t -help being sentimental when I write about that happy boy-husband and -girl-wife--write it at a time when I have had my own little troubles of -married life; only _little_ ones, Harry is _so_ good--and my own love -and my own honeymoon get mixed up in my mind with theirs, and that makes -sentimental thoughts come into my head. - -When they came in just before dinner, the table was ready laid for them, -and I had gathered some flowers and made a nice nosegay, and put it in a -glass, to make the table look nice; and I waited on them myself--Susan, -the housemaid, carrying the dishes up for me. - -The young lady looked so pretty with her hat off when she sat down to -dinner, her cheeks bright with the air and the sunshine, and her -eyes--those beautiful, gentle brown eyes that have such a world of love -in them--watching her husband every moment, that for a minute I stood -and looked at her instead of taking the cover off the soles. - -She caught my look, and went _so_ red, poor girl; and I felt quite -confused myself, and was afraid I had made her uncomfortable by my -awkwardness. - -The young gentleman served the fish all right, but when I put the next -dish in front of him--a roast chicken--he looked at it quite horrified, -and the young lady she looked horrified too. Then they both looked at -each other and laughed. - -“I--I’m afraid--I--er--can’t carve this properly,” he stammered. “Would -you mind cutting it up downstairs?” - -I smiled, and said, “If you like, sir, I’ll carve it.” - -“Oh, thank you so much,” he said; “I’m such a bad carver.” - -I took the chicken on to the side-table, and cut it up for them; and -from that minute both their spirits rose. I’m sure that chicken had been -on their minds from the moment they ordered it. - -They had a bottle of champagne with their dinner; and to follow the -chicken I had made a fruit tart, and they both said it was beautiful, -and they ate it all. I told them I made it myself, and the young lady -said it was very clever of me, and asked me how to make pastry as light -as that. I told her my way, and they got quite friendly, and asked me -about the hotel, and how long I’d been there; and then I told them how -I’d lived in service; and then the young lady asked me how long I’d been -married, and all the shyness wore off, and they began to laugh quite -merrily; and the young gentleman, when he heard Harry was a sailor, said -he hoped he should see something of him, as sailors were jolly fellows. - -After they’d had some tea, I said to Harry, “Harry, I shall take them up -our visitors’ book that we’ve bought. They’re our first customers since -we’ve had it, and must put their names in for us.” - -We bought that visitors’ book after the burglar had stayed with us that -we’d never asked his name, because Harry said we must always ask -people’s names in future, and you can do it in a nicer way by saying, -“Please enter your name in the visitors’ book.” - -I got the book, and was going upstairs with it, when Harry said, “Wait a -minute. Won’t it be better to write a few names in first? P’r’aps they -won’t like to be the first, being on a honeymoon; it will be so -conspicuous, and everybody who comes afterwards will see their names, -being the first, and they mightn’t like it.” - -That was quite true, and I understood what Harry meant; so, not to be -deceitful and write false names, I wrote my maiden name first, and then -Harry wrote H. Beckett, and I went into the bar and got Mr. Wilkins, who -had just come in, to write his name, and then we put the names of some -of the people who came in of an evening. - -When I went in, the young lady was sitting in the arm-chair reading a -book out loud, and the young gentleman was smoking a cigar, sitting by -the table, listening to her. - -“If you please, sir,” I said, “will you kindly write your names in our -visitors’ book?” - -If I’d asked them to come to prison they couldn’t have looked more -terrified. I saw both their faces change in a moment, the young lady’s -going quite white, and the young gentleman’s quite red. - -His hand trembled as he took the cigar out of his mouth. But he -recovered himself in a moment, and said, “Certainly--with pleasure.” - -I gave him the book, and put the pen and ink by him, and I saw him -exchange glances with the young lady, as much as to say, “Don’t be -frightened. I’ll manage it.” - -Then he took the pen and wrote in a bold, distinct hand, “Mr. and Mrs. -Smith, from London.” - -“Thank you,” I said; and took the book and went downstairs. - -“Harry,” I said, “there’s something wrong upstairs.” - -“Good gracious!” he said; “whatever do you mean?” - -“I don’t know what I mean,” I said; “but that young gentleman has signed -a false name in our visitors’ book.” - -Harry looked grave for a minute, and he didn’t like the idea any more -than I did, and I felt so sorry that there should be anything that might -be wrong, because I had taken to the young lady and gentleman so much, -and they seemed so very nice. - -Presently Harry said, “Perhaps it’s a runaway match.” - -“No,” I said, “I don’t think so, because of the luggage and the -dressing-bags.” - -“Oh, they might have had them all ready,” he said; “if people _are_ -going to run away they can have luggage.” - -“They are so young,” I said; “it--it can’t be anything worse than that, -can it?” - -“Oh no,” said Harry, “I’m sure it’s not. Come, cheer up, little woman; -don’t let’s get frightened because we’ve had one bad lot in the house! -Nice hotel-keepers we shall be if we’re going to be nervous about -everybody that puts up at the ‘Stretford Arms!’” - -I tried to laugh, but I didn’t feel comfortable, and all that night I -kept thinking about it, and in the morning, when I took the breakfast up -to the sitting-room, I think they saw by my manner that I suspected -something, and they both looked very uncomfortable. - -We didn’t talk at all. I only just said “Good morning,” and I put the -eggs and bacon on the table and left them. - -About ten o’clock they went out for a walk, and I went upstairs to see -that the rooms had been properly tidied up by the housemaid. - -When I went into the bedroom the first thing that caught my eye was the -young gentleman’s dressing-bag. It was closed, and the waterproof cover -was over it, but not fastened. - -I lifted it off the chair on which it stood, to put it on the chest of -drawers while the chair was dusted, and as I did so the waterproof flap -flew back, and I saw that there were three initials stamped on the -leather, and the initials were “T. C. K.” - -“I knew it!” I exclaimed; and I rushed downstairs and told Harry. - -“If his surname begins with K, it’s certain his name isn’t Smith,” said -Harry. - -“I don’t want you to tell me that!” I said, a little sharply. “I do know -how to spell. What I do want to know is what we are going to do?” - -“How do you mean?” - -“How do I mean! I suppose we are not going to let people stay at our -hotel under false names after the lesson we’ve had with the London -physician.” - -Harry looked puzzled. - -“Well, my dear,” he said, “I haven’t much experience yet, and I don’t -know. I suppose as long as people pay their bill and behave themselves, -they can stay under what name they choose. Besides,” he said, his face -brightening, and being evidently struck with an idea, “people do travel -nowadays under false names. The Queen, when she travels, calls herself -the countess of something or other, and so do many crowned heads.” - -“Perhaps they do,” I said; “but you don’t want me to believe that we’ve -got crowned heads staying in our house.” - -“No,” said Harry, laughing, “I’m sure they’re not crowned heads, but -they may be big swells who are travelling in--in something.” - -“Incognito, you mean.” - -I knew the word from a story I’d read with that title to it. - -“Yes, that’s it. Perhaps they’re a young earl and countess.” - -“No, they’re not, or they’d have coronets all over their bags, and on -their brushes.” - -While we were talking, the young couple came in, and went up to their -sitting-room and rang the bell. - -I went up, and they ordered luncheon. While I was taking the order, -Harry came up and called me out of the room. - -“Here’s a telegram for Mr. Smith,” he said; “somebody knows him by that -name, at any rate.” - -I took the telegram in and handed it to the young gentleman. The young -lady, who was sitting down, jumped up and watched him with a frightened -look in her eyes as he tore the envelope open. - -He read the telegram, and sank down on to the sofa. - -“I’ve an important telegram,” he stammered. “We must go home at once: -somebody ill. Let me have my bill. What time’s the next train to -London?” - -I looked at the clock. - -“In half an hour, sir,” I said. - -“Order a fly to the door, then. We shall be ready. Pack your things, -dear,” he said to the young lady; and then, turning to me, “Let me have -the bill at once.” - -This new turn worried me more than anything. There was evidently -something very wrong. Harry agreed with me, and we both felt glad they -were going. - -I took up the bill, and he paid it, and said he was sorry to have to go, -and he gave me half-a-sovereign, saying, “For the servants,” and then he -and the young lady went downstairs and got into the fly. - -I noticed that she had a thick veil on, but I could see she had been -crying and was trembling like an aspen leaf. - -When they had driven off, I said to Harry, “Thank goodness they’re gone! -It’s quite a load off my mind.” - -“Well,” he said, “it’s a rum go. We’ve been trying all we know to get -people to come to our house, and when they do come we’re jolly glad to -get rid of them.” - -I didn’t answer him, but I never got Mr. and Mrs. Smith out of my head -all that afternoon, and I made up my mind they’d be a mystery to me for -the rest of my life. - -But they were not. - -That very afternoon, just as we were sitting down to tea, two gentlemen -drove up in the station fly, and one of them came in and asked to see -the landlord. - -Harry came out to him, and I followed. - -“Have you had a young gentleman and lady staying here lately?” - -“Yes, sir,” I said, beginning to tremble, for I expected something -dreadful was coming. “Yes, sir; they came yesterday.” - -“Are they here now?” - -“No, sir, they left this afternoon.” - -The gentleman said something--it was only one word, but it meant a good -deal. He said “D----!” - -“If you please, sir, is there anything wrong about them?” I asked, -feeling that I must know the truth. - -“Wrong? I should think there was!” the gentleman yelled out--he really -did yell it. “I’m that young lady’s guardian, and she’s a ward in -Chancery, and that young scoundrel’s married her without my -consent--without the Lord Chancellor’s consent--and he’ll spend his -honeymoon in Holloway. That’s what’s wrong.” - -“Oh dear!” I said. “Poor young gentleman!” - -“Poor young gentleman;” the old gentleman yelled. “D----d young -scoundrel! The girl’s got ten thousand a year, and he’s the beggarly -youngest son of a beggarly baronet, who has to work for his living. Did -they say where they were going?” - -“No, sir,” I said. - -It was a little white story, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to say -“To London,” for fear it might be true. I wasn’t going to help to send a -handsome young gentleman to prison for marrying his sweetheart and -taking her away from that horrid Court of Chancery, which, judging by -the outside, must be a dreadful place for a young girl to be brought up -in. - -The old gentleman swore a little more, then he jumped into the fly -again, said something to the other old gentleman, and drove off again -back to the station. - -“I hope they won’t be caught,” I said to Harry. “Poor young things! How -dreadful to be hunted about on their honeymoon, and the poor young lady -to be always dreaming that her husband is being seized and dragged away -from her and put into prison.” - - * * * * * - -About a week after that Harry was reading the paper, when suddenly he -shouted out, “They’re caught!” - -“Oh, Harry, no!” I said. I knew what he meant. - -“Yes, they are!” - -Then he read me the account. The young gentleman, Mr. Thomas C. Kenyon, -was brought before the Lord Chancellor. He was arrested at Dover just as -they were going on board the steamer for France. Our hotel was -mentioned as one of the places they’d been traced to, but, though it was -another advertisement, we didn’t want it at that price--we’d had enough -of newspaper advertisement of that sort; and the young gentleman was -ordered to be imprisoned. - -Oh, how my heart ached for that dear young lady when I read that! Harry -said it was an infernal shame, and I said so too, only I didn’t say the -word Harry did. - -There was a lot of talk at our bar about it, and it made the bar trade -brisk for some time--lots of people coming in from the village to have a -glass and ask about the case who didn’t use our house as a rule; but I -could have thrown something at that Mrs. Goose, who came in, of course, -and said right out before everybody, “My dear, you ought to keep a -policeman on the premises to take up the people who come to stay with -you.” - -But some time afterwards we heard that the young gentleman had been -released, having apologized, and having got his friends and the young -lady’s friends to try and melt the Lord Chancellor’s heart, or whatever -a Lord Chancellor has in the place of one; and that evening Harry opened -three bottles of champagne, and invited all our regular customers to -join him in drinking long life and happiness to the first young couple -who had stayed at our hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Kenyon--or, as they were -always called at the ‘Stretford Arms,’ “Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” - - * * * * * - -They came to see us soon after the young gentleman was released. They -came and stayed with us, and had their old rooms; but they weren’t shy -or bashful this time, but, oh, so nice!--and they said they would do all -they could to recommend us, and they did. In fact, we owe a great deal -to them, and they were very lucky customers to us after all. This time -they brought a beautiful victoria with them, and a pair of lovely horses -and a coachman and a groom. Our stabling was just ready, so we were able -to take them in, and they drove about the place, and were the admiration -of the village, and it’s wonderful how Harry and I went up in the -estimation of the inhabitants of the place through our having carriage -company staying at our hotel. - -When “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” left they shook hands heartily with Harry and -with me, and they told us---- - - * * * * * - -Met our pony galloping down the lane? Why, he’s in the stable! The -door’s open? Oh, that boy! I’ve told him twenty times what would happen. -Harry, put on your hat and go after him at once. The pony’s got loose, -and he’s galloping down the lane as hard as he can go. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -_MR. SAXON’S GHOST._ - - -I think I have mentioned how, soon after we had got our house straight -and ready to be an hotel, I sent a nice, respectful letter to those of -my old masters and mistresses that I thought I should like to know where -I was, so that we might perhaps have their patronage. - -Of course I did not expect them all to pack up at once, and leave their -homes and come and stay with us, but I thought at some time or other one -or two of them might want to go somewhere, say, from Saturday to Monday, -and they might say, “Oh, let us go down and see how Mary Jane is getting -on!” - -But the one I was most anxious to get down was Mr. Saxon--the author I -told you such a lot about in my “Memoirs”--because I knew he wrote in -the papers about the places he visited, and I thought if we made him -comfortable, and the place suited him, and the air did his liver good, -he might write about our hotel, and give it what Harry calls “a leg up,” -though, of course, it isn’t right, because an hotel doesn’t have legs. - -Mr. Saxon wrote a line of congratulation to us. I think it was to say he -was glad we were settled so comfortably, and he’d come and see us one -day, but we only guessed it was that, after reading over the letter for -about two hours, because he wrote so dreadfully that you had to get as -near what he meant as a word that was readable here and there would let -you. - -After the letter we heard no more, and as months went by we’d quite -given up expecting him, when one morning we had a telegram from him, -and that not being in his handwriting (thank goodness!), we could read -it. It was this: “Keep me sitting-room and bedroom. Arrive this -evening.--SAXON.” - -“Oh, I’m so glad!” I said. “I hope he’ll like the place. We must make -him comfortable and humour him, and he’ll give us a nice advertisement.” - -“I hope he will,” said Harry; “but, I say, my dear, you don’t think -he’ll go on like he does in your ‘Memoirs,’ do you?” - -“Oh, he’s a little odd, and he’s sure to be a bit fidgety, but you’ll -soon get used to him,” I said; and then I went upstairs and got the best -rooms ready, and put the furniture just how I knew he liked it. Two -tables in the sitting-room--one for him to eat on, and the other for him -to write on--and I put a great big linen-basket in the room for a -waste-paper basket, and I put the big inkstand on the table, and I sent -out for a dozen pens and a new blotting-pad; and I put an easy-chair for -him to sit in, because I remembered how particular he was about his -chairs, always declaring that he never could get one that was fit to sit -in, and I made the place look so nice and comfortable that I said to -Harry, “There now, I don’t believe even he can grumble at it.” - -We wished he had said whether he was coming to dinner or not, because we -could have had the table all laid ready for him; but as he only said -“this evening,” we made up our minds he would arrive by the train which -got in at 8.15; and that was the one he did come by. - -When the fly drove up we went outside to welcome him, and we saw there -was another gentleman with him--a big gentleman, with a large round face -and a fair moustache and blue eyes, who looked like a German, but we -found out afterwards he wasn’t--through Mr. Saxon, who, when we asked -what nation the gentleman was, said, “Oh, I don’t think he knows -himself, but his father was a Russian and his mother was a German, and -so I suppose he’s a Swede.” - -When Mr. Saxon got out he was going on at the other gentleman about -something dreadfully, and I said to myself, “Oh dear, he’s come down in -a bad temper! We must look out for squalls.” - -The other gentleman said, “Well, Mr. Saxon, it was not my fault; didn’t -you tell me you would pack the manuscript yourself?” - -“No, I didn’t. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. I’m -getting used to everything. I’ve come down here on purpose to finish -that story, and you’ve left the manuscript behind, and it’s wanted in a -hurry. I’m working against time. Don’t say anything. It’s my -punishment--it’s my doom. Heaven doesn’t want me to prosper. I’m to be -ruined, and you are only the humble instrument sent by Providence to -accomplish my ruin.” - -“Well, sir, hadn’t I better telegraph?” - -“Telegraph! To whom? Who knows which manuscript I want? Besides, it -couldn’t get here in time. I wanted to finish that story to-night. Now -it’s impossible. If my greatest enemy had employed you to play me a -trick, you couldn’t have played me one that would have caused me more -inconvenience.” - -The Swedish gentleman looked very miserable, and all this time there was -me and Harry and the fly-driver standing with the door of the fly open, -and Mr. Saxon was going on at the Swedish gentleman, taking no notice of -anybody. - -So I thought I’d interrupt, and I said, “I hope you’re well, Mr. Saxon?” - -He turned on me in a minute, and said, “No, Mary Jane, I am _not_ well. -I’m half dead.” - -“I’m very sorry, sir. What’s the matter with you?” - -“What’s the matter with me!” he said. Then he gave a withering glance at -the Swedish gentleman, and said, “Idiots, Mary Jane--that’s the disease -I’m suffering from! Idiots!” - -Then he nodded to Harry, and walked into the house, and Harry showed him -upstairs to his sitting-room. - -I helped the flyman to get the rugs and the small things out of the fly -and carried them in, and the Swedish gentleman paid the man. - -I noticed all he did, because I said to myself, “This is somebody new. I -suppose he’s Mr. Saxon’s new secretary.” And so he was, as he told me -afterwards, when he came down and had a pipe in the bar-parlour, Mr. -Saxon being busy upstairs writing, having found the manuscript after -all in the portmanteau, where he’d put it himself. - -“Mr. Saxon seemed a little put out just now,” I said to him. - -“Oh, that’s nothing,” he said. “His liver’s bad. He can’t help it. He -must go on at somebody when he’s like that, and I’m getting used to it.” - -Presently I went upstairs and knocked at the sitting-room door. When I -went in Mr. Saxon was groaning, but writing away for his life. - -“If you please, sir,” I said, “I only want to know if you would like any -supper.” - -“What!” he yelled--really he used to yell sometimes, and that’s the only -word for it. “Supper! Good heavens, Mary Jane, do you want me to wake -the house up in the middle of the night screaming murder? Look at me -now. Do you see how yellow I am? Can’t you see the agony I’m suffering? -Supper! Yes, bring me some bread and beetlepaste and a pint of laudanum -in a pewter. That’s the supper I want!” - -“Lor’, sir,” I said, beginning to be used to him again through old times -coming back, “I shouldn’t like you to have that in my house. I hope -we’re going to do you good and make you better here. I’m sure we shall -do our best.” - -He looked up at that, and said, “Thank you, I know you will. You mustn’t -mind me if I grumble and growl a bit. I can’t help it. I’m ill, and the -least thing makes me irritable.” - -“Oh, we sha’n’t take any notice, sir. We hope you’ll do just as you like -here, and if there’s anything you want, tell us, so that we can get it -for you.” - -He turned quite nice after that, and began chatting with me so -pleasantly, you’d think he was the most agreeable gentleman in the world -if you didn’t know him. He asked about the house and the customers, and -all about the people who lived in the neighbourhood, and, thinking to -amuse him, I told him a lot of queer things about the people who came to -the house, and were characters, being quite taken off my guard, till I -saw him jotting down something on the blotting-pad, and then I saw what -a stupid girl I’d been. He was taking notes, and I knew he’d go and use -up all my characters and make stories of them. So I stopped short all at -once, and pretended I’d left somebody downstairs waiting for me. - -It was a narrow escape, and I only just remembered his old tricks in -time, and what a dreadful man he was for putting everybody into his -stories. I knew he’d put his own pa and ma and all his brothers and -sisters and all his relations in stories, and nobody ever told their -experience about anything, or an adventure that had happened to them, -but he’d have it all in his note-book before you could say Jack -Robinson. - -I remember what he did once, when I was in his service. He went down to -stay with his ma at Cheltenham at a boarding-house for a day or two, and -his ma told him a lot of things about the people in the house, and the -queer characters they were, and what they said and did, never dreaming -of any harm; and the very next week if he didn’t write a paper about -“Life in a boarding-house,” and put all these people in, only making -them a good deal worse than they were, because he couldn’t help -exaggerating if he was to be killed the next minute for it. - -His pa, it seems, who came down to the boarding-house too, had let out -to several people that it was his son who was the Mr. Saxon who wrote -for the newspapers, and had persuaded a lot of the people to read what -he wrote; and the Monday after, when the paper on boarding-houses came -out, a lot of the people staying at the same boarding-house as his ma -bought it, and saw themselves in it, and things that only the landlady -could know--it was the landlady who had told his ma--and they were so -indignant they all gave notice and left, except some that didn’t care -and stopped, and were so nasty his ma had to leave. I heard him tell the -story, and that’s how I knew, and it was remembering that that made me -drop the conversation before I put my foot in it in the same way. - -When I got downstairs, the Swedish gentleman was talking to Harry, and -telling him some of the wonderful adventures he and Mr. Saxon had had -abroad, and we sat talking till it was closing time. Then the Swedish -gentleman said, “I must go upstairs to the governor and get all his -medicines out.” - -“All his medicines!” I said. “Why, how many does he take?” - -“Oh, it’s awful!” said the Swedish gentleman. “We have to carry a whole -portmanteau full everywhere. There’s the medicine for his dyspepsia, and -the medicine for his liver, and the embrocation for his rheumatics, and -the wash for his hair, and three different sorts of pills, and a tonic, -and now he takes powdered charcoal, and we have to carry a great bottle -full of that--and I have to put them all out, so that he can find them -directly he wants them--and then there are his clothes to unpack and his -books. I tell you we shall want a furniture-van to take us about soon.” - -The Swedish gentleman went upstairs, and presently he came down again -looking as white as death. - -“Oh, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “whatever shall I do? Look here.” He held -up a lot of underclothing all smothered with black patches. - -“Why, whatever is it?” I said. - -“It’s the bottles broken in the portmanteau,” he said. “The governor -kept worrying me so while I was packing I didn’t know if I was on my -head or my heels, and I’ve put the bottle of powdered charcoal and the -bottle of cod liver oil too close together, and they’ve broken each -other in the jolting, and mixed and run about all over the clothes.” - -It was a nice mess, and no mistake. The cod liver oil and the charcoal -had made a nasty, sticky blacking, and smothered everything. - -“Whatever shall I do?” said the Swedish gentleman. “If the governor -finds it out he’ll go on at me for a month.” - -I thought a minute, and then I said, “Well, sir, the best thing will be -for me to have them all washed to-morrow. I’ll get them done at once and -sent home. Perhaps he won’t want them before they’re ready.” - -He left the things with me and went upstairs again to put the medicines -out, and then we went upstairs to bed. Passing Mr. Saxon’s door I -knocked just to ask him about breakfast in the morning, and when I -opened the door he was dancing about in an awful rage, and the Swedish -gentleman was standing in the middle of the room looking the picture of -misery. - -Mr. Saxon was shouting out, “I can’t sleep without it--you know I can’t! -Not one wink shall I have this blessed night. It’s murder, downright -cold-blooded, brutal murder, and you’re my murderer!” - -“Well, sir,” said the Swedish gentleman, “you didn’t tell me the bottle -was empty. It’s in a wooden case for travelling, and I couldn’t see it -was empty.” - -“What is it you want, sir?” I said. “If it’s anything I can get you----” - -“Oh, I dare say you can get it me!” exclaimed Mr. Saxon, “I’ve no doubt -you keep it on draught! Do you draw bromide of potassium in people’s own -jugs?” - -“Bro---- what, sir?” - -“Bromide of potassium. I have to take it every night. I must. My nerves -are in such a state, I can’t sleep without it; and this gentleman, -knowing that, has let me come away without it. I sha’n’t go to bed. I’ll -sit up all night. If I go to bed I shall go mad, because I sha’n’t be -able to go to sleep. Go to bed, all of you. I’ll go out for a walk. -There’s a forest near here; I can roam about that all night. I must do -something, for I can’t go to sleep without my bromide of potassium.” - -“Oh,” I said, “perhaps the country air will make you sleep.” - -“No, it won’t,” he said; and he began to put on his hat and coat. “I -must go and walk about the forest all night. If I get tired I can hang -myself to the branch of a tree.” - -“Oh, please don’t do that,” I said, for I knew I shouldn’t sleep a wink -thinking of him roaming about the forest in his excited state. - -“Oh, very well,” he said, taking off his hat and coat and flinging them -down on the floor, “then perhaps you’ll tell me what I am to do. I won’t -go to bed and lie awake all night. It’s too awful.” - -The Swedish gentleman, who was looking awfully worried, let him go on, -and, when he’d done, he said quietly-- - -“Don’t put yourself out like that, sir; you’ll only be ill all day -to-morrow. Let me go to a chemist’s.” - -I was just going to say that there wasn’t a chemist’s in the village, -and the doctor lived a mile and a half away, when I saw that the Swedish -gentleman was trying to make signs to me not to say anything, so I held -my tongue. - -At first Mr. Saxon refused. He said he wasn’t going to have a -respectable chemist dragged out of his warm bed at that time of night -because he was surrounded with idiots; but the Swedish gentleman quieted -him a bit, and then beckoned me to come outside. - -When the door was shut he said, “Come downstairs with me, Mrs. Beckett, -and show me a light, please.” - -“Yes, sir,” I said; “but you’ll have to go a mile and a half to get what -you want.” - -“No, I sha’n’t,” he said. “Come downstairs to the parlour.” - -When we got there he pulled the empty medicine bottle out of his pocket, -and said, “Get me some cold water.” - -I got him some cold water, and he put it in a tumbler. Then he said, -“Give me a little salt.” - -I gave him the salt, and he put it in the water. Then he mixed it up -well with a spoon, and then he tasted it. “That’ll do,” he said. Then he -poured it into the medicine-bottle, and corked it up. - -“Now,” he said, “I’ll put on my hat and coat, and you let me out and -bang the door loud.” - -I did, and waited five minutes; and then he knocked, and I let him in. - -He was quite out of breath. - -“Why, you’ve been running!” I said. - -“Yes; I’ve been running up and down outside to make me look as if I’d -been a long way. Now, I’ll go upstairs and give the governor his bromide -of potassium.” - -“But it’s salt and water.” - -“Never mind; he’ll _think_ it’s the bromide, and that’s all that’s -necessary. I know Mr. Saxon, and I know how to manage him.” - -And he did certainly, for the next morning, when I went to take -breakfast up to the sitting-room, there was Mr. Saxon looking quite -jolly, and he said he’d had the best night’s rest he’d had for a year. - -“And if I hadn’t had the bromide,” he said, “I shouldn’t have closed my -eyes all night.” - -The Swedish gentleman never let a muscle of his face move, but I caught -him looking at me, and there was a twinkle in his light blue eyes that -said a good deal. - -There was no doubt about his understanding Mr. Saxon, and knowing how to -manage him. - - * * * * * - -The next evening Mr. Saxon hadn’t any work to do, and so after dinner he -and the Swedish gentleman came and sat in the bar-parlour along with Mr. -Wilkins and the company, and he and the Swedish gentleman joined in the -conversation, and they both told such wonderful stories that it made our -village people open their eyes. Mr. Wilkins generally had all the talk, -but he had to sit still because Mr. Saxon didn’t let him get a word in -edgeways when he was once fairly started. - -Of course he must talk about awful things--things to make your blood -curdle--it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t do that; and the stories he told -made what hair Mr. Wilkins had on his head stand upright, he being a -very nervous man, and believing in ghosts and supernatural things. - -“Do you believe in ghosts?” said Mr. Saxon. - -“Well, I do to a certain extent,” said Mr. Wilkins; “but I’ve never seen -one.” - -“You’ve never had a conversation with a dead man?” - -“Lor’, no,” said Mr. Wilkins, “nor nobody else, I should think.” - -“Yes,” said Mr. Saxon, “I have.” - -We were all silent directly, and I began to feel creepy, and as if -somebody was breathing on the back of my neck, which is a feeling I -always have when people begin to tell ghost stories. - -“I’ll tell you about it,” said Mr. Saxon; and then he began. Of course I -can’t tell it in his own words, because I had to write it down from -memory afterwards, but this is something like it. - -“When I was a young fellow,” said Mr. Saxon, “and a clerk in my father’s -office in the City, I used to knock about a good deal of an evening and -see life, and as my father and mother wouldn’t let me have a latchkey, -and didn’t like me coming in at all hours, I left home, and went to live -by myself in lodgings in a street running off the Camden-road. There -were a lot of other young fellows living in the house--all of them lads -studying for veterinary surgeons at the Royal Veterinary College in -Great College-street. Lots of the houses in this neighbourhood were -filled with these young fellows, as many of them came up from the -country for the ‘term,’ and, of course, wanted to live near the College. - -“One of the nicest of them, and my particular friend, was Charley -Ransom. He was a good-looking lad about eighteen, but very reckless, and -a good deal fonder of billiard-rooms, and betting, and music-halls, than -he was of work. He’d been up for an examination and failed, and he told -me that his old dad down in the country was very wild with him, and that -if he didn’t pass this term he would have to go back home and go into an -office as a clerk. - -“He made up his mind to try, but he was in with a bad set, and they got -him out of an evening when he ought to be studying, and unfortunately he -was a fellow that a very little drink made excited, and then he lost his -head, and no freak was too mad for him. - -“At this time I had just begun to get things that I wrote put into the -newspapers, and as I had to be at the City all day, I used to go -straight home and shut myself up in my room, and work till very late, -sometimes till one in the morning; but I always went out for a walk -before going to bed, no matter what time it was when I left off. - -“Once or twice when I was going out I met Ransom coming in, looking very -queer, and walking very unsteady, and from that, and what the landlord -told me, I knew he was ‘going wrong.’ - -“One Sunday morning I met him in Park-street, and we walked into the -Park together, and I ventured to say I thought it was a pity he didn’t -try and settle down and be steady, as I was sure he’d never pass his -exam. the way he was going on, and he might be wrecking all his future -life. - -“He took my advice in good part, and said I was quite right, but he -couldn’t help it. He’d got a lot of trouble, and he was up a tree. - -“‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Tell me; I may be able to help you.’ - -“‘No; you can’t, old fellow,’ and then he told me his trouble, and a -very dreadful one it was. It seems he’d been squandering money and -gambling, and had got into debt, and, not wanting his father to know, -he’d raised money. He wouldn’t tell me how, because he said it would -incriminate another fellow; but I knew it was in some way that might -land him in a police-court. - -“He had hoped to have got the money again, poor lad; he’d been betting -to get it back again, but he’d only got deeper into the mire, and now -every day might bring exposure, disgrace, and ruin. - -“I was very sorry, but I couldn’t help him. I hadn’t any money to spare. -All I could do was to beg him to write to his father, tell him -everything, and get assistance there. - -“This he refused to do. I found out afterwards that his father had -sustained heavy losses, and was himself in straitened circumstances. - -“Two nights afterwards, while I was at work, there came a knock at my -door, and one of the young fellows came in. ‘Oh, Mr. Saxon,’ he said, -‘such a terrible thing’s happened! Charley Ransom’s poisoned himself -accidentally.’ As soon as I had recovered from the shock Ransom’s friend -told me all about it. Charley, who had been suffering with a troublesome -cough, carried a bottle of ‘drops’ in his pocket, which he took when the -cough was bad. That afternoon he had had a small bottle filled with -poison which he was going to use in a chemical experiment. It was -supposed that, the cough coming on, he had by mischance taken the poison -instead of the drops. He had been found lying in an insensible state in -the lavatory of a billiard-room in Park-street, and had been taken to -the hospital. - -“I guessed the truth at once. In a moment of despair and desperation -Ransom had committed suicide. - -“I went to the hospital that evening to make inquiries. I was told that -the case was almost hopeless, and that death might be expected at any -moment. - -“The landlord telegraphed to Charley’s father, and the next day the poor -old gentleman came up. He was allowed to see his son, but the lad was -unconscious, and, being able to do nothing, the father came away. - -“That night a message came to the house from the hospital. - -“Ransom was dead! - -“The next morning, when I got to the city, I found my father there -before me. He called me into his office and told me I must pack up at -once and go to the South of France. My mother was there with my two -sisters, and both of them had been attacked with scarlet fever. My -mother wanted me to go out to her at once, as she did not like to be -there alone with this anxiety on her mind. - -“I returned to my lodgings, and, as I should probably be away some time, -I paid my rent and a week in lieu of notice, and left. I was not at all -sorry to turn my back upon the place, for Ransom’s terrible fate had -made me very miserable. - -“I went to Nice, and when I got there soon found something to distract -my thoughts from Ransom. My sisters were seriously ill. For a month it -was a battle between life and death, and it was two months before they -could be moved. In this fresh trouble I forgot all about poor Charley. -Under any other circumstances, I should have tried to get the English -newspapers, and have watched for the inquest. - -“When my sisters were well enough to travel we returned to London, but -only for a day, as they were to go at once to the seaside. I went down -with them to Eastbourne, which was the place recommended by the doctors. - -“The first evening that we were there, after dinner I strolled out. It -was just twilight, and, lighting my pipe, I turned away from the sea, -and walked along the road leading to the Links. The quietness of the -country, and the stillness of the night, set me meditating, and I began -to think of Charley Ransom. I was tired with my walk, and I sat down on -a seat under one of the big trees, and was soon lost in reverie. - -“How long I sat there I don’t know, but presently I became conscious -that somebody was sitting beside me. I struck a match to relight my -pipe, which had gone out, and the light of the vesta fell full on the -face of the man who was my companion. - -“I could not speak--for a second I could not move. It was no human being -that sat beside me. The face I saw was the white face of death--the face -of the man who had poisoned himself and died in a London hospital--the -face of Charley Ransom! - -“I rose with an effort, and walked--almost ran--away. I am not ashamed -to confess that in that moment of horror I was an absolute, abject -coward. I walked on at full speed until I got to the town and saw the -lights of the shops, and mixed with the crowd, and then only I began to -recover myself. - -“I said to myself that I had been deceived by my imagination--that there -was nobody by me on that seat. I had been thinking of Ransom, and had -imagined that I saw him. Such things, I knew, had often occurred to -imaginative people. - -“By the time I reached home I was convinced that I had been the victim -of an hallucination. - -“I determined to conquer my folly, and the next evening I went to the -same place and sat down. There was no one there. The road was lonely and -deserted. I sat on till it was dark, and no one came. I rose to go. I -walked a little distance away, and then I turned round. - -“There _was_ a man on the seat now. I walked back again--trembling, but -determined to know the truth. When I came within a few yards I could see -the man’s face. - -“It was that white, dead face again--it was the face of Charley Ransom! - -“With a supreme effort I went right up to the ghost. Its head was bent a -little, its eyes were on the ground. - -“‘Ransom!’ I said. - -“The face was slowly lifted. The strange lack-lustre eyes looked into -mine. - -“It _was_ the dead man’s ghost! - -“One look was sufficient to convince me, and then I took to my heels and -fairly bolted. - -“Laugh at me, if you will--call me a coward--but put yourself in my -place, and say what you would have done. One doesn’t stop to reason--one -doesn’t think of what a ghost can do, and what it can’t. The sight of a -man you know to be dead and buried sitting within arm’s-length of you is -enough to shock the nervous system of a brave man--and a brave man I am -not, and never was. - -“I didn’t go that walk again. No power on earth would have tempted me to -pass, after the sun had gone down, that haunted seat. That, Mr. Wilkins, -is the ghost I saw and spoke to--the ghost of the man who took poison -and died in the hospital--the ghost of my fellow-lodger, Charley -Ransom.” - -“Awful!” said Mr. Wilkins, as Mr. Saxon finished. - -I didn’t say anything, but that ghostly blowing on the back of my neck -was worse than ever, and I made up my mind that we’d burn a nightlight -that night. I couldn’t sleep in the dark with Mr. Saxon’s ghost in my -head, I was sure of that. - -Harry was the first to speak. “I suppose you did see it, sir?” he said. -“But why should Mr. Ransom’s ghost come all the way to Eastbourne after -you?” - -“Ah!” said Mr. Saxon; “I’ll tell you why. It had been ordered there for -change of air.” - -“A ghost ordered to Eastbourne for change of air?” - -“Yes; it seems that the man who had died in the hospital that night was -a man named Lansom. By one of those mischances which will sometimes -happen, there was a confusion through the similarity of the names, and a -messenger was sent to Ransom’s friends and Ransom’s address to give -information of his death.” - -“The mistake wasn’t rectified till after I had left the next day. It was -nobody’s business to write to me, and nobody knew where I was, so I -didn’t hear of it. Ransom got better, and, when he was well enough to be -moved, was sent to Eastbourne. It was Ransom, and not his ghost, that I -had seen on the seat. The deathly look of the face was due to the effect -of the poison he had taken.” - -“And he wasn’t punished?” I said. - -“No; the poison was supposed to have been taken accidentally, for -nothing came out about his trouble. The young fellow who had got him -into it made a clean breast of it to the other fellows, and the students -at the College, like the good-hearted fellows they are, in spite of -their little failings, made a subscription and paid the man who could -have prosecuted all that was due to him.” - -“Three cheers for the vets.!” said Harry. - -“Quite so,” said Mr. Saxon; “I’ve known a good many in my time, and, -take them altogether, a better set of fellows, though a bit noisy now -and again, doesn’t exist.” - - * * * * * - -I’ve been able to finish Mr. Saxon’s story without being interrupted, -for a wonder. I shouldn’t have used it here, only it’s a little triumph -for me to have got something out of him for my book. He’s got plenty out -of other people. I don’t suppose he thought when he was telling it to -make Mr. Wilkins’s hair stand up that I was taking it all in to use for -my book. He can’t say anything, because it’s the way he’s served other -people all his life. Tit for tat, Mr. Saxon--and one to Mary Jane. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -_MRS. CROKER’S “No. 2.”_ - - -It was pretty late when we went to bed the night that Mr. Saxon got -telling stories, because after everybody had gone he sat on with Harry, -and he and the Swedish gentleman didn’t seem to be inclined to go to bed -at all, till at last I had to say it was long past twelve o’clock, and -we should all lose our beauty sleep, and at last I got them to take -their candles and go up to bed. - -There weren’t any letters for Mr. Saxon next morning, so they both went -out for a walk, asking me the nicest walk to go. - -They were quite jolly, Mr. Saxon being full of jokes, and insisting upon -going behind the bar before they started and pretending to serve the -customers, and asking questions about everything he saw; and when I told -him anything, the Swedish gentleman had to put it down in the little -black book he carried in his pocket, and I noticed he was always making -notes in it--whenever Mr. Saxon thought of anything the other having to -put it down for him. If a customer came in with a curious manner, Mr. -Saxon would say, “Put that down;” and out came the book. If Harry told -about something that had happened to him on a voyage, it was, “Put that -down;” and I noticed the Swedish gentleman always pulled out about a -dozen papers before he found the book. It seems Mr. Saxon picked up -handbills, and cut things out of the paper, and wrote things on bits of -paper, and everything had to go into the Swedish gentleman’s pocket, -till he looked quite bulged out. - -Mr. Saxon, when he came in, wrote till dinner-time, and the Swedish -gentleman had to copy all he wrote, and when he couldn’t read the words -Mr. Saxon went on at him and said his common sense ought to tell him -what they were, but there wasn’t anything to attract attention till they -had their dinner. They had a very good dinner, and the air had evidently -given them an appetite; but Mr. Saxon kept chaffing all the time, and -saying the Swedish gentleman would have to be lifted out of his chair by -a steam-crane if he ate any more, and begging him not to make us -bankrupt, because we were young beginners. - -And he told me while they were travelling abroad they had gone to an -hotel where the meals were fixed price, and after staying two days the -landlord came and offered them a pound to go somewhere else because the -Swedish gentleman was ruining him. But I noticed that Mr. Saxon ate -quite as much as the other; perhaps not so much meat, but he ate nearly -all the apple-pie and three-quarters of a cold jam tart, and the Swedish -gentleman didn’t touch the pastry at all. - -And after Mr. Saxon had eaten all the pastry, if he didn’t tell me never -to put such things on the table again for him, as they were poison; so -the next day I only made a milky pudding, and then, if he didn’t say, -“What, no pastry! Oh dear me! Here, Mrs. Beckett, go and make us -half-a-dozen pancakes.” - -What _are_ you to do with a man like that? - -The second day, in the morning, I saw that Mr. Saxon had got out of bed -the wrong side. - -He was groaning when I went to lay the breakfast, and he said his liver -was bad, and his life was a burden to him; and certainly he did look -green and yellow. And he was looking at himself in the glass, and going -on because his hair wouldn’t lie down; and he kept banging it and saying -he looked like a death’s-head, and he should be glad when he was in his -grave. - -I had put his letters--a dozen, I should say--on the table; but just as -he was going to open them the Swedish gentleman came in and snatched -them away. - -“No, sir,” he said; “you have your breakfast first. I see how you are -this morning; and there’s sure to be something in the letters to annoy -you, so have your breakfast first. I know you won’t eat any if you open -them.” - -He was right, for when I went to clear the things away Mr. Saxon was -walking up and down the room in a dreadful rage, and the perspiration -was streaming down his face. - -“The wretches, the fiends!” he said, “to dare to say this to me! The -scoundrels! but I’ll teach them a lesson; I’ll tell them what I think of -them.” - -And directly the cloth was off he seized the pen and ink and began -writing page after page on letter-paper, and then tearing it up and -groaning, and then beginning again. - -“There!” he said, “that’s the sort of thing to say to wretches like -that. Take that to the post at once.” - -The Swedish gentleman took it and put it in his pocket, and went outside -the door. - -I followed him with the crumb-brush, and I said, “Shall I send the boy -to the post with it, sir?” - -He said, “Oh no; it’s all right. I sha’n’t post it at all.” - -“What!” I said; “not post it?” - -“No, bless you; if I were to post all the letters he writes to people -when he’s in a rage he wouldn’t have a friend left in the world. I burn -them instead. Why, when he’s put out like he is now he writes the most -awful things to people. They don’t understand him, and might think he -meant it; but I do understand him, and I don’t post the letters.” - -“But don’t you tell him?” - -“Oh yes; when he’s cooled down a bit, and had time to think; and then -he’s very glad. He’s made no end of enemies through writing in a rage -when I haven’t been by to stop the letters going; but he sha’n’t make -any more if I can help it.” - -“What a pity it is he has such a hasty temper,” I said. - -“It is, because it gives people a wrong impression of him. But he can’t -help it; it’s nervous irritability, and rages and furious letter-writing -are only the symptoms.” - -“Ah,” I said, “I know. He used to be like that when I was with him; but -he’s all right when you know him.” - -“Yes,” he said, “he’s like the gentleman in the song-- - - ‘He’s all right when you know him; - But you’ve got to know him fust.’” - -When I told Harry about the bromide and about the letters that weren’t -posted, he said-- - -“I say, missis, do you think he’s all right?” - -“What do you mean, Harry, by ‘all right’?” - -“Why, all right _here_,” and he touched his forehead. - -“Why, of course he is. It’s only his curious way.” - -“Well,” said Harry, “if you say so, I suppose it’s right. You know more -about him than I do; but if I’d met him without being introduced I -should have said that he was a lunatic, and the big foreigner was his -keeper.” - -That was a nice idea, wasn’t it? But, of course, a character like Mr. -Saxon isn’t met with every day; and perhaps it’s a good job it isn’t. -Too many of them would make things uncomfortable. - -All that day Mr. Saxon was very excited, and I could see it was his -liver by the look of him; and he kept groaning and saying his head -ached, and he felt as if he’d been beaten black and blue. - -He said he couldn’t write and he couldn’t read, and he couldn’t sit -still, and so he came downstairs into our parlour and made Harry come -and sit and talk with him. But he talked so much himself, Harry never -had a chance. Harry did manage to say once what a fine thing it must be -to be able to make money, and have your name stuck about the hoardings; -and that was enough--that started him. - -“A fine thing!” he said; “why, I’m the most miserable wretch that ever -trod the earth! For twenty years I haven’t known what it is to be well -for a single day. I’m always doubled up, I’m always in pain, I can’t go -anywhere, I shun society, and I can’t eat anything without being ill for -a week.” - -“But you manage to write a good deal,” said Harry. - -“Ah! I used to, but that faculty’s gone now. I’m too ill. I shall have -to give up soon. Then I shall be ruined, and die in the workhouse. It’s -an awful thing, Beckett, after working hard all your life, to die in the -workhouse.” - -“Can’t say, sir,” said Harry jokingly; “I never tried it.” - -But Mr. Saxon wouldn’t joke. He kept on talking in such a melancholy way -that at last we all began to feel miserable. He said that life was all a -mistake--that it was no good trying to be anything in the world, because -death was sure to come, and that misery and trouble were our portions -from the cradle to the grave. Then he began to tell the most dreadful -stories about people he’d known, and the awful things that had happened -to them; and Harry, who wasn’t used to that sort of thing, got up and -said, “Excuse me, Mr. Saxon, I’ll go and get a little fresh air. If I -listen to you much longer I shall begin to believe that I’d better take -the missis and the baby and tie them round my neck and jump into the -canal, before anything worse happens to us.” - -“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Mr. Saxon; “I’m always like that when I’ve got -dyspepsia--and I’ve got it awfully this afternoon.” - -“Well,” said Harry, “the best thing for that is exercise. Come and have -a good walk.” - -They went out, Harry and Mr. Saxon and the Swedish gentleman, and when -they came back they were all roaring with laughter. Mr. Saxon had -forgotten all about his ailments, and Harry told me Mr. Saxon and the -Swedish gentleman had been pretending that they were two agents from -London, who were down to look for the next heir to a John Smith, who had -died in Australia worth a hundred thousand pounds, and they’d been into -all the cottages making inquiries and questioning the people about their -great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, and Harry said that they’d -set the whole village agog, and that half the people in it had tried to -make out that they once had a relative named Smith. Harry laughed when -he told me, because it was so droll, the way all the people began to -tell Mr. Saxon their family histories, the Swedish gentleman taking it -all down, as grave as a judge, in his note-book. - -He said it was as good as a play. But it was an awful nuisance when -people kept coming in and wanting to see the two gentlemen, and leaving -bits of paper with the names of their ancestors written on, and old -samplers, and I don’t know what. And one old gentleman from the -almshouses, who hadn’t been out of his room for three months, was -brought down in a wheelbarrow, with his family Bible to show his -mother’s maiden name was Smith; and he was so disappointed not to find -the hundred thousand pounds waiting for him, that Harry had to give him -a shilling and a bit of tobacco to comfort him. - -It really was too bad of Mr. Saxon to have played a joke like that, -because people in a country place always have an idea that they are -“next of kin,” or whatever you call it, to rich people, and that there -is unclaimed money waiting for them. - -You have only to mention that somebody of their name is advertised for -or inquired for, and they are certain that they are coming into a -fortune. Almost every old lady in a country place believes that there is -a fortune left to her somewhere, if she only knew where to look for it. - -But Mr. Saxon got nicely paid out for his joke. There was an old lady -who lived in the village, a regular character, called Mrs. Croker, -though her real name was Mrs. Smith--Croker having been the name of her -first husband and Smith of her second; but she went back to her first -husband’s name when her second ran away. She was an awful tartar if all -they say of her was true, and no wonder the first one died and the -second ran away. She was married from the village, her family living -there for centuries, and that’s how her history was so well known. - -She married a very quiet, middle-aged man first, and went to live in -London with him, where he worked at his trade; but she was the master, -it seems, from the first. They had a little house over Lambeth way. She -made him scrub the stairs and clean the steps, and do all the house-work -that a woman generally does, before he went to his work and after he -came home from it; and he had to give her all his money, and she allowed -him so much a day, just enough for his fare and his dinner that he had -to get out. And woe betide him if he didn’t come home to his tea to the -minute he ought to be home! - -He was due home at half-past five from his work, and at five-and-twenty -minutes to six the tea was all cleared away, and he had to go without -for being late. Then she used to set him to do cleaning or whatever had -to be done, and she always found him a job, because she said it wasn’t -good for a man to be idle. - -Once a friend called to see poor Mr. Croker, I was told, but she -answered the door and gave the friend a bit of her mind. She said when a -man came home he belonged to his wife, and she wasn’t going to have any -dissolute companions coming there after him luring him into bad ways. - -You can guess what a nice sort of woman she was; perhaps being over -forty when she married had something to do with it. - -Poor Mr. Croker was a very mild little man who daren’t say his soul was -his own, and he obeyed like a lamb, and was very kind to her with it -all, and I dare say loved her very much--for I’ve heard, and I dare say -it’s true, that men do love women like that sometimes much better than -women who let themselves be trodden on. - -On Sunday Mr. Croker had to work harder than ever, because his wife went -to church in the morning, and left him at home to do the cooking and get -the dinner ready, and when she came home she sat down and let him dish -it up, and a nice to-do there was if everything wasn’t quite right. - -On Sunday afternoon she used to have a nap, and to keep Croker out of -mischief she used to give him the Sunday-school books that she had had -when a little girl to read, and, to make sure he didn’t go to sleep or -get lazy, she used to make him learn the collect for the day and a hymn -while she was asleep, and he had to say them when she woke up. - -It seems hardly possible that a man would lead such a life, but poor -Croker did, and I know that it is true, for I can judge by her goings-on -now, when I see her very often; and all the people who knew about her -married life tell the same story, and poor Croker’s “mates” in his -workshop told what they had heard from him when he died, and there was -an inquest on him. - -But I must not anticipate. - -To show how she treated her husband, it was a fact--and she confessed -it herself--that she didn’t even let him have what she had in the way of -crockery. She had nicer things, china and that sort of thing, which she -used for herself, but poor Croker had his tea in a big yellow mug, and -had a common cracked old plate to have his dinner on, and had his beer -in the same old yellow mug, while she had hers in a glass; and even the -beer was different, he having to fetch her a pint of the best, while he -was only allowed half a pint of the common. - -It was one Sunday afternoon that Mr. Croker came to his end, and it was -really through his being so afraid of his wife. - -It seems she never allowed him to smoke, because she said it was a -wasteful habit; but he used to keep a pipe at the shop, and smoke it -secretly till he got near his home, and then call at a friend’s house -and leave it for fear she should search his pockets and find it on him. - -He had some way of not smelling of tobacco by having a chronic cough, -which made him always take a coughdrop that hid the smell of tobacco; -and that was enough, because I shouldn’t suppose that Mrs. Croker ever -so far unbent her dignity as to kiss the poor man. - -Sunday was his great trial, because he was never allowed out till -evening, and then she always went with him for a short stroll. Not being -able to get a smoke that day made him want it all the more--which is -only human nature, and always has been. - -At last, noticing that she used to sleep very soundly of an afternoon, -he got artful, and would learn his collect beforehand in his dinner-hour -at the shop, and, when she was asleep and snoring, creep out of the room -with his hymn-book, and learn that over a pipe down in the shed that was -at the bottom of the yard, where the coals were always kept, they having -no underground coal-cellar in the little house they lived in. He was -afraid to smoke in the garden, for fear the neighbours should see him -and by chance let her know he had been smoking. So he used to crawl into -the shed, and had made himself a comfortable corner there, and a seat on -an old basket turned upside down, and he had a candle, which he stuck up -to read by; and that was his most enjoyable half-hour on Sunday. - -He always managed to go in with some coals, so that, if she woke up and -missed him, he could say, when he came in, he had been to the coal-shed. -He had to work the kitchen fire in the summer very carefully, so as to -make it always want coals just at that time. - -His end was very awful. It seems that Mrs. Croker, who was always one to -drive a bargain, and had bought no end of things cheap, which she -hoarded away, being a miser, as you may guess, had been offered a big -can of oil, that is burned in lamps, cheap by a neighbour who had the -brokers in, and been sold up or something of the sort, and she had -bought it and had it taken into this shed. - -One dark Sunday afternoon, poor Croker, knowing nothing about the oil, -went into the coal-shed and lit his candle, and sat down to learn his -hymn and have his pipe, when, in settling himself down, he knocked over -the can that he didn’t know was there, and it made him jump, and in his -fright down he came and the candle too, and he and the candle fell into -a pool of the oil, and everything was in a blaze in a minute. - -His screams brought assistance, and he was got out, but not before he -was so burned that he never got over it, but died a little while after. - -It was at the inquest that it came out why he was there smoking, one of -his mates volunteering and giving off a bit of his mind before the -coroner could stop him. - -Mrs. Croker, after she got over the shock, said it was a judgment, and -it all happened through men deceiving their wives; but other people who -knew all about her put it differently. - -Two years after Mr. Croker’s quiet Sunday pipe had caused his end, Mrs. -Croker, who must have had a tidy bit of money, because she had saved a -good deal out of Croker’s wages, and was always thrifty, and had his -club and insurance money, married again. This time she married a younger -man, a man in good work, named Dan Smith. I suppose Mr. Smith thought -she had a bit of money, and didn’t know what a character she was. - -At any rate, Mrs. Croker became Mrs. Smith, and she tried the same game -on with Daniel as she had with the other. - -But Daniel didn’t take it quite in the same way. He humoured her at -first, and cleaned the steps and cooked the dinner; but they say it was -over the collect and the hymn on Sunday afternoon that they fell out. - -He said if she went out Sunday mornings he should go out Sunday -afternoons, and he should smoke his pipe out of doors and in the house, -too. He wouldn’t give up his baccy for the best woman breathing. - -They had awful quarrels about it, and neither would give way; and, -what’s more, Mr. Smith wouldn’t hand over all his wages every week as -Mr. Croker had done. - -She must have led him a pretty life in consequence, for one Saturday -morning Mr. Smith went out, and he didn’t come home to dinner, and he -didn’t come home to tea. Mrs. Smith worked herself up into an awful -rage, and was getting ready to make it warm for him when he did come -in--but he didn’t come in to supper, and he didn’t come in all night. - -Then she got awfully frightened, and the next morning, Sunday, she went -down to the works and found out where the foreman lived, and went to see -if he could tell her anything. The foreman told her that Dan had left -his employment, having given a week’s notice the Saturday before, and -had wished them all good-bye; and then she knew that her husband hadn’t -meant to come home--in fact, that he had run away from her. - -She went on anyhow about him then, and called him dreadful names, and -said he was a villain, and vowed she would find him, if she went to the -end of the world after him, and have him up for deserting her. - -She didn’t get much sympathy from anybody, because people knew how she’d -treated her first husband, and they said she didn’t deserve to have -another; but some of the mischievous people played jokes on her. One -would come to her and say, “Oh, Mrs. Smith, your husband was seen last -night with a young woman in a public-house at Bow.” - -Off she would go to the place, and insist on seeing the landlord, and -make a fine to-do, accusing him of harbouring her husband. Wherever -people told her her husband had been seen she would go, till she had -been half over London, and she began to be known as “the old gal who -was looking for her husband.” - -But at last she gave up the search and sold up her home, and came back -to live in her native village near where our house is; and then she -pretended to be very poor, and used to ask herself out to tea to -different people’s houses as often as she could, and would come in and -talk about her wrongs, till people used to have to make all sorts of -excuses to get rid of her. - -She was said to wear all her clothes one set on top of the other, and -she certainly looked very bulky always; and whenever she called and -people were at tea, she’d have a cup, and manage to take a lump or two -of sugar extra and put in her pocket, and was always asking to be -obliged with a stamp, which she didn’t pay for, and all that sort of -thing. - -She managed to make friends with us somehow soon after we came, and when -we weren’t at tea or dinner when she came in, she would have an awful -attack of the spasms, and, of course, at first I used to say, “Have a -little brandy, or a little gin,” and she never said “No.” - -I had managed to stop her calling so often when Mr. Saxon started that -story about the Mr. Smith who had died in Australia. She heard of it, -and she was certain it was her husband, and down she came to our place -and insisted on seeing the agents. - -We tried to get rid of her, saying they weren’t in, but she said she’d -stay till they did come in, and at last Mr. Saxon had to see her to try -and get rid of her. - -But once she got in his room, there she stuck. It was no good his saying -the man Smith had been in Australia fifty years--she knew better. For -everything he said she had an argument ready, and she demanded the name -of his employers, and I don’t know what; and as he had some writing to -do he got out of temper, and then she slanged him, and said he was in -the conspiracy, and at last he put her out of his room and locked the -door. - -We got her away after she’d shouted at him outside his door for a -quarter of an hour; but when he went out the next morning for a walk she -was waiting for him, and she followed him and the Swedish gentleman -through the village, shouting at them, till everybody came out of their -doors, and Mr. Saxon had to run fast to get away from her, because she -couldn’t run far with three or four complete sets of clothes on. - -When Mr. Saxon returned he came in the back way and sat down in a chair. - -“Good heavens, Mary Jane,” he said, “that old woman will drive me mad! -Can’t she be put in the pound?” - -I said it was a pity he had put that story about, because it would never -do to say there was no Mr. Smith--all the other people would be so -indignant. He must think of something to persuade Mrs. Smith it wasn’t -her husband. - -“I know,” said the Swedish gentleman; “we must show her a photograph of -the real Mr. Smith, and say that’s the man. Then she can’t say it’s her -husband.” - -“But I don’t carry photographs about with me,” said Mr. Saxon. Then he -asked me if I had one. - -“No,” I said, “not that she wouldn’t recognize, because she’s looked -through my album over and over again, and I can’t borrow one of anybody -in the village, because she’d recognize that too. She knows everybody’s -business.” - -“Oh, leave it to me, sir,” said the Swedish gentleman; “I’ll manage to -get one.” - -So he went out and got a photograph, and I heard afterwards how he got -it. He certainly was very clever at scheming and planning, seeming to -like it. - -He went to the photographers in the nearest town to us and asked if they -had any photographs of celebrities, and they said, “No; there was no -demand for them.” Then he asked if they had any photographs of anybody -who didn’t live in the place or near the place. The photographer thought -a minute, and then said, “Yes; he thought he had.” He went to a drawer, -and brought out a photograph of a man. - -“I’m sure that is a stranger,” he said; “you can have this.” The Swedish -gentleman had said he wanted an old photograph to do a conjuring trick -with, but didn’t want anybody who was an inhabitant. - -He paid a shilling for the photo, and brought it back. When he got near -our house he met Mr. Saxon, who had gone out for a stroll, and that -blessed Mrs. Croker was watching for him, and was on to him again -demanding particulars of her husband’s death in Australia and of her -fortune. She wasn’t going to let a lot of people that had no claim on -him get it. - -Mr. Saxon asked the Swedish gentleman in German if he’d got a photo. -“Yes,” he said. - -Then Mr. Saxon turned to Mrs. Croker and said, “Madam, I suppose you -would know your husband’s photograph?” - -“Yes, I should,” she said. - -“Then, madam, my friend will show you the photograph of our Mr. Smith, -and you will see it is not your husband.” - -The Swedish gentleman took out his pocket-book and took the photograph -he had bought from it. - -“There, madam,” he said, “that is the Mr. Smith.” - -“Ah!” shouted the woman; “I knew it. _That is my husband!_” - -And it was. The photographer had given the Swedish gentleman a copy of -the photograph of Daniel Smith. When Mrs. Croker came to the village she -had had a dozen taken to send about, in case she ever heard of any clue -in distant parts. The photographer had taken more than had been -ordered--she wouldn’t pay for them, and he had to keep them. He had -given one to the Swedish gentleman. - -That evening Mr. Saxon packed up and fled. He went away in a close -carriage, and drove to a station four miles off, to elude the vigilance -of Mrs. Croker. - -She used to go to London about once a week regularly to look for him, -and she was quite convinced that some day she would receive the hundred -thousand pounds that her husband left in Australia. She was convinced -that she had been hoaxed at last by receiving news of the death of the -real Daniel Smith. He had died at---- - - * * * * * - -What’s that smell of burning? It’s from the kitchen. Why, cook, what are -you thinking of? You know how particular No. 7 is, and these cutlets are -burned to a cinder. You---- Why, good heavens, the woman’s drunk! - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -_OLD GAFFER GABBITAS._ - - -It’s got about. I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world; but Mr. -Wilkins has got to know that I write stories. He told me the other -evening that he was going to buy my book, and he hoped I’d write my name -in it. - -“What book?” I said, going very red. - -“Why, your ‘Memoirs,’ ma’am,” he said. “My daughter up in London, that I -went to see last week--she’s a great reader, and I do believe that she -has read everything, ancient and modern--and we were having a lot of -conversation about you, and I was saying what a nice lady you were, and -about your husband being a sailor, and one or two things I dropped made -her prick up her ears, and she asked me a lot of questions, and -presently she said, ‘Father, what’s Mrs. Beckett’s christian name?’ -Well, of course I knew what it was, through your having written it in -the visitors’ book, as you remember, when you asked me to write mine -too, when it was new, and you wanted to take it up for ‘Mr. and Mrs. -Smith’ to put their names in. So I said, ‘Mrs. Beckett’s christian name, -my dear, is Mary Jane.’ - -“‘I thought so,’ said my daughter. - -“Of course I asked her why she should think your name was Mary Jane, -ma’am, and then she said, ‘She’s a celebrated authoress. She’s written a -book all about us (my daughter is in domestic service), and it’s the -truest book I ever read about servants. It’s her “Memoirs” and all about -the places she lived in, and the people she lived with. She said in the -book she was going to marry Harry and have a country inn.’ - -“‘Harry’s the landlord’s name, right enough,’ I said; and from one or -two things my daughter told me were in that book, ma’am, I’m sure I have -the honour of addressing the talented authoress.” - -I blushed more than ever when Mr. Wilkins said that, and I felt very -uncomfortable. I never thought it would get about that I wrote books, -and I felt that if it was known it might injure our business, as folks -wouldn’t like to come and stay at an hotel, if they thought the landlady -was studying their characters to make stories about them for print. I -saw it was no good denying it, so I put a bold face on the matter, and I -said, “Mr. Wilkins, it is quite true; but I want you to give me your -promise you won’t say a word of what you have found out to anybody -else.” - -“Good gracious, ma’am!” said Mr. Wilkins. “Why should you hide your -candle under a bushel? It’s a great thing to be a writing lady -nowadays.” - -“Yes: but I’m not a lady, Mr. Wilkins,” I said, “and I’ve my husband’s -business to attend to, and I don’t want the people about here to know me -as anything else but the landlady of the ‘Stretford Arms.’” - -I explained to him as well as I could why it wasn’t advisable for me to -be known as an authoress, especially an authoress who wrote about what -she saw, and put real live people in her books; and, after a little -talk, Mr. Wilkins said he saw what I meant, and he thought I was right, -and he gave me his word of honour he wouldn’t breathe my secret to a -soul. - -After that, of course, I was obliged to take him a good deal into my -confidence, and as once or twice he had seen me writing, it was no good -my denying that I was at work on more “Memoirs,” and he very soon jumped -to the conclusion that it was our inn and its customers, and the people -in the place, that I was writing about. Then he asked me point-blank if -he was in, and I said, “Yes, Mr. Wilkins; you are.” - -Bless the little man, you should have seen him when he heard that. He -positively glowed all over his face, and begged and prayed of me to let -him see what I’d written about him. I said he should one day, that I’d -only just put down some notes at present, and that they weren’t in -shape yet. - -After that, he was on at me whenever he got a chance about my new -“Memoirs.” “I can give you a lot of things to put in,” he said, “because -I’ve lived here man and boy, and there isn’t a soul whose history I -don’t know. When are you going to publish ’em, ma’am?” - -“Oh,” I said, “not yet. It wouldn’t do while we’re here. A nice time I -should have of it, if the people here got hold of the book, and came and -asked me how I dared put them in!” - -“But you aren’t going to leave here?” - -“Not yet, of course; but I hope we shall have a better house some day. -If we make this a good business we shall sell it, and buy another--a -real hotel, perhaps, with waiters in evening dress, and all that sort of -thing; but there’s plenty of time to think about that.” - -Poor little Mr. Wilkins! certainly he couldn’t have taken more interest -in my new work if he’d been writing it himself; and I really believe he -did think he was what they call collaborating; for, after a time, -whenever he brought me a bit of information, he would say, “Won’t that -do for our ‘Memoirs’?” - -_Our_ “Memoirs!” It made me a little cold to him at first, because I -have an authoress’s feelings; but I saw he didn’t mean any harm, and I -soon forgave him, and we were the best of friends. I will acknowledge -here that he was of very great service to me; and having been the parish -clerk so many years, and his father before him, and having an -old-established little business in the place, he had many opportunities -of knowing things which I couldn’t have found out. I can say what I like -of him now, because the old gentleman, at the time I am writing, is -far, far away, and isn’t likely to see or hear of my book. But I must -not anticipate. I shall tell you his story by-and-by in its proper -place, as it happened long after this. - -He certainly kept his word, and never told anybody of what he’d found -out, and nobody here ever said anything to me about my “Memoirs,” except -one person, and when that one person said it, it took my breath away -more than Mr. Wilkins did. - -I must tell you about that now, or else I shall forget it. It shows the -danger of expressing your opinions too freely in a book. - -We were always changing our cooks--in fact, cooks were our great -difficulty; and female cooks in hotels generally are a difficulty, and -even harder to manage than cooks in private families. - -The one I had the most trouble with was a middle-aged woman, who came -from London, very highly recommended from her last place. She was -capital at first--punctual, clean, and as good with her vegetables as -she was with the joints and pastry, and that was a great thing, for some -English cooks think vegetables are beneath their notice and ought to be -left to the kitchenmaid; but I am very strong on vegetables in plain -English cooking--especially in an hotel. I know from our customers, who -have travelled about, that the vegetables are _the_ weak points in most -hotels, and potatoes and cabbage will be served with an expensive dinner -that would be a disgrace to a cookshop. - -A gentleman told me one day, after he’d had his dinner, when I’d cooked -the vegetables myself, that he’d been travelling about the country, and -it was the first time he’d eaten a well-cooked potato since he’d left -home. He said vegetables were murdered as a rule, and were so badly -served, that the waiter didn’t even give them their names, but called -them “veg” (pronounced vedge). I’ve heard that said myself at a -restaurant in London where Harry took me to dinner, so I know it’s true. -“Veg on five,” said our waiter. That was for the boy to put vegetables -on table No. 5. Then another waiter put his head into the lift and -shouted, “Now, then, look sharp with the veg, there!” - -Yes, and “veg” was the word for what we got. Three nasty, half-boiled, -diseased-looking potatoes, that had been out of the saucepan half an -hour if they had been a minute, and a dab of cabbage--“dab” is the only -word--and the cabbage was tasteless, sodden stuff, floating in water; -and not a particle of salt had that cabbage or potato seen. - -That was a lesson to me, because I felt what I didn’t like I couldn’t -expect our customers to like. So I said to myself, “No veg at the -‘Stretford Arms,’ Mary Jane; you’ll give your customers good sound, -honest vegetables, cooked well, with as much care as the meat or the -pastry or the pudding.” - -I’ve wandered a little bit, I know, but I can’t help it. I do feel so -strongly on the shameful treatment of vegetables by the ordinary English -cook. Now, to come back to the cook I was telling you about. She went on -beautifully for a month, and I thought I’d got a treasure; and then she -went and fell in love with a young fellow in the village--a very decent -young fellow, but a bit too fond of gallivanting. He was a good-looking -chap, and the girls encouraged him, as they will do, for I’ve noticed -that if a man’s at all decent-looking there are always plenty of girls -ready to encourage him to be a flirt. He fell in love with our cook--at -any rate, he walked out with her once or twice, and then she told me -they were engaged. - -Unfortunately, he left off his work at seven every evening, and when our -cook couldn’t go out with him, I dare say he wasn’t particular if he -laughed and joked with the other young women of the place, who _could_ -get out. - -Cook got to hear of something of the sort, and it made her dreadfully -jealous, and she was always coming to me and saying, “Oh, please, ma’am, -we aren’t very busy this evening; can I just run out and get a piece of -ribbon?” or, “Oh, if you please, ma’am, could you spare me for ten -minutes this evening?” And if I couldn’t let her go she’d be careless -and ill-tempered, and work herself up into quite a rage--of course, -fancying that her young man was “up to his larks,” as the kitchenmaid -used to call it, when she chaffed poor cook about it. - -I let her go out as often as I could when we were slack; but when we -were busy, and there were late dinners to cook, and meat teas and early -suppers, it wasn’t possible, and I had to be firm, and say no. - -One evening, when we’d let the best sitting-room to a London lady and -gentleman, and they’d ordered dinner at seven, cook came to me about ten -minutes to, and said, “Please, ma’am, everything’s all ready, and Mary -can dish up and see to the rest, if you’ll let me go out. I won’t be -long.” - -“No,” I said; “I really can’t, cook. I’m expecting people by the next -train, and they’ll very likely want something cooked at once.” - -“Oh, ma’am, do, please; it’s _very_ particular.” - -“Nonsense, cook,” I said; “you’ve been out twice this week. You only -want to see your young man, and I can’t have it. You’re making yourself -ridiculous over him, and neglecting your work. Go back to the kitchen at -once.” - -“Oh, then, you won’t let me go?” she said, turning fiery red. - -“No. I’ve told you so.” - -“Oh, that’s it, is it?” she said. “That’s your fellow-feeling for -servants, is it? But it ain’t the sort of stuff you put in your -‘Memoirs.’” - -“My what?” I gasped. - -“Your ‘Memoirs’! Oh, you know what I mean, Miss Mary Jane Buffham. -You’re a nice one to stick up for the poor servants, you are! Why don’t -you practise what you preach?” - -I never was so insulted in my life. It was all my work to prevent myself -taking that woman by the shoulders and shaking her--the idea of her -daring to throw my “Memoirs” in my face--my _own_ servant, too! - -But I kept my temper, and I said quietly, “Cook, you forget yourself.” - -“No, I don’t,” she said, with an exasperating leer. “It’s you that -forget yourself. You’re a missus now, but you weren’t always, and when -you weren’t, you could reckon missuses up as well as anybody.” - -“Go out of the room directly,” I said. - -“Oh, I’m a-going! You can give me notice if you like. I’m sick of your -twopenny-halfpenny public-house. I’ve always lived with gentlefolk -before, and been treated as such.” - -“Go out of the room!” I shouted, stamping my foot; “and go out of the -house.” - -“Yes, I will. I’ll go now, this very minute; but I want a month’s -money.” - -“You sha’n’t have a penny more than’s due to you, you impudent hussy!” I -said. “There!” and I banged her wages up to date down on the table; -“there’s your money. Now go and pack your box and be off, or I shall -have you turned out.” - -She took the money, counted it, and then threw it on the table. - -“I want a month’s money or a month’s notice,” she said. - -“Then you’ll have to get it,” I said. “Be off, or I’ll send for a -policeman.” - -“Oh!--hadn’t you better send for the one who used to cuddle you in the -kitchen, while your other chap was away at sea?” - -I did lose my temper at that. It was more than human flesh and blood -could bear. I gave a little scream, and then I ran at her, took her by -the shoulders, and ran her right out of the room, and banged the door in -her face and locked it. And then I fell back into a chair; and if I -hadn’t cried I should have had hysterics. - -Harry was just outside when I turned cook out, and she began at him. He -saw how the land lay, and he made short work of her, though she kept -going on about me all the time. He made her pack and be off within a -quarter of an hour; and I had to go into the kitchen, hot and crying and -excited as I was, and the kitchenmaid and I had to dish up the dinner, -and do all the rest of the cooking that evening. - -When I had five minutes I went upstairs and bathed my face and put -myself tidy; but I had such a dreadful splitting headache, I could -hardly see out of my eyes. - -When I came down again, Harry was in the parlour smoking his pipe and -staring at the ceiling, and he didn’t look very good-tempered. - -“Oh, that wretched woman,” I said; “she’s upset everything.” - -Harry didn’t speak. - -“Harry,” I said, “haven’t you anything to say? Aren’t you sorry for me -to have been so upset?” - -“Oh yes,” he said, “I’m sorry; but I wish that d----d policeman was at -Jericho!” - -That cat!--that ever I should call her so--to go and drag that policeman -off the cover of my book and throw him at Harry, and all because I -wouldn’t let her go and see her young man before she’d cooked the best -sitting-room’s dinner! - -It was a blow to me to have what I’d said in my book thrown in my face -by my own servant. After that I felt inclined to ask a girl before I -engaged her if she’d read my “Memoirs,” and if she said she had, to say, -“Then you won’t suit me,” because that book puts wrong notions into -girls’ heads. If ever there’s a second edition, there’s one or two -things about servants in it that I shall certainly alter. And every bit -about that policeman will come out. I made up my mind to _that_ long -ago. - -Writing about the cook who threw my “Memoirs” in my face, and the rage -she put me in, has quite put poor Mr. Wilkins’s nose out of joint. I -told you how he was always bringing me things to put in my “Memoirs” of -the village and our inn. Lots of the things he came to me full of were -no use at all, and I had to tell him so. He seemed to think a book was a -sort of dust-bin, into which you shot any rubbish you picked up. But, of -course, people who are not authors don’t understand these things--they -don’t know that everybody isn’t interested in just what interests them. - -But one evening, he came in looking very important, and he had a very, -very old gentleman with him--a white-haired, apple-faced old fellow, all -wrinkles, who looked like a picture I’ve seen somewhere of a very old -man. The gentleman who painted it was a foreigner, I think. I know it -was in an illustrated paper, and said, “An Old Man’s Head,” by some name -I couldn’t pronounce, and I’m sure I couldn’t spell from memory. - -When Mr. Wilkins brought him in he walked with a stick, being a bit bent -and feeble; and Mr. Wilkins took his hand, and led him to the fire, and -everybody made way for him. - -“I’ve brought you a new customer, Mrs. Beckett,” said Mr. Wilkins, with -a look which was as much as to say, “Here’s something for our -‘Memoirs.’” - -I nodded to the new old gentleman, and said I hoped he was well, and -what would he take. - -He said he’d take a hot rum-and-water, and I had it brought, and he -settled down comfortably in the arm-chair. - -“Are you all right, Gaffer?” said Mr. Wilkins. - -“Yes, thank’e,” said the old man, in a piping sort of voice. “I’m all -right, Muster Wilkins. It’s the fust time I’ve been here for many a -year, though; old place be altered surely.” - -“My old friend is a very celebrated man, Mrs. Beckett,” said Mr. -Wilkins. “He doesn’t live here now, but he’s come to stay with his -daughter who does, and I’ve brought him out along with me this evening, -and I’ve promised to see him safe home again, haven’t I, Gaffer?” - -“Yes, you have, Muster Wilkins.” - -“This is old Gaffer Gabbitas, ma’am, as you may have heard of. He was -pretty well known about these parts once, weren’t you, Gaffer?” - -“Yes, yes; a long time ago. There wasn’t many betterer known than Tom -Gabbitas, as I was called afore I got old and folks took to callin’ me -Gaffer. Dear me, how it do bring back old times to be sitting here! But -it’s all changed, all changed. It’s ten year since I left the village, -Muster Wilkins, and went to live in London along o’ my son.” - -“Ay, and you were an old man then, Gaffer. Why, you must be a hundred -nearly!” - -“No, no, Muster Wilkins, though I hope to be, for--thank the Lord!--I’ve -all my faculties still; but I ain’t so old as that. I’m only ninety, -come next Michaelmas Day.” - -“_Only_ ninety.” It almost made me smile to hear the old gentleman talk -like that; but he certainly was a wonderful old fellow for his age, for -he could see and hear, and he seemed to be pretty strong generally, only -a bit feeble when he walked. - -“And how many years is it since the murder, Gaffer?” said Mr. Wilkins. - -I pricked up my ears at that. Murder! So this old gentleman had -something to do with a murder. I understood why Mr. Wilkins had brought -him, and why he kept looking across at me, as much as to say, “I’ve got -something for you this time, ma’am, and no mistake.” - -“Fifty year since the murder,” said the Gaffer. “Quite fifty year; and -twenty since they found poor Muster Crunock’s body.” - -“Fancy that, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Wilkins. “A murder was committed -here--two murders--fifty years ago, and one body wasn’t found till -thirty years after.” - -“Here!” I exclaimed, “not here in this house. You don’t mean to say -there was a murder at the ‘Stretford Arms’?” - -“No--here--in this village! The murder was at Curnock’s farm, two miles -from here--the second murder--but Gaffer’ll tell you all about it; he -was in it, weren’t you, Gaffer?” - -“Yes, yes; I was in it--I was in it.” - -I couldn’t help shuddering. It made me creepy to look at that venerable -old man and think that he’d been in a murder. - -It took Mr. Wilkins a long time to get the story out of the old -gentleman, and it took the old gentleman longer to tell it, for he kept -wandering, and he would leave off and go into a lot of outside matters -to make himself remember whether a day was a Monday or a Tuesday, when -it didn’t matter which it was. You know the sort of thing; but when he -had finished his story I was bound to confess it was a very wonderful -thing, and it was all true, for Mr. Wilkins borrowed the old newspaper -that the Gaffer had kept, and showed it me there. - -Fifty years ago, it seemed, in the village next ours--the village where -Curnock’s farm was--there was a terrible trouble about the tithes. The -parson was disliked by the people, especially the farmers, and some of -the farmers wouldn’t pay the tithes at all, and stirred the people up -against him, and as far as I could make out, Ned Curnock, a young farmer -in the neighbourhood, was the ringleader; so the parson got the law of -him, and had a lot of his goods seized and taken away to pay the tithes. - -He was fearfully mad about that, and swore he’d be revenged. At that -time Tom Gabbitas was a labourer on the farm, and an old servant, for he -was forty then. - -Ned Curnock and another man--a young fellow, the son of a farmer--went -out one night to waylay the parson, who had been to the Squire’s house -to a party, and had to ride home through a dark lane. They said they’d -give him a jolly good hiding, and that was all they meant to do. The -only man who knew they’d gone, and what their errand was, was Tom -Gabbitas, for he heard them talking it over, they not knowing he was -near them, it being dark at the time. - -About ten o’clock they went out, with two big sticks, and about eleven -o’clock they came back. Ned Curnock was as white as death, and his -clothes were all over blood. Tom met them, and they confided in him and -told him what had happened, making him take an awful oath he’d never -reveal a word to any living soul that could harm either of them. - -It seems they’d met the parson, and pulled him off his horse, and begun -to thrash him, when he had pulled out a pistol to shoot them. They got -it from him, and somehow or other it went off and shot the parson, and -they ran away; but they said they were sure he was killed, and it was a -murder job. - -Tom Gabbitas ran off to the place to get help, and when he got there he -found other people there too. The parson was just dead; but he’d had -time to say that he’d been murdered by two men, and he’d recognized one -of them as Ned Curnock. - -Tom only stopped to hear that, and bolted back and told his master, who -was terribly frightened, and said he should be hanged, and how was he to -escape? The young fellow who was with him said, “You must hide till the -coast’s clear. Where can you hide? They’ll think you’ve run away.” - -So they thought it out, and Curnock remembered that in his barn there -was a trapdoor which opened on to a kind of cellar in the ground. So he -went to the barn, and opened the trap, and got in, and they strewed -things about over the top, so that the trap would be hidden. It was -agreed that Tom Gabbitas was to take him food and drink there twice a -day, which he could do, because he could go into the barn about his work -without suspicion. - -The other young man went home quietly, saying he was safe, as nobody but -Gabbitas and Curnock knew he was in it, and they wouldn’t blab. - -The people and the police came to the farm that night, but Tom said his -master had gone out and hadn’t come in. The farm was searched and -watched all night and all the next day, and then everybody said that Ned -Curnock had got clear away. Rewards were offered, and the description of -Curnock was sent all over England; but, of course, he was never found, -and at last he was forgotten. - -But something awful had happened in the meantime. Tom took his master -food all right the first day, going cautiously into the barn, and, when -nobody was about, lifting the trap. His master would put his head up -then, and take the food, and ask, “What news?” The third night, when -everybody was sure Curnock had gone, the other young fellow came to see -about some things of his Curnock had bought, he said, and hadn’t settled -for; but, of course, it was to get into the barn and see Curnock. - -He went, and Tom took the dark lantern and went first, and when they -were in they lifted the trap. Curnock was tired of being there, and he -said escape was hopeless, and he should go and give himself up and make -a clean breast of it. - -“No,” said the other fellow, “don’t do that; you shall escape, and get -clean away this very night. I’ll come to you at midnight and tell you -how.” - -Then Tom and this young fellow went back into the house, where there was -only an old female servant--Curnock being a bachelor--and the young -fellow gave Tom money, and told him he’d better rise early in the -morning and walk to the nearest town, and take the stage-coach and go to -London, and wait for his master at a place he was told of. - -Tom went, and three days after, instead of his master, the young fellow -came. “It’s all right, Tom,” he said; “Mr Curnock’s got clear away and -gone to America. I’m going to buy his farm and send the money out to -him.” - -“What am I going to do?” said Tom. - -“Oh, you can come back, and work on my farm. There’s always a job for -you there, and I’ll give you and your wife a cottage on my place.” - -Tom wondered then why he had been sent to London; but he supposed they -had altered their plans afterwards, as he was to have met his master in -London and helped him in some way. - -When he got back, all his things had been moved to the cottage at the -other farm, which was three miles away, and he worked on that farm for -thirty years. And his new master carried on both; but he never went to -the old farm again. - -All these years, whenever anybody spoke of Ned Curnock, it was always -said he’d got away to America, and was living there. - -After thirty years, the other farmer, who had lived a bachelor all his -life, died, and then the farm was sold again. A stranger took it, and -when he came he began a lot of alteration. Among other places altered -was the barn, which was pulled down for a new building to be put up in -its place. And when they cleared it out, and began pulling it down, they -came on the trapdoor. - -The flooring was taken up, of course, and underneath--in the cellar--was -found the skeleton of a man. - -It was the skeleton of Ned Curnock. - -For thirty years the dead man had been there, and it was proved that he -had been murdered. He was identified by many things--among others by a -peculiar ring, which was on the bony finger still, the hands having been -clutched together in death. How they proved he had been murdered was by -the skull. The doctor proved he had been struck on the head with a -chopper, which had split the skull open. - -Tom Gabbitas came forward then, and told all he knew; and there is no -doubt Ned Curnock was murdered the night Tom went away. His accomplice -went to the trap, and, instead of helping his friend to escape, killed -him as he put his head out, fearing that he would be caught if he went -away, and would tell the truth, and so get his accomplice hanged as -well. - -Tom Gabbitas was charged with being an accessory after the fact of the -parson’s murder--that’s how Mr. Wilkins puts it, I think--but it was so -long ago, and Tom was so respected by everybody, and it was proved that -he’d thought the parson was accidentally killed in a struggle and no -murder was meant, and after he’d been remanded a lot of times he was -sentenced to a short imprisonment, which was to date from the time he -was locked up; so he was set free and came back to the village, where -he was quite a hero and had to tell the story to everybody, and to lots -of people who weren’t born when it all happened. - -When the story was done I looked at old Gaffer Gabbitas, aged -eighty-nine, sitting there, and it seemed so strange to be looking at a -man who’d been mixed up in two murders and could talk of them now as -calmly and as quietly as if they were nothing at all. - -When you get very old you are like that, I’m told. I asked the Gaffer a -lot of questions, and he answered me quite nicely, and was as clear -about everything as if it was yesterday. - -But fancy him living in the village for thirty years, and never -suspecting that the master he thought was in America was lying in his -own barn, murdered, all that time, and him being servant to the man who -was his murderer! - -And the man who did the murder! Fancy him living in the place, too, and -growing old there, with the body of his victim on his premises, and -going about his business quietly, and living his life like everybody -else! I wonder if he ever passed that barn at night! I wonder if he -didn’t often start out of his sleep and think that all was going to be -found out. The more you think of these things, the more wonderful they -are. What awful secrets some of the easy-going, comfortable-looking -people we meet every day must be carrying about locked up in their -breasts, hidden from everybody, just as Ned Curnock’s dead body lay -hidden away for thirty years in his own barn. - -Mr. Wilkins, when it was time to go, took the Gaffer’s arm, and said -he’d see him to his door, and the old gentleman shook hands with me, and -said he should come and see us again. He’d had many a glass in the old -place when it was only a little inn, he said; and as he was going out he -said, “Wonderful changes--wonderful changes in the old place, surely.” - -Mr. Wilkins came back a minute, and he whispered to me, “Well, are you -glad I brought old Gaffer Gabbitas to see you?” - -“Yes,” I said; “certainly. His story is part of the story of the place. -But it’s very dreadful. I shall dream of skeletons in a barn all night -long.” - -And so I did, and I woke up with a scream, lying on my back, and Harry -said, “Good heavens! what’s the matter?” - -“Oh, it’s the skeleton in the barn!” I said. I knew I should dream of -it, and I didn’t go to sleep again for an hour, but kept thinking of old -Gaffer Gabbitas and the two murders he’d been mixed up in and seemed -none the worse for. - -Two murders, and both in our village! Thank goodness they were such a -long time ago. Murders aren’t the sort of things you care to be too -common in a place you’ve got to live in. Harry said he should go and -have a look at Curnock’s farm, as it was still called, in the morning, -and he asked me if I’d come with him. - -I said, “Oh, please talk of something else, or not a wink shall I have -this night.” I couldn’t get to sleep. I counted sheep, but there was a -skeleton among them. I watched the waving corn, and a skeleton looked at -me out of the middle of it. I looked at the sea-waves rolling along, but -a skeleton floated---- - - * * * * * - -“Oh, Harry, let me send for a doctor!” - -“Nonsense!” - -“It isn’t nonsense. Why, your hands are cut dreadfully--it’s most -dangerous--it turns to lock-jaw sometimes! ‘Only a scratch?’ It’s a -cut--a deep, deep, deep cut. Oh, how could you be so careless? I told -you you’d burst a bottle some day--driving the corks in like that. You -should always look to see they’re not too full. It’s a mercy you weren’t -killed on the spot.” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -_DASHING DICK._ - - -The first year that we had the ‘Stretford Arms’ was one of great anxiety -to us, as you may be sure. All our capital was invested in the business, -and not only all our capital, but a good deal of money that Harry’s -friends had lent him to help us to take it. If things had gone wrong -with us it would have been dreadful, and I don’t know what we should -have done. - -It was a great relief to both our minds when, from the first, we found -that we had a property which, with care and good management, could be -improved. Some properties, especially in our trade, go all the other -way, and nothing will save them. There are so many things that will take -the business from an hotel, and when they happen no power on earth can -stop your going down. You may spend your money, you may advertise, you -may work yourself to the bone, but down, down, down you go, and the -longer you cling to the hope of things taking a turn, the more money you -lose. - -Of course, we couldn’t tell what would happen when we took the -‘Stretford Arms,’ and my want of experience in the business made me very -nervous. But from the first we began to get confidence, and that is a -wonderful thing. When you can see things are going right, you can do a -lot that you can’t do when things are wavering or going wrong. - -But, though we very soon got confidence, and felt comfortable in our -minds, we were just as careful as ever, and we determined not to leave -anything to chance. We were very economical ourselves, and we only laid -out money on the place a little at the time, knowing how true the old -proverb is which says, “Learn to walk before you try to run.” - -We didn’t have more servants than we could help, and Harry and I worked -like niggers, as the saying is; though Harry, who had seen niggers at -work, says it isn’t a good one, for some niggers do just as much as you -make them do, and not a bit more. - -But after the first year in the ‘Stretford Arms,’ I couldn’t do so much -as I had done, because I had my dear little baby boy to think about, and -I wasn’t quite so well and strong for a little time after that as I had -been before, and Harry wouldn’t let me even do what I might have done. - -He said my health was far more precious to him than anything else in the -world, and that we’d much better pay a few pounds a year extra in wages -than a lot of money in doctor’s bills. So after baby was born we had a -nurse for him, and another housemaid, and a few months after that, when -business kept on improving, and we found that we were getting a nice -little hotel connection, we took on an odd man. His duties were to clean -the boots, to carry the luggage up and down, to look after the pony, -and, when we weren’t busy, he filled up his time with odd jobs and in -the garden. - -We were very glad we had him, for a nicer, civiller, more obliging -fellow I never met with. It was quite a pleasure to ask him to do -anything, because you saw at once that you had pleased him by giving him -a chance of showing how useful he could be. There aren’t many of that -sort about, so that we were lucky to get him. - -He came to us in this way. We had been talking about having an odd man, -and getting rid of the boy who looked after the pony and did the boots, -etc., because the boy was the plague of our lives, and we never knew -what he was going to be up to next. He was a boy named Dick, that we -took on to oblige Mr. Wilkins, who recommended him as a smart boy; and -there was another reason, which was that his grandmother, a very decent -old woman, who lived in the village, couldn’t afford to keep him at -home, and wanted him out somewhere where he could sleep on the -premises. - -We took him, and he certainly was smart. He had been educated at a good -charity school (as I was myself, so I’ve nothing to say against that), -but, unfortunately, he’d learnt to read and write and nothing very much -else. He couldn’t cipher, and his writing was very bad, and his spelling -not over grand. So he couldn’t be got into an office, and his poor old -grandmother was worrying herself into the grave about what to do for -him, when Mr. Wilkins mentioned him to Harry, and Harry, who’d just -bought our pony, took him. - -He was a nice-looking lad, and always very respectful, and spoke nicely, -though using words above his station and in the wrong place; but there -was no reliance to be placed upon him, and he forgot things he was told -to do over and over again. - -For a long time we couldn’t make out what made him so slow over his -work, and so careless; but we found it out at last. He was a great -reader, and took in a lot of trash, written for boys, about pirates and -highwaymen, and all that sort of thing, and his head was filled with -romantic nonsense instead of thinking about his work. - -Harry found it out first one day going into the stables, when nobody had -seen the boy for an hour, and finding him sitting down comfortably in -one of the stalls smoking the end of a cigar, and reading “The Boy -Highwayman.” - -Harry boxed his ears for smoking in the stables, and was so mad with him -he told him to go; but the boy began to cry, and Harry said he would -give him another chance, but read him an awful lecture, saying he might -burn us all down in our beds, and telling him if he read such rubbish he -would come to be hanged. - -He went on all right for a little while after that, though his work was -not done properly; but one day our nursemaid, Lucy Jones, a nice, -well-behaved girl of eighteen, came to me and asked me if she could -speak to me about a private matter. - -I said “Yes,” and then she said she wanted to show me a letter which she -had found inside one of her boots when she went to put it on. - -I took the letter and read it, and it made my blood run cold. This is -the letter, which I kept as a curiosity:-- - - MY DARLING MISS JONES, - - “This comes hoping that you will dain to smile on my suit. I have - long love you from a fur. Will you elope with me to forring climbs, - where we may live happy. You shall have silks and sattings and - jewls, and be the envy of all my dashing companons. I shall be - verry proud of you at the hed of my bord, when it is spred with the - feest, and all my brave, dare-devill fellowes shall tost you as - their cheifs inamerato. This is French, but it means a bride. If - you will fly with me name your own time. It must be nite, and I - will have the hosses redy. Bring all your jewls and money. If we - are follered I am prepaired to die in your defense; but have no - fere. The man does not brethe the God’s air that is to take his - pray from - - “DASHING DICK. - - “If you accep my hoffer, deer Miss Jones, put your answer in your - boots when you put them out to be clened. I will make you a Quene. - Don’t delay, as my brave Band is waiting for their horders.” - -At first the letter made me so indignant I couldn’t laugh, though it was -so ridiculous. I guessed at once who it was had sent it to her by the -writing, and its coming in her boots, and the answer to be put back in -her boots. - -The girl was quite indignant. “I never heard such impudence in my life, -ma’am!” she said. “And a bit of a boy like that, too!” - -“You’ve never given him any encouragement, I suppose!” I said. - -“Never, ma’am. The only time he ever spoke to me on such a subject was -when he asked me to walk out with him on Sunday, and then I said he’d -better go home and read to his grandmother. Encouragement! I hope I know -myself better, ma’am, than to keep company with the likes of him. Why, -he’s ever so much younger than me, ma’am.” - -“I only asked, Lucy,” I said. “I didn’t suppose you _had_ encouraged -him.” - -I didn’t, because I knew Lucy had set her cap, so to speak, at a young -fellow in the village--a handsome young fellow, too--with a little black -moustache, that was quite unique in the neighbourhood; but I asked her, -because, having been in service, I know how girls will sometimes -encourage forward lads--pages, for instance--being fond of larking, and -saying, “Oh, there’s no harm; he’s only a boy.” So I thought I’d just -ask Lucy the question. - -I saw by her style she was quite innocent in the matter; so I told her -to leave the letter with me, and I would speak to my husband about it, -and he would decide what should be done. - -When I showed the letter to Harry he couldn’t help laughing, though he -was very cross. “The young varmint!” he said. - -“What are you going to do?” I said. “You must get rid of the boy. He -isn’t safe to be about the place with notions like that in his head. I’m -very sorry for his poor old grandmother; but he’ll come to a bad end -soon, and I don’t want him to come to it here.” - -“Oh, I shall give him the sack,” said Harry; “but I’m sorry for him, -because it’s the trash he’s been reading that has put this stuff into -his head.” - -After dinner, Harry sent for Master Dick, and, when the young gentleman -came in, showed him the letter, and asked him what he meant by writing -such wickedness to our nursemaid. - -The boy never changed colour a moment. He looked straight at Harry, and -said, “Did she show it to you, sir?” - -“She showed it to Mrs. Beckett,” said Harry. - -“Then it was very unladylike of her,” said the boy, “and she’s a mean -sneak. No man likes his love-letters to be shown about.” - -“Love-letters, you young rascal!” cried Harry; “what business have you -putting your love-letters in a respectable young woman’s boots? And, -besides, this isn’t a love-letter, it’s asking the girl to elope, and -it’s full of wickedness about jewels, and a band of daring fellows. What -do you mean by it, sir?” - -Master Dick looked at Harry a minute. Then he struck an attitude. - -“What I do after I’ve left your service, sir, is my own business, isn’t -it?” - -“No, it isn’t,” said Harry; “it’s mine, because you’re placed with me by -your grandmother, and it’s my duty to see that you don’t do anything to -disgrace yourself if I can help it. Whose horses are you going to have -ready, pray? And where are you going to get the silks and satins and -jewels from? A nice idea, indeed! I’ve a good mind to send for a -policeman.” - -The boy turned very red at that, and his manner made Harry think he was -frightened that something might be found out. - -So, instead of dismissing the boy there and then, he gave him a good -talking to, and said he should decide what was to be done with him -afterwards. - -Then Harry came to me, and said, “Mary Jane, there’s something wrong -with that boy. I’m afraid he’s been up to no good.” - -“Of course he hasn’t,” I said. “He certainly wasn’t up to any good when -he wrote that wicked letter to Lucy.” - -“It isn’t that only I’m thinking of. I’m afraid, putting two and two -together, that he’s been making ready to run away, and that perhaps he’s -got what doesn’t belong to him.” - -“You don’t mean you think he’s been stealing?” - -“Yes, I do,” said Harry; “but the thing is, how am I to make sure? I’ll -go and make inquiries.” - -Harry went and asked the other servants, and the people about the place, -a few questions, and at last he found out that Master Dick had been seen -going pretty often into a shed where we kept some empty cases and -lumber. So Harry went to it quietly, and turned it thoroughly over, and -then he came on a box hidden away that aroused his suspicions. He broke -the box open, and inside it he found an old pistol and a belt, and a -pair of his old sea-boots, that must have been taken from our spare room -upstairs, and an old red flannel shirt, and a lot of penny numbers about -boy pirates and highwaymen, and right at the bottom of the box two pairs -of my best stockings and some old bows of ribbons, and one or two -trifles like that, which the young rascal had evidently taken at -different times when he had been at work about the house. - -Harry came and told me, and said he supposed the pistol and the belt, -and the red shirt, and the boots were for the young gentleman to dress -himself up in when he took to the road or to the sea, whichever it was -to be, and my stockings and the bits of ribbons were the satins and -jewels, etc., which he was going to present to Lucy, if she consented to -elope with him, and be the bride of the chief of the “band of daring -fellows,” which was himself, viz. Dashing Dick. - -“Oh, Harry!” I said, “how shocking! Who would believe that a boy, -decently brought up, could be so wicked!” - -Of course, after we found he had taken things, we couldn’t keep him, -even if we had looked over that letter to our nursemaid, and so Harry -went to his grandmother and told her that our place didn’t suit her boy, -as he had too much liberty, and then he told her that the boy had taken -one or two little things, and he must be punished. We shouldn’t, of -course, give him into custody and ruin him for life for my stockings and -Harry’s boots, but that sort of thing, if not checked in time, would go -on till it became wholesale robbery. - -The old lady was very much upset, and said, what could she do, as the -boy was quite beyond her control. So Harry said he would try and think, -but he should give the boy notice, and send him home, as he couldn’t -have him about the place. If he overlooked it, it would be an -encouragement to the boy to go on in his evil courses. - -That evening, after his work was done, my young gentleman was told he -wouldn’t be wanted any more, and Harry made him come into the kitchen -and unpack his box before all the servants to try and make him ashamed -of himself. The other servants laughed at the pistol and the red shirt, -but Harry told them it was no laughing matter, as the young lad would -come to ruin the way he was going on; and then he discharged him and -gave him a most severe lecture, telling him to think himself lucky he -wasn’t given into custody. - -But the boy was very sullen and defiant, and though he didn’t say -anything to Harry, as he was going he turned to Lucy, who was in the -kitchen, and he said, “This is your doing, and you shall pay for it.” -And he gave her such a glance with his eyes as he went out of the door -that the girl came to me and said she was quite frightened. - -“What nonsense, Lucy!” I said; “it’s only his brag. It’s something he’s -picked up out of one of the wretched tales he has been reading.” - -“I don’t know, ma’am,” answered Lucy; “it’s my belief that he’s off his -head; and I’ve heard of boys doing dreadful things when they’re like -that. I sha’n’t feel safe till he’s out of the place.” - -I talked to the girl, and told her not to be a goose; but she quite made -up her mind that the young imp meant to do her a mischief, for showing -his letter to me and Harry. - - * * * * * - -That night, just as we were shutting up, a man from the village came -with a message from Dick’s grandmother to say her boy had been home, put -on his Sunday clothes, done all his things up in a bundle and started -off, saying she would never see him again, and please what was she to -do. Had we any idea where he was likely to be gone to? - -Harry sent word back that he couldn’t say anything; but the best thing -was to send up to the police-station, and they might hear something. - -The next day, Lucy came to me as pale as death, and said, “Oh, ma’am, -look at this,” and showed me a letter which had come for her that -morning, and it was this--“You have betrade our captin; deth to -informars!” and underneath it was a skull and two cross-bones and a -coffin. - -“I daren’t go out, ma’am,” she said; “I daren’t, indeed. He might be -lurking about and jump out on me with a pistol. He used to be always -telling stories in the kitchen about highwaymen and their stopping -people on the road, and you may depend upon it, ma’am, that’s what he’s -going to be now he’s run away. I shouldn’t be afraid of him, but if he’s -got hold of a pistol there’s no knowing what might happen. And suppose, -ma’am, he was to meet me in the lane while I was out with baby, -whatever should I do?” - -This was a nice idea, and it made me nervous, too; for I had visions of -Lucy fainting, or dropping my baby; or, perhaps, the pistol, if the -young rascal had one, going off accidentally, and hitting my baby. So I -made up my mind she shouldn’t take baby out, except into the garden, and -just in front of the house. - -I said to Harry, “It’s a nice thing if we are all to be kept in terror -by a bit of a boy, who has read penny numbers, and wants to play at -being a highwayman; and something must be done.” Harry said it was all -nonsense--the boy was gone, and if he _was_ hanging about the -neighbourhood, where was he to get a pistol from? The one Harry had -taken out of his box was an old worn-out thing, and wasn’t loaded, and -he wouldn’t have the money to get another. - -I said, “Oh, I don’t know; he might steal one. I’ve read in the papers -about errand boys getting revolvers; and I shall never know a moment’s -peace till I know where that wretched boy is. A nice thing, if my nurse -goes out one day with baby, and gets shot by the young fiend.” - -So Harry went up to the police-station, and they laid a trap to catch my -lord. From something one of the policemen had heard, he believed that -one of the boys of the village was in league with Dick, and knew where -he was hiding. So Lucy was told to get hold of this boy, and tell him -that she had thought it over and altered her mind, and she wanted to -send a letter to Dick. - -The boy was sharp. He said, “I don’t know where Dick is; but, if I see -him, I’ll give it to him;” and he took the letter. The letter asked Dick -to meet Lucy at nine o’clock the next night up by Giles’s farm, which is -up at the top of a lonely road, about half a mile away from the village. - -When the time came, instead of Lucy going, one of the policemen in plain -clothes went up to the place, and hid behind a hedge. We heard all about -it afterwards. After he had waited a little, he saw Master Dick come -cautiously along, it being a nice light night, and when he was quite -close, the policeman jumped out on him; but, before he could get hold of -him, the young fiend had a revolver pointed at his head. - -“Oh, it’s a trick, is it?” he said. “I thought it was, so I’ve come -prepared.” - -“Put that down, you young varmint!” yelled the policeman. “Do you hear? -Put that down.” - -He told us afterwards he felt very nervous; for that horrid boy pointed -the revolver at him, with his finger on the trigger, and he was afraid -every minute it might go off. - -“Not me,” said the little wretch; “you’re at my mercy now.” - -“If you don’t put that pistol down,” said the policeman, beginning to be -all of a perspiration, “I’ll give you such a thrashing as you never had -in your life.” - -“Oh no, you won’t,” said the boy; “you come a step nearer to me, and -I’ll blow your brains out.” - -With that the policeman began to shout, because he saw he could do -nothing. Being a married man, and the father of a family, he didn’t care -to have a bullet in him. - -But directly he began to shout, the boy called out, “You shout again, -and I’ll shoot you dead,” and he put his finger on the trigger again, -ready to pull it. - -It was a terrible position for our policeman, and he didn’t know what to -do. There was nobody about, and he was helpless. Of course he might have -made a dash for the revolver; but, as he said, before he could get it, -it might have gone off, and then, where would he have been? - -The little wretch saw his advantage, and if he didn’t say, as cool as -you please, “Now then, Jones” (it was the same policeman who woke us up -about our door being open, the night of the burglary at The Hall),--“now -then, Jones, take off your watch and chain, and throw them on the -ground.” - -“I sha’n’t,” said the policeman. - -“Oh, very well; then I shall have to make you. I’ll count three, and if -you haven’t put them down I’ll pull the trigger.” - -“One!” - -“Two!” - -Poor Jones hesitated. It was ridiculous; but he was in mortal terror of -that deadly weapon in a boy’s hands. So he took off his watch and chain -and put them down. - -“Now, all the money you’ve got in your pockets.” - -Jones had drawn his week’s pay, and had a sovereign; but he wouldn’t say -so. - -“I haven’t got any money,” he said. - -“Yes, you have.” - -“No, I haven’t. Come, my boy, don’t make a fool of yourself. Put that -pistol down and come with me.” - -“Not likely! What do you take me for? Come, your money or your life!” - -“I haven’t got any money, I tell you.” - -“Take off your coat, then!” - -“I sha’n’t!” - -“Take off your coat, and throw it on the ground.” - -“One!” - -“Two!” - -Again the pistol was pointed straight at Jones’s head. He looked round. -It was a lonely place. The farm lay right back across the fields, and he -daren’t shout, so he didn’t know what to do. He wished he had brought -somebody with him; but it had been agreed he should go alone; because, -if several people had gone, the boy’s suspicions would have been -aroused, and he wouldn’t have come near enough to be caught perhaps. - -“If I say ‘Three,’ I’ll shoot,” said the boy. - -The policeman saw it was no use, so he took off his coat. - -“Now, your waistcoat!” - -Jones had to take off his waistcoat. - -“Turn out the pockets!” - -Jones turned out the pockets. There was only his pipe and his -handkerchief in them. - -“Now, turn out the trousers pockets.” - -Poor Jones! The sovereign was in one trousers pocket. He turned them -out; but kept the sovereign in his hand. - -But Master Dick saw the trick. - -“Drop what you’ve got in your hand!” - -“One!” - -“Two!” - -Down went the sovereign on the road. - -“Now! Right about turn. Quick march!” - -“I sha’n’t.” - -“If you don’t, I’ll shoot you.” - -“You’ll be hanged.” - -“I don’t care. I’ll die game.” - -Wasn’t it awful? But it was the stuff he had read. - -Poor Jones, who certainly is not a brave man, perhaps through having a -wife and family, had to give it up as a bad job, turned round, and began -to move slowly away. - -As soon as he had got a little distance, he turned round, and saw Master -Dick pick up the sovereign and the coat and waistcoat, and run away with -them. - -Jones turned round then, and shouted, and ran after him. - -But directly he came close, Master Dick turned round with the revolver. - -Jones hesitated. - -“If you come a step nearer, I’ll fire,” shouted the boy. - -Jones was just turning round to go away again, wondering whatever people -would say if he came back into the village in his shirt-sleeves, when, -suddenly, a man came along the road in the opposite direction, and -before the boy knew what was up, his arms were seized from behind, and -the pistol was forced out of his hand. It was Harry, who had gone up to -the place to see if anything had happened, and who had seen the last -part of the performance at a distance. - -And when they had collared the boy, and Jones had put on his coat and -waistcoat and got his sovereign back, and was walking Master Dick off to -the police-station, Harry picked up the revolver, and looked at it. - -_It was empty!_ - -Poor Jones went hot and cold, and begged Harry not to say anything about -it, because it would make him look so small; and Harry, who would have -burst out laughing if the boy hadn’t been there, promised not to tell; -and he didn’t tell anybody except me. It must have looked ridiculous. I -couldn’t help laughing at the idea myself, the policeman having to take -off his clothes, frightened by a boy with an empty revolver. - -Master Dick was taken before the magistrates, and tried for sending a -threatening letter, and being in possession of a pistol, which, it was -presumed, he had stolen from a farmer’s house in the neighbourhood, but -nothing was said by Jones about the robbery from him, and the boy was -wise enough to hold his tongue. - -We all begged hard that he mightn’t be sent to prison, because of the -evil company and the stain for life, so the magistrate sent him to a -reformatory; and I suppose he is there now. - -After that, our nursemaid felt relieved in her mind, poor girl, and so -did I. It was not a nice idea to think that Dashing Dick, the boy -highwayman, was waiting about for her with a pistol, every time she took -baby out for a walk. - -That was our first boy, and we didn’t have another. They’re more trouble -than they’re worth, especially boys that can read, and get bitten with -the romantic idea. It was all very well when they only ran away to sea; -but now that they want to be burglars and pirates and highwaymen, it’s -awful. You never know what dreadful things they’ll be up to. I knew a -boy once that stole a hundred pounds, and bought six revolvers with the -money, and stuck them all in his belt, loaded, and rode about the -country on a horse, stopping old ladies coming home from market, and -making them stand and deliver their purses, and all they had in their -baskets, and was only caught through robbing an old lady who had a -bottle of gin in her basket, which he drank, and got so drunk that he -fell off his horse, and was found lying in the road, with his head cut -open, and taken to the station. - -I’m sure the trash that’s sold to boys and girls has a lot to answer -for, for they read it at a time when their minds are influenced by it, -and they haven’t the sense to see the wickedness of it and what it leads -to. Lots of girls in service are ruined through the vile stuff they read -making them discontented, and wanting to be I don’t know what. - -It was after this awful boy of ours had turned out so badly that we -determined to have a man, and it was then that Tom Dexter came to us. He -is the odd man I was going to speak about, when I left off to tell you -the story of Dashing Dick, who wanted our nursemaid to elope with him, -and who put his love-letters in her boots when he cleaned them. Tom -Dexter was---- - - * * * * * - -Oh, Harry, dear, _do_ you really think it? Money going out of the till! -Whoever can it be? - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -_OUR ODD MAN._ - - -I told you our odd man, Tom Dexter, came to us after that awful young -scamp of a boy, who was going to be a highwayman, left. - -Mr. Wilkins wanted to recommend a man he knew, who had been ostler up in -London, but Harry said, “No, thank you, Wilkins, I’ll look out for one -myself.” It was Mr. Wilkins who recommended us the boy highwayman, so we -hadn’t much faith in his recommendations after that; though, of course, -he meant well, and only wanted to do the boy’s grandmother a good turn. - -I often think what a lot of bad turns you do sometimes to many people -through trying to do one person a good turn. I’ve heard it said over and -over again, “This comes of trying to do a man a good turn;” and it has -always been about something unpleasant having happened. - -It isn’t only that the person you try to do a good turn to brings -trouble about, but the person himself or herself--for women are as bad -as men in that respect--is generally ungrateful to you for what you’ve -done, and very often “rounds” on you, as the common expression is, and -tries to make out that you’ve done them, or I suppose I ought to say, to -be grammatical, done him or her an injury. - -“One good turn deserves another,” the proverb says; but my experience of -doing anybody a good turn is, that it very seldom gets what it deserves; -but generally the other thing. - -I recollect one place, when I was in service, where the master was a -most kind-hearted man, and a friend came to him one day, and told him a -tale about an old lady of very superior education, whose husband had -died, and left her in such reduced circumstances that if she did not -soon get something to do, she would have to go in the workhouse. The -friend told my master that this old lady was a most excellent -housekeeper, and used to looking after servants, because she had had her -own, and she spoke and wrote French, and would be very useful that way, -when there were children learning the language, to talk to them, and -give them an accent. - -“I knew her husband in business,” said the friend to master, “and you’d -be doing a deserving woman a good turn, if you could find her a -situation where her talents would be appreciated.” - -It happened just at that time that my mistress had been saying to master -that, her health being so delicate, and they having to travel about a -good deal through it, the awful London winter being too much for her, -they ought really to have a housekeeper--a person they could leave at -home, to look after the house and the servants while they were away. - -Master came home and told missus about the old lady (Mrs. Le Jeune, her -name was), and missus said that that was just the very sort of person -they wanted. Why not give her a trial? - -“Just what I was thinking myself,” said master; “only, my dear, I -thought I would consult you first.” - -He knew by experience that if he _did’nt_ consult missus first about -everything, the fat would be in the fire; for she was one of those -ladies who don’t believe that a man can do anything right, and master -used to say sometimes he wondered she let him manage his own business. -Of course he didn’t say that to us servants; but we used to hear when -they were having arguments at dinner, which was pretty often. - -It happened that just at the time master’s friend told him about Mrs. Le -Jeune, we were going to have a grand ball, and missus, who had nervous -headaches, was grumbling a good deal, and saying she couldn’t attend to -everything because of her health; so master said it would be a good -thing to have the old lady engaged at once, and then she could take a -lot of trouble off missus’s shoulders. - -But Mrs. Le Jeune, it seems, couldn’t come for some reason just then. -What it was I don’t know, but at any rate she didn’t arrive until the -afternoon of the day that the ball was to come off, and then she drove -up in a four-wheeled cab, with a big box outside, about five o’clock. - -Of course we were all sixes and sevens in the kitchen, because it was -rather a small house, and we’d had to turn the best bedroom into a -supper-room, and we’d had the upholsterer’s men about all day fitting it -up, and draping and decorating the other rooms, and we were all -topsy-turvy. - -Mrs. Le Jeune, when I let her in, told me she was the new housekeeper, -and asked to see missus. Missus had gone to lie down, so as to be right -for the evening, and had given orders that she wasn’t to be disturbed -for anybody till six o’clock, and I knew it would be bad for me if I -went and woke her up; so I said to the old lady that missus was asleep; -but I would show her to the room that was to be hers. - -She was a queer-looking old lady, certainly. She was very short, and had -a big bonnet on, and a long, black, foreign-looking cloak, and the -longest nose I think I ever saw on a woman in my life, but she spoke -like a lady certainly, but when she walked it almost made me laugh. It -wasn’t a walk--it was a little skip, and when she moved about, it was -for all the world as if she was dancing. - -When I told her missus could not see her, she said, “Oh, it is very -strange. Madam knew that I was coming, she should have arranged for my -reception; but these City people have no manners. What’s your name, -girl?” - -“Mary Jane.” - -“Mary Jane what?” - -“Mary Jane Buffham.” - -“‘Mary Jane, madam,’ you mean. Be good enough never to address me -without calling me ‘madam.’” - -“I beg your pardon, I didn’t know----” - -“Did you hear what I said to you? I can’t allow you to speak to me as if -I were your equal. I am a lady by birth and education. I have consented -to take charge of this establishment in order that it may be properly -conducted. I shall have to begin by teaching the servants how to behave -themselves, evidently. Now, send some one to carry my box and conduct me -to my apartment.” - -“Yes, madam.” - -I thought to myself, “Well, this is a nice old lady the master’s got -hold of. She and missus won’t hit it off together long;” but, of course, -it was no business of mine, so I asked one of the upholsterer’s men to -give me a hand, and we carried her box upstairs, and I showed the old -lady her room. - -It was at the top of the house, next the servants’ bedrooms. Before she -got up she was out of breath. - -“Oh!” she said, “the attics! This is an insult to which I cannot submit. -I am a lady; your master does not seem to be aware of the fact.” - -I said I didn’t know anything about that. This was the room. So I got -her box in, and gave her a candle, and left her muttering to herself, -and taking off her bonnet in front of the looking-glass, and putting on -a most wonderful cap, which she took out of the blue bonnet-box she had -carried in her hand. - -It was a big black cap, with cherries and red-currants and grapes -sticking up all over it, and she looked so odd with it on, I had to go -away, for fear I should burst out laughing, and hurt her feelings. - -In about half an hour the old lady came downstairs into the kitchen, and -everybody stared at her. It was most uncomfortable for us all to have a -strange housekeeper, and such an eccentric one, walking in right in the -middle of the preparations for a party, and beginning to missus it over -us at once, and to talk like a duchess to us. - -There were a lot of men about the kitchen, which made it worse, the -upholsterer’s men, and the confectioner’s men, who were finishing off -the things for supper, and the florist’s man with the plants and the -flowers; and when that extraordinary old lady walked in, with her -wonderful cap, and began to go on at us at once, and order us to do this -and to do that, and to say we were a common lot, and not one of us knew -how things ought to be done, I wondered what would be the end of it. - -Before the company came, master went to have a look at the ball-room to -see if everything was right, while missus was dressing, and there he -found the old lady, who had gone upstairs, and was talking to the -upholsterer’s men, who were finishing off, and telling them about how -different things were when she was young, and the men were what is -called “getting at her,” and encouraging her to talk. - -When master went in, he was quite flabbergasted to see that old lady, in -her wonderful cap, talking away, and saying this ought to be altered and -that ought to be altered, and he didn’t know who she was at first, not -recognizing her, till she came up and said-- - -“Good evening, sir; I’m just looking round to see if things are as they -should be.” - -“Oh, thank you,” said the master, hardly knowing what to say. “But I -won’t trouble you to do that.” - -“Oh, it’s no trouble,” she said; “I’m used to these affairs. If you’ll -allow me to say it, sir, I don’t care for these artificial flowers about -the place. They should be real.” - -“Perhaps so,” said master; “but if you’ll kindly stay below and look -after the servants, that is all you need do at present.” - -He was anxious to get her out of the way before missus came down, -because he guessed there would be trouble if missus found that old lady -interfering and giving orders. - -Missus was like that. She wouldn’t allow anybody to interfere with her, -and she was very touchy on the point. Once she wanted to leave the house -they were living in, and master put it in the agent’s hands and -advertised it, and a gentleman and his wife came and looked at it -several times, and everything was settled, and the deed or agreement, or -whatever you call it, was to be signed, when, the day before, the lady -who was going to take the house came to look over it again, and, going -over the drawing-room with missus, she said, “I don’t think the colour -of your curtains harmonizes with the paper. When I have the house, I -shall have the curtains such and such a colour.” - -That was enough for missus. She fired up directly, and said, “Oh, I’m -sorry I didn’t consult you when I was putting my curtains up, but the -colour suits me well enough, and you won’t alter it, because you won’t -have the house!” - -And then there were a few words, and the lady thought it best to retire. - -That night, when the master came home, missus told him that she’d -changed her mind, and she wouldn’t leave the house, and the agreement -wasn’t to be signed. - -“Oh, but, my dear,” said master, “everything is in the lawyer’s hands, -and the place is as good as let. We can’t back out of it now.” - -“You’ll have to back out of it,” said missus, “for I’m not going to let -that woman have my house. She’s had the impudence to find fault with my -taste, and to tell me what she’s going to do, and so she sha’n’t come in -at all--so there now!” - -And all master could say was no good. Missus declared she’d never go -into another house alive, and, for the sake of peace and quietness, -master had to refuse to sign the agreement at the last moment. - -There was an awful row about it, I heard, and the other gentleman was -very indignant, but it was no use. It was more than master dared do to -sign the agreement, knowing what his wife was, and he couldn’t be made -to, legally, so the other people had to give way after lawyer’s letters -had passed. - -And one day, when missus met the other lady in an omnibus going to -Regent Street, she said to her, “My curtains are still blue, madam;” and -the other lady called to the conductor to stop the omnibus, and she paid -her fare, and got out. - -Knowing how missus was, you may be sure the master was in a fright about -the new housekeeper interfering. There would have been a nice scene, -and, with the company beginning to arrive, he didn’t want that. - -So he said to the waiter who was had in--the man we always had for -dinner-parties and balls--“Waters,” he said, “for Heaven’s sake, keep -that old woman downstairs. Do anything you like, only keep her -downstairs.” - -“All right; sir,” said Waters. And he got the old lady to sit down in -the breakfast-room, and keep guard over the provisions and the wine that -were put out for the musicians’ supper, and made out it was very -important she should be there, as she was to see that nobody came in and -helped themselves. - -She saw that nobody did, but _she_ helped _herself_, and by the time the -ball was in full swing the poor old lady had drunk so much wine, she was -quite silly, and presently began to get lively, and, feeling lonely, I -suppose, she went upstairs to stand in the hall and see the fun, though -she had to lean up against the wall a good deal, the wine having got in -her head. - -I can’t tell you the trouble we had with her; but the end of it was she -suddenly made her appearance in the ball-room with her cap very much on -one side, and her face very flushed, and said, “Where’s Mr. ---- [naming -the master]? I have a communication to make to him.” - -Master was horrified, and missus said, “Good gracious, who is this -person?” - -“Person, madam?” said the new housekeeper, “I’d have you to know I’m a -real lady, which is more than you are.” - -She made as if she would come across to missus, but she staggered, and -fell into the arms of a very stout old gentleman, and put her arms round -his neck, and began to have hysterics, and the waiter and master had to -get her away by main force between them, the company almost bursting -with laughter. - -Master was in an awful rage, and said he’d turn her out there and then, -but he couldn’t in her condition, and so two of us girls got her -upstairs and put her to bed, and we thought she’d go off to sleep; but -just as the company had sat down to supper in the bedroom, which had -been turned into a supper-room, she appeared with a candle in her hand, -like Lady Macbeth, and no cap on, only her bald head, looking the most -extraordinary figure you ever saw in your life, and asked if there was a -doctor present, as she felt very ill, and was liable to heart attacks if -not taken in time. - -Master and the waiter had to get her out again; but missus was in a -terrible rage about it, and went on at master before all the company, -saying he ought to be ashamed of himself, bringing such a creature into -the house. And the rest of the party was quite spoilt, missus going off -to bed herself in a temper, saying she had a bad headache, and master -was so worried that he took a little more champagne than was good for -him, and slipped up dancing, and hit his eye against a rout seat, and -made it so bad he was disfigured for the rest of the evening, and went -and hid himself down in the breakfast-room till the company were gone, -which they soon were, as everything was upset, and it got awkward. - -The next day when the old lady got up, about ten o’clock, she came down -and ordered her breakfast, and was beginning to missus it again, and say -what she was going to do, and how she was going to keep missus in her -place, when master came and told her to be off. He gave her ten -shillings, and ordered her box to be brought down and put on a cab, and -told her she was a wicked old woman, and she ought to be ashamed of -herself. - -She refused to go at first, saying she was engaged for three months, and -she wanted three months’ money. But she was got into the cab at last, -and we were all very thankful to see the last of her. - -But she sent master a County Court summons for three months’ wages, and -he had no end of trouble with her. And through going and giving his -friend, who had recommended her, a bit of his mind, they quarrelled, and -never spoke again; and missus, having put herself in such a rage the -night before, and gone to bed, got up cross the next morning, wild with -herself and everybody else, and had an awful quarrel with her mother, -who was very rich, and who reprimanded her for being so passionate, and -it caused such a coldness between them that, when a year after the -mother died, it was found she had altered her will, and left all her -money to charitable institutions, and master reckoned that he was twenty -thousand pounds out through doing a friend a good turn in giving that -old lady a job, besides all the worry and annoyance and the -unpleasantness that had come of it. - -It was writing about Mr. Wilkins and his doing the boy-highwayman’s -grandmother a good turn that put this story into my head; but, of -course, it happened while I was in service, and has nothing to do with -the ‘Stretford Arms.’ - -Mr. Wilkins was very sorry, I know, and we didn’t blame him; but we -weren’t going to let him do anybody else a good turn at our expense. So -Harry looked out for man, and having heard of one who was in want of a -job, named Tom Dexter, and liking his manner, and what he had heard -about him, he took him on, and a better servant we never had. - -Tom was about fifty, a fine, burly fellow; but his hair was quite grey, -and his face wrinkled. It was trouble, as we found out afterwards, that -had given him such an old look. - -Tom was soon a great favourite with us all, and it was quite a pleasure -to ask him to do anything; he was so willing. The customers liked him, -too; and he soon began to do very well, because, being so civil and -obliging, he got good tips. And one great thing about him was, he was a -strict teetotaller. - -I dare say you’ll laugh at a licensed victualler’s wife praising a man -for being a teetotaller, because if everybody were teetotallers our -trade wouldn’t have been what it was; but I must say with servants it is -a great thing when they are teetotallers, especially servants about a -place where drink is easy to get. - -Tom was quite a character in his way, being full of odd sayings, and -very sharp at reckoning people up in a minute. Harry used to say that -directly Tom had cleaned a man’s boots he knew his character, but I do -not go so far as that, though certainly he was able to tell what people -would be like, almost directly he saw them. - -When anybody new came, Tom would carry their luggage upstairs, and, for -fun, Harry would say sometimes, “Well, Tom, what’s this lot’s -character?” Tom would say, “Grumblers, sir,” or “troublesome,” or -“mean,” or “jolly,” or something else, as the case might be, and he -wasn’t often wrong. Sometimes he would say, “Wait till I’ve had their -boots through my hands, sir.” And it was very rarely after that that he -hesitated. He used to declare that a man’s boots told a lot about him, -and once he tried to explain to me how it was with the boots he was -cleaning, for an example. It wasn’t only the shape, but it was the way -they were worn at the heels, and the condition of them, and the way he -found them put outside the door, and all that. It was a curious idea, -but I dare say living among boots, so to speak, and seeing the different -varieties, makes you notice little things that other people wouldn’t. - -Tom had been with us six months before I knew what his story was, for -about himself he never had very much to say. Harry was chaffing him -about making a fortune. He was doing so well in tips, and not spending -anything, and, having nobody, so far as we knew, to keep, Harry said he -would be taking a public-house and setting up in opposition to us. - -Tom smiled, and said, “Not likely, sir.” And one thing led to another, -till he told us why he was a teetotaller, and what he was saving his -money up for. - -It seems he had had a wife, who had been a great trouble to him--not at -first, because they were very happy, and married for love. Tom was in a -good situation in London when they married, and he got a comfortable -home together, having always been a hard-working, saving fellow. - -He was about thirty when he married, and his wife was ten years younger, -so they were a very good match. After they had been married about ten -years, and had got two nice children--a boy and a girl--a great trouble -came. The little boy was the mother’s favourite, and she doted on him, -as mothers will. But when the boy was a nice age, and growing into a -sturdy little fellow, he caught the scarlet fever of some other -children, and, in spite of everything that could be done for him, he -died. - -It nearly turned the poor mother’s brain, and I can quite understand it, -for, oh! what should I do, if anything happened to my little one? Tom -was nearly broken-hearted too; but, as he said, he had his work to go to -every day, and that took his mind off his trouble. But it is so -different for the woman, who has to be alone with her grief in the -house, where everything reminds her of her lost one, and where she -misses him every minute. - -Tom came home always, directly his work was over, and he put on a -cheerful face, and tried to get his wife to talk of something else, but -she always came back to the one subject that was on her mind--her boy. -Then Tom tried to do her good by taking her out to places of amusement -now and then, and on Saturday evening they would go to a play, or a -music-hall; but it was all no good. He would see his wife’s face change -all of a sudden, and he would know that her thoughts were far away from -the noise and the glare, and the smoke and the smiling faces round her; -far away in the great cemetery, where her little boy lay buried. - -Tom putting his big, rough hand across his eyes as he told me this, it -brought the tears into mine. Poor woman! it must be so dreadful, when -your life ought to be at its best, to be haunted like that. - -Well, at last she got so melancholy and absent-minded that Tom saw it -was no good taking her out, and he was quite unhappy about it. She loved -him, and she loved her little girl, but she was one of those people who, -when sorrow comes, haven’t the strength of mind to battle with it, but -nurse it, and pamper it, and encourage it, giving themselves over body -and soul to it, and brooding night and day, instead of making an effort -to throw it off. - -The home, which had once been so spick and span, now began to look dirty -and untidy; the little girl was neglected, and when Tom came home if was -a very different place that he came to from what it used to be. - -He didn’t like to say much to the poor, broken-hearted woman; but he was -only a man, and at last began to grumble a little, because things were -going from bad to worse, and his home was really going to rack and ruin. - -She didn’t say anything when he grumbled. She only cried, and that upset -Tom awfully, so he said, “Come, come, missus, I didn’t mean to be -unkind. Kiss me, and make it up. I know your poor heart’s broke, my -lass, but life’s got to be lived, you know, my dear, and sorrows will -come. Let’s make the best of it, instead of the worst. We’ve got each -other, and we’ve got our little girl, God bless her, and we must be -thankful for the blessings we’ve got, instead of grieving over those -we’ve lost.” - -Tom’s wife sighed, and said, in a weary sort of a way, she’d try; and -she did try for a week or two, and Tom’s home was a little better; but -after that she dropped back again into her old listless state, and -nothing seemed to rouse her. - -And then Tom made an awful discovery. The poor woman was doing what -hundreds have done before--drinking to drown her sorrow, drinking -quietly, never getting drunk, but only dazed and helpless. - -He was nearly broken-hearted when he found it out, and he went down on -his knees and prayed to her for God’s sake to give it up, or it would be -ruin for all of them. But she didn’t seem to care now even for him, and -his reproaches and prayers and entreaties only made her more miserable, -and then she took more drink than ever. - -He didn’t tell me all he went through for two or three years after that, -but it must have been awful for him to do what he did. She ruined him, -brought him down till his home was sold up. It’s a common enough -story--the drinking wife or the drinking husband that ruins the home, -and you can read about it in the police cases almost every day. -Sometimes it comes to murder, for a man who is a decent, hard-working -fellow goes mad when he gets together home after home, only to see each -go to pieces, wrecked by the dreadful drink, and his children, that he -is proud of and loves, running the streets ragged and neglected. - -But it was doubly sad in our odd man’s case, poor fellow, because the -thing that brought it about was the mother’s love for her little one. He -had lost his child, and through that he lost his wife and his home. - -He found at last that all his trying was no good. If he didn’t give his -wife money to get the drink she pawned his things, and what she couldn’t -pawn she sold. She ran him into debt and got him into difficulties -everywhere, and he was driven mad when he saw his life and her life -being wrecked in such a dreadful way. - -It was too much for him at last, and then he grew desperate. One night, -when he came home and found the place stripped and his wife in a drunken -sleep, he went out himself, and, meeting a friend, they went to the -public-house together, and Tom had a glass of brandy to steady his -nerves, and then he had another, and then--well, and then he took to -drink too--drank hard himself to drown _his_ trouble, and then the end -came quickly. He was dismissed from his place for drunkenness, a place -he had had for twenty years, and that week he was homeless--homeless, -with a drunken wife and a delicate child, and, as he said, it might have -been so different. - -Oh, that “might have been!” What a lot it means in our lives! - -When Tom got to this part of his story, he broke down at last. “You -mustn’t mind me, ma’am,” he said; “but I can’t think of that awful time -even now without a shudder. The first night that I slept in the casual -ward, and lay awake and thought the past over, I thought I should have -gone mad. I made up my mind that the next day I’d go to one of the -bridges and drown myself. - -“And then I thought, What would become of my poor little girl and that -poor misguided woman if I was dead? - -“I was the only hope they had in the world. Then I said to myself, -‘Perhaps, now things are at the worst, they will mend. There may be a -chance of my poor lass coming to her senses now she sees what she’s -brought us all to. At any rate, she can’t get any drink now, and the -break may be the means of curing her.’” - -“And was it, Tom?” I said, for I was getting interested in his story, -and I knew something must have happened to change his luck, as they call -it, or he wouldn’t be our odd man now, so cheerful, and so contented and -respectable. - -“Well, ma’am, it didn’t all come right at once. We’d a good deal to go -through before things began to mend. My wife----” - -“Is your wife alive, Tom?” I said, interrupting him. - -“I hope so, ma’am.” - -“You hope so! Don’t you know?” - -“No, ma’am--that’s the sad part of the story. That’s what I’m coming to. -When we left the casual ward the next day----” - - * * * * * - -No. 17 going--given you a cheque for his bill. Let me see it. That’s a -good bank, but I don’t think I ought to take a cheque. But if I say I -won’t, it’s like suspecting the gentleman of being a swindler. His -luggage is very respectable. Dear me, I wish Harry was here. -Something’s sure to crop up just because he’s gone down for two days to -see his mother. It’s only ten pounds odd. I suppose I’d better take it. -All right; receipt the bill. Oh, dear, I hope it’s all right. Harry will -think me so stupid if it isn’t. I shall have that cheque on my mind, -night and day, till it’s paid. I don’t think I’ll take it. Susan, Susan, -bring that bill back. What! you’ve given it to the gentleman? He’s got -his bill receipted? Dear, dear, I don’t think I can refuse now. Well, I -hope it will be all right. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -_TOM DEXTER’S WIFE._ - - -The worst of anybody who is not a regular author or authoress trying to -write out incidents of their life, or things that they know about which -they think will be interesting, is that there is always some -interruption or other just as one is getting to the point. - -When I was writing my “Memoirs” as a servant, of course, it was -dreadful, for anybody who knows anything about it knows how little time -a servant gets to herself, and when she does have a quiet half-hour to -sit still in the kitchen, writing is out of the question, because there -is no quiet if you are with other servants; and if you are by yourself -there is sure to be plenty for you to do. - -How I ever managed to get those “Memoirs” done at all will always be a -mystery to me; and the more I look back on the difficulties I had to -encounter, the more wonderful it seems. - -When I began to put down things about our life and adventures in the -‘Stretford Arms,’ I thought to myself, “Now I am my own mistress, I -shall be able to have a quiet hour now and then, and to take more -trouble with my composition;” but, bless you, I am not sure that I am -not worse off, so far as authorship is concerned, now than when I was a -servant. - -I declare I never get a real quiet hour, for there is always something -to be seen to, or somebody wanting to see me; and if it isn’t that, it’s -baby or Harry. - -To tell you the truth, I sometimes think Harry is a little jealous of my -writing. I don’t mean jealous in a bad sense; but, from one or two -remarks he has let drop, he doesn’t like my going and shutting myself -away and writing. He says when we have half an hour to spare we might as -well spend it together. - -Of course I am always glad to have a quiet hour with my husband, but -it’s no good my trying to write while he’s in the room. He will keep on -talking to me, and nothing will stop him; and if he doesn’t speak, I -think every minute that he is going to, and that’s worse, for it makes -me nervous and fidgety, and the ideas all get mixed up in my head -together, and I can’t tell my story straightforward, as I always like to -do. - -Sometimes it is a whole fortnight before I get a chance of writing -anything in my book that I keep, and it has been even longer than that. - -This is what a real author or authoress never has to put up with. I -believe, from what I’ve heard, that they have a beautiful room full of -dictionaries for the hard words and the foreign words, and maps hung all -round the room, and they sit in it all day long quite quiet, and nobody -is allowed to come in and interrupt. - -I should think anybody could write like that. It must be very easy, if -you’ve got anything in you at all. But it’s very different when you’ve -got a house, and an hotel, and servants, and a baby, and a husband to -look after, and if you take your eyes off for a minute, something is -bound to go wrong. - -Once or twice while I have been sitting in my own room writing, having -given orders that I was not to be disturbed, something has gone wrong, -and Harry has said, “You were writing your book, I suppose;” and I’ve -said, “Yes”; and then he’s said, “It’s my opinion, my dear, that if you -don’t make haste and finish that book, that book will finish us.” - -Of course to anybody who hates what they call “pens and ink”--and some -people do, like poison--writing seems dreadfully silly and a waste of -time; and I’m afraid that Harry, with all his good qualities, hasn’t -much respect for literature. He certainly hasn’t the slightest idea how -difficult it is to write. I once said to him that I believed he thought -I could make out a bill with one hand and write my “Memoirs” with the -other, and talk to a customer at the same time, and all he said was, -“Why not?” - -“Why not!” It really made me so cross I could have cried with vexation; -for it was just when I had got in rather a muddle with my book about the -‘Stretford Arms,’ finding that the housemaid had taken a lot of pages -that I had written notes on and lighted the fire with them, and I -couldn’t for the life of me remember what the notes were. - -All I remembered that was on them was some things I had taken down about -Tom Dexter, our odd man, the one whose story I began to tell you when I -was interrupted; but what the others were it was weeks before I -remembered, and I quite wore myself out trying to think. - -If there is one thing that annoys me more than another, it is trying to -think of something I particularly want to think of and can’t. - -Sometimes Harry will say, “What was the name of that man, or that woman, -or that gentleman, or that lady,” as the case may be; and if I can’t -think of it, it worries me all day, and I keep saying, perhaps, dozens -of names, and not the right one; and after the house is closed and we’re -gone to bed, it keeps me awake, and I keep on saying names over and over -till Harry gets quite wild, and says, “Oh, bother the name! Do go to -sleep, my dear. I want to be up at six to-morrow morning.” - -Then I leave off trying to think the name out loud, and I think it to -myself, and perhaps, after about an hour’s agony, I suddenly recollect -it, and then I’m obliged to get it off my mind by waking Harry up and -telling it him before I forget it. - -It’s bad enough with a name, but it’s worse with a thing. I remember -once in service tying a piece of cotton round my finger to remind me to -do something that I particularly didn’t want to forget, and I went to -bed with the cotton on my finger, and never thought any more about it -until the next afternoon, and then I was a whole day trying to remember -what I’d tied the cotton round my finger for; and go mad over it I -really thought I should, it kept me on such tenter-hooks all the time. - -What was in the notes that stupid girl destroyed I don’t suppose I -shall ever remember: that is, not anything worth remembering. - -The notes about our odd man, of course, I recollected, because they -didn’t matter, he being in our service still at the time, and I could -get all I wanted about him by talking to him. - -When I was interrupted I had told you as far as where he went into the -casual ward, with his wife and little girl, and how he came out. - -It must have been a dreadful experience for him, poor fellow, seeing -that it was not his own fault that the misery and ruin had come to him, -after years of hard work. - -When he got out of the casual ward, he and his wife and child walked -along the streets, and his wife began to cry and to say it was all her -fault, and she had brought him to it, and if she was dead he would be a -happier man. - -He tried to comfort her, and said it was no use talking about being -dead. She could make him much happier by living, if she’d only give up -the dreadful drink. He said they couldn’t go much lower than they’d got; -now was the time to begin to go up again. If he tried and got work, -would she keep straight, so that they could get a home together again? - -“No; she knew she couldn’t,” she said. “It was no use. If she ever got -any money again, she knew the temptation would be too strong for -her--she’d tried over and over again to stop herself, and it was no use. -She’d go away and leave Tom free, and then he might have a chance, and -perhaps, some day, it might all come right; but she was sure, if she -stopped with him, she would only keep him down as low as he was now, and -perhaps bring him to worse, for she might bring him to crime.” - -Tom didn’t argue any more with her, because it was no use: she was in -that weak, low, dreadful state that people are in who have drunk a great -deal and then can’t get it. Sometimes, in cases I have known of the -sort, I’ve thought it would be a mercy, if people with that awful curse -upon them, settled themselves quickly, for the sake of their friends and -relations and those about them. If they are treated very skilfully when -force is used to make them leave off, or if they are kept where they -can’t get anything, and taken very great care of, they may, and do -sometimes, get cured; but, as a rule, all the trouble and anxiety are of -no use, and the dreadful end comes. - -I have known such sad cases--most people in our line do know of -them--that my heart has bled to think about them. It is such an awful -thing--that slow, deliberate suicide by drink, those awful living -wrecks, hardly human in their horribleness, that the poor victims of the -disease--for it must be a disease--become. - -I thought of what I knew while Tom Dexter was telling me his story, and -I quite understood what an awful position it was for a man to be placed -in: loving his wife as he did, and she loving him, and it all having -come about through her grief at the loss of her boy, made it doubly -terrible. - -Really, it makes you shudder sometimes when you think what awful -tragedies there are in some people’s lives; and oh, how thankful we -ought to be who live peacefully and happily, and never know the dark and -awful side that there is to life! - -Tom told me that he himself almost gave up when he heard his wife talk -like that, and the thought came into his head that it would be much -better if they all three went to some nice quiet part of the canal, that -was near where they were, and dropped in, and then there would be no -more trouble for any of them. - -He was thinking that when, as they were walking along, he met an old -friend of his that he hadn’t seen for a long time--a man that had worked -with him, but had married a widow who kept a public-house, and was now -well off. - -He saw that things were bad with Tom at a glance--he saw it by his face -and his clothes, and the clothes of his wife and child; but he was a -good fellow, and instead of passing by on the other side, as many would -have done, he came up to Tom, and took his hand, and said, “Hullo, old -fellow! I’m sorry to see you under water. What does it mean?” - -Tom stopped a minute and talked to him, and told him as well as he could -without “rounding on his missus,” as he called it, and then his friend -said, “Well, Tom, I’m awfully sorry, old fellow. Look here! let me lend -you a couple of sovereigns, and you can pay me back as soon as you get a -bit straight.” - -The tears came into Tom’s eyes, and his throat swelled up; but, before -he could say anything, his friend had turned off sharp and gone away. - -Tom showed the sovereigns to his wife, and said, “There, my lass, look -at that! there’s a chance for us to make another start. It’s a bit of -good luck, and it’s a good omen; it means what the old proverb says, -that when things are at the worst they will mend. Let us both try; we’ve -had a rough lesson, and if we’ve learnt it, perhaps it will be all the -better for us for the rest of our lives.” - -Tom’s wife didn’t say anything, but only turned her head away. - -That night he got a bit of a lodging for himself and his wife and his -child, and he went to bed full of hope and faith in the future, and he -determined the first thing in the morning to get out and look for work. - -But when he woke up in the morning his wife was gone. She had got up -quietly, while he was fast asleep, and had gone away, and left a bit of -a note saying she was sure she should bring him to ruin again, and she -didn’t want to do it now he had another chance. For his own sake and the -sake of the child it was better he should be rid of her, for she was -only a burden and a curse to him. If ever she cured herself, and felt -that she could trust herself, she would come back to him; but if she -didn’t, it was just as well he should never know what had become of her. - -It was an awful letter for poor Tom to find just as everything looked so -promising, and it dashed his hopes to the ground and made him very -miserable. - -He told me that when he read that letter he felt so low that the -temptation came to him to go out and drink to drown his trouble and -black thoughts that came into his mind. Then he thought of the little -girl--the poor little girl, that had suffered so much already--and he -made up his mind that he would do his duty by her, and be father and -mother to her both, now her mother had gone away and left her; and he -knelt down by her bed-side where she was fast asleep, and made a vow -that he would never touch a drop of drink again as long as he lived. - -He spent the whole of the first day trying to find some trace of his -wife, but it was no good. Nobody knew them where they had taken the -lodging, and no one had noticed the woman go away. He had a dreadful -idea that she would kill herself, and he went to the police-station, and -everywhere he could think of for days after that, to find out if anybody -had been found in the water; or anything of the sort. - -But while he was doing this he looked for work too, and after two days -he got taken on for a short time at some works, and, when that job was -over, he got another to help in a mews; and then, through somebody that -knew him, he got a better place offered him down in the country at a -little hotel, but it was one where he would have to sleep on the -premises. - -By this time he had given up all hope of tracing his wife, for he had -been unable to find out anything concerning her, and now he was worried -what to do about his little girl. He couldn’t take her into the country, -because there would be no home for her, and, besides, there would be -nobody to look after her. - -But his good luck, which had never failed since those two sovereigns got -him out of the difficulty, came to his aid now. He was able to get his -little girl into a capital school, where she would be educated and -trained for domestic service, and he felt it was the best thing for her -to grow up like that under proper control, and with good people; and, -though he felt parting with her very much, he was glad to think she -would be so well cared for, and get such a good start in life. - -When he had said good-bye to his little girl, and taken her to the -school, which was a little way out of London, he felt that he was really -making a fresh start. He went to his place, and was there till the house -was given up as an hotel and turned into something else, and then, with -a good character, he went to another place as outdoor man, and it was -from this place that Harry, who had heard of him when he was inquiring -for a trustworthy man, took him, and he came to us. - -I didn’t know all his story at first, because he didn’t know it himself -then. The most wonderful part of it happened after he was with us. - -I knew he must make a good bit of money, because most of the visitors -gave him something when they left, as he put their luggage on to the fly -if they had one, and if they didn’t he wheeled it up to the station; and -as he never drank, and was very careful, and hardly seemed to spend -anything, I wondered what he was doing with his money. - -But one day he told me that he was putting it all in the bank, and -saving it, so that he might have a good home for his little girl when -she was old enough to come home; and if she went into service, then it -would be for her when he died or when she married. - -“And you know, sometimes, ma’am,” he said, “I think that I may hear of -my wife again. I often lie awake at night and wonder what’s become of -her, and then the thought will come into my head that we may come -together again. God’s mercy is very wonderful, and He brings strange -things to pass. Oh, if I could only find her, and have my home again, as -it used to be!” - -“Poor fellow!” I said to myself; “he will go on thinking that all his -life, and it will never happen.” - -I thought so much of poor Tom Dexter and his story that I told Harry all -about it, and while I was telling him, Mr. Wilkins was in the parlour. -Somehow or other Mr. Wilkins had never taken to Tom--he was the only -person about the place that hadn’t; but, after all, it was only human -nature, because we had taken Tom on instead of somebody Mr. Wilkins -wanted to recommend after Dashing Dick had turned out so dreadfully. - -Harry said it was a very sad story, and he felt very sorry for Tom, and -was glad he had got hold of him; but Mr. Wilkins was nasty, and said, he -dare say that it was six of one and half-a-dozen of the other, for it -was generally the husband’s fault if the wife turned out badly. - -I defended Tom heartily, and Mr. Wilkins and me had a few words, -because he presumes a little sometimes. What put me out was his saying -that he thought I’d better not put Tom’s story in my book, as very -likely it was all a pack of lies. That made me say I knew very well what -to put in my book without Mr. Wilkins’s advice, and one thing led to -another, till Mr. Wilkins put on his hat and coat and went off in a -huff; but not before he had been very objectionable about the Scotch -whiskey, trying to make out it was not as good as usual, and talking -about his having noticed that the spirits were of an inferior quality -lately. - -That put my back up, and I said I was very sorry that our spirits were -not good enough for Mr. Wilkins; but, of course, if we lost his -patronage we should try and bear up with Christian resignation under the -loss. - -I know it was very wrong of me to say that, because in our business you -must always keep your temper, and try to please customers and not offend -them. And Mr. Wilkins is really an important local man in his way, and -might, if he left us and went to the other house, take a few of the -local people with him, though I may say without pride, and not wishing -to run my neighbours down, that as the other house is quite a common -sort of place, and more used by waggoners and labourers, and with only a -very common tap-room, that there wouldn’t be any grave danger of Mr. -Wilkins stopping away long, if he did go. - -Still, it was not my place to be rude to him, and I never should have -been, but for his presuming so much about my “Memoirs.” It wasn’t the -first time he had done it, as I have told you before; though, of course, -in his heart he meant no harm. Poor old gentleman, it was only his -ignorance! - -Why I have mentioned about my little difference with Mr. Wilkins is to -explain how Tom Dexter and his story got impressed on his mind. It was -through this that one day Mr. Wilkins came to me with the _Morning -Advertiser_, which he had borrowed from our coffee-room, in his hand, -and he said, “I say, Mrs. Beckett, just look at this advertisement.” - -I took it and read it, and I said, “Dear me, I wonder if it’s the -same?” - -The advertisement was this:-- - -“Thomas Dexter, formerly of ---- Street, London, if alive, is requested -to communicate with Mrs. Lyons, such and such an address, London.” - -Of course Mr. Wilkins must have his joke, and say what nonsense to say -“if alive,” as if Thomas Dexter could communicate with anybody if he was -dead; but I didn’t take any notice of him, but went straight out to the -stables, where Tom was at work, and showed him the advertisement. - -He stared at it, and said, “That’s me, right enough, ma’am, for that’s -the street we used to live in before things went wrong.” - -“What does it mean, Tom?” I said. - -“What does it mean, ma’am?” he said, his face quite bright with -happiness; “why, it means that my prayer’s been answered, and that I’m -going to hear of my wife again, after all these years.” - -“Tom, my good fellow,” I said, “I’m sure I hope it is so, and I don’t -want to dispirit you, but don’t build on it too much, for fear it should -be something else. It might be--well, it might be to tell you----” - -I hesitated to say what was in my mind. - -“To tell me she’s dead! No, ma’am, it ain’t that, I’m sure of it. It’s -to tell me she’s alive and cured, and ready for the home as I’ve been -saving up to give her all these years.” - -He was so sure, that I didn’t argue with him any more, but I asked him -what he was going to do, and he said, “Write to the address at once.” - -I got him a sheet of paper and an envelope, and I helped him to compose -the letter, for I was quite anxious to know the result. It was only to -say that Tom Dexter was at the ‘Stretford Arms’ Hotel. - -I told Tom to go and post the letter himself, and he did; and all that -evening and the next day we were quite excited. I don’t know which was -the worst, Tom or me. I could see what a state of mind he was in, though -he didn’t show it so much outwardly. For the first time he made a -mistake with the luggage, and in the morning he got wrong with the -boots, having actually taken them from the doors without chalking the -numbers on, and a nice state of confusion it was, for our hotel happened -to be quite full at the time, there being a grand ball at a mansion in -the neighbourhood the night before, and we having had to put up some of -the guests, and that, with our other visitors had filled us quite up. - -But I forgave him, though mixing the boots is a dreadful thing in an -hotel, and has been done sometimes as a trick in a big hotel by young -fellows for a lark, and all the bells have been ringing in the morning, -and gentlemen swearing, wanting to catch trains, and everybody having -the wrong boots. - -Tom was awfully sorry, and couldn’t think how he could have been so -foolish, but I knew; and between us we got the boots right, being able -to guess fairly well, some being patents and some lace-ups and heavies, -and you can generally tell the patent-leather customers from the others -by their general appearance. - -All that day I was on tenter-hooks, and I wasn’t right till the next -morning, and when the post came in there was a letter for “Mr. Dexter.” -I took it to Tom myself, and my heart almost stood still while he opened -it. - -“Tain’t her writing, ma’am, on the envelope,” he said; and his lip -trembled as he tore the envelope open clumsily, as people do who don’t -often have letters. - -He opened it at last and got the letter out, a bit torn in opening the -envelope. He looked at it hard a minute; then he dropped it, and his -face went blood-red, then deadly white. Then he put his hands up over -his face, and cried like a child. - -“Tom,” I said, “my poor Tom! Tell me, is she----” - -“It’s all right, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve expected it; but it took me a -bit aback. She’s alive and well, and she’s waiting for me--waiting to -show me that she’s the good, loving little woman of the dear old -days--waiting for her husband and her daughter, and the home that she’s -going to be the light of and the joy of, please God, for all the rest of -her life!” - - * * * * * - -Tom Dexter and his wife and their little girl--not very little now--are -in a happy home. Tom left us, and sorry were we to part with him, and -he with us; but it was his wife’s wish that they should be together, and -she was housekeeper to the lady who had saved her from ruin, and made a -new woman of her, and wanted her always to live near her. - -After she left Tom, she had gone away to drown herself, and had been -taken by the police for trying to do so, but had given a false name to -the magistrate, and Tom had heard nothing about it. A lady was in court, -and had promised to look after the poor woman, if she was given up to -her, and, after a week’s remand, this was done. Tom’s wife didn’t tell -the lady she was married, but said she was a widow; and the lady took -her to be her servant, and tried to wean her from the drink. She had -lost a sister from it, and devoted her life to good work, as some people -do who have a great sorrow. - -It was hard work, for Mrs. Dexter fretted about her husband and her lost -home now, and the temptation would come, and then, somehow or other, she -would get the drink. - -But the lady would not turn her away; she was grieved, but she -determined to try and try again, and at last a whole year went by and -Tom’s wife had kept the pledge she had made. - -But she then felt, if she was to go back to her husband, and have her -liberty, she might break down again. - -She was afraid of herself. - -She said she would try another year, and she did, and then she felt -safe; and one day she told her mistress all her story, and how strong -the yearning had come upon her for her husband and her home again. - -And then the lady put that advertisement in the paper, and Tom and his -wife came together again, as he always believed they would, and now -there isn’t a happier home in all England. - -Tom works on the lady’s estate, and is a great favourite with her, and -he has a cottage all his own, with roses and a big garden, and only the -other day he sent me the loveliest pumpkin of his own growing, and with -it was a letter from his wife thanking me for---- - - * * * * * - -The beer sour! Who says so? Mr. Wilkins? Let me taste it. So it is; it’s -the thunderstorm. I suppose the whole lot’s gone wrong. Harry! Harry! -Where’s your master? Up in the billiard-room? Good gracious! isn’t that -billiard-table fitted up yet? The men have been at it all day! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -_A LOVE STORY._ - - -If there is one thing that is unpleasant in a small hotel, it is to have -anybody very ill in it. I dare say it is unpleasant in a big hotel; but -there it isn’t noticed so much, as, of course, nothing is noticed much -in a large place, which makes up hundreds of beds every night. - -A gentleman, who used to stay with us now and then--an artist, who had -been all over the world nearly, and every year went away abroad--was -very fond of gossiping with us of an evening, and he told me a lot about -these big hotels, which was very interesting, and especially so to Harry -and myself, we being in the hotel business, though, of course, only in a -small way, compared with the huge concerns that call themselves Grand -Hotel Something or other, and are small towns. - -Mr. Stuart--that was the artist’s name who stayed with us--said that he -hated these huge hotels, because you were only a number; that you ceased -to be a human being, and became No. 367 or No. 56 or No. 111, as the -case might be, and if you were ill, or if you died, it was all the same -to the management. He said he always had visions of lying ill in one of -these places, and hearing somebody call down the speaking-tube outside -in the corridor, “Doctor wanted, No. 360,” and perhaps after that, -“Coffin wanted, No. 360.” And if ever he felt the least bit ill he -always got out of a big hotel as quickly as possible, and went to a -small one, so as to leave off being a number, and become a human being -again. - -He said it was bad enough in the big hotels in our country, but abroad -it was something awful to be ill in them. He had a friend of his taken -very ill in Italy, in a Grand Hotel, and he used to go and sit with him -and try to cheer him up, and he said directly he began to be ill and it -was thought he was going to die, the hotel tariff went up about two -hundred per cent. for everything. The poor gentleman died in the hotel, -and the friends had to be telegraphed for to come and settle up, and a -nice settle up it was. Not only was the bill something terrible--such a -thing as a cup of beef-tea being about five shillings, and double and -treble charged for every little thing in the way of refreshment for the -invalid, brought up into the room--but, after the poor gentleman was -dead, the manager of the hotel sent the friends in a bill, charging them -for the bed, the bed-linen, the curtains, the carpets, and the -furniture, and even the wall-paper. - -When Mr. Stuart told me that, I said, “Good gracious! whatever for?” And -then he explained to me that it is the custom in some of the countries -in the South of Europe to be awfully afraid of death--especially in -Naples, where the poor gentleman died--and everybody shrinks away from -death; the friends leaving the poor invalid to die alone, with only a -priest in the room, even though the dying person has all his senses -about him; and after there has been death in a room no one will touch -anything that has been in it, and so everything is given away or sold -cheap to the poor, and everything is had in new, even the walls being -stripped and all new paper put on them. - -You may be sure in a Grand Hotel in these places the refurnishing is -made as expensive as possible, because it is all put down in the -corpse’s friends’ bill. - -Mr. Stuart--or, as we got to call him, after he’d stayed at the -‘Stretford Arms’ Hotel several times, “The Traveller”--when he found -that Harry and I were interested in these things about hotels abroad, -and the ways of the people, told us a lot of things, and I put them down -in my book, thinking perhaps they would be useful to me some day. - -What brought it up about people dying in hotels, was our having a young -lady very, very ill indeed, in our house at the time, and we were really -afraid that she was going to die, for the doctor shook his head over -her; and it was talking about the case, and the worry it was to us -having it in the hotel, that led Mr. Stuart to tell us what he did. - -Fancy everybody going away and leaving their own relations directly the -doctor says that their last moments are coming! It must be awful to the -dying people to look round and find all the faces that they love gone -from the bedside. Mr. Stuart told us that this custom is so well known -among the Naples people, that one day a little girl, who was dying of -consumption and had come to her last hour, opened her eyes and saw her -father, who was her only relation, stealing out of the room. She looked -at him a moment, and then, in a feeble voice and with tears in her eyes, -she whispered, “Ah, papa, I see it is all over with me now, for you are -going away.” - -That made her father feel so sorry that he came back, and sat down, and -held his little girl’s hand till she died. But everybody in Naples, when -they heard of it, said, “How awful! and how could he do such a thing?” -and for a long time afterwards people seemed to shrink from him. - -I shouldn’t like to live in a country like that, especially as you are -put under ground in twenty-four hours, and the men who put you in your -coffin, and go to your funeral, are covered with a long white sack from -head to foot, with two holes cut in it for their eyes. So Mr. Stuart -said, and he showed us some photographs of them, and made me feel ill -for a week. - -I said to Harry, when Mr. Stuart had gone to his room and left us -thinking over what he had told us, that I hoped the young lady wasn’t -going to die in our hotel. To have anybody die in the place--especially -a small place like ours--is most unfortunate, and makes everybody -uncomfortable, besides interfering with business. - -I don’t say this in a hard-hearted way; but I am sure everybody who -knows anything about our business will understand what I mean. The other -people staying in the house don’t like it, and they generally leave, -and, if it gets about, people avoid the hotel for a time, for fear they -should be put in the same room directly after. I dare say they are in -big hotels, because I know that when anybody dies in them they are -fetched away at once, and nothing is said about it. Harry told me about -an hotel a friend of his was manager of in the City, where the -undertaker in the same street kept a special room for hotel customers. I -said, “Oh, Harry, don’t talk like that!” And Harry said, “It’s quite -true, and the undertaker’s man calls round the last thing of a night and -asks if there are any orders.” - -I knew that couldn’t be true, so I told Harry it was very dreadful of -him to make light of such awful things. It always seems strange to me, -but how many people there are who will make jokes about death and tell -comic stories about it! I think there is some reason for it in human -nature, but I am not clever enough to say what it is. I always notice, -in our parlour, if one of the customers tells a very awful story, and -the conversation gets on things to freeze your blood, there’s always -somebody ready with another, and they go on until, when it’s closing -time, I’m sure that some of them are half afraid to go home in the dark. - -Writing about people dying in hotels reminds me of what I heard one of -my masters tell one of my missuses, while I was in service. He had been -down to Brighton, staying at an hotel, and one Sunday afternoon, in the -smoking-room, he met a nice, middle-aged gentleman, and they got into -conversation. The middle-aged gentleman told my master that he had been -very ill, and had been travelling about for six months in search of -health, but that he was quite well now, and that the day after to-morrow -he was going to his house in the country. He seemed so pleased, for he -said he had not seen his wife and children for six months, and they -would be so delighted to see him well and strong again. - -That evening, my master and the gentleman dined together in the -coffee-room, and over their dinner it was arranged that they would go -for a long walk together in the morning to the Devil’s Dyke. They would -have breakfast early and start directly after, so as to take their time -for the excursion. - -The next morning my master was down early to his breakfast; but the -other gentleman hadn’t come down at nine o’clock, so my master asked -the number of his room, and thought he would go and hurry him up. - -He went upstairs, and knocked at the bedroom door, but got no answer. -Then he knocked louder, and said, “What about our walk to the Dyke? It’s -nine o’clock now.” - -Still no answer. - -“He must be very fast asleep,” said master to himself; and then he -banged quite hard. - -Still no answer. - -It was so strange, that my master got frightened, and called the waiter -up; and when they had both banged and could hear nothing, they sent for -the landlord, and he ordered the door to be burst open. - -The gentleman was there. He was sitting fully dressed at the table in -the room. In front of him was a letter which he had been writing; but -his head was down on the table, as if he had fallen asleep writing it. - -The landlord went up to him and touched him on the shoulder. Then he -started back, with an exclamation of horror. - -The poor gentleman was dead. - -He had evidently died as he was writing the letter; but he looked for -all the world as if he was sleeping peacefully. - -My master saw the letter, and read it. - -It was this:-- - - “MY DEAR MARY, - - This will, I think, reach you only just before I arrive. I am - counting the hours, my darling, till I see you and the children - again. You will be so pleased to see how well and strong I look. - Oh, how I long to be home once more! It is the longest parting we - have had, dear, since God gave you to me for my wife; but it will - soon be over now. I shall post this letter to-morrow early. I find - that the train I shall come by arrives at 4.30 in the afternoon. So - at five, my darling, all being well, you may expect to see me. I - should like----” - -And there the letter ended. The last three words were written -differently to the others. There must have been a sudden trembling of -the hand, a mist before the eyes, perhaps, and then the pen dropped -where it was found--on the floor. And the poor gentleman fell forward -and died--died just as he was thinking of the happy meeting with his -wife and little ones, and bidding them be ready to welcome him. - -Of course, the doctor was sent for, and there had to be an inquest. The -doctor said that it was heart disease, and that the gentleman had died -in a moment. - -It was very awful, and most painful to my master and the landlord, or, -rather, the landlord’s brother, who managed the hotel. - -Of course the poor wife had to be told what had happened. At first they -were going to send her a telegram to the address they found on a letter -in the gentleman’s pocket, but they decided it would be such a terrible -shock, and so the landlord’s brother, “Mr. Arthur,” as he was called, -and quite a character, so master said, decided that he would go himself -and break the terrible news to the poor lady as gently as possible. - -He couldn’t go till the next day. And so it happened that he arrived by -the very train that the poor gentleman was to have gone by himself. He -took a fly from the station to the house--a lovely little villa, -standing in its own grounds--and when he drove up, two sweet little -girls came rushing down the garden-path, crying out, “Papa, dear papa! -Mamma, mamma, papa’s come home--papa’s come home!” - -And then their mamma, her face flushed with joy, came quickly out, and -ran down after the children to the gate to welcome her husband. - -Poor Mr. Arthur! Master said that when he told him about it his eyes -filled with tears, and he could hardly speak. - -He said it was a minute before he could open his lips; but the poor lady -had read bad news in his face, and she gasped out, - -“My husband! he is ill! he is worse! Oh, tell me; tell me. For God’s -sake, tell me!” - -And the little girls looked up with terrified faces, and ran to their -mamma, and clung to her. - -And then Mr. Arthur begged the lady to come into the house; and then, as -gently as he could, he told her the terrible news. - -Wasn’t it dreadful? - -Oh, dear me! if anything of that sort had happened in our house it would -almost have broken my heart. - -Harry would have had to go; and all the time he was away I should have -been picturing that poor lady---- - -But I won’t write any more about it. It makes me feel so unhappy. Oh -dear, oh dear! what terrible sorrows there are in the world! When one -thinks of them, and contrasts one’s own happy lot with them, how -thankful one ought to be! Fancy, if my Harry were ever away, and---- No! -no! no! I will _not_ think of such things. I’m a little low to-day and -out of sorts, and when I am like that I get the most melancholy ideas, -and find myself crying before I know what I’m doing. - -Harry says I want a change; that I’ve been working too hard, and been -too anxious--and that’s quite true, for our business has got almost -beyond us, and the trouble of servants and one thing and another has -upset me. - -But I must get this Memoir done while I have a few minutes to spare. I -call them Memoirs from the old habit; but, of course, they are hardly -that, though I suppose an hotel could have memoirs. - -It was about the young lady who was taken so seriously ill in our house, -and that we were afraid was going to die. - -She came down with her mamma early in the spring, having been -recommended for change of air; but not wanting to be too far away, -because she was under a great London doctor--a specialist I think he was -called--and she had to go up and see him once a week. - -Her mamma was about fifty--a very grave, I might say “hard,” lady. I -didn’t like her much when she first came; there was something about her -that seemed to keep you at your distance--“stand-offish” Harry called -it--and she never unbent an atom, no matter how civil you tried to be. - -But the daughter, who was about two-and-twenty, was the sweetest young -lady, so pale and delicate-looking; but with a sweet, sad smile that -Harry said was heavenly. And certainly it was, though I couldn’t say -myself what is the difference between a heavenly smile and an earthly -one: but there must be, or people wouldn’t use the word. - -Miss Elmore--that was the young lady’s name--always had a kind word for -me when I went into her room; but she talked very little, only thanking -me for any little attention I showed her, and saying she was afraid she -was giving a great deal of trouble. - -Of course I said, “Oh dear no,” and it was a pleasure to wait on her. -And so it was, for she was so patient, and I could see that she was a -great sufferer, and it seemed to me that she was very unhappy. - -Her mother was generally sitting by her when she didn’t get up, and used -to read to her; but whenever I heard her reading, it was a religious -book, and full of things about death--solemn and sad things, not at all -fit to be continually dinned into the ears of an invalid. - -Perhaps it was the lady herself being so stern, and having such a hard, -rasping voice, that made the things I heard her read seem so -unsympathetic. Of course, I don’t want to say that people who are very -ill oughtn’t to have religious books read to them--we ought all to be -prepared, and to think of our future; but I never could see that sick -people, who, of course, are low and cast down, ought to be continually -preached at and reminded of their sins. When I told Harry the things I’d -heard Mrs. Elmore reading to her daughter, he said it wasn’t right. He -said it was like giving an invalid “a religious whacking,” when what was -wanted for a person in such delicate health was religious coddling. I -think the way he put it was quite right. It seemed to me that if a -person’s body is too weak for anything but beef-tea their mind couldn’t -be able to digest a beef-steak. Not that I think a sick person wants -feeding on religious slops, but certainly they want whatever they take -in that way to be nourishing and comforting. There was too much Cayenne -pepper for an invalid in Mrs. Elmore’s religious beef-tea. I couldn’t -help hearing a lot of it when I was tidying up the room, which I always -did myself, and some of the passages out of the books might be part of a -bad-tempered gaol chaplain’s sermon to convicted murderers. I couldn’t -believe that a sweet, quiet girl, like Miss Elmore, could have done -anything bad enough to be read at in such a scarifying fashion. - -But the poor girl used to lie and listen--only sometimes I thought her -face would flush a little, as though she felt she didn’t deserve such a -lecture. Her mother had a way of reading passages _at her_, if you know -what I mean, as much as to say, “There, you wicked girl, that’s what you -deserve!” - -I never heard them talk about anything. When the mother wasn’t reading -to the young lady, she would sit and knit, looking as hard and cold as a -stone statue. - -After they had been with us a fortnight, and the day came round for the -young lady to go to London to see the doctor, she wasn’t well enough; -but had to keep her bed all day. - -After that she grew rapidly worse, and our nearest doctor was called in. -He looked very grave, and asked a lot of questions, and said he should -like a consultation with the London specialist. - -The mother said it would be very expensive to have him down, so our -doctor said he was going to town, and he would go up and see him, as he -wanted particulars of her case from him, and to know what the treatment -had been. - -After he came back from London he appeared graver still, and I could see -that he was getting nervous about the case. - -The young lady didn’t get any better; and I could see myself she was -getting weaker and weaker. So one day I said to the doctor, “Doctor, I -should be obliged if you will tell me what you think. Is there any -danger?” - -“Yes, Mrs. Beckett,” he said; “there is danger; but I haven’t given up -hope yet.” - -“What is it, sir?” I said. “I mean, what is the young lady suffering -from?” - -He looked at me a minute, and then he said in a quiet way, “A broken -heart. That’s not the professional term, but that’s the plain English -for it.” - -And then he put his hat on, and went out before I could ask him any -more. - -What he’d told me made me more interested in the young lady than ever, -and I felt as sorry for her as though she had been my own sister. - -The next day, when the doctor had been, I caught him before he got to -the front door, and asked him to come into our parlour. And then I -tackled him straight. - -“Did he think the young lady was going to die in our house?” - -“Do you want her moved?” he said, in his quiet way, looking at me over -his spectacles. - -“No, sir; I don’t want anything unfeeling, I hope; but I should like to -know.” - -“My dear lady,” he said, “I can’t tell you what I don’t know myself. -Doctors are no good in these cases. I won’t say that the young lady will -not get strength enough to be taken to her home; but I see no signs of -any improvement at present.” - -“Do you know her story, sir?” - -“Yes.” - -“Won’t you tell me?” - -He hesitated. - -“I don’t know why I shouldn’t,” he said. “It was told me by the London -doctor, who knows her family, and he didn’t bind me to secrecy.” - -Then he told me all about the poor young lady, and what had made her so -ill. - -It seems she had fallen in love with a handsome young gentleman, who had -been staying for a long time at a boarding-house, where she and her -mother were living. - -He was quite a gentleman in every way, and as soon as he found they were -falling in love with each other--as young people will do, in spite of -all rules and regulations and etiquette, or whatever you call it--he -asked the young lady if he might pay his addresses to her. - -I think that’s the Society name for what we call “walking out and -keeping company;” but I only go by what I’ve read in novels. - -Well, Miss Elmore, who was an honest, straightforward, pure-minded young -lady, with no fashionable nonsense about her, told the young gentleman -that she loved him--of course, not straight out like that, but in a -modest, ladylike way, and said that he must ask her mamma. - -The young fellow did, and the mamma, who hadn’t taken the slightest -notice of her daughter--being wrapped up in the local Methodist -clergyman and the chapel people in the place--was very much astonished. -She said she had never thought of such a thing; but if the young -gentleman wished to marry her daughter, he had better tell her what his -position was, etc. - -The young gentleman told her about his family, which was a very good -one--almost county people, in fact--and then, after a lot of stammering, -he let out that he was only a younger son, and that he was by profession -an actor. - -An actor! - -The doctor told me that the London doctor told him that, when Mrs. -Elmore heard this, she dropped her knitting, and nearly had a fit. - -It seems that she was one of the sort that look upon the theatre, and -everything connected with it, as awful. - -As soon as she had recovered from her horror, she told the young -gentleman that, rather than allow her daughter to marry a man who was -such a lost sinner, she would see her in her coffin. - -The young fellow tried to argue the point a little, but it was no use. -Mrs. Elmore forbade him ever to speak to her daughter again, and she -went at once and packed up, and took her daughter away to another -boarding-house, telling the landlady that she was surprised that she -received such people as the young gentleman. - -She gave the poor young lady a terrible lecture, and forbade her ever to -mention the young man’s name. And then she called in her favourite -clergyman, the Methodist parson, and the two of them went at the poor -girl hammer and tongs, just as if she had committed some awful crime. - -After that the young people didn’t meet. The young lady wouldn’t disobey -her mother, and so the young fellow, who had been taking a long rest -during the summer, went back to London; and in the autumn, when his -theatre reopened--the one he belonged to--he began to play again, and -made quite a hit. Poor fellow, it was natural he should; for the part he -played was that of a young man, who loves a girl and is told he shall -never have her, and isn’t able to see her. I wonder how many of the -people who applauded him for that knew that he wasn’t acting at all, -but just being himself? - -After he was gone, and the young lady couldn’t even see him, she began -to get ill, and went home, and the doctor said it was debility, and care -must be taken of her or she might go into a decline. - -Then her mother, to get the young man out of her head, began to read her -those unkind books about sinners, and tried in that manner to show her -the error of her ways. - -The treatment didn’t answer, for the young lady got slowly worse, until -she came to our place, and then you know what happened. - -“Oh, Harry,” I said, after the doctor had told me the story; “isn’t it -dreadful? Fancy that sweet young lady dying of a broken heart, and at -the ‘Stretford Arms,’ too!” - -It quite upset me, and I was so miserable that I began to feel ill -myself. - -Harry was grieved too; but men don’t show grief the same way we do. -Harry swore. He said Mrs. Elmore was a wicked old woman, and she ought -to be ashamed of herself. What did it matter how a gentleman earned his -living, if he earned it honestly, and as a gentleman should? - -Mr. Wilkins, who got hold of the story--I never knew anything to go on -in our house that that little man didn’t get hold of--must, of course, -take a different view of the matter. It was just his contrariness. - -He said that, after all, perhaps the mother wasn’t so much to blame. He -knew the time when actors weren’t thought much of--in fact, in the -history of our parish there was a record of actors having been put in -the stocks; and in the eyes of the law, not so very long ago, they were -rogues and vagabonds, and the parish beadle could order them off, and do -all manner of things to them. - -I said, “If it came to what was done once, people had their noses cut -off for speaking their opinions.” - -“Oh,” said Mr. Wilkins, “that hasn’t gone out yet. I know a place where -a man has his nose taken off still, if he ventures to have an opinion of -his own.” - -And then the horrid little man looked straight at me, and nodded his -head and said, “Ahem!” - -“If you mean me, Mr. Wilkins,” I said, “I think you’ve made a mistake. -I’m not in the habit of snapping people’s noses off, as you call it. And -I think you must have a good many noses, for I’m sure you’ve got an -opinion of your own about everything that is said, whether it concerns -you or not.” - -With that I took my work, and went into our little inner room to get -away from him, for I wasn’t in the humour for an argument. And I wasn’t -going to sit still and listen to that poor young lady’s lover being -abused by an ignorant parish clerk, who had never lived in London and -seen the world, as I had, with her perhaps dying upstairs. - -I shut my door, but I could hear Wilkins keeping on the conversation, -and talking loud, for me to hear, just for aggravation, and running down -actors, just as if he knew anything at all about them. I don’t suppose -he ever saw one in his life, except at a country fair, and, of course, -that was not at all the sort of person that the young gentleman was. - -Of course I knew what had made Mr. Wilkins so disagreeable of late. I -had had to keep him in his place about my “Memoirs.” After he found out -that I was going to use old Gaffer Gabbitas’s story in my book, he came -to me one day, with a lot of scrawl in a penny copy-book, and said he’d -begun to collect things for his own “Memoirs,” and would I look over -them and help him to do them? I said, “Your ‘Memoirs’! What do you mean, -Mr. Wilkins?” - -He said, “I’ve been thinking that we might do ‘The Memoirs of a Parish -Clerk’ together. I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time, and -they’d be very nice reading. If you like to help me, we’ll go halves in -the money.” - -I said, “Let me look at what you’ve written.” - -You never saw such stuff in your life. It is really ridiculous what an -idea some people have of writing books. Mr. Wilkins had begun about his -being born, and everybody saying what a fine baby he was, as if he could -possibly have heard the remark; and then he had put in a lot of -nonsense, which I suppose he thought very funny, about his father and -mother quarrelling what name he was to have, and going through the Bible -to find one, and his father wanting to call him Genesis, which made his -mother go to the other extreme, and insist on Revelations. - -That’s the sort of stuff you’d expect a parish clerk to write; but the -impudence of the thing amused me. As if anybody would care two pins -about the christening of Mr. Wilkins. - -I looked at some of the other notes, and I saw quite enough. He’d put a -lot about his being sent to the national school, and had made out that -he was quite a scholar directly, and then there was something about his -learning a trade, and his falling in love with the young woman at -Jones’s farm; and if he hadn’t gone and written out some poetry that he -sent the girl, which was nothing more than some valentine words as old -as the hills. - -When I gave him the book back I was obliged to tell him that that sort -of stuff wasn’t writing--not writing for books--and that I didn’t think -his “Memoirs” would be of much interest to anybody but himself. - -The little man was disappointed. I could see that. I dare say he put it -down to me being jealous of him; but he never mentioned the subject -again. Only, after that, he was always making some nasty remark or -other, and if ever I had an opinion about anything, he always started -arguing the other way. I knew I had offended him; but you can’t help -offending somebody now and then, if you’ve got any spirit of your own. -I’m sorry I ever let him give me any information at all. I dare say -he’ll go to his grave believing that he’s as much the author of these -tales about the ‘Stretford Arms’ as I am myself. - -It was through this having happened that made Mr. Wilkins so nasty about -the young lady’s lover. At another time he would have sided with me. He -didn’t drop it even the next day, for in the evening, when the room was -full, he pulled out a newspaper, and asked me if I’d seen the case in -the police-court, of an actor having pawned the sheets from his -lodgings. - -I saw he was going to begin again, so I said “Mr. Wilkins, will you let -me have a word with you, please?” and I beckoned him outside the door. - -Then I said to him, “Mr. Wilkins, what you heard yesterday about that -young lady’s affairs was a private conversation between me and my -husband. You’ll oblige me by not referring to it again. I can’t have -ladies and gentlemen who stay at this hotel talked over in the -bar-parlour--at least, not their private affairs, which you have only -learned through being considered a friend of ours.” - -He winced a little. But he said, “Mrs. Beckett, ma’am, I hope I know -myself better than to do anything that is not right and gentlemanly.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Wilkins,” I said; and then we went in, and if that -horrid Graves the farrier didn’t say, “All right, Wilkins, I’ll tell Mr. -Beckett.” And then they all roared, and that wretched little Wilkins -giggled, and said, “They’re only jealous, aren’t they, Mrs. Beckett?” - -I declare I could have boxed his ears. I went quite red, and then they -all roared again. And that Graves said, “All right, we won’t tell this -time; but, Wilkins, old man, you must be careful. Beckett’s got a -pistol.” - -I gave Graves a look, and went into the bar. I’m glad he doesn’t come -often; he ought to go to the tap-room at the other house. It’s more in -his line. - -But about the poor young lady, whose lover was an actor---- - - * * * * * - -Oh, Harry, how you frightened me, coming behind me like that! Supper -been ready half an hour! Has it? All right, dear, I’m coming. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -_THE YOUNG PLAY-ACTOR._ - - -I was telling you about the young lady, who was so ill in our house, -when I was interrupted through Harry insisting on my coming to supper. -No matter whether I want any supper or not, Harry won’t let me stop -away. He always makes the excuse, that he hates to have his meals alone. -Certainly it is not very nice, but often and often I could get a quiet -half-hour at my writing but for supper. After supper I can never do -anything, for, somehow or other, I settle down in my easy chair and get -sleepy directly. - -Harry smokes one pipe--his quiet pipe, he calls it--looks at the paper, -and then we go to bed. Sometimes, if there is a very exciting or very -amusing case in the Law Courts, he reads it out loud to me. If we have -friends staying with us, or come to spend the evening, sometimes after -supper we have a hand at cards, but it is not often. We are generally -very glad indeed to get to bed, as most people are who have done a hard -day’s work, especially as we are always up very early in the morning, -which is necessary in an hotel, where everybody wants looking after -personally, or else it very soon goes wrong. - -After the doctor had told me the story of the young lady, who was so ill -in our house, you may be sure that I took more interest in her than I -had ever done before. There is nothing which touches a woman’s heart so -much as an unhappy love affair, and poor Miss Elmore’s was unhappy -enough in all conscience, for it had brought her to what looked like -being her death-bed. - -One day the doctor told me he had had a very serious talk with Mrs. -Elmore--I told you about her being so hard--and had as good as said to -her that there was only one thing could save the young lady, and that -was to let her see her sweetheart again. - -Mrs. Elmore sniffed and tossed her head, and said, “And what about my -daughter’s soul? Was it a fit preparation for the other world, if she -was dying, to have a play-actor standing by her bed-side? The only -persons who had a right there were the doctor and the clergyman.” It was -no good to argue--all Mrs. Elmore would say was that never, with her -consent, should her daughter see that lost young man again. “What was -the good?” she said. She would never consent to the marriage, and if -what the doctor said was true, that she was breaking her heart about the -young fellow, what was the good of seeing him if she couldn’t marry him? -Besides, she was sure her daughter wasn’t so bad as the doctors tried to -make out. She would be better again if she would only make an effort, -and allow herself to rally, and fix her thoughts upon respectable things -instead of play-actors. - -You wouldn’t think a mother would talk like it, but Mrs. Elmore did. The -human nature in her seemed to have dried up--if I may use the -expression. - -The doctor said it was no good talking to the mother any more, so he -went and saw our local Methodist clergyman, that Mrs. Elmore sat under -every Sunday, and that came sometimes to visit the sick young lady. - -He put the case straight to him, and told him he believed that the poor -girl’s life might be saved if her mother could be induced to consent to -the match, and perhaps he, the clergyman, might be able to persuade her. - -Now, our Methodist clergyman was a very nice gentleman indeed, and he -was quite affected by the way the doctor told the story. He said, “I -don’t know that I could induce Mrs. Elmore to let her daughter marry -this young play-actor, while he is still acting in what we, rightly or -wrongly, consider to be a sinful place, and a place full of devilish -wiles and temptations; but if he would give up his present life, and -take to another calling, perhaps it might be different.” - -“Well,” said the doctor, “there is no time to lose. He ought to come -down at once, but it’s no good his coming down while he is a play-actor, -because the mother wouldn’t allow him to see his sweetheart. I can’t go -to London, because I have a lot of people ill here, and a case I can’t -leave. Would you go to London and see the young fellow?” - -“Why not write to him?” said the clergyman. - -“That’s no use,” said the doctor; “it couldn’t be explained in a letter. -Come, it is a life that hangs on your decision. Won’t you go?” - -The clergyman hesitated. He said he didn’t know the young fellow, and he -wasn’t authorized by the young lady or her mamma, and it seemed such a -queer thing for him to do. - -But at last he consented, and the doctor so worked him up, that he -promised to go that very evening. They didn’t know the young fellow’s -private address; but the doctor knew the theatre he was playing at, -because, of course, he was advertised among the company. - -The clergyman said it was a dreadful thing for him to have to go to a -theatre. He had never been inside one in his life, and he didn’t feel -quite sure what would happen to him. He told the doctor that he looked -upon it that perhaps he might be going to rescue a young man from -perdition, and to do that, of course, a clergyman might go into a worse -place than a theatre. - -Our doctor--a very jolly sort of man, and fond of his joke, and not -above coming into our parlour and having a little something warm when he -is out on his rounds late on a cold night--told us all about what the -clergyman said afterwards, and he told us that he couldn’t for the life -of him help telling the dear old parson to be very careful in the -theatre, as there were beautiful sirens there, and he told him to -remember about St. Anthony. I didn’t know what he meant about St. -Anthony, no more did Harry, because I asked him who St. Anthony was -afterwards; but I didn’t tell the doctor I didn’t know, because I never -like to show ignorance, if I can help it. - -I suppose St. Anthony went to a theatre and fell in love with one of the -lovely ladies. Perhaps it was that. - -But our clergyman--the Methodist one--went. I call him ours, though we -are Church of England, and our clergyman I told you about, is the Rev. -Tommy Lloyd, who carries stones and roots in his pocket--Harry, in his -exaggerating way, says he carries rocks and trunks of trees there. He -went up to London, and, as we learnt afterwards, he got to the theatre -about half-past eight in the evening. He saw the place all lit up, and -he wondered how he was to find the young fellow--Mr. Frank Leighton his -name was. - -He went into the place where they take the money, and said, “Please can -I have a few moments’ conversation with Mr. Leighton, on a private -matter?” - -The people in the pay-box stared at him, and said, “Stage door.” - -“Thank you,” said the clergyman. And, seeing a door, he went through it, -and up a flight of stairs. - -“Your check, sir,” said the man at the top of the stairs. - -“What?” said the clergyman. - -“Your check,” said the man; “you’ve got a check, haven’t you?” - -“I have a cheque-book,” said the clergyman, “but not with me. What, my -good friend, do you want with a cheque from me?” - -The man looked at him as if he was something curious, and said, “A -voucher; you have a voucher, haven’t you?” - -The clergyman thought perhaps they were very particular whom they -admitted behind the scenes, and he thought that was very proper, so he -said, “I have not a personal voucher with me, but there is my card. I am -a clergyman, and well known in the district.” - -“Can’t pass your card, sir,” said the man politely; “you’d better see -the manager.” - -“Thank you,” said the clergyman; “where shall I find him?” - -“Here he comes, sir.” - -At that moment a gentleman came up the stairs in full evening dress, and -with very handsome diamond studs. The clergyman told the doctor that he -noticed everything, all being so new and strange to him. - -The man took the clergyman’s card, and showed it to the gentleman in -full dress, and said, “Gentleman wants to be passed in.” - -“Very sorry,” said the manager; “but we’ve no free list.” - -“I think there is some mistake,” replied the clergyman. “I have no -desire to see the performance. I want a few moments’ private -conversation with Mr. Frank Leighton.” - -The manager stared. “Oh!” he said. “But, my dear sir, how do you propose -to converse with him privately this way? You can’t shout at him from the -dress circle.” - -“I know nothing of theatres. Is not this the stage door?” - -“Oh, you thought this was the stage door. I see. Simmons!” - -A commissionaire in uniform stepped forward. - -“Show this gentleman the stage door.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -And with that our clergyman was taken outside by the commissionaire, and -they went along the street and then down a dirty narrow court; and when -they got to the end of the court there was a dirty old door, and the -commissionaire pushed that open and said, “This is the stage-door, sir,” -and left our clergyman there. - -He told the doctor that it was a narrow passage, with a little room just -off it; and in this little room, which was very dingy, was an old -gentleman with grey hair, who said, “What do you want, sir?” - -“I want a few minutes’ conversation with Mr. Frank Leighton, on a -private matter. There is my card.” - -The man took the card, and said, “Wait a minute, sir.” - -Then he pushed another door open and went through. - -Presently he came back again, and said, “Will you take a seat a minute, -sir?” And the clergyman went into the dingy little room and sat down. - -There was a young lady who had come through from downstairs, and she had -evidently just come off the stage, for the doorkeeper said, “Is Mr. -Leighton on yet?” “Yes,” she said; “he’s on to the end of the act now.” - -Presently there was the report of a pistol, and the clergyman jumped up. - -“Good gracious! what’s that?” he exclaimed. - -“Oh,” said the young lady, “that’s Mr. Leighton; he’s just tried to -commit suicide!” - -“Good gracious!” exclaimed the clergyman, horrified. “How terrible--let -me go to him.” And before anybody could stop him he had rushed through -the door. - -At first he could not see where he was for things sticking out here and -there; but presently, through some scenery, he saw a young fellow lying -on the floor, with a pistol beside him. A gentleman was leaning over him -and feeling his heart. - -“He is not dead,” said the gentleman; “thank God! thank God!” - -Our clergyman said, “Thank God!” too, and rushed to where the young -gentleman was lying, and said, “Oh, my unhappy young friend, how could -you do such a terrible thing! I am a clergyman; let me----” - -Before he could say another word there was a wild roar of voices, and -the suicide sat up and said, “What the----” - -And the people at the sides yelled, “Mind your head.” And the curtain -came down with a bang. - -And then the clergyman knew he had made a dreadful mistake, and that it -was all in the play, because the suicide jumped up and said, “What in -heaven’s name do you mean, sir?” And the manager came on and was -furious, and the people in front of the house were yelling and hooting, -and there was a nice commotion. - -The poor clergyman, who was quite bewildered and covered with -perspiration, tried to explain that he had never been in a theatre -before in his life, and knew nothing about it; that, hearing Mr. -Leighton had committed suicide, he thought it was because of his love -affair, and having come from where the young lady he loved was lying -very ill, he thought it his duty as a minister to rush on and say a word -or two to the poor sinner before he died. - -There was quite a buzz of astonishment among the people on the stage -when the clergyman told his simple story, and they saw at once that it -was true. - -Mr. Leighton, who had been awfully wild at having his scene spoiled, -when he heard the clergyman’s story, was very much affected, and said -he would see the clergyman after the performance, if he would wait. They -asked him if he would like to go into a box; but the clergyman said, -“No; he did not want to see anything in a theatre. He would wait -outside.” - -The manager said perhaps it was as well, for if he went anywhere in the -house where he could be seen it would start the people off, and be -unpleasant; because, of course, as playgoers, what with the clergyman’s -words and manners, and the curtain coming down bang, they knew something -had happened that wasn’t in the play. - -When the clergyman told the doctor the story, the doctor laughed till -the tears came into his eyes; and he chaffed the poor man finely about -making his first appearance, and having acted a part. - -He was in a very good humour, because, though the clergyman, through his -ignorance, had made such a mess of it at the beginning, he had finished -by doing what he wanted. He told the young gentleman, after the play was -over, all about the young lady, and what the doctor said, and the young -fellow told him that he had never known a happy moment since they were -parted, and he would make any sacrifice in the world to save his -sweetheart’s life. - -He quite won our clergyman’s heart by his nice manner and the way he -talked. And before they parted he gave the clergyman his word that, if -he was allowed to see his sweetheart again, dearly as he loved his -profession, he would give it up for ever. - -That made the clergyman take his part at once, and feel that he had done -a wonderful thing; so he came back and saw Mrs. Elmore the next day, and -told her it would be wicked to keep the young people apart, as, if she -allowed them to see each other and be engaged, she would not only save -her daughter’s life, but she would rescue a young fellow from -play-acting. - -It took a long time to convince the woman--she was so hard; but at last -she consented, and first the young fellow was told to send his -sweetheart a letter. And the clergyman gave it to her, telling her -gently to hope that the happiness she thought lost for ever might yet be -hers. - -And then the young lady read the letter, and it made her cry. But from -that day she began to mend slowly, and in a fortnight she was sitting up -again on the sofa in the sitting-room. - -And one day the doctor came to me, quite beaming, and said, “Now, Mrs. -Beckett, who do you think’s coming to your hotel to-morrow?” - -“I’m sure I don’t know,” I said. - -“Why, Frank Leighton, the young play-actor.” - -And then he told me that Mrs. Elmore had agreed that the young couple -should have an interview in her presence, and that the whole matter -should be discussed. I was delighted, and I could talk of nothing else. -Harry at last got a bit tired of it, I think, and he said if I talked -about the young play-actor any more he should have to go and put some -brickdust on his face, and chalk his nose, or else he would be quite cut -out. - -Harry does say ridiculous things sometimes, and there is no romance -about him. Perhaps it is quite as well, because an hotel-keeper, or, in -fact, any man in business, doesn’t want to be too romantic. It isn’t the -way to get rich. - -Harry said it was lucky we didn’t have many love affairs in our house, -or my brain would be turned; and he should be very glad when the young -lady had got well enough to go away. He didn’t want a lot of play-actors -coming and upsetting all the women in the house, from the missus to the -kitchenmaid. - -I don’t like to confess it; but there is no doubt that Harry is a little -jealous. I have told you how disagreeable he was about that dreadful -policeman. Of course you know what I mean by jealous. He isn’t absurd or -ridiculous, but he turns nasty, and says sharp things, if I take too -much interest in anything or anybody but himself. He’s jealous of my -“Memoirs,” and I do believe sometimes he is jealous of baby. That’s the -sort of jealousy I mean. - -The next morning Mrs. Elmore called me upstairs, and said that they -expected a visitor (of course she didn’t know that I knew everything), -and that dinner was to be laid in the sitting-room for five people. I -said to myself, “I know who the five will be--Mrs. Elmore, Miss Elmore, -the doctor, the clergyman, and Mr. Frank Leighton.” - -When I told Harry, he said, “Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, I’d sooner him -than me.” - -“What do you mean, Harry?” I said. - -“What do I mean? Why, if that young fellow can make love to the young -lady before her mother, her doctor, and her clergyman, he’s got more -pluck than I give him credit for.” - -“He needn’t make love at the dinner table,” I said. “Besides, they don’t -want to make love--they’ve made it already--long ago. This is more of a -family reconciliation.” - -“Well,” he said, “I’m sorry for the girl. It can’t be pleasant to have a -doctor and a clergyman standing like sentries on guard all the time your -lover, that you haven’t seen for ever so long, is in the room with you.” - -“How did you think they were going to meet, pray?” I asked. - -“Well, seeing he’s a play-actor, I expected that he’d come outside our -house when it was moonlight, and whistle, and that the young lady would -open the windows and go out on the balcony, and that they’d talk low, -like that.” - -I saw what was in Harry’s head at once. It was that beautiful play about -Romeo and Juliet. So I said, “A very likely thing. As if a young lady, -brought up like Miss Elmore, and in her delicate state of health, would -go talking to a man in the road, standing outside the balcony of a -public-house. A nice scandal there would be!” - -“Well,” he said, “I’ve seen it done on the stage.” - -“I dare say; but there’s lots of things that are all right on the stage, -but would get parties into trouble if they tried them in real life.” - -What an idea, wasn’t it, that we were to have “Romeo and Juliet” played -outside the ‘Stretford Arms’? Of course it would have been much more -romantic. “Romeo and Juliet” wouldn’t be half so interesting if Juliet -was only allowed to see her lover at dinner, with her mother and the -doctor and the clergyman sitting down at the same table. Poor girl, if -she had, perhaps it would have been much better for her in the long-run. -She might have been a happy wife and mother, instead of coming to that -creepy end in the family vault, and leading to such a lot of bloodshed. - -I was on tiptoe all day, as the saying is, till the young lover arrived. -I arranged a very nice little dinner and made up some flowers for the -table, and saw to everything myself, being determined that nothing -should be wanting on my part in bringing matters to a happy termination, -and I know how much a good dinner has to do with the turn that things -take. - -The only time I can remember Harry to have spoken really unkindly to me -was when we had a badly-made steak-and-kidney pie for dinner, and he -wasn’t very well after it, and that made him tetchy and irritable, a -most unusual thing for him, and he was quite nasty with me and lost his -temper over a trifle that, if the steak-and-kidney pie had been all -right, he would only have laughed at. - -About two o’clock a fly drove up to the door, and a young gentleman got -out and came in, and said, “This is the ‘Stretford Arms,’ is it not?” - -I knew it was the young actor at once. There is something about an actor -that you can always tell, even if you have not seen very many. - -He really was handsome. He had lovely wavy hair, and beautiful -sympathetic eyes, and his face was just like what you see in some of the -statues in the British Museum--it was so nicely cut, if I may use the -expression. - -He spoke in a most eloquent voice, and it was quite a pleasure to listen -to him. He was beautifully dressed, and I thought I never saw a young -fellow’s clothes fit so elegantly. - -Our barmaid (a flighty sort of girl, I am sorry to say) stared at him, -almost with her mouth open, in admiration, till at last I was obliged to -say, “Miss Bowles, will you please fetch me my keys from the parlour?” I -couldn’t say out loud, “Don’t stare at the gentleman,” so I did it that -way. - -As soon as he had said who he was--of course, it wasn’t for me to tell -him that I knew--I showed him into the sitting-room, that I had got -ready for him, and had a fire lighted in it, so that he might be -comfortable, while I went upstairs to announce to the ladies that he had -arrived. - -Poor Miss Elmore was sitting up in the arm-chair when I went into the -room, and her mamma was in the other room. - -The young lady knew before I opened my mouth what I had to say. She read -it in my face, for I’m sure I was crimson with excitement and pleasure. - -The sight of her turned me so that I could only gasp out, “He’s come, -miss; he’s come.” And then I saw her cheeks flush burning red, and then -go very pale again, and the tears came swimming up into her beautiful, -loving blue eyes. - -I felt that I would have given the world to have put my arms round her -and given her a sisterly hug, and have a good cry with her; but, of -course, it would have been forgetting my place. - -“Tell mamma, please,” she said, as soon as she could speak. - -So I went across to the bedroom door and rapped, and told Mrs. Elmore -that Mr. Leighton had arrived. - -“Very good,” she said. “As soon as Dr. ---- and the Rev. ---- have -arrived, you can show him up.” - -“Yes, ma’am,” I said; and I went downstairs. And then, oh, such a wicked -idea came into my head! It came, and it wouldn’t go away, and I wouldn’t -give myself time to think how wrong it was. I knew that Mrs. Elmore was -dressing herself, and wouldn’t be ready for ten minutes, and so I went -straight down to the young gentleman, and I said, “This way, if you -please, sir.” And I took him upstairs to the sitting-room, where the -young lady was all alone, and I opened the door wide, and said, “Mr. -Leighton, miss.” - -I heard a little cry from the dear young lady. I saw her rise up and -stagger forwards. I saw the young fellow catch her in his arms, and I -pulled the door to with a bang, and ran downstairs as if an earthquake -was behind me; and when I got to the parlour I went flop into a chair -and laughed and cried till Harry came running in and slapped my hands, -and the barmaid brought vinegar. And right in the middle of it, in -walked the doctor and the clergyman. - -I couldn’t help it. My nerves were overstrung, I suppose, and the -excitement had been too much for me. - -But I soon pulled myself together, as Harry calls it, and went into the -kitchen to see the dinner served up properly. And once I made an excuse, -when the dinner was on, to go into the room just to help the waitress. - -Everything seemed all right, though at first I thought everybody looked -a little uncomfortable, including the young play-actor. - -It must have been a little awkward for him at first, for the old lady -was awfully stiff and stony when she came in, and discovered her -daughter with the young man, and no doctor or clergyman present. - -But she didn’t say anything to them, only I caught her eye when I went -in, and it was evident she’d something pleasant to say to me about it -when the company was gone. But I didn’t care what she had to say, so -long as I’d made two young hearts happy. And I know I did the very best -thing possible in letting them meet like that. - -The doctor told me all that happened when I saw him that evening; for, -you may be sure, I was very anxious to know how matters had been -arranged. - -The young fellow had to leave at six o’clock, as he had to get to the -theatre at eight; but after dinner he had a long private talk with the -clergyman, who, it seems, had Mrs. Elmore’s instructions in the matter. - -The young fellow agreed to give up his profession at once, for the young -lady’s sake. Of course it was a blow to him, as he was getting on very -nicely; and I’ve heard that a man or a woman who has once had a success -on the stage is always hankering after the footlights and applause, and -it makes them very unhappy to be away from them. - -However, Mr. Leighton gave up acting for Miss Elmore’s sake. He got the -manager to release him from his engagement, and he began to look about -for some appointment that would bring him in five hundred pounds a year; -as, of course, he didn’t want to live on the young lady’s mother, or the -young lady, who, it seems, had three hundred pounds a year in her own -right. - -The young lady got quite well and left our hotel, and six months -afterwards I read of her marriage in the papers, and the next day a -three-cornered box arrived by post, and when I opened it there was a -lovely piece of wedding-cake for me, with Mr. and Mrs. Frank Leighton’s -compliments. - -And some time afterwards I heard that, through the death of a relative, -the young gentleman had come into a large fortune and a _title_--yes, a -title!--and that dear Miss Elmore, that we thought would die in our -house of a broken heart, lived to be a happy wife and mother, and to be -called “my lady.” - -I am pretty sure that Mrs. Elmore wouldn’t have given her daughter those -“religious whackings,” as Harry called them, if she had known that the -play-actor the poor young lady was in love with was going to have a -title. What I know of the world has taught me that. - -When I read the news I said to Mr Wilkins, “Well, Mr. Wilkins, what -about play-actors being rogues and vagabonds now?--here is one that is a -person of rank.” - -“Oh yes,” he said, “I dare say; but rank isn’t what it was in the good -old times. I have been told there is a baronet working as a labourer in -the docks, and his wife, who is ‘my lady,’ goes out charing.” - -Wilkins is certainly not so nice as he used to be. Perhaps it is age -that is souring him; but we have never been such good friends since that -business about the “Memoirs.” And he has the gout, too. I will be -charitable, and put his nasty remarks down to his gout. I have heard it -does make people very disagreeable. I once lived in a family where the -master had the gout, and---- - - * * * * * - -Six people arrived by the train! Oh, dear! and we have only four -rooms--whatever shall we do? Wait a minute; I’ll come and see. We -mustn’t turn custom away if we can help it. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -_THE BILLIARD-MARKER._ - - -I think I mentioned in a former “Memoir” that we had had a -billiard-table put up. It was Harry’s idea. He is very fond of a game of -billiards himself, and is not at all a bad player, so I have heard from -the gentlemen who play with him. Of course, he didn’t go to the expense -for himself, you may be sure of that, but as an improvement to the -house. - -The way it came about was this. There was an old fellow who used our -house named Jim Marshall. He was quite a character in his way. He was -very stout, and walked lame with one leg, and was full of queer sayings. -Not a bad fellow; but he had to be kept in his place, or else he would -presume. He was hand-and-glove, as the saying is, with almost everybody -in the neighbourhood, rich and poor alike. He was a capital -whist-player, knew all about horses and dogs, and could sing a good -song. He was a bachelor, and lived all by himself in a tumbledown old -house, where he had hundreds of pounds’ worth of curiosities, old -pictures, old furniture, and old books, the place being so crammed from -kitchen to attic that sometimes when he went home a little the worse for -his evening’s amusement, he wasn’t able to steer himself, as Harry -called it, across the things to get to bed, and would go to sleep in an -old steel fender, with his head on a brass coal-scuttle for a pillow. - -Jim Marshall was a broker--that is to say, he went all about the -neighbourhood to sales and bought things for gentlemen, and sometimes -for himself. All round our village there are old-fashioned houses and -farms full of old-fashioned furniture and china, and things of that -sort, that nowadays are very much run after, and fetch a good price. Old -Jim knew everybody’s business and what everybody had got, because he -used to do their business for them. These people, if they wanted -anything, would tell Jim to look out for it for them, and if they wanted -to sell anything they always sent for Jim, and he would find a purchaser -for them on the quiet. - -The neighbourhood round our place is full of people who have gone down -since railways came in, because we are too near to London, and London -has taken all the local trade. A lot of people lived and kept up -appearances on what their fathers made before them--business people I -mean--and when that was gone they had to give up their style and go into -smaller houses, which, of course, they moved away to do, nobody who has -been grand and looked up to for years in a place caring to look small -there. - -This gradual decay of the neighbourhood (not where we live--the railway -has _made_ us--but little towns and places round about) was a good thing -for Jim, as there were lots of good old houses selling off their -furniture and things, and he had lots of customers in London who wanted -Chippendale and Sheraton and Adam’s furniture, and old books, and old -clocks, and old china, and old silver ornaments; and these houses being -in the country, there weren’t many brokers at the sales, so Jim was able -to pick up plenty of bargains for his customers, and make a good thing -for himself as well. - -Plenty of ladies and gentlemen who came to our house, and got to know of -Marshall being always at sales, would give him their address, and tell -him always to send them a catalogue, if there was anything good going. -Mr. Saxon, the author, I know, got a bookcase through Jim, a real old -Chippendale for eleven pounds that was worth sixty pounds if it was -worth a penny, and we have some fine old-fashioned things at the -‘Stretford Arms’ that Jim Marshall got us at sales. - -You had only to say to Jim Marshall that you wanted a thing, and he -would never rest till he got it for you. He would go into the grandest -house in the neighbourhood and ask to see the gentleman, and say, “I -say, sir, what will you take for your sideboard? I’ve a customer that -wants one.” - -“Hang your impudence, Marshall!” the gentleman would say. “Do you think -I keep a furniture shop?” - -“No offence, sir,” Jim would say. “Only remember, when you do want to -part with it, I’m in the market.” That was how he would begin. Presently -he would call on the gentleman again, and say he knew of a magnificent -sideboard, two hundred years old, in an old farmhouse, that could be got -cheap. And he would go on about it until, perhaps, he would work the -gentleman up to buy the other sideboard and let him have the one he had -a customer for, and he would make a nice thing out of the two bargains -for himself. - -He was very clever at it, because he knew the fancies of different -people, and how to work on them. But the most impudent thing he ever did -was with an old lady, who had a lovely pair of chestnut horses. A -gentleman who was staying at our hotel one day saw them go by, and he -said, “By Jove, that’s a fine pair of horses!--that’s just the pair I -want.” - -Jim Marshall was standing by at the time, and he said, “I’ll try and get -’em for you.” And he shouted, and waved his stick, and yelled at the -coachman, who thought something was wrong, and pulled up. - -Jim hobbled off till he came to the carriage, then raised his hat to the -old lady, and said, “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but if you want to sell -your horses, I’ve a customer for them.” - -“What!” shrieked the old lady. And she shouted to the coachman to drive -on, and pulled the window up with a bang. - -Jim came back, not looking a bit ashamed of himself; and he said, “I’ve -broken the ice. Now, sir, how much am I to go to for them horses?” - -“The idea!” I said, for I had seen and heard everything; “as if old -Mrs. ---- would be likely to part with them! I do believe Jim you’d go up -to a clergyman in church, and ask him what he’d take for his surplice!” - -Jim smiled at that. It flattered his vanity, because nothing pleased -him so much as being made out a smart fellow before London gentlemen. - -“I’ll have them horses, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “if the gentleman’ll go -to a price.” - -“Well,” said the gentleman, “I’m not in a hurry. I’ve got a very good -pair now; but if they could be got for one hundred and twenty pounds, I -wouldn’t mind.” - -“Is that an order?” said Jim. - -“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I’ll give one hundred and twenty pounds.” - -“You’ll get a bargain if you get them at that,” said Jim, “for I know -from the coachman as the lady paid over two hundred pounds for ’em, and -they weren’t dear at that. But I’ll see what I can do.” - -The gentleman got those horses through Jim, and he got them for the one -hundred and twenty pounds. And it was only through a third party letting -out the secret that I heard afterwards how it was done, and I’m not -going to tell because it was told me in confidence; but I may say the -old lady’s coachman was always being treated by Jim in a very generous -manner. And soon after that, one of the horses took to showing temper in -a way he had never done before, and the coachman told the old lady that -sometimes after a certain age horses that had been very quiet developed -a vice. - -Jim Marshall had a great “pal,” as he called him, in our local -veterinary surgeon--rather a fast young fellow, who was the great -sporting authority, and was supposed to know more about horses and dogs -than anybody in the county. I believe he was very clever--he certainly -did wonders for our pony when it was ill--but he was too fond of -betting, and going to London for a day or two, and coming back looking -very seedy, so that he was generally hard up. Soon after the old lady’s -horses had changed their ways so suddenly, the veterinary and old Jim -were standing outside our house, when they saw old Mr. Jenkins, the old -lady’s gardener, who had been with her for thirty years, come in. He was -coming to see me about some fruit, which we wanted to buy of him for -preserving, and about supplying us with vegetables from the kitchen -garden. - -Mr. Jenkins was, of course, asked into our parlour, and while he was -there, in walks the veterinary, and they began to talk, till the -conversation got on the horses. “Ah!” said the veterinary, “they’re a -nice pair, but they aren’t quite the sort for your lady. I watched the -mare go by the other day, and there was something about her I didn’t -like. I dare say she’s all right in double harness, but I wouldn’t care -to drive her myself in single.” - -Then he began to tell stories about carriage accidents and runaway -horses, till Mr. Jenkins turned quite pale, and said he should never -know another minute’s peace while his mistress was out with “them -animals.” - -He went back, and you may be sure he told the lady all he had heard, and -made the most of it. And the old lady was made quite nervous, and sent -for the coachman, and the coachman said of course it wasn’t his place to -say anything; but, if he was asked his honest opinion, he couldn’t say -that he always felt quite safe with the horses himself. However, he -should always be careful and do his best to prevent an accident. - -A week after that, Jim Marshall got the horses for a hundred pounds. The -old lady sent to him to come and take them, and he found her a nice -quiet pair, that somebody else wanted to sell. I expect he did very well -out of the transaction, and so did the old lady’s coachman. - -This will show you what sort of a man Jim Marshall was, and how useful -he could be to anybody who wanted anything. He got us our -billiard-table, and it was in this way. Harry was saying one night that, -as soon as he could afford it, he would have a billiard-room; but he -couldn’t yet, as the table would cost such a lot of money, if it was by -a good maker. - -“Nonsense!” said Marshall; “do you want a good billiard-table?” - -“Well,” said Harry, “I do want one, but I can’t afford----” - -“It isn’t a question of affording. If I can get you one as good as new, -with all the fittings complete--balls, cues, and everything--will you go -to fifty pounds?” - -“Certainly,” said Harry. - -“Then get your billiard-room ready.” - -Harry knew Marshall would keep his word. So we made a room at the back, -with a little alteration, into a billiard-room. And as soon as it was -ready Marshall said, “All right. The table is coming down from London -to-morrow.” - -And it did come, and a beautiful table it was, and as good as new. Harry -said it couldn’t have been played on many times, and must have cost a -lot of money when it was new. Marshall, it seems, knew of a young -gentleman in London, who had come into some money, and fitted up a -billiard-room in his house, and then taken a fit into his head to -travel. And when he came back he didn’t want to live in a house any -more, but was going to have chambers, and he wanted to get rid of a lot -of his things. How Marshall did it, I don’t know; but, at any rate, we -got our table and everything complete for fifty pounds. - -Having a billiard-table was very nice for some things. Gentlemen who -stayed at the hotel--artists, and such like--found it a great comfort on -wet days and long evenings, and several of the young gentlemen from the -houses round about would come in, and get up a game at pool, and it -certainly did the house good in that way, though it brought one or two -customers that I didn’t care about at all--young fellows who were too -clever by half, as Harry said, and who came to make money at the game, -and I don’t think were very particular how they made it. - -Harry said, when we put the table up, that we should have to be careful, -and keep the place select, as, if a billiard-room wasn’t well looked -after, it soon got to be a meeting-place for the wrong class of -customers. - -When the table was first put up, Mr. Wilkins and Graves, the farrier, -and one or two more of that sort, thought it was being put up for them. - -Mr. Wilkins said he thought it was a better game than bagatelle, and he -should have to practise, and then he would soon give Harry a beating. - -Harry said, “You can practise as much as you like, Wilkins; but it’ll be -sixpence a game if you play anybody, two shillings an hour if you -practise, and a guinea if you cut the cloth.” - -You should have seen Wilkins’s face at that! - -“Two shillings an hour!” he said; “I thought you were putting it up for -the good of the house.” - -A nice idea, wasn’t it, that we had gone to the expense of a -billiard-room and a table, and were going to engage a boy to mark, and -all for the amusement of Mr. Wilkins and his friends! That is the worst -of old customers. They don’t advance with the business, and they seem to -think that they are to have their own way in everything. - -The day after the table was up Harry asked Mr. Wilkins to come and look -at it. The balls were put on the table, Harry having been knocking them -about to try the cushions. - -Of course, Wilkins must take up a cue, and show how clever he was. “See -me put the white in the pocket off the red,” he said. He hit the white -ball so hard, that it jumped off the cushion and went smash through the -window. - -“Wilkins, old man,” said Harry, “I think you’d better practice billiards -out on the common. This place isn’t big enough for you.” - -I shall always remember our opening the billiard-room, from the young -fellow who came to us to be our first marker. - -We were going to have a boy--one who could fill up his time about the -house--at first; but, as a matter of fact, our first billiard-marker, -though he didn’t stay long, was a young fellow named Bright--“Charley -Bright,” everybody about the place called him. - -Poor Charley! His was a sad story. When we first knew him, he was living -in one room over Mrs. Megwith’s shop. Mrs. Megwith has a little drapery -and stationery shop, and sells nearly everything. He was quite the -gentleman. You could tell that by the way he spoke, and by his clothes, -which, though they were shabby, were well cut and well made, and you -could see that he had once been what is called a “swell.” - -He was very tall and very good-looking. He had dark, sparkling eyes, and -always a high colour, and very pretty curly, dark hair. But, oh, he was -so dreadfully thin! One day I said to Mrs. Megwith, “How thin your young -man lodger is!” “Yes,” she said; “and it isn’t to be wondered at. I -don’t believe he has anything to eat of a day but a few slices of bread -and butter.” - -“Is he so very poor?” I said. - -“Poor! He owes me eight weeks’ rent, and I know that he’s pawned -everything except what he stands upright in. I can’t find it in my heart -to turn him out, he’s such a good-hearted fellow, and a perfect -gentleman; but I can’t afford to lose the rent of the room much longer. -He’s welcome to the tea and bread-and-butter; but the five shillings a -week rent means something to a struggling widow woman with a family.” - -How we got to know Charley Bright was through one or two of the young -gentlemen bringing him, now and then, to have a drink. They had made his -acquaintance, and he knew a lot about racing, and was a capital talker, -and so they used to talk to him. I noticed once or twice when they stood -him a drink he would ask for a glass of wine, and say, “Just give me a -biscuit with it, please.” A biscuit, poor fellow!--it was a leg of -mutton with it that he wanted--but nobody knew how terribly poor he was. - -On the day after our billiard-room was opened Charley Bright came in by -himself. Harry had gone up to London, to see about some business. “Mrs. -Beckett,” he said, almost blushing; “I hear you want a billiard-marker. -I wish you’d try me.” - -“What!” I said, “you a billiard-marker?” - -“Yes. I can play a very good game, and I wouldn’t mind what I did that I -could do. I don’t want much. My meals in the house and a few shillings a -week--just enough to pay my rent over the road.” - -“Well,” I said, “we shall want a marker; but, of course, there will be -money to take and one thing and the other, and we shall want a -reference. Can you give us a reference?” - -His face fell at that. “I--I--can’t refer to my people,” he said, “I -shouldn’t like them to know what I was doing.” - -I saw a little tear come into his eye as he spoke, and, knowing what I -did, that nearly set me off. So I said, “Won’t you have a glass of -wine?” And I poured out a big glass of port, and I put the bread and -cheese before him on the bar. - -It was the only way I could do it. - -He knew what I meant, and the tears trickled right down his nose. “Thank -you,” he said, and his voice was so husky he could scarcely speak. - -It upset me so terribly that I had to go into the parlour, so that he -shouldn’t see me cry. I am an awful goose in that way--anything that is -pathetic or miserable brings a gulp into my throat and the tears into my -eyes in a minute. - -I left him alone with the bread and cheese for a good ten minutes, and -then I went back. He was evidently all the better for the meal, for he -had got back the old spirits and began to smile and chatter away quite -pleasantly. - -“I’ll speak to my husband when he comes back, Mr. Bright,” I said. “I’m -sure, if he can, he will let you have the place.” - -“Thank you, Mrs. Beckett,” he said; and then he told me his story. He -was a young fellow, the son of a professional gentleman with a large -family--gentlefolks, but not very well off. When he was eighteen he went -into an office in the City, and after a time, being quick at figures and -clever, he got two hundred pounds a year. Unfortunately, he spent his -evenings in a billiard-room at the West-end, where there were a very -fast set of men, and among them a lot of betting men. Charley Bright -took to betting, but only in small sums, and he used to play billiards -for money; and what with one thing and another, and stopping out late at -night, he got to neglect his business, to be late in the morning, and to -make mistakes, and all that sort of thing. - -But what ruined him was winning a thousand pounds. There was a horse -running for the Derby that had been a favourite at one time and had gone -back to fifty to one, I think, or something like that. At any rate, Mr. -Bright, who had won twenty pounds over a race, put it all on this horse -at one thousand pounds to twenty pounds. This was long before the race -was run, and after a time everybody thought this horse had gone wrong, -and Bright thought he had lost his money. - -He had settled down again to business, and was getting more careful and -not going to the billiard-room so much, when Derby Day came and the -horse won! - -That was the turning-point in his career. - -He had a thousand pounds. - -He was always very excitable, he told me, and the good luck drove him -nearly mad with joy. - -He was going to take to the turf, and make a fortune in backing horses. - -No more drudgery in the City, no more gloomy offices. He would be out -all day long in the country, watching the horses run, and pocketing -handfuls of sovereigns over the winners. - -He resigned his situation in the City, he left his home and took -lodgings in the West-end, dressed himself up as a great racing swell, -and for about six months lived his life at express railway speed. - -His eyes quite flashed, and his cheeks glowed, as he told of those days. -It was one wild round of pleasure, it carried the poor lad away body and -soul--and then the end came. - -Good fortune followed him at first; then came a change, and his “luck -was dead out,” as he put it. - -Presently he had lost all his money backing horses, and got into debt, -and had to part with his things. His people would not help him. His -father was very severe, and never forgave him for throwing up his -situation, and the young fellow was proud, and so he kept his poverty to -himself as much as he could. - -Some of the fellows he had known when he was well off were kind to him -in his misfortune for a bit; but as he got seedier and seedier they -dropped away from him. And at last he was so ashamed of the dreadful -position he had got in, that he didn’t care to go anywhere where people -who had known him in his swell days were likely to be. - -There was a billiard-room he used to go to for a long time, where he had -first met the company that had been his ruin; but, though he had spent -plenty of money there once, the landlord came to him one day and said, -“Look here, Bright, I don’t want to hurt your feelings; but a lot of the -gentlemen that come here don’t like to see you always hanging about the -room. It annoys them. I’ll give you a sovereign to stop away.” - -The landlord meant it kindly, perhaps; but the young fellow told me that -it hurt him dreadfully. Of course it wasn’t nice for these people to see -a seedy fellow, who had lost all his money through their bad example, -hanging about the place. He didn’t take the sovereign, but he never went -near the place again, and the people who knew him lost sight of him -altogether. - -He came down to our village and took a room, and tried to make a little -money in a very curious way. He still thought that he was a good judge -of racing, and knew a good deal about the turf. So, being desperate, he -hit on a scheme. - -He put an advertisement in a sporting paper, and called himself by a -false name, and said that he was in a great stable secret, and for -thirteen stamps he would send the absolute winner of a certain race. He -told me that he had the letters sent to the post office, and he got over -sixty answers, with thirteen stamps in them, and he sent in reply the -name of the horse he thought was sure to win. Unfortunately, the very -day after he had sent his horse off it was scratched, which he told me -meant being struck out of the list of runners, so that while his -customers were reading his letter, which gave them the certain winner, -they would see in the paper that the horse would not even run. - -He said that settled him for giving tips from that address, and he -didn’t know where else to go, for he had paid his landlady nearly all -his money, and bought a pair of boots, which he wanted badly, and so he -hadn’t even the money to pay his railway fare anywhere else, and he -didn’t know whatever he should do, for he was now absolutely starving. - -“Why don’t you write to your father?” I said. “Surely he wouldn’t let -you starve.” - -“No,” he said, “I will starve; but I won’t ask him for help again, after -what he said to me. I will go back home when I am earning my own living -and am independent, and not before.” - -When Harry came back, I told him about Charley Bright, and Harry was as -sorry as I was. He said that it was a very sad tale, and no doubt the -young fellow had had a lesson, and if he could give him a helping hand -he would. - -So it was settled that Charley Bright was to come and be our first -billiard-marker. We couldn’t afford to give him much salary, of course, -because really it was more for the convenience of the gentlemen staying -in the house and visitors than anything, and we couldn’t hope to do very -much at first. But he was quite satisfied, and, I think, what he looked -forward to were the regular meals. You may be sure that when I sent up -his dinner, I cut him as much meat as I could put on his plate, and I -let him know if he wanted any more he was to send down for it. - -I don’t think I had enjoyed my own dinner so much for many a long day, -as I did the day that I knew that poor fellow was enjoying his upstairs. -Oh, he was so dreadfully thin and delicate-looking! He wore a light grey -overcoat--a relic of his old racing days, he said--and it hung on him -like a sack. He had no undercoat on; he had parted with that weeks -before, he told me. - -After he had been with us a week he was quite a changed man. He was the -life and soul of the place, always merry, and always in high spirits. -The customers liked him very much, and he really brought a lot of custom -to the room, some of the young gentlemen from the houses round about -coming to see him, and liking to talk to him, and hear his stories of -what he had seen and done. - -After he had been with us a fortnight he told us he was doing very well, -as most of the gentlemen gave him something for himself. He said it made -him feel queer at first to take a tip, like a servant, but after all he -would be able to pay his landlady what he owed her, and so that helped -him to swallow his pride. - -We all got to like him very much indeed. He said Harry and I were as -good as a brother and sister to him--better than his own brothers and -sisters had been--and he was so grateful to us, there was nothing he -would not have done to show it. - -Of course, that Graves, the farrier, had something to say about it, in -his nasty vulgar way. One day we were talking about Charley, and Graves -said to Harry, “Yes, he’s a handsome young fellow. If he’d a lame leg -and a squint eye and red hair, I don’t suppose the missus would have -taken him up so kindly.” Harry gave Graves a look and curled his lip. -“Graves,” he said, “I know you don’t mean to be objectionable, but -shoeing horses is more in your line than people’s feelings. Talk about -what you understand!” - -Mr. Wilkins had something to say too, only he wasn’t as coarse as -Graves. There is a little more refinement about a parish clerk than -there is about a farrier. Mr. Wilkins only said that, of course, we knew -our own business best; but he didn’t think a broken down betting-man was -the nicest kind of person to keep on a well-conducted establishment. - -I said, “Mr. Wilkins, when you have an hotel, you can manage it yourself -and choose your own people; while the ‘Stretford Arms’ is ours, we’ll do -the same thing.” - -Charley--Mr. Bright I suppose I ought to call him now--stayed with us -for two months, and then one day he came to me, and he said, “Mrs. -Beckett, I hope you won’t think me ungrateful, but I’m going to leave -you.” - -Of course I said I was very sorry, and I asked him why. - -Then he told me that a young fellow who had known him in his good days -had gone into business for himself, and had offered him a situation as -clerk in his office if he would come. - -Of course I saw that was a more suitable situation for a young man of -his position, and I said so. A few days afterwards he left us, and there -wasn’t a soul but was sorry when he left; our housemaid, silly -girl!--who, I do believe, had fallen in love with him--crying her eyes -out. - -I heard about him several times after that, because he wrote to Harry, -and said he was doing well, and was reconciled to his father again. And -some weeks afterwards he came down to see us, and his handsome face was -handsomer than ever. He was beautifully dressed, and looked what he -was--a gentleman to the backbone. - -He stayed and had tea with us, and told us that he had fallen in love -with his friend’s sister, and they were going to be married, and he was -to be taken into partnership. - -Something like a friend that, was it not? - -He told us that he was in business in the Baltic. - -“Why,” said Harry, “that’s in Russia!” - -But he explained it was the Baltic--an exchange or something of the -sort--in London, where business is done in grain, I think, and tallow, -that comes from Russia. At any rate, he was doing very well, and since -then I have seen his marriage in the paper. - -Some day he has promised to bring his young wife down with him to stay -at our hotel. - -I am sure that we shall make them heartily welcome, and take care not to -mention before her about his once having been our billiard-marker. - -After he left, we had to look out for another marker, and we engaged a -lad about fifteen. He was a wonderful player; but of all the forward, -artful young demons that ever lived, I know there never was his equal. -He was that crafty, you’d have thought he was fifty instead of fifteen. -Talk about old heads on young shoulders! I’ll just give you a specimen -of what he could be up to. One day---- - - * * * * * - -O, baby, whatever have you been doing? Nurse, look at the child’s face! -What does it mean? Been at the coal-scuttle! Why, I declare he’s sucking -a piece of coal now! O, oo dirty, dirty boy--and oo nice tlene pinny -only just put on! Go and wash him, nurse, for goodness’ sake, before his -father sees him, or I sha’n’t hear the last of it for a week. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -_THE SILENT POOL._ - - -One of the things that used to make me the most nervous when we first -took to hotel-keeping was not knowing what sort of people you’d got -sleeping under your roof. Anybody that’s got a portmanteau can come and -stay at an hotel or an inn, and how are you to know who and what they -are? They may be murderers, hiding from justice; they may be thieves or -burglars; and they may be very respectable people; but, unless they’re -old customers, you must take them on trust. It’s not a bit of good -saying you can judge by appearances, because you can’t. The most -gentlemanly and good-natured-looking man that ever stopped at our house -gave us a cheque for his bill, and the cheque was never paid, and turned -out to be one he’d helped himself to out of somebody else’s cheque-book; -and, worse than that, when he left he took a good deal more away in his -portmanteau than he brought with him, and one thing was a beautiful new -suit belonging to a young gentleman staying in the house, which we had -to make good. It worried me terribly when we found out that we’d had a -regular hotel thief stopping with us, I can tell you; and, after we -found it out, I was all of a tremble for days, expecting every minute -something more to be found missing. - -Fortunately, the suit, and a scarf-pin of Harry’s, and a silver-mounted -walking-stick were all he went off with, so far as we ever discovered. -Perhaps he didn’t have a chance of getting anything else, and was -satisfied with what he did get, and letting us in for £7 15s. He wanted -to draw the cheque for ten pounds and have the change, I remember; but -I said “No” to that, and very glad I was afterwards that I did. It was a -lesson to us, not getting the cheque paid. And after that we had a -notice printed across all our billheads, “No cheques taken,” like most -hotel-keepers do now. Some of them have a very nice collection of unpaid -cheques, which they keep as curiosities. - -Having been “done,” as Harry calls it, once or twice, made us more -careful, and so young fellows without much luggage that we didn’t know -anything about, when they began to live extravagantly, having champagne, -and all that sort of thing, and staying for more than a day, we -generally kept an eye on. - -When they were out, we used to go up to their rooms and just have a look -round and see if they’d got much clothes with them, because the -portmanteau is nothing to go by. It may be stuffed full of old books and -newspapers. - -It was just while we were extra suspicious through having been swindled -and robbed by the man I’ve just told you about, that two gentlemen with -two small portmanteaus came in one evening by the last train, and wanted -two bedrooms and a sitting-room. - -They were about thirty-five years old, I should say, by the look of -them. One was tall and thin, and the other was short and stout. They -certainly looked respectable, and were well dressed; but they talked in -rather a curious way to each other, using words that neither Harry nor I -could understand, and that made us a little suspicious, and so we kept a -sort of watch on them, and kept our ears open, too, as, of course, we -had a right to do, seeing we had not only the reputation of the house to -look after, but also the comfort and the property of the other -customers. - -I showed them their bedrooms, and, as it was late, I said, “I suppose, -gentlemen, you won’t want a fire lighted in the sitting-room this -evening?” - -What made me say that was, it was past eleven, and, of course, I -expected they would take their candles and go to bed. - -The tall one said, “Oh yes, we do; we’re rather late birds.” - -“That’s a nice thing,” I said to myself. “They’ll want the gas on half -the night, and somebody will have to sit up and turn it off.” - -However, I said nothing to them, but rang the bell, and had the fire -lighted, and the gas lighted, and their portmanteaus carried upstairs. - -They both pulled their chairs up to the fire, and the short gentleman -lit a pipe. - -“Aren’t you going to smoke?” he said to the tall gentleman. - -“I don’t know,” said the tall gentleman; “a cigar always makes me -queer.” Then he turned to me, and said, “Have you got any very mild -cigars?” - -“Yes, sir,” I said; “I think so. Is there anything else you want?” - -“What shall I have?” said the stout gentleman. “Can I have a cup of -tea?” - -I looked at him. It was past eleven o’clock, and we were just on closing -up everything, and the fire was out in the kitchen. - -“Well, sir,” I said; “if you particularly wish it--but----” - -“Oh, don’t trouble,” he said. “Of course, we’re in the country. I -forgot. Bring me a whiskey-and-seltzer.” - -“Yes, sir; and what will you have, sir?” I said, turning to the long -gentleman. - -The long gentleman, if he was a minute making up his mind he was ten. -First he thought he’d have whiskey, and then he said whiskey made him -bilious; then he thought he’d have a brandy-and-soda; and then he -thought he’d have a plain lemonade. - -“You couldn’t make my friend a basin of gruel, could you?” said the -stout gentleman; “he’s very delicate.” - -Of course I took him seriously, so I said, “Well, sir, the cook’s gone -to bed; but----” - -“Oh, don’t pay any attention to what he says,” says the tall gentleman; -“he’s a lunatic. Bring me--let’s see--lemonade’s such cold stuff this -weather--I think I’ll have a port-wine negus.” - -I was very glad to get the order and get out of the room, for I thought -they were going to keep me there half an hour. - -When I got downstairs, I said to Harry, “I can’t make those two men out -quite, and I’m not sure I like them.” - -“Oh,” said Harry, “I dare say they’re all right. I’ll take their measure -to-morrow.” - -I took up the cigar, and the whiskey-and-seltzer, and the port-wine -negus, and put them down, and was just saying good night when the tall -gentleman called me back. - -“You’ve put nutmeg in this wine?” he said. - -“Yes, sir, it’s usual to put nutmeg in negus.” - -“I’m very sorry, but I can’t take nutmeg--it makes me bilious. I think -I’ll have a bottle of lemonade, after all.” - -“Bring him six of cod-liver oil hot, and a mustard-plaster,” said the -stout gentleman. - -The tall gentleman certainly looked rather delicate. He had a very fair -face, and a lot of very fair hair, and there was a generally languid -appearance about him. - -“I can make you a mustard-plaster, sir,” I said, “if you would really -like one.” - -“Don’t you mind him,” said the tall gentleman; “he’s only trying to be -funny.” - -All this time he was pinching the cigar, and looking at it as though it -were some nasty medicine. - -“I’m afraid this is too strong for me,” he said. “Haven’t you anything -milder?” - -“Bring him a halfpenny sweetstuff one,” said the stout gentleman. - -I took the negus and the cigar downstairs, and I said to Harry, “I -shan’t go up again. Those two men are lunatics, I believe. They want -lemonade and a halfpenny sweetstuff cigar now.” - -Harry laughed, and said, “Go on--they’re chaffing you.” - -“Well, I’m not going to be chaffed,” I said. So I called Jane, the -waitress, who was just going to bed, poor girl, having to be up at six -in the morning, and I said, “Jane, you must wait on No. 16, please.” And -I gave her the lemonade. - -She went up, and she was gone quite ten minutes. When she came down, I -said, “Jane, whatever made you so long?” - -“Oh, ma’am,” she said, “they’ve been asking me such things!” - -“What have they been asking you, Jane?” I said, getting alarmed; for I -was more than ever convinced the two men weren’t quite right. - -“They’ve been asking me if ever there was a murder here, ma’am, and if -there isn’t a silent pool in the wood where a body’s been found. And the -stout gentleman says that the tall gentleman is mad, and he’s his -keeper.” - -“I knew it,” I screamed. And then I said, “Harry, I’m not going to bed -to-night with a lunatic in the house. You must go upstairs and tell them -to go. We are not licensed to receive lunatics, and I won’t have it.” - -“Nonsense!” said Harry. “It’s only their nonsense. They’ve been chaffing -Jane, that’s all. Don’t be a goose.” - -“Well,” I said, “I shall ask them to-morrow to go somewhere else.” - -“Let’s wait till to-morrow, then,” said Harry. “We’ve no reasonable -excuse for turning them out at this hour of the night. Let’s go to bed.” - -“Very well,” I said. “Jane, take the candles into No. 16, and turn out -the gas.” - -Jane took the candles, and presently she came down and said, “Please, -ma’am, the gentlemen say they’ll turn out the gas themselves.” - -“Very well,” I said. “Then, Harry, you’ll have to sit up, for I’m not -going to leave the house at the mercy of these two fellows. They’ll go -to bed and leave the gas full on, or turn it off and turn it on again, -and there’ll be an escape, and we shall all be blown up, or some fine -thing.” - -“All right, my dear; anything to please you. I don’t mind sitting up,” -said Harry; “only don’t fidget yourself so, for goodness’ sake, or -you’ll be ill.” - -I said I shouldn’t fidget if he sat up, and I went to bed; but I was -awfully wild, because we didn’t want that sort of people at our quiet -little place. It was very good of Harry to sit up, and he certainly is -very kind and considerate, and I dare say I was fidgety and nervous; but -I hadn’t been very well, and the least thing upset me. The doctor said -it was “nerves,” and I suppose that was what it was. I had had a bad -illness, and that had left me low, and the least thing upset me. I think -I told you at the time Harry wanted me to go away to the seaside and -get better; but I wouldn’t do that, for I should have been fidgeting all -day and all night, lest something should go wrong while I was away. - -I went to bed, leaving Harry in the bar-parlour smoking his pipe, and -reading the newspaper; and after a bit, I fell fast asleep. - -When I woke up it was just getting light. I turned to look for Harry. -_He wasn’t in bed._ - -I went hot and cold all over. - -“Harry!” I called out. - -There was no answer. - -I jumped out of bed and looked at my watch by the window. It was five -o’clock in the morning. - -“Oh,” I said, “this is wicked--this is infamous. The idea of those -fellows sitting burning the gas till this time in the morning in a -respectable house, and my great gaby of a husband not going up and -telling them of it.” - -I hurried on some of my things, and went down the stairs. - -I had to pass No. 16. The door was wide open and the gas was out. - -Whatever could it mean? - -A terrible thought flashed through my brain. - -They had murdered Harry, robbed the house, and decamped. - -How I got down to the bar-parlour I don’t know. Terror gave me strength. - -Directly I got to the door I saw the gas was still on there. I pushed -the door open and ran in, and there was Harry fast asleep in the -arm-chair, with the newspaper in his lap and his pipe dropped out of his -mouth and lying on the hearthrug. - -“Harry!” I said, seizing him by the arm--“Harry!” - -He started and opened his eyes. “Hullo,” he said, “what’s the matter?” - -“What’s the matter!” I said. “Why, it’s five o’clock in the morning, and -you’ve given me my death of fright.” - -He was flabbergasted when he found out what time it was, and he said he -supposed he must have dropped off sound asleep. - -There wasn’t much suppose about it! - -A nice thing, wasn’t it, to leave him to look after those two fellows, -and put the gas out for safety? and then for them to put _their_ gas out -themselves, and him to go to sleep with his burning, and drop his -lighted pipe on the hearthrug. - -It’s a mercy we weren’t all burned alive in our beds. - - * * * * * - -What with the fright and the broken rest, I wasn’t at all well next day, -and I dare say I was a little disagreeable. I know I began at Harry -about those two gentlemen, and what we were going to do. - -They didn’t get up till nearly ten, and it was past eleven before they’d -done breakfast. I went into the sitting-room to ask about dinner; but -really to have another look at them. - -They didn’t look anything very dreadful in the daylight, and they were -certainly very pleasant with me, though a bit more jokey than I felt -inclined for. - -They said they’d have dinner at five o’clock; and then they asked me all -about the village and the neighbourhood, and they were on again about -that silent pool. There had been a murder committed there years and -years ago, and they must have heard about it somehow, for they asked me -all about it, and I told them the story as well as I could remember it. - -There was a young woman, the daughter of a farmer, who lived near the -wood, and she was engaged to be married to a young fellow who was a -farmer’s son. But it seems that she had been carrying on with a young -gentleman of quality, who lived in a fine mansion some miles away. The -young farmer had his suspicions, and watched her, and one moonlight -night he saw her go out, and meet her gentleman lover in the wood near -this pool. The lovers parted at the pool, after a very stormy scene, the -poor girl saying that he had broken her heart, and that she would drown -herself. An old man, a farm labourer, who was going through the wood, -heard the girl say that she would drown herself. He didn’t see her, he -only heard those words. - -The next morning the poor girl was found lying drowned in the pool, and -it was supposed to be suicide. The old man’s evidence of what he had -heard, and something that the doctor said at the inquest, made it quite -clear why the poor thing should have done so. But after the inquest was -over and it had been brought in suicide, the rumour got about that it -wasn’t a suicide after all, but a murder. Some people said that the -young farmer had pushed her in, in a mad fit of jealousy and revenge, -and others that the young gentleman had done it, because the poor girl -had threatened to tell everything, and make a scandal; and it seems he -was dreadfully in debt, and engaged to be married to a very rich young -lady. - -The rumour got so strong, and such a lot of evidence kept being found -out by the girl’s father, that the young gentleman was -arrested--arrested on the very morning that he was to have been -married--and was charged with the murder. The pool had been dragged, and -at the bottom of the pool was found, among other things, a piece of -linen, with a small diamond pin still in it. It was in the days when -gentlemen wore frill shirts, with a diamond pin in them--sometimes one -pin and a little chain, and a smaller pin attached to that. I dare say -you remember them, because it is not so long ago that some old-fashioned -gentlemen wore them still. It was said that this belonged to the man who -had pushed the poor girl in--that there had been a struggle, and she had -clung to him, and the shirt-front had been torn away, and the girl had -gone into the pool with it in her hand, and opening her hands struggling -in the water, it had gone to the bottom. - -At the trial, when the gentleman’s servants were examined, it was proved -that he had come home that night very excited, and one of them had -noticed that he wore his coat buttoned over his chest, and it was found -out that a pin, which he was known to have had, had not been seen -since--that he could not produce it, though he swore he was innocent. - -He was committed for trial, I think--at any rate, after the examination -before the magistrates there was another grand trial at the assizes, and -everybody thought he would be found guilty, when suddenly the young -farmer came into the court, and made a tremendous sensation by saying -that he had murdered the girl himself, in a fit of passion. - -He had overheard the conversation between the lovers, and he had sprung -out on them, and attacked the young gentleman. The poor girl had clung -to him to protect him, badly as he had used her, and that was how the -piece of shirt and the diamond pin came away in her hand. The young -gentleman, who was a coward, or he could never have treated a trusting -girl as he did, slunk away, for the farmer threatened he would kill him -like a dog if he did not. And as soon as he was gone, leaving the girl -half-fainting, the young farmer turned on her, and she answered him, and -said she hated him, and upbraided him for attacking the man she loved; -and this made him so mad that he pushed her into the pool, and she was -drowned. - -I couldn’t tell the gentlemen all the details, because I didn’t know -them, but that was the story as I had heard it. The young farmer was put -in the dock in the place of the young gentleman, and was found guilty, -and sentenced to be hanged; but he managed to hang himself in his cell -before the day of execution. The young gentleman lost his rich bride, -and went away abroad, and they say that he was stabbed soon afterwards -in a row in a low gambling-house, which was a terrible tragedy, and -three young lives lost because a man was wicked and a woman was weak; -but I suppose there will be tragedies of that sort as long as the world -lasts. - -The gentlemen seemed very interested in what I told them, and I began to -think better of them, because it is always nice to tell a story to -intelligent people, and to see that you have made an impression. - -After breakfast, they asked me to direct them to the pool in the wood, -and they went off there, and didn’t come back till dinner-time. - -When they came in I asked them if they had seen the pool. - -“Yes,” said the tall gentleman; “it is a lovely place for a murder.” - -“A _lovely_ place for a murder,” I thought to myself. “That’s a nice way -to talk certainly;” but I was wanted in the bar, and we didn’t have any -more conversation. - -That evening Harry had gone upstairs into one of the rooms that was -being repapered, and when he came down he looked very serious. - -“What’s the matter?” I said. - -“Well,” he said, “I was passing No. 16, and, hearing them talking rather -loud, I stopped for a minute, not exactly to listen; but I couldn’t help -hearing what they said, and I heard something that’s rather worried me.” - -“What is it?” I said. “You’d better tell me, or I shall think all manner -of things.” - -I had to press him; but he told me at last. - -“I heard one say to the other,” he said, “that he thought they couldn’t -do better than get the girl to that pool, and then have her pushed in.” - -“‘Yes,’ said the other; ‘but who is to do it?’ - -“‘Why, James Maitland,’ said the other. - -“‘But suppose she screamed--wouldn’t her screams be heard? And if her -screams were heard, everybody would know it wasn’t suicide.’ - -“‘No,’ said the other, ‘there are no houses near. This other girl was -murdered there, and everybody thought it was suicide.’ - -“There was silence for a minute, and then the other (the short one, I -think, by his voice) said, ‘Let’s do it.’” - -“Oh, Harry!” I said, “how awful!” - -“We must keep our heads,” said Harry, “and not let them think we’ve -heard anything.” - -“Did you hear any more?” - -“Yes, I heard the long one say that they’d better go up to the pool -to-night, so as to see how it looked in the dark, and then they would be -able to arrange all the details.” - -“Harry,” I said, “not another moment do I rest in this house, with two -men plotting murder in it. Go and tell them that we know all, and order -them off the premises.” - -Harry thought a minute, and then he said-- - -“No; we’ve got no proof yet. I’d better go and put the matter in the -hands of the police.” - -“Yes; go at once,” I said. - -Harry went up to the station and told his story to the inspector, and -the inspector said we had better not say anything to the two men, but -have them watched. He said they wouldn’t know him, so he’d put on plain -clothes and do the job himself; he didn’t care to trust it to Jones, as -Jones was a bit of a fool. You remember Jones--he was the policeman that -Dashing Dick had such a game with, with the empty revolver. - -I said to Harry, “Well, if he doesn’t arrest them to-night, they don’t -come back here. I’ve made up my mind to that.” - -The inspector came down to our house soon afterwards in plain clothes, -and sat in our bar-parlour. Harry persuaded him to let him go with him -to the wood, and he promised he should, if he’d be careful. - -About seven o’clock, the two fellows went out, and as soon as they’d -gone the inspector and Harry went off, and took a short cut, so as to -get to the pool first and conceal themselves. - -Harry told me all about what happened afterwards. - -They concealed themselves behind a clump of trees near the pool, and -presently those two fellows came along talking earnestly together. - -When they got to the pool they were silent for a bit, and walked all -round it, looking at the ground. - -“This’ll be the place,” said the tall one presently; “this mound gives a -man a good foothold, and he can throw the girl in instead of pushing -her.” - -“Yes,” said the other. “James Maitland mustn’t make the appointment with -the girl here, but in the wood, and then they can walk this way. He’ll -start quarrelling with her here, and then he can throw her in.” - -“Where’s he to go to when he’s done it? Run away?” - -“No; stop and brazen it out. Nobody will see him or the girl together. -We can arrange that, and the suspicion is sure to fall on the other -fellow, because of what’s already passed between him and Norah. -Besides,” said the short fellow, “who’s going to accuse Maitland? Nobody -knows that he’s mixed up with the girl.” - -The tall fellow thought a bit. - -“Yes,” he said, “I think that’ll be the best. I don’t see how we can get -rid of the girl in any better way than that. If she was shot or stabbed, -nobody could set up the theory of suicide; but if she’s found drowned, -of course there’ll be nothing to prove that she didn’t go in of her own -accord.” - -When Harry got to that, I said, “Oh, Harry, it makes one’s blood run -cold to think of the villains coolly plotting to murder a young girl -like that!” - -“Yes,” he said, “it made me feel creepy, and the inspector said, ‘I -think I’ll collar them now. We’ve heard enough. If we let it go on they -may make up their minds to have this poor girl murdered somewhere else, -and then we may be too late.’ - -“He was just about to spring out and collar them, when the short fellow -said to the long fellow, ‘One minute, my boy. I’ve got a magnificent -idea. There’ll be an inquest. Can’t we make the comic man foreman of the -jury? I can see a splendid scene--the comic man rubbing it into the -villain and getting roars of laughter.’” - -“What!” I exclaimed. “A comic man on a jury!” - -“Don’t you see, little woman,” said Harry, “what it all meant? The -inspector did in a minute. These gentlemen aren’t murderers. They’ve -come down here to write a play, and they’re going to make the Silent -Pool their big sensation scene.” - - * * * * * - -I didn’t take it all in for a minute; but when I did I laughed till I -cried. Everything was explained at once. But how on earth were we to -know that those two eccentric gentlemen were play-writers, and that they -had come down to our inn so as to study the Silent Pool as a sensation -scene for a drama. - -I wasn’t a bit afraid of them after that, and I let them turn their own -gas out at all hours of the night, for they generally sat and wrote till -the small hours, and a nice noise they made sometimes, shouting at each -other--“trying the dialogue,” they called it. They stayed with us nearly -a fortnight, and we got to like them very much. Harry called them Mr. -Lampost and Mr. Waterbutt; but, of course, not to their faces. They used -to come into our parlour and tell us funny stories, and we were quite -sorry when they went. They told us what they were doing at last, when -they found we could be trusted, and they had a gentleman down from -London, who was going to paint the scene. - -When the play was brought out, Harry and I had two beautiful seats sent -us to go and see it, and we enjoyed it tremendously. The Silent Pool was -as real as though it had come from our wood; and there was the murder -and everything. And fancy our thinking that two play-writers were two -murderers! How they would have laughed if they had known! I noticed two -or three little things in the play that they had picked up in our place; -and one room in one of the acts was our bar-parlour exactly. - -When I saw it, I said, “Oh, Harry, I do believe they’ve put us in -it!”--and it was quite a relief when the landlady came on and wasn’t me -at all, but a comic old lady who made everybody scream every time she -opened her mouth. - -Mr. Lampost and Mr. Waterbutt promised us that when they were writing -another play they would come and stay with us again, and I hope they -will. Whenever I hear their play spoken about I always say, “Ah, that -play was written in our house.” But I never say that we thought they -were murderers, and had them watched by the police. - -One thing I was very thankful for, and that is that Mr. Wilkins didn’t -get hold of them to tell them about the murder in the Silent Pool. If he -had, he’d have gone about and told everybody that he’d collaborated in -the drama. - -As it is, if anybody could claim the credit of having had a hand in it, -it was not Mr. Wilkins, but me. - - * * * * * - -Good gracious me! Isn’t supper ready? Hasn’t cook got a fit? Doesn’t -Harry want the key of the cash-box? Has nothing gone wrong downstairs or -upstairs? Wonders will never cease! I’ve actually been able to finish my -“Memoir” of Mr. Lampost and Mr. Waterbutt, and their visit to the -‘Stretford Arms,’ without anybody knocking at the door, and saying, -“Please, ma’am, you’re wanted.” Thank goodness! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -_THE OWEN WALESES._ - - -They had the sitting-rooms, No. 6 and No. 7. - -“Sixes and Sevens” we called them, and certainly that’s what they were -always at. They stayed three weeks, while their house in London was -being painted and done up inside and out; and if they had stayed much -longer, I think mad I should have gone. When they came I had picked up -my strength again wonderfully, and was quite well; but when they went -away I was reduced to such a state of nervousness that if a door banged -I jumped out of my chair and burst into a perspiration. - -One day we had a letter from a lady in London, asking if we had two -sitting-rooms and four bedrooms to spare, and giving a list of the -family she wanted to bring with her, if we could accommodate them for a -fortnight. Mrs. Owen Wales was the name on the lady’s card, and it was a -very good address. So we wrote back to say that we had the bedrooms to -spare, and also two nice sitting-rooms--No. 6 and No. 7. She had asked -us to give her an idea of our terms for such a party for three weeks; -but Harry said it was no good making a reduction, as large families were -sometimes more trouble than small ones, and our terms were quite -moderate enough. So I wrote a nice polite letter, and said what our -regular charges were, and that as we had only limited accommodation, and -were generally full, we couldn’t make any reduction, but they might rely -upon every attention being paid to their comfort. - -One or two letters passed before the thing was settled, and then one day -we had a telegram ordering fires to be lighted in both sitting-rooms -and dinner to be ready at 6.30 for six people, in the largest -sitting-room. - -They arrived about half-past five--Mr. and Mrs. Owen Wales and two young -gentlemen and two young ladies and a maidservant. - -Mr. Owen Wales was a very short and very stout gentleman of about -fifty-five, with the reddest hair and whiskers I ever saw in my life. -Mrs. Owen Wales was about fifty, I should say, but she was six feet, if -she was an inch, and a fine women in every way; in fact, I may say a -magnificent woman. The two sons, Mr. Robert and Mr. David, were fine, -tall young men, taking after the mother. One was twenty-two and the -other nineteen, and the daughters, Miss Rhoda and Miss Maggie, were both -tall, too, and neither of them, I should say, would see twenty again. -Pryce, the lady’s-maid, was the queerest lady’s-maid I ever saw in my -life. She said she was forty to one of our girls, who asked the question -delicately; but she was sixty if she was a day. She was one of those -hard-faced, straight-up-and-down, hawk-eyed, eagle-nosed old women that -never laugh and never smile, and seem to have been turned out of a mould -hard set, and never to have melted. - -I soon saw what I had to deal with in Mrs. Pryce (she was a Miss, but -was always called Mrs. by her own request,) directly she got out of the -fly, that came on first with the luggage. - -She began to order me about, if you please, before she had been inside -the door a second, and to give me directions what was to be done, as if -I had never had a respectable person stay at my hotel before. - -I listened to what she had to say quietly, and I said, “Very good; I -will call the chambermaid, and she will attend to you.” - -She looked at me in a supercilious sort of way, and said, “Humph!” out -loud, and growled something to herself, which I know as well as -possible, though I didn’t hear it, was that she supposed I was above my -business. - -Now, that is a thing nobody can say of me with truth; but I never could -submit to be sat upon; and nothing puts my back up quicker than for -anybody to try it on, especially people who are always giving -themselves airs and showing off. - -After she’d gone upstairs with the chambermaid and the man who carried -the luggage up, to see it put in the proper rooms, I said to my husband, -“Harry, there’ll be trouble with that person before we’ve done with -her--you mark my words.” Harry said, “Well, my dear, don’t you begin -making it,” which made me turn on him rather spitefully. One would have -thought, to hear him say that, that I was inclined to quarrel with -people and to make words, which I never was, and I hope I never shall -be; though, of course, a great deal depends upon the health you are in -and the condition of your nerves. You have a baby who is teething, and -keeps you awake night after night for a fortnight, and I think Job -himself would have lost his patience and turned snappy. And that was -what had happened to me with my second--a dear little girl, with the -loveliest dark eyes you ever saw in your life, and more like me than -Harry, with the prettiest ways a baby ever had, till the teething began, -and then the poor mite, I am bound to say, she didn’t show her mother’s -amiability of temper. (Ahem! Harry.) - -Well, of all the impudent things I ever saw! I left my papers on my -desk while I ran downstairs to go to the stores cupboard with cook, and -that impudent husband of mine has been reading my manuscript, and has -put in that nasty remark. I shan’t scratch it out--it shall stand there -as a lasting disgrace to him. It will show young women what they have to -expect when they get married, and how little men appreciate a woman who -lets them have their own way, and doesn’t make herself a tyrant. - -And talking about tyrants, if ever there was one in this world it was -that Mr. Owen Wales. That little bit of a fellow, who, as Harry said, -was only a pair of red whiskers on two stumps, made his big wife and his -big family tremble before him. But I shall come to that presently. - -It was as much as I could do to keep from saying, “Oh!” and giggling -right out when they all got out of the fly, and the little man walked in -like a small turkey-cock surrounded by his giant family. They really -looked giants and giantesses by the side of him; but not one of them -spoke a word or offered a remark, leaving everything to “Pa.” - -Harry said afterwards it reminded him of a little bantam cock when Mr. -Owen Wales first strutted in; but there wasn’t much of the bantam when -he began to crow--I mean when he began to speak. It was more like a -bassoon. He had the deepest and gruffest voice I ever heard. Really, you -would wonder how such sounds could come out of a little man’s throat. - -He spoke in his gruff voice in a short, jumpy way, as if he was ordering -a regiment of soldiers about. “Rooms ready?” “Yes, sir; quite ready.” -“Fires alight?” “Yes, sir; they have been alight all day.” He grunted, -and then he turned to his family, who all stood meek and mute behind -him, and said, “Go on!” Well, he didn’t say it--he growled it, and they -all turned and went upstairs after the waitress, like school-children, -leaving Mr. Owen Wales to settle with the flyman. Our flyman is a very -civil flyman, but Mr. Owen Wales bullied him about some trifle till, the -poor man told me afterwards, he felt inclined to jump off the box and -give the “little beggar” a good shaking. And that’s how I often felt -with him afterwards--that I should like to take him up, put him under my -arm, and drop him quietly out of the window, to teach him a lesson. - -But his family stood in absolute terror of him, especially his wife, who -was the dullest, meekest, quietest creature for her size that you ever -saw. She could have taken that little man and given him a good shaking -at any moment if she had chosen to put out her strength; and instead of -that she obeyed him like a dog and trembled if he spoke cross to her or -swore. - -And he did swear. Not very bad swearing, but still swearing all the -same. It was only one word he used, beginning with D; but he would say -it as if he was thinking it out loud. This was the sort of thing. “Where -did I put my glasses? D----!” “Hasn’t anybody seen them? D----!” “Oh, -there they are on the sofa. D----!” “What time is it--half-past ten? -D----!” “Which way is the wind this morning--east? D----!” And so on. It -was such a habit with him that I think he didn’t know what he did it -for. One Sunday I heard him, coming out of church, before the people -were out of the doors, say quite out loud, “I have left my Church -Service in the pew. D----!” And, turning round to go back, he pushed up -against the clergyman’s wife, and apologized, “Beg pardon, ma’am, I’m -sure. D----!” - -He used to say that word between every sentence he spoke aloud, just -like some people grunt between every sentence when they talk; and being -such a pompous little man, and so conspicuous with his red hair and -whiskers and his stoutness, it made it seem odder than ever, and -attracted everybody’s attention. - -I believe he was a very clever little man, which perhaps accounted for -his queer ways. I was told that he was a very wonderful man at figures; -and I think he was under Government, in some great office--at least, -I’ve heard so; and this perhaps accounted for his muttering, and -thinking, and swearing so much to himself. He really forgot that anybody -was in the room, his head being on something else. Sometimes at dinner, -when the joint was in front of him, he would help himself and begin to -eat, forgetting his wife and family altogether, until one of them would -venture to say “Pa.” And then he would look up suddenly, and say quite -sharply, “Eh? What? Oh, d----!” and then serve them. - -When he was in our hotel he always had one of the sitting-rooms to -himself, and he would sit there for hours with a lot of papers, which he -had in a big dispatch-box he carried about with him. I suppose he was -ciphering, but I couldn’t tell, because he always locked the door, and -nobody was allowed to go near when he was there. The only person he was -really civil to, and was really afraid of, was Mrs. Pryce, the -lady’s-maid. I’m sure that old woman knew something; for he never tried -any of his bullying on with her. Sometimes, when dinner was ready, and -he was locked in his room, there wasn’t one of them--not his wife, and -not his children--who dared go and knock and tell him. They used to send -for Pryce to go; and she would march up to the door as bold as brass and -knock, and say, quite short, “Dinner, sir.” - -If Pryce did that he would come out in a minute; but once, when Pryce -was out, his eldest daughter went and gave a feeble little tap after -dinner had been ready three-quarters of an hour, and he came out foaming -at the mouth, and dancing about in a rage, and roaring and bellowing, -like a wild animal that had been stirred up in its cage with a long -pole. - -The least thing would put him out. I remember when they first came I had -to tell him one day that his wife had gone for a walk with the young -ladies. - -“Mrs. Wales has gone out, sir,” I said. - -“That’s not her name,” he said. “D----! Don’t you think you ought to -call people who stay with you by their proper name? D----! My name is -Owen Wales, D----! not Wales. My wife’s Mrs. Owen Wales; my daughters -are Miss Owen Waleses. Don’t chop half our name off, please. D----!” - -And with that he went growling and muttering up the stairs, as though -he’d been having a fight with another animal over a bone. - -I’ve told you that when he was about, the rest of the family were like -lambs. Even the sons, grown-up young men as they were, didn’t dare to -open their mouths hardly before him; but when he went up to London and -left them in the hotel by themselves, oh dear me! you wouldn’t have -believed what a wonderful change took place. - -Their mamma was just the same quiet, meek, long-suffering creature; but -the young ladies and gentlemen were like wild animals, when the keeper’s -gone away and has taken the horsewhip with him. All the pa that was in -them came out, and they quarrelled and went on at each other awfully; -and their poor ma was no more use than a baby to manage them. She used -to lie in bed generally when Mr. Owen Wales was away till eleven o’clock -in the morning, and the family used to come down at all hours, one after -the other, and quarrel over their breakfast. - -When Mr. Owen Wales was with us everybody used to be at breakfast at -nine sharp, all looking as if butter wouldn’t melt; and woe betide any -of them that was a minute late at a meal except himself. - -But, oh, the meals when he wasn’t there! It was dreadful. It was the -same with dinner as with breakfast. They’d come in one after the other, -and quarrel all the time. And one day at dinner Miss Rhoda slapped Mr. -Robert’s face, and Mr. Robert threw a glass of water over her, and they -all jumped up, and I thought they’d have a free fight. I was so -terrified that I dropped the vegetable-dish I was handing round out of -my hand on the table, and, as it was cauliflower and melted-butter, and -it all fell over into Mrs. Owen Wales’s lap and ruined her dress, I -didn’t know which way to look or what to do. I thought perhaps they’d -all turn on to me, and begin to tear my hair or something; but they went -on calling each other beasts and cats and crocodiles, and other pet -names without taking any notice, and their ma just wiped up the -melted-butter out of her lap with her napkin, and said gently, “It -doesn’t matter, Mrs. Beckett; it’ll come out.” And then she looked up at -the young people and said, “Children, children, do, pray, be quiet.” - -But the brothers went on at each other furiously; one brother taking one -sister’s side and one the other; and the young ladies began scratching -their brothers’ faces. And I don’t know how it would have ended, only -Pryce walked into the room as calm as a judge, and they all sat down as -if by magic. - -I found out afterwards they were afraid she would tell their father; -they knew their mother wouldn’t. Pryce was the master when the master -was away--there was no mistake about that; and I’ve heard her go into -Mrs. Owen Wales’s room, and order her to get up--not exactly order her, -but you know what I mean--tell her it was late in a way that was as good -as an order to get up. - -The constant scenes when their pa was away quite wore me out, and I said -to Harry that my nerves wouldn’t stand it. They always used to quarrel -at the top of their voices, and the young ladies used to scream and rush -out bathed in tears, and bang the doors and run upstairs into their -bed-room; and I said we might as well keep a lunatic asylum at -once--better, for we should have keepers and strait-jackets then, and -padded rooms. - -Harry said they were a queer family, certainly. But he supposed it was -their being kept under so awfully by their pa made them burst out when -he wasn’t there--and perhaps that _was_ it; but whatever it was, it was -very unpleasant in an hotel, which had always had quiet, steady-going -people. - -And it was not only quarrelling, but they were all over the place. The -young gentlemen would come into the bar, and into the bar-parlour, and -go on anyhow; and one day I found Mr. David sitting on the table in the -kitchen, and making the servants roar with laughter at a figure which he -had got, which was an old man on a donkey, that worked with strings; and -Harry came in one day and told me that he had seen Mr. Robert walking -with our nursemaid, while she was out with baby in the perambulator. - -I said to Harry that the sooner their pa came back again the better it -would be for us, for the place was being turned into a bear garden, and -their ma was a poor, helpless creature to be left with such a lot. - -But the worst that happened was one afternoon. Mr. Robert and Mr. David -came down and said to Harry, “Mr. Beckett, we want you to do us a -favour.” “What is it?” said Harry. “We’re going up to London, and we -can’t get back till the last train, which gets into ----” (a station four -miles from us) “at one in the morning. Will you let some one sit up for -us, and not say anything about it to Pryce or pa?” - -Harry, in his good-natured way, said, “All right,” and off my lords -went. I was very cross when I heard about it; but Harry said they were -grown-up young men, and perhaps they wanted to go to the theatre. - -I wouldn’t let Harry sit up alone, so I sat up too. And, if you please, -it was past two in the morning when a cab stopped at the door. And, when -Harry let them in, if these two young gentlemen were not in a nice -condition! Their hats were stuck on the backs of their heads, and they -could hardly stand upright--they were so much the worse for what they -had had. - -They grinned a most idiotic grin when they saw me, and tried to say -something polite; but they couldn’t get a distinct sentence out. - -While I was lighting their candles they sat on the stairs and talked a -lot of gibberish, and looked like idiots. It was really quite painful. - -I said to Harry, “Get them up to bed, for goodness’ sake, and carry -their candles, or they’ll set the place on fire.” - -Harry tried to get them up, and by propping one against the wall and -holding him up with one hand, while with the other he helped the other -to get on his legs, he managed it at last. Then they both took hold of -his arms, and they tried to go upstairs three abreast, but before they -got half-way they both tumbled down, and pulled Harry on top of them, -and the candlestick fell out of his hand and came clattering downstairs. - -Harry laughed, but I was awfully wild. It wasn’t the sort of thing for a -respectable house like ours; and I was so afraid some of the other -customers would hear the noise and be disturbed by it. - -I had to help Harry to get them up again, and I said, “Do please try and -go to bed quietly, there’s good young gentlemen. You’re disturbing the -whole house!” - -They said, “All right, Mrs. Beckett. You’re goo’short, you are.” And -they did try to steady themselves, and we managed to get them all right -to the first landing, I going up in front with the candles. I wasn’t -going behind, for fear they should all fall down on top of me. - -But when we got to the top of the landing I thought I heard a slight -noise. I looked up, and there, with a candle in her hand leaning over -the banister, was that Mrs. Pryce. - -She was fully dressed, and had evidently had an idea what was going to -happen, and the cat--that ever I should call her so!--had sat up and -listened for the young gentlemen to come in and go to bed. - -When they looked up, too, and saw her it seemed to sober them for a -minute. “It’s all right, Pryce,” said Mr. Robert. “We’ve been to the -misshurry meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, and losh lash train.” - -If a glance could have withered them that old woman’s would have done -it. “Very good,” she said; “your father shall be informed of this.” -Then, looking at me, she said, “As to you, ma’am, you ought to be -ashamed of yourself--encouraging young men in vice and drunkenness.” - -“Oh!” I said, almost with a shriek; “oh, you wicked creature! How dare -you say such a thing?” - -Harry had heard what she said, too. He left go of the two young men, and -they both went down bang on the landing; and he jumped up the stairs, -two at a time, till he reached Mrs. Pryce, and then, his eyes glaring -(he looked splendid like that), he almost shouted, “Apologize to my wife -for your insolence, this minute!” - -“I shall not,” she said, never flinching an inch. “It’s disgraceful, and -you ought to lose your licence.” - -“Do you suppose they got drunk with us?” yelled Harry. - -“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said that female; “but they _are_ -drunk, and you and your wife are up with them at two o’clock in the -morning. I shall inform my master at once. This is not a fit house for -respectable people.” - -“Isn’t it?” shouted Harry; “it’s a d---- sight too respectable for you -and your lot! You and your master can go to the----” - -“Harry,” I said, running up, and catching hold of him; “Harry, be calm; -think of the other customers.” - -It was too late. People hearing the row had got up, and I could see -white figures peeping through the half-open doors, and one old lady -rushed out in her nightgown shrieking, “What is it? The house is on -fire--I know it is. Fire! fire! fire!----” - -“Hush, hush!” I cried, “don’t, don’t!”--and, in my horror, I put my -hands over her mouth to stop her. “It’s nothing; it’s only two gentlemen -drunk.” The old lady caught sight of the two young Mr. Owen Waleses -sitting on the landing, and remembering how she was dressed, and that -she hadn’t got her wig on, bolted into her room and banged the door to -after her, and I went to the other doors and told the people it was -nothing, that they weren’t to be frightened; it was only two of our -gentlemen had been overcome by something which had disagreed with them. - -Oh, it was dreadful! I didn’t know where the scandal would end, or what -would be the consequences of it. How we got those two young fellows to -bed--how I quieted Harry down, and left that wretched woman Pryce -triumphant on the staircase, with a wicked, fiendish glare in her eye--I -only remember in a confused sort of way; but I know, when it was all -over and I got to bed, I had to have a good cry to prevent myself having -hysterics. And Harry, as soon as he’d got me round a bit, worked himself -up into a temper again, and, instead of going to sleep, kept on turning -from side to side in his indignation, and saying, if it hadn’t been for -me, he’d “have wrung that old cat’s neck for her.” - - * * * * * - -The next morning the two young gentlemen came into our private room -after breakfast, and apologized, like gentlemen. They said they were -very sorry for what had occurred, and they hoped we shouldn’t think too -badly of them. I said I should think no more of it, though, of course, -it had made a terrible scandal in the house, and would probably injure -our business; but I should not forget the impertinence of the woman -Pryce, who was only a servant, and had no business to dare to interfere -or to speak to me in such a way. - -They said that I was quite right; but they daren’t say anything to -Pryce, as their only chance of getting her not to tell their father was -by being very humble to her and smoothing her down. - -I don’t know how they tried to smooth her down; but they didn’t do it, -for their pa came down the next day, and that Pryce told him everything, -and a nice row there was. The way that little man went on at those two -great six-foot fellows was awful. They shook like aspen-leaves before -him--I expected to see him set to and thrash them every minute, though -he would have had to stand on a chair to box their ears. Of course, they -deserved all they got; the cruel part was that he bullied his wife as -well, and told her it was all her fault, and she was ruining her -children, and she wasn’t fit to be a mother, and I don’t know what. -Really one would have thought she was a little girl herself. I wondered -if he was going to stand her in the corner, or send her to bed. The poor -woman trembled and sobbed before the little bantam, till I quite lost -patience with her. Why, if she had given him a push, she could have sent -him over into the fender, for he stood on the hearthrug, and foamed and -swore till he was nearly black in the face. - -The door was wide open--the sitting-room door--and we heard all he said, -and he rang the bell, and sent for me and Harry, and demanded to know -“the rights of it.” - -It was very awkward; but I got out of it. I said, “If you’ve anything to -say, sir, you can say it to my husband;” and with that I vanished out of -the room. He didn’t frighten Harry, though he tried to; but the end of -it was, he said he shouldn’t stay in the house any longer, and Harry -said he was glad to hear it, as it saved him the pain of having to -present him with the bill, and ask him to take his custom and his family -somewhere else. - -When Harry said that, he told me, the little man swelled out to such a -size Harry thought he was going to burst; but he only swore, and ordered -Harry to leave the room instantly, which, to avoid a disturbance, he -did. - -And, thank goodness, the next day they all departed; but not without a -good many d----s from Mr. Owen Wales over the bill. The young gentlemen -looked very sheepish, as well they might, and the whole family were -tamed again, and hadn’t a word to say among them. Their tamer was there, -and they quailed before him. Pryce was the first to go; she went in a -fly by herself with the luggage. Harry was at the door as she drove -away, and he raised his hat, with mock politeness, to my lady. - -She gave him a look, and turned her head, and sniffed, and said, “Good -afternoon, sir; it’s the first time I’ve stayed at a pothouse, and I -hope it will be the last!” - -A pothouse! Oh, when I think of it even now it makes the blood rush to -the roots of my hair. I do believe if I had been at the door when that -creature said that I should have---- - - * * * * * - -Miss Measom not in yet? Why, it’s past eleven!--what does she mean by -such conduct? She’ll have to go. I will not have a barmaid who cannot -come in at a decent and proper time. When she does come in I shall give -her a piece of my mind. She’s much too flighty for her place; I thought -so when you engaged her. You go to bed, Harry; I’ll sit up for _her_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -_MR. WILKINS._ - - -Looking over what I have written about Mr. Wilkins, who was for such a -long time one of our most regular customers of an evening at the -‘Stretford Arms,’ I feel inclined now to cross some of it out; but, of -course, it would be difficult to do that, because at the time I wrote of -him things were different to what they are now, and I only made the -remarks about him which I thought at the time he deserved. Even that -which was written after he had left the neighbourhood referred to the -part he took in things which happened at the time he was with us, and so -of course it wouldn’t have done to anticipate. - -Poor Mr. Wilkins! - -He offended me very often, and at times he was rather a nuisance, poor -old gentleman, because he was one who would have a finger in everybody’s -pie, and was fond of giving off his opinions, whether he was asked for -them or not. But that is all forgiven and forgotten now, and I only -think of the old gentleman at his best. We all have our peculiarities--I -dare say I have mine--and certainly Wilkins had his; but it would be a -very queer world if nobody had any crotchets, and everybody was exactly -alike. There wouldn’t be any novels, and there wouldn’t be any plays--at -least, I suppose not--though, of course, if we had been all alike in our -ways and in our dispositions, authors would have had to get over the -difficulty somehow. - -You remember that Mr. Wilkins had a daughter in service in London, and -it was through her that he found out that I was the Mary Jane who had -written her “Memoirs” when she was in service. He was very proud of his -daughter, and he had every reason to be so, for she was a very good -girl, and had only lived in good families. He had also a daughter who -had married, and had gone out with her husband to Australia. She used to -write to her father now and then, and when he had a letter he was very -proud of it, and he would bring it round to our house, and read bits of -it that were about the life there out loud to the company, and he used -to say, “My girl writes a good letter, doesn’t she, Mrs. Beckett? She -could write a good book if she liked, and it would be very interesting.” - -Poor Mr. Wilkins, I’m quite sure he had an idea that his daughter could -write a book on Australia because she had been there a year or two and -could write a very fair letter. Some people think that you’ve only to -write what you have seen, and it will be as interesting to the public as -it is to you and your friends. I believe much cleverer people than Mr. -Wilkins think that, because I’ve seen books advertised in the -newspapers, such as “A Month in America, by a Lady,” or “Six Weeks in -Russia, by a Gentleman,” and all that sort of thing, and one of the -gentlemen who stayed at our hotel left a book behind him from Mudie’s, -and I read it before sending it after him, and it was nothing but a lot -of letters, which a lady, who had gone abroad for her health, had -written home to her children. Very interesting to her children and her -friends, I dare say; but I thought a lot of it quite silly, and I -thought to myself that she must be pretty conceited to fancy everybody -wanted to read her letters that she wrote home. But I must not say any -more on the subject, because people who live in glass houses shouldn’t -throw stones, and perhaps somebody will say that I’m a nice one to talk, -seeing that I am always writing down everything that happens to me, and -having the impudence to try and get it published. - -What brought it up was Mr. Wilkins being so absurd about his daughter in -Australia. - -In most of these letters there was a glowing account of how well she was -getting on, and how her husband had been very lucky out there, and was -making money and getting property. It seems he had bought some land, or -something, “up country,” which meant a very long way off, and it had -turned out so well that he had bought some more, and, according to the -young woman, they were on the high road to fortune. - -Then, her letters began to ask her father to come out to them and settle -down with them. She was sure he would like it, and he could be a great -help to them as well, as her husband wanted somebody he could trust very -much. - -At first Mr. Wilkins shook his head, and said he was too old, that he -couldn’t go across the seas, and he thought he should feel more -comfortable if he died in his native place and was buried in the old -parish churchyard. - -But by-and-by something happened which made him hesitate. His daughter -up in London was engaged to a young man, and they were to be married in -a short time. He was a young man in a very fair position, being head -barman in a public-house in the City, and a good deal of the management -was left to him, the proprietor having a taste for sport and going away -racing a good deal, and the wife not knowing much about the trade, and -not being a good business woman. - -Mr. Wilkins’s daughter in London was very fond of her young man, who was -very sober and steady, and getting on well and putting money by. - -All went very well until the landlord of the public-house went one day -to the races at Epsom--the City and Suburban day, I think it was--and he -drove down with some friends in a trap. What happened afterwards came -out at the inquest. They may have had too much to drink; but, at any -rate, driving back home in the evening they ran into a lamp-post, and -the landlord was thrown out on his head, and when he was picked up it -was found that he was seriously injured, and he never regained -consciousness, but died the next day. - -After that Miss Wilkins didn’t see so much of her lover. He said that, -the governor being dead, he had to be always looking after the business, -and that prevented him getting out so often as he used to do. The poor -girl didn’t suspect anything at first; but, at last, she would have been -blind not to see that something was wrong. After a bit the young man -tried to get up a quarrel with her; but she, being a sweet temper, -wouldn’t quarrel, and then he told her that he had changed his mind, -that he didn’t think they were suited to each other, and asked her to -break it off. - -It upset her terribly, and made her quite ill. It wasn’t only a blow to -her pride; but she really loved the fellow. She found out what it all -meant when, six months after the landlord met with that fatal accident, -her young man married the widow and stepped into an old-established City -public-house doing a big trade. - -That was the worst blow of all to poor Miss Wilkins. It showed her how -unworthy her young man had been of her, having thrown her over to marry -a woman old enough to be his mother, and all for money. - -She fretted so much that she became quite ill, and wasn’t able to stop -in a situation, and so she came home to her father. But that didn’t do -her any good, for she moped terribly, and was always brooding, and -couldn’t be roused, or persuaded to go out. - -I felt very sorry for the poor girl, and I asked her to tea several -times; but she only came once, and then she was so miserable that it was -more like a funeral feast than a friendly tea-party. - -She began to get paler and thinner every day, and Mr. Wilkins grew quite -alarmed about her, and the doctor said the only thing for her was to go -right away and be among fresh faces and fresh scenes, and then, perhaps, -in time she would make an effort and forget her trouble. - -I don’t believe myself that a woman ever forgets a trouble of that sort. -They may seem to before the world; but it is only put away for a time. -It comes back again. But there is no doubt that it comes back less in a -new place than in an old one, where there is nothing to take your -attention off it. - -It was just after the doctor had told Wilkins this that another letter -came from Australia, from the daughter there, almost begging her father -to come out to them. The doctor said, when he heard of it, “Why not go, -Wilkins, and take your daughter with you?” And at last the poor old -gentleman made up his mind that he would. Miss Wilkins was eager to go -too. She said she should be glad to get away from everything that -reminded her of the past. I think Wilkins would still have hesitated, -but for the fact that just at the time our clergyman was changed, the -Rev. Tommy going away to a seaside place, and a new clergyman -coming--quite a young fellow, who looked almost like a boy, and had a -lot of new notions that poor Wilkins said were dreadful. He and Wilkins -didn’t get on at all from the very first, the old fellow rather -resenting what he called the young clergyman’s “new-fangled ways.” And -the young clergyman got wild with Wilkins, who, he said, was “an old -fossil,” and “behind the age,” and they had words. And then Wilkins in a -pet said he should resign, and the young clergyman said he was very glad -of it, and he thought it was about time, as Mr. Wilkins had been -spoiled, by his predecessor allowing him to have his own way, and was -too old now to learn different. - -The end of it was that one evening Mr. Wilkins came into our bar-parlour -very excited, and said he had given that whipper-snapper a bit of his -mind, and resigned his place, and he was going to accept his married -daughter’s offer, and go to Australia. - -At first, when he said it, his old friends who were present said, “Go -on!” But he soon let them know that he was serious. And the next day he -went up to London to make arrangements about a passage for himself and -his daughter. - -It made quite a sensation in the village, as soon as it was known that -our old parish clerk was going to Australia. A committee met at our -house, and it was determined, in recognition of his long connection with -the parish, and the esteem in which he was held by everybody, to give -him what Graves, the farrier, called “a good send-off.” There was a lot -of talk about how it was to be done, and at last it was determined to -get up “a Wilkins Testimonial and Banquet.” It was settled that the -banquet was to be at our house, and Harry entered into it heart and -soul, because he liked Wilkins very much. There was a lot of dispute as -to what the testimonial was to be, and at last it was decided that -something that an inscription could be put on was best--something that -he could keep and show to everybody and leave behind him as a family -heirloom. - -Harry suggested a piece of plate, and that was agreed to after some -absurd remarks by Graves, who wanted to know what a piece of plate was -like; and when it was agreed to be a silver tankard, with an inscription -on it, Graves said he thought a plate was something to eat off, and he -couldn’t see how anything that you drank out of could be a plate. - -I dare say he thought it was very funny, but nobody laughed at the joke -except himself; but, as he laughed loud enough for twenty people, -perhaps he was satisfied. - -As soon as the preliminaries were settled, Harry and Mr. Jarvis, the -miller, the one that was nearly run over on the night of the burglary at -the Hall, were appointed to collect the subscriptions, and a day was -fixed for the banquet, which was to be the night before Mr. Wilkins left -the village to go to London, where he was going to stop for a day and a -night before he sailed from the docks for Melbourne. - -The Rev. Tommy was written to, and he headed the subscription with a -pound, and the doctor gave a pound, and several of the gentry people -gave the same, and the rest was made up in ten shillings and five -shillings from the little tradespeople, and smaller sums from the -working folks. It was a success from the first, for Mr. Wilkins was very -much respected, and everybody was sorry he was going to leave. The new -clergyman--the “whipper-snapper”--wasn’t asked; but when he heard what -was going on, he came into our place one day and gave Harry a pound, and -Harry said he wasn’t such a bad sort after all. - -We got so much money that it was more than enough to buy the tankard, -and Harry suggested that we should put the rest into a purse and present -it to Mr. Wilkins, as it would be very useful for the journey. Mr. -Wilkins had been a saving man, and he had a nice little sum in the bank; -but, of course, money is always welcome, especially when there are two -fares to Australia to pay. - -The banquet was left to us, and, after we had thought it well over and -consulted the committee, it was agreed that it was to be five shillings -a head, and that everybody was to pay for what they drank extra. This -was better, because, of course, the company would be rather mixed, -several of the better people, such as the doctor and some of the young -gentlemen from the private houses, having promised to come, to show -their respect for Mr. Wilkins, and they would drink wine, while the -ordinary people would drink beer. - -Harry said to me, “We’ll show them what the ‘Stretford Arms’ can do, my -dear.” And we arranged a banquet that I am sure would be no disgrace to -a West End London hotel. Knowing our company, we arranged accordingly; -having dishes to suit the gentlefolks, and hot joints and things to suit -the others. The banquet was to be in the coffee-room, and that would -hold a lot of people, by making one long set of tables run all round it. -The doctor promised to take the chair, and Mr. Wilkins, of course, was -to be on his right hand, and Harry was to take the vice-chair. There -were to be no ladies, which I opposed at first; but it was thought -better, as it might have led to quarrelling. - -Of course Wilkins knew what was going on, and he was very proud, though -it touched him deeply. And when he shook hands with us, the night that -the deputation waited on him and invited him to the banquet, the poor -old fellow’s voice was quite husky, and his hand trembled. - -It was very funny the way he tried to pretend he wasn’t listening, when -any of the arrangements were discussed in the bar-parlour. And sometimes -we used to be talking about what the inscription was to be, and that -sort of thing, and in would walk Wilkins himself; and then we all left -off and whispered, and first one would be called out of the room, and -then the other, to settle a point, Mr. Wilkins all the time smoking his -long clay pipe and looking up at the ceiling, as though he hadn’t the -slightest idea that he was in any way concerned in what was going on. - -One day, just before the banquet, Harry came to me and said, “Missus, -you know all about these things--how do you invite the Press?” - -“What Press?” I said, wondering what he was driving at. - -“The newspapers,” he said. “I’ve had a hint that Mr. Wilkins would like -the Press to be present. He’s going to make a speech.” - -I thought for a minute, and then said that I supposed it would be better -to write to the editor of our county paper and send him a ticket. - -“Yes,” said Harry, “but I fancy Wilkins would like the _Times_ and the -_Morning Advertiser_ to be present.” - -I couldn’t help laughing at that. Of course it was absurd; as if the -editor of the _Times_ and the _Morning Advertiser_ would take the -trouble to come down to our place to hear Mr. Wilkins speak! - -I told Harry that it was ridiculous, as it was only a local affair, and -I wasn’t even sure if it was big enough for our county paper to come to. - -Harry seemed a little disappointed. He said that it would have been such -a good thing for us, if it could have been got into the London papers; -because in all the accounts of banquets that he had read it always said -at the end something about the hotel or the restaurant, and the way in -which the banquet was served. - -“Well,” I said, “I’m sure the London papers would laugh at us if we -invited them; but there’ll be no harm in asking the local paper.” - -The committee met and talked it over, and a nice invitation was sent to -our editor, and we got a letter back in a couple of days, saying that he -feared he could not send a reporter, as the affair was not of sufficient -general interest; but if we sent a short account of the proceedings it -should be inserted. - -Somehow or other, Mr. Wilkins got to hear of it, and, though he was -disappointed about the _Times_ and the _Morning Advertiser_, he paid me -a very pretty little compliment. He came to me, and said, “Mrs. Beckett, -ma’am, I have heard that our county journal is anxious for a report of -the farewell banquet which is to be given in my honour. I am sure that -there will be no one so fitted in every way to draw up that report as -yourself. You are an authoress, and well known in literature, and can do -the subject justice.” - -I blushed at that, and went quite hot. “I’m not used to writing in -newspapers, Mr. Wilkins,” I said, “which is quite different to writing -books.” But the old gentleman was so anxious that I should write the -report that I promised I would. After that I read all the reports of -banquets I could find in the newspapers, so as to get used to the style, -and the only thing that bothered me was how I should be able to write -out all the speeches, and I told Mr. Wilkins so. He relieved me on this -point by saying he should have his speech written out beforehand, and he -would have a copy made specially for me. - -For two or three days before the banquet we were very busy getting -everything ready, and I was very anxious, as it was the first public -dinner on a big scale that we had done. But, thank goodness, nothing -went wrong, except that the woman we had in to help our cook turned out -a very violent temper, and in a rage pulled our cook’s cap off and threw -it on the fire, and she, trying to snatch it off again, upset a big -saucepan of custard that was boiling, and it all ran over into her -boots, and made her dance about, and shriek and yell that she was -scalded to death--(she really was hurt, poor woman)--and that made the -kitchen-maid, who was subject to epilepsy, fall down and have a fit. And -as we sacked the assistant cook for her behaviour, and cook and the -kitchen-maid were too ill to do anything all the next day, we had to -send out right and left to get help. And we got a woman who was an -excellent cook and very handy; but had a baby that she couldn’t leave, -and so brought it with her. It was the peevishest baby that I ever came -across, and shrieked itself into convulsions from morning till night, -until at last the people staying in the hotel sent down and said, if -that child didn’t leave off they should have to go. Except for these -little things everything went on as well as could be expected, seeing -what a strain it was on the resources of the establishment. That last -line is a line out of my report, which I wrote for our county paper. It -isn’t in the report which they had printed, but I wrote it, having seen -it in a report of a banquet I had read, and I think “strain on the -resources of the establishment” a very good expression under the -circumstances. - -But all’s well that ends well, and when the eventful evening arrived -everything was right, and the coffee-room looked beautiful with the -flags which we had put up, and evergreens, and coloured paper, and a big -device over Mr. Wilkins’s head, on which was written-- - - England’s loss is Australia’s gain; - God speed Mr. Wilkins across the main. - -When the company had all assembled there were fifty-one altogether who -sat down, and it was a very pretty sight. We had extra waitresses in to -help, and I remained in the room and superintended them, keeping near -the door, of course. Harry behaved beautifully as the vicechairman, -taking care never to be the landlord, or to interfere with anything, -only once, when Graves--who, of course, couldn’t behave himself even on -such an occasion--said, “I say, Mr. Vice, don’t you think this beer is a -bit off?” Harry replied, “I don’t know, Mr. Graves; I’m drinking -champagne,” which made everybody laugh. - -There was plenty of champagne drunk, too, at the head of the table, Mr. -Wilkins tasting it, as he said afterwards, for the first time in his -life, and everything went off capitally, and not too noisy at first, -though the way some of them ate, at the lower end, showed that they -meant to have their money’s worth, as well as to show their respect for -Wilkins. - -After the cheese and celery the doctor rapped the table, and then Harry -rapped the table too, and said, “Order for the chair.” And Mr. Wilkins, -who knew, of course, what was coming, looked at the pattern of his -cheese-plate as though it was a very beautiful picture, and made little -pills with the bread by his side, and twisted the tablecloth, and did -everything except look at the company. - -The doctor made a very nice, kind little speech about Wilkins, referring -to the many, many years he had been parish clerk, and how he was looked -upon by everybody in the place as a friend, and how sorry they all were -to lose him, and how they hoped that a long and happy life with his -family awaited him in the new country. - -Everybody cheered, and said “Hear, hear,” to the sentiments, the only -person interrupting in the wrong place being Graves, who said, “Hear, -hear,” when the doctor said, “and now Mr. Wilkins is about to leave us, -perhaps for ever.” - -At the end of the doctor’s speech everybody got up and raised their -glasses, and shouted, “Three cheers for Wilkins!” And then they sang, -“For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and kept on till I thought they would -never leave off. - -After that, Mr. Jarvis, the miller, sang a song, to give Mr. Wilkins -time to pull himself together for his reply, and then Mr. Wilkins rose, -and the company banged the table till the glasses jumped again, and I -thought the whole arrangement would come down with a crash, the tables -being only on tressels. - -Mr. Wilkins rose and said, “Ladies and gentlemen”--(there were no -ladies, so he looked hard at the door where I was trying to keep out of -sight)--“this is the proudest moment of my life. I thank you, gentlemen, -one and all. I--I had prepared a speech, but every word has gone out of -my head. (‘Hear, hear,’ from Graves.) I cannot say what I feel. I have -known the company here for many, many years; I have lived among you man -and boy, and at one time I thought I should die among you. (‘Hear, -hear,’ from Graves again.) But I am going away to a foreign country. I -shall find, I hope, new friends there; but I shall never forget the old -ones. I thank you one and all, high and low, rich and poor, for your -great kindness to me this day. It’s more than I deserve. (‘Hear, hear,’ -from Graves again.) This beautiful mug”--(I forgot to tell you that the -doctor wound up his speech by presenting the piece of plate and the -purse of gold)--“will be treasured by me to the last hour of my life. I -shall hand it down to my children untarnished. For that, and the -generous gift which you have also given me, I thank you from the bottom -of my heart, and, ladies and gentlemen, I can’t say any more, except to -say, ‘Good-bye, and God bless you all.’” - -Mr. Wilkins, when he came to that, broke down a little, and then -everybody cheered, and he sat down. It wasn’t a bad speech--much better -than what he had written out to say, which was nearly all taken from an -old book of speeches, published at a shilling, as I found out -afterwards, and which was what the Prince of Wales might have said at a -State banquet, but was all nonsense for a parish clerk. - -After Mr. Wilkins’s speech the doctor said, “You may all smoke.” And -they did smoke! In five minutes you couldn’t see across the room. And -then they had spirits and water, and there were more speeches, and the -doctor’s health was proposed, and then Harry’s health coupled with mine, -and they would make me come in and stand by Harry while he replied, and -I tried to look as dignified as I could, though I felt awfully hot and -flustered, till Harry gave me a dreadful slap on the back, which he -meant to emphasize what he was saying about me, but which made me feel -quite ill for a minute or two. And then they all began to talk at once, -and sing songs; and when the banquet broke up, everybody insisted upon -seeing Mr. Wilkins home. And it was just as well, for, what with the -heat, and the excitement, and the smoke, and the champagne, and hot -spirits on the top of that, poor dear Mr. Wilkins was glad of somebody’s -arm to lean on. - -But it all ended well, and was a great success, though the cleaning-up -to get the coffee-room straight for the next morning was awful, -especially as the strange people we had in to help, emptied all the -bottles and all the glasses, and, the contents being rather mixed, some -of them were a little excited, and made more noise about their work than -they ought to have done. - -The next day I sat down to write my report. Mr. Wilkins, who came round -to say good-bye privately to me, as I couldn’t go up to the station with -the others to see him off, asked me to put in the speech he had written -out, instead of the one he delivered; but I couldn’t do that. I wrote a -nice account, giving a few details of Mr. Wilkins’s life, and the names -of the principal guests, and, of course, I said what I could about the -banquet, and how much everybody enjoyed it, and I put in a nice little -line about Harry, though it seemed so funny for me to have to call him -“mine host of the ‘Stretford Arms’;” but I knew that was the right way -to do it. - -It took me nearly all day to write out the report; and then I made a -nice clean copy of it, and sent it to our county paper. - -And when the paper came out, we couldn’t find it for a long time, till -right down in a corner we found three lines: “Mr. Wilkins, for many -years parish clerk of ----, was entertained at a banquet by his -fellow-parishioners on Thursday last, on the occasion of his departure -for Australia.” - -I could have cried my eyes out with vexation. The nasty, mean editor had -not even said _where_ the banquet was held. - -Harry was in an awful rage. He had ordered and paid for a hundred -copies--to send away. Thank goodness, poor Mr. Wilkins had sailed for -Australia before the paper came out, and so he knew nothing of the cruel -treatment which my first attempt at writing for the Press had met with. - -That is how Mr. Wilkins left us. It was a pleasant way certainly; but I -know he felt going very much indeed. He was an old man to begin life -again in a new world. But he has his daughters with him, and if his -eldest daughter is as well off as he says she is, perhaps in time he -will get reconciled to the change. - -We have had one letter from him since he arrived in Australia. The -invalid daughter was better, and he gave a wonderful account of the -place where he is living. It is a long way “up country,” and he says it -is all so new and strange, that sometimes he expects to wake up in his -easy-chair in the ‘Stretford Arms’ and find out that he has dropped off -for forty winks, and has been dreaming. - -He wrote a lot about the wonderful things he had seen and the wonderful -adventures he had had. He says that he has to ride on horseback to get -about, and it was very awkward at first; but his son-in-law gave him -lessons, and now he is all right. He says he is going to learn how to -throw the lasso and catch cattle. I think he has learnt to throw the -hatchet. The idea is too absurd of our old parish clerk, the respectable -Mr. Wilkins, galloping about the country and catching animals, like -those wild fellows you read about on the great American plains. - -Still, he is there in the midst of it all, and I don’t suppose we shall -ever see him again. It is a strange end to the career of a quiet, -old-fashioned old fellow like Wilkins--a man who all his life had hardly -spent a week away from the quiet little country place in which he was -the parish clerk. I often say to Harry, when we speak of him, “Who ever -would have believed such a thing could happen?” And Harry says that in -this world there never is any knowing _what_ may happen; but one thing -he knows will never happen again, and that is that I shall spend a whole -day writing an article for our county paper. - -And Harry is perfectly right. But never mind, we have had our revenge. -We always took the local paper every week before, and now we have given -it up. “That’s the best way to make newspapers feel that you----” - - * * * * * - -Mr. Saxon arrived! And he never sent word that he was coming! Oh dear, -dear! I must come at once. Nothing will be right, and there’ll be a nice -to-do if his liver happens to be wrong. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -_ONE OF OUR BARMAIDS._ - - -Good barmaids are as difficult to get as good servants. It is, perhaps, -even harder to get just what you want in a barmaid, because so many -different qualities are required, and the work has to be done under such -different circumstances. - -Some girls are very quiet and nice in business, and very ladylike, and a -credit to the house out of it; but are still not good barmaids, because -they are not able to suit their manner to the class of customer they -happen to be serving. Some of the best barmaids for work and smartness -aren’t nice in other ways, giving themselves airs and showing off before -the customers, and being fond of talking with the young fellows who come -in and loll across the counter; and some of them dye their hair gold, -and make themselves up, and look fast, which is a thing I have always -had a horror of; but some of these girls are, as far as doing the trade -is concerned, among the best barmaids going, and often there is a good -deal less harm in them than in your quiet girls, who seem as if they -couldn’t say boh to a goose, and look down on the floor, if a young -fellow pays them a compliment. - -A good, smart, showy barmaid has generally learnt her trade and knows -her customers. The compliments paid to her run off her like water off a -duck’s back, and she knows how to take care of herself. But her very -independence makes her a trial to put up with, and if she’s a favourite -with the customers she soon lets you know it. - -Your quiet barmaid, who doesn’t dress up a bit, and only says “yes” and -“no” when the customers talk to her, is generally slow and makes a lot -of silly mistakes, and is afraid of a bit of hard work. She is the sort -of girl who can’t take more than one order at once, and draws stout for -the people who ask for whiskey, and opens lemonade and puts it into the -brandy for gentlemen who have ordered a B. and S. We had one of these -extra quiet girls once, and she nearly drove me mad. On Saturday nights, -and at busy times, if I hadn’t been in the bar half the people would -have gone away without being served. But it was while she was with us -that we began to feel uncomfortable about the state of the till, and, -after we’d sent her off, it was found out that she’d been giving too -much change every night to a scamp of a fellow that had made her believe -he was desperately in love with her. - -Miss Measom was one of the best barmaids we ever had, _as a barmaid_; -but she was much too flighty for me. I didn’t like her the first day I -saw her in the bar. She was what Harry called “larky,” and in a quiet -place like ours that sort of thing attracts more attention than it would -in London. - -But when I knew her better, I really began to like her, and thought that -there wasn’t any harm in the girl. It was just her animal spirits. She -was full of mischief, and had the merriest laugh I ever heard, and used -to say the oddest things. What annoyed me at first was that some of the -young fellows who used our house for the billiard room gave her a -nickname. They called her “Tommy,” and she liked it. I didn’t. One -evening I was in the bar and one of them said, “Tommy, give me another -whiskey cold,” and I thought it wasn’t respectful to me, so I said, -“That’s not Miss Measom’s name, Mr. Smith, and if you don’t mind I’d -rather you didn’t call her by it.” - -He was an impudent fellow, and he said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. -Beckett,” and then he said, “May I have the honour of asking you for -another whiskey cold, if you please, _Miss Measom_?” And then a lot of -the young monkeys that were with him began “Miss Measom-ing” all over -the place, and the grown-up men, who ought to have known better, did it -too, and I was so indignant, I went out of the bar and left them at it. - -It was Saturday evening, after the football, and that was always what -Miss Measom used to call “a warm time,” because the young fellows in the -club got excited, and they brought in the club that had come down to -play them, and I was generally rather glad when it was time to shut up. - -The night that this happened in the bar that I have told you about, -after we’d shut, Miss Measom came to me and she said, “I hope you’re not -cross with me, Mrs. Beckett. I can’t help them calling me Tommy, and -they don’t mean any harm.” “I am cross, Miss Measom,” I said. “It -doesn’t sound nice, and it isn’t the sort of thing for a place like -ours. If you didn’t encourage them they wouldn’t do it.” - -“I don’t encourage them--indeed I don’t!” said the girl; “but it’s no -good my being nasty about it.” - -I don’t know what I should have said; but Harry came in at the moment, -and, hearing the conversation, he joined in and said he was sure Miss -Measom couldn’t help it, and, after all, it was nothing, because young -fellows would be young fellows, and you couldn’t expect them to behave -in a bar as if they were in a chapel. - -That put my back up, and I turned on Harry quite indignantly, for I -didn’t like his taking the girl’s side against me. - -I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I said, “Oh, I know Miss -Measom is a great favourite of yours; wouldn’t you like me to beg her -pardon?” - -It was a very foolish thing to say. I felt so directly I’d said it; but -I was in a temper, and wouldn’t draw it back. - -Harry bit his lip; and Miss Measom flushed scarlet, and went out of the -room. - -“You’re very unwise to say a thing like that,” said Harry. “I can’t -think what’s come to you lately.” - -“I will say it,” I said; “and I am not the only person who says it. You -are always sticking up for that girl against me. Both of her last -Sundays out she has been home half an hour late, and you told me not to -be cross with her about it.” - -“You’re a foolish little woman,” Harry said. “Let’s talk about something -else.” - -“Oh, yes; I dare say it’s not an agreeable subject.” - -“No, it isn’t; get on with your supper.” - -“I shan’t; I don’t want any supper,” I said, pushing my plate away. - -“Oh, very well,” said Harry; “perhaps you’re better without it. I should -think you’ve got indigestion now, and that’s what makes you so -disagreeable.” - -With that he got up from the table, and went and sat down in the -armchair and lit his pipe, and took up the paper. - -And we didn’t speak another word to each other that evening. - - * * * * * - -The next morning was Sunday, and, after breakfast, Miss Measom came to -me and said, “Mrs. Beckett, can I say a word to you?” - -“Yes,” I said quite sharply. “What is it?” - -“I think I’d better leave.” - -“As you please, Miss Measom.” - -“Then, as soon as you’re suited.” - -“Certainly!” and with that I turned on my heel and went upstairs to -dress for church. - -I didn’t say anything to Harry about Miss Measom having given notice. To -tell the truth, I was beginning to be a little bit ashamed of myself, -and to think that I had been too hasty. - -After that Miss Measom’s manner quite changed in the bar. She hadn’t a -smile for anybody, and the customers asked me what was the matter with -the girl. The next Saturday when the young fellows came in one of them -called her “Tommy.” She looked up quietly, and said, “Mr. So-and-so, I -should be much obliged if you wouldn’t call me that. There are reasons -why I ask you, which I can’t tell you.” - -The young fellow, who was a gentleman, raised his hat, and after that -nobody called our barmaid “Tommy” again. - -The night before it was Miss Measom’s day to leave, after business she -went straight up to her room. When I went up, I had to pass her door, -and I thought I heard a strange noise. I stopped and listened, and then -I knew it was some one sobbing. I went to Miss Measom’s door and -knocked. It was a minute or two before she opened it, and when she did I -saw that her eyes were quite red. - -“What’s the matter, Jenny?” I said, calling her by her Christian name, -feeling rather sorry for her. - -She didn’t answer for a second, and then she began to cry right out. So -I pushed the door to and made her sit down, and then I said, “Jenny, I -don’t want to part bad friends with you. You’re in trouble. Won’t you -tell me what it is?” - -She looked at me through her tears a moment, and then she said, “Oh, -Mrs. Beckett, I’m so sorry I’m going away like this.” - -“So am I, Jenny,” I said; “but you gave me notice; you know I didn’t -give it to you.” - -“I couldn’t bear to cause trouble between you and your husband,” she -answered. “You’ve been the nicest, kindest people I ever lived with, and -I’ve been very happy here--till--till--till you said what you did; but -you didn’t mean it, did you? Tell me you didn’t mean it.” - -I hesitated for a moment. But the girl looked so heart-broken that I -said, “No, Jenny, I didn’t; and I’m very sorry I ever said it.” - -That broke the poor girl down altogether. So I put my arm round her -waist, and drew her to me, and kissed her. - -“There,” I said, “all is forgiven and forgotten, and if you like to stay -on I’ll pay the new girl that’s coming a month’s wages, and tell her she -isn’t wanted.” - -“No; you are good and kind, as you have always been; but I can’t stay -with you now--it wouldn’t be right--unless--unless you know all, and -forgive me.” - -When she said this it gave me quite a start. A hundred things came into -my head. What had I to know, and to forgive when I knew it? - -Without meaning it my manner changed, and I said, almost coldly, “What -is it that I ought to know?” - -“What I am,” she said, looking straight before her at the wall.” If my -story were ever to come to you from some one else, after what you said -that night, you might think worse of me than perhaps you will when you -hear it from my own lips.” - -“Go on,” I said hoarsely. - -“Mrs. Beckett, you’ve been very cross with me once or twice, when I’ve -been late in on my nights out. Shall I tell you where I’d been, and what -made me late?” - -“Yes--if--if you think you ought to.” - -“I had been to London to see my baby.” - -“What--are you--are you--a married woman, then?” - -“No! God help me, no!” - - * * * * * - -I can’t recollect what happened, or what I said or did for a few minutes -after that. It was such a shock to me--so unexpected--that it almost -took my breath away. - -All I know is that presently I found Jenny on her knees by my side, -pouring her story into my ears, telling it quickly and excitedly, as -though she feared that I should refuse to hear her, if she didn’t get it -out before I could stop her. - -It was a very sad story. - -Jenny Measom had been well brought up by her father and mother until she -was fifteen, and then her father, who held a good position in a big -brewery, had a paralytic stroke. The most unfortunate thing about it was -that it happened a week after he had left his old firm of his own -accord, and gone to take a better position in another, so that he had -not the slightest claim on either firm for much consideration, and the -stroke meant ruin. He got a little better, but not well enough to get -about or to do anything, and so Jenny’s mother had to take needlework, -and Jenny was, by the kindness of the old firm, got into a public-house -as a barmaid, and her earnings and her mother’s were all that kept them -from the workhouse. - -Jenny, with her bright merry ways and her smartness at her work, soon -got on as a barmaid, and left the first public-house, and went to a big -West End house, where the trade was of a higher character. - -It was when she was eighteen, and in this swell West End house, that the -great misfortune of her life happened to her. Among the young fellows -who came to the bar was one named Sidney Draycott. He was a handsome -young fellow, the son of an English doctor who had at that time a -practice in Paris. Sidney Draycott was studying for his father’s -profession, and, like most young fellows of his class, he spent a good -many of his evenings in bars and billiard-rooms. - -He fell awfully in love with Jenny, and the poor girl fell in love with -him, and they walked out together. It never entered the head of the -young girl that the difference in their stations made the acquaintance a -dangerous one, for “Sid,” as she called him, had asked her to be his -wife. She spoke well, and played the piano, and had learnt quite enough -before she left her good school to hold her own in conversation, and to -appear a lady. - -But the young fellow begged her to keep the engagement secret for the -present, as he didn’t want anybody to know until he had passed his -examination and become qualified to set up for himself, which would be -very soon. - -Jenny was in the seventh heaven of delight. She was going to be married -to the man she loved, and he was a gentleman. The only person she told -was her mother, and she was one of those simple-minded women who know -very little of the world, and thought her dear, good, clever Jenny was -fit to be a nobleman’s wife. - -So things went on, and the young fellow passed his examination, and then -he proposed that they should be married quietly before the registrar, -and the day was fixed. - -The Sunday before the wedding, which was to be on the following -Wednesday, was Jenny’s Sunday out. She went with her lover into the -country to look at a place where he thought of asking his father to buy -a practice. They missed the last train, and they stayed at a little -hotel something like ours in that country place. - -The landlady took them for a man and wife, and--well, need I tell you -any more? - -On Monday morning Jenny went back to her business with an excuse about -her mother having been ill, and having had to stop with her all night, -and in the afternoon Mr. Draycott came in looking very worried, and told -her he had just had a telegram calling him to Paris, as his father had -been taken suddenly ill, and it was feared that he was dying. The -marriage would have to be postponed; but he would hurry back as soon as -things turned either one way or the other with his father. - -He crossed to Paris by the night mail. What happened nobody ever knew. -He was seen at Calais to get into a carriage where there were two other -men--Frenchmen--and when the train stopped at Amiens, where there is a -buffet, and it waited for a short time, a passenger from Amiens to Paris -going to get into the carriage, which was empty, noticed something -wrong. There were signs of a struggle, and there was blood here and -there. - -The guard was called, and a search was made. The two men who had been -seen at Calais, the guard then remembered not to have seen get out at -Amiens, nor the young Englishman either. No trace of the men was ever -found; but the young Englishman was discovered lying on the line half -way between Calais and Amiens, with his pockets empty, his watch and his -diamond pin gone, and with a terrible injury to his head. - -He was instantly attended to by medical men, and removed to a proper -place; but though the wound in time got better, and his life was saved, -his brain was affected. The doctors differed about him--some thought -that in time he would gradually recover his reason, others that he would -never do so. Poor Jenny couldn’t quite explain what it was; but it was -supposed to be a clot of blood, or something of the sort, pressing on -the brain, which might become absorbed in time, and then he would be all -right, but which might not. - -The young man’s father recovered from his illness, and had his son -brought to Paris, and had the best advice, and it was recommended that -he should be sent to an asylum--and there, said poor Jenny, as she -finished her story, “the man, who was my affianced husband, now is; and -my baby is with my mother, God bless her, for she has never given me one -reproach. And so, you see, I have three to keep, Mrs. Beckett, and if I -get out of a situation, and there is anything against my character, they -must suffer as well as I.” - -Poor Jenny--it was a sad story. As soon as she was a little calmer I -asked her if she had not let her lover’s father know. - -“No,” she said proudly, “I would sooner starve. My poor Sid would have -married me, I know; everything was arranged; but how could I go to his -father in his great trouble, and tell him that which might perhaps add -to his grief and despair?” - -“Jenny,” I said, when she had finished, “you have trusted me, and you -shall never repent it. I think you are a brave girl, and you may stop -with us as long as you like. No living soul shall ever hear your story -from me.” - -She flung her arms around my neck and kissed me, and cried a little -again. And then she said, “Don’t tell Mr. Beckett, will you? I should -die of shame if I thought he knew. It’s only a woman who could -understand my story and respect me still.” - -I gave her the promise, and I kept it until---- But I must not -anticipate. I understood now why she was so merry and so gay, and what I -called flighty. She was doing as hundreds of poor women do--hiding her -heart’s sorrow under a mask of gaiety; forcing herself to appear bright -and cheerful, lest the world should suspect her secret. I told Harry the -next day that I was very sorry for what I had said about Miss Measom, -and that I had determined to keep her on, as she was such a good -barmaid; and he said, “As you will, little woman; I leave it entirely to -you. I’m sure you’ll do what your heart tells you is right.” - -Miss Measom soon recovered her gaiety; it was only when we were alone -together that she was quiet and thoughtful, and when she went for her -holiday I never grumbled again at her being a little late. I thought of -her in the little home, cheering her poor mother and father, and loving -her little baby, and thinking of the man who would have been her -husband, and of the happy home she might have had but for that terrible -tragedy. - -Jenny stayed with us for about six months, and then she left us. - -How she left us was in this way. One night after we had closed up we -were sitting at supper--Harry and I and Jenny, and she picked up the -London paper and began to read for a few minutes before going to bed. - -Harry was smoking his pipe in his easy chair, and I was looking over -some pages of manuscript that I had written in a hurry and wanted to see -how they read. - -All of a sudden Harry called out, “Look at Miss Measom!” - -I looked up and there was Jenny just going down off her chair in a dead -swoon. I ran to her and caught her, and told Harry to go out of the -room. Then I loosened her dress, and bathed her forehead with some -vinegar, and got her to. - -“Jenny, dear Jenny,” I said; “what is it? What’s the matter? Are you -ill, dear?” - -“No,” she whispered, opening her eyes slowly, “look--look at the paper!” - -I kept my arm around her and stooped and picked up the London paper, -which had fallen from her hands on to the floor. - -I looked at it for a minute and couldn’t see anything--then a name -caught my eye, and I read this---- - -“It is reported from Paris that the young Englishman who was robbed and -thrown out of a train some time ago between Calais and Amiens has at -last recovered from the injury to the brain, which at one time -threatened to be permanent. The case has aroused much interest in the -medical profession in Paris, where, it may be remembered, his father, -Dr. Draycott, has been for many years a resident.” - -“Oh, Jenny!” I said; and that was all I could say. But we had a long -talk up in her room afterwards, and she decided that she would write the -next day to Sidney, under cover to his father--only a line with her -address, nothing to worry him, nothing to distress him, only these -words:--“The present address of J. Measom is ‘The Stretford Arms,’” and -then she added the name of our village and the county. - -She put “J.,” not to put “Jenny,” for fear the father might open it. Of -course “J.” might be a John, and she wrote it in a big, round hand that -might be a man’s. - -Three days afterwards a telegram came. She showed it me. It was only -this: “My poor darling,--I am coming back as soon as I can travel. Have -written. God bless you!” - -And then came a letter--a letter written in a shaky hand; but one that -poor Jenny kissed and hugged and cried and sobbed over till I really -was afraid she would make herself quite ill. - -I had an idea that it would be all right for poor Jenny now; but I was a -little afraid how the young fellow would take what had happened after he -left England. Some men, under the circumstances, would have been -heartless enough to--but what is the use of troubling about what some -men would have done. Sidney Draycott behaved like a noble and honourable -young Englishman. He came back to London a month later, and took Jenny -to the church one fine morning, and he brought her out again Mrs. Sidney -Draycott. - -I went up to town for the day, and was at the church, and I was the only -one invited except a great friend of Mr. Draycott’s, who had come up -from the country on purpose. Jenny cried, and I cried, and nearly spoilt -my beautiful new bonnet strings letting the tears run down them, and -after it was all over and Jenny had kissed her husband, she came up and -put her arms round my neck and kissed me, and then we both had just one -little moment’s cry together, and then they both went off quietly in a -four-wheel cab to see the baby. - - * * * * * - -Ever since Jenny Measom left us she has written to me and I have written -to her. Some time ago, when I was not very well, the doctor said that I -wanted a change, and so I wrote to Jenny, and said that perhaps I was -going to the seaside, and she might not hear from me till I came home -again. Two days afterwards I got such a nice letter back saying that she -and her husband would be very angry if I didn’t come and stay with them. -It would do me quite as much good as the seaside and more, and her -husband, being a doctor, if I was out of sorts could make me up all -manner of nice things to take. Of course this was a joke, but the -invitation wasn’t, and I went. And I was very glad that I did, for they -made quite a fuss with me, and I couldn’t have been treated better if I -had been a duchess. - -They have the loveliest little place, in a nice country town, where Mr. -Draycott is established as a doctor, and is doing wonderfully well. -Quite a lovely home it is, and they are so happy. And Jenny has her -baby and her mother with her to help her, and to keep her company when -the doctor is out on his rounds. - -The people about the place of course, don’t know when they were married, -as it has been kept quite secret. Even Mr. Draycott’s father thinks they -were married secretly before he left London for Paris and met with that -terrible adventure. Old Mr. Draycott has been over once from Paris, and -Jenny says that he fell quite in love with her before he left, and said -that his son was a lucky dog. Wasn’t it nice of him? Poor old Mr. Measom -died very soon after the wedding; but he died very happy, knowing his -daughter was comfortably settled. Poor old gentleman! it was the best -thing perhaps, for he had become quite childish. - -When I left to come back again to the ‘Stretford Arms,’ I was quite -another woman. My cheeks were quite fat and rosy again, and Harry, when -he met me at the station, pretended not to know me, but came up and -said, “I beg your pardon, miss, but have you seen a pale young woman -named Mary Jane anywhere about?” - -The big goose! I gave him a kiss before all the railway porters, who -_wouldn’t_ look the other way, and I said, “No, I haven’t, and I hope -she won’t see me or she mightn’t like me kissing her husband.” - -Before I left I told Jenny and her husband that I should insist on their -coming and staying for a week at our hotel as our guests, and they have -promised that they will. When I asked them, Jenny looked up, with a -twinkle in her eye, and the old saucy look on her face, and she said, -“I’ll come; but you must promise not to be cross with Mr. Beckett if -anybody calls me ‘Tommy,’ won’t you?” - -Dear old “Tommy!” Oh, how glad I am that I didn’t let her go away -through my nasty jealous temper! Who knows if things would have turned -out so happily as they did if I hadn’t made it up with her and asked her -to stay on at the ‘Stretford Arms.’ - -After Jenny left we had a barmaid, who---- - - * * * * * - -Nurse, will you stop those children? Whatever are they making such a -noise about? Master Harry and the baby fighting for the kitten! Then, -take the kitten away from them! That poor kitten! I’m sure I expect to -see it pulled in two sometimes. Can anybody tell me why cats and kittens -and dogs let little babies pull them about and hardly ever scratch or -bite? It is always a mystery to me. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -_MR. SAXON AGAIN._ - - -If you look back at one of the chapters of these reminiscences of the -‘Stretford Arms,’ I forget which, you will find at the end that I was -interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Saxon. He came without having sent a -letter or a telegram to say that he was coming, and, of course, knowing -what a dreadful fidget he was, that made me a little nervous, and I had -to throw down my pen, and rush downstairs to see him myself, and make -things as pleasant as possible. - -I was very glad that he had come again, because that showed he was -pleased with our place, and had appreciated the attention shown to him; -and that is one thing I will say for him, with all his odd ways, and his -violent tempers, and his rages and fads, he was always deeply sensible -of any little kindness shown to him. Poor man, he suffered dreadfully -from his infirmity of temper; but I quite believe what he always told -me--that it was nervous irritability, and that it was caused by his -constant ill-health, and that awful liver of his. - -“Mary Jane,” he has said to me often, when we’ve been talking, “if I’d -only had decent health and a pennyworth of digestion I should have been -an angel upon earth. I should have been too good for this world, and -died young.” - -“Well, sir,” I said, “then, under these circumstances, your liver has -been a blessing to you instead of a curse, because it has prolonged your -life.” - -“Good heavens! Mrs. Beckett,” he almost shrieked. “Is it possible that -you, you who have witnessed my awful sufferings, you who have seen me -tear my hair and bite the chair backs and kick the wall and hurl the -coals out of the coal-scuttle at my own grinning demoniacal image in the -looking-glass, can say such a thing as that? A blessing to prolong my -life! Why, if the doctor had taken me away when I was born and drowned -me in a pail of warm water, like they do the kittens, he would have been -the best friend I ever had.” - -“Oh, Mr. Saxon,” I said, “how _can_ you say such dreadful things? I’m -sure you have much to be thankful for. Many people envy you.” - -“Do they?” he said. “Then more fools they. Look at me, Mrs. Beckett. Do -you see how yellow I am? Do you know I go to bed at night half dead, and -get up the next morning three-quarters dead, having spent the night in -dreaming that I’m being hanged, or pursued by a mad bull, or having my -chest jumped on by a demon? Do you know that I can’t open a letter -without trembling, lest it should tell me of some awful disaster? That -I’m so nervous, that if I see anybody coming that I know, I bolt round a -corner to get away from them, and that I’m so restless that I can never -stay in one place more than a week together, and that I’ve had the same -headache for ten years straight off?” - -“Yes, sir,” I said; “I know that you do get like that sometimes, and it -must be very unpleasant; but if you’d take more care of yourself, and -not work so hard, and take more exercise, perhaps you’d be better.” - -He laughed a contemptuous sort of laugh. - -“Oh, of course, it’s all my own fault. Everybody tells me that. When I -was a boy, the doctors said I should outgrow it; when I was a young man, -they said after thirty I should be better. When I was thirty, they said -it was a trying age; but by the time I was forty I should be all right. -Well, I’m forty now, and look at me. I’m a wreck--a perfect wreck.” - -“Oh, come, sir,” I said; “I don’t see where the wreck comes in. You’re -broad and upright, and you look as strong as a prize-fighter. Everybody -who sees you says, ‘Is that Mr. Saxon? Why, I expected to see a -cadaverous skeleton, by what I’ve heard about his being such an -invalid.’” - -“Oh yes, I know,” he said; “people say the same thing to me. I never get -any sympathy. I dare say when I’m in my coffin people will come and look -at me and say, ‘What a humbug that fellow is! Why, he looks as jolly as -possible.’” - -I tried to turn the conversation, because when Mr. Saxon begins to talk -about himself and his wrongs and his ailments he will go on for hours if -you’ll let him, so I asked him if he was writing anything new. - -“Yes,” he said; “I’m writing my will. I’ve come down here to be able to -work at it quietly, without anybody coming and putting me in a rage, and -making me say something in that important document, in my temper, that I -may be sorry for afterwards. Mrs. Beckett, I’ve left instructions that -I’m to be cremated. If you’d like to be present at the ceremony I’ll -drop in a line to say that you are to be invited. It is a very curious -spectacle, and well worth seeing.” - -It was a nice thing, wasn’t it, for him to ask me to come and see him -cremated? But it was no good taking him seriously when he was like that, -so I said, “Thank you, sir; you are very kind; but I’d very much sooner -see you eat a good dinner. What shall I order for you?” - -He thought a minute, and then he said, “Let me see, I have four hours -before dinner. I can get my will finished in three, so you can order me -for dinner some salmon and cucumber, some roast pork and apple sauce, -and a nice rich plum-pudding, and, I think, if I have a bottle of -champagne with it, and after that some apples and some Brazil nuts, and -a bottle of old port, the chances are that I shan’t linger long.” - -“Oh, Mr. Saxon,” I said, “the idea of your eating such a dinner as that, -and you complaining of indigestion! Why, it’s suicide!” - -“Of course it is,” he said, with an awful grin. “That’s what I mean it -to be. It’s the only way I can do it without letting the blessed -insurance companies have the laugh of me.” - -I only give you this conversation just to show you the sort of mood he -was in when he came on his second visit. He hadn’t brought the Swedish -gentleman with him to get into a temper with, and as he could not well -go on at me and Harry, he went on the other tack, and turned melancholy. - -I felt as if I should like to give him a good shaking; but, of course, I -was obliged to be polite, so I said, “If you are dull when you’ve done -your work, sir, I hope you will come downstairs and sit with us; my -husband will be very pleased, I’m sure.” - -“Thank you,” he said; and then he went upstairs, and presently when I -passed his door I heard him giggling to himself, and presently he -laughed right out loud. - -I thought to myself, “I wonder what he’s so merry about all by himself,” -so I knocked at the door, and made an excuse to go in. - -He had several sheets of paper in front of him, and he was chuckling and -writing, and grinning all over his face. - -“Here, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “what do you think of this for a will?” - -“Good gracious, sir!” I said, “you’re not laughing over your will, are -you?” - -“Yes, I am. I can’t help it. It’s so jolly funny. Ha, ha, ha!” - -He began to read his will to me, and presently, I couldn’t help it, I -was obliged to laugh too. It was so utterly ridiculous. He had actually -gone and made a comic will leaving the oddest things to people, and -cracking jokes about everything, just as if it was the funniest thing in -the world to say what’s to be done with your property when you’re dead. - -“I say, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “won’t it be a lark when the old lawyer -reads this out? I hope he’ll be a good reader, and make the points. I’d -give something to see the people when they hear it read. I hope they’ll -be a good audience.” - -When he saw that it amused me, he was as pleased as Punch, and quite -jolly. All his melancholy had gone. He read that will over and over -again to himself, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy it; and I’m quite sure -that he felt awfully sorry that he couldn’t get all the people called -together and have it read to them without his being dead, so that he -could hear them laugh at what he called his “wheezes.” - -He said that he was sure his will would be a great success, and it put -him in a good humour for the rest of the day, and he quite enjoyed his -dinner, which, you may be sure, wasn’t roast pork or salmon, as he had -ordered; but a nice fried sole, and a boiled chicken, and a semolina -pudding, which I knew wouldn’t hurt him, and I wouldn’t let him have the -champagne, pretending that we were quite out of the only brand he cared -for. - -After dinner he smoked a cigar by himself, and then he came down into -our bar-parlour and smoked a pipe. - -Several of our regular customers knew him, through his having been with -us before, and they remembered him, so he joined in the conversation, -which got on foreign parts; and, as he was known to travel abroad a good -deal, they asked him questions about the places he had seen. - -I will say this for Mr. Saxon: he never wanted much encouragement to -start him off talking, and when he did begin he went on. - -I’m quite sure that it wasn’t all true what he told the people in our -bar-parlour. He couldn’t help exaggerating, if it was to save his life; -but I believe the stories he told were founded on fact, only he made -them as wonderful as he could. - -He had been in the winter to Africa, and he told us of a very wonderful -adventure he had with a lion. It seems he was very anxious to kill a -lion and bring it home with him. So one day that he heard a lion had -been seen in the mountains near where he was, he went off on a hunting -expedition and camped out in the open air. The first night he thought it -was very jolly; but when he woke up in the morning he found he had got -the rheumatics so fearfully that he could hardly move. So he told the -Arabs, who were with him, to go hunting, and he would stop in the tent -and rub himself with liniment, as he couldn’t walk till the rheumatics -went off. - -The Arabs went off to look for the lion, and soon after they had gone -Mr. Saxon heard a curious noise, and looking up, he saw a great big lion -coming stealthily towards him. - -He was awfully frightened, and picked up his gun and went as white as -death, and waited for the animal to come on. When it began to move, he -noticed it was rather lame, and moved very slowly, so he aimed at it and -fired; but not being a good marksman, the shot went a long way over the -lion’s head. - -Then he felt so frightened, he said, that he was quite paralyzed, and he -fired again; but the bullet didn’t go near the lion. - -Then he dropped his gun and tried to run away; but the rheumatism was so -dreadful that he couldn’t move, and still the lion crept nearer and -nearer. He gave himself up for lost, and thought he should never see -anybody again, when the animal, who was evidently in pain, limped into -the tent. - -He thought it would jump on him and eat him, but instead of that it only -sat down on its haunches by his side in the tent and groaned, and held -up one of its paws. - -All of a sudden, he having a lot of experience with dogs, guessed that -the lion was suffering from rheumatism, and so he thought he would try -an experiment. He got out his bottle of liniment, and took the lion’s -leg and rubbed the liniment well into it, the lion sitting quite still -all the time, only holding its head on one side, as the liniment was -very strong, and it got up its nose and made its eyes water. - -After he had rubbed it well the lion seemed to be better, and wagged its -tail, and would have licked his hand, he said, only he didn’t like the -liniment that was on it. And presently it got up and went away, walking -much easier than before. - -Mr. Saxon said the relief to his feelings was so great that he felt -quite exhausted, and fell asleep, and when he woke up, to his horror he -saw three lions in his tent--it was the lion he had rubbed, who had -brought his wife, the lioness, and his eldest son, a very fine young -lion, and it was evident that he had brought them to be rubbed with the -liniment, as they held out their legs towards him. - -Mr. Saxon said that evidently all the family had slept in a damp place -and got rheumatic. He rubbed the lioness and the young lion till all his -liniment was gone, and then they went away. - -When the Arabs came back in the evening they said they had had no sport, -as they found the lions gone from their lair. “Yes,” said Mr. Saxon, -“they have been here.” At first the Arabs would not believe him, but he -showed them the footsteps of the lions, and then they did, and said it -was very wonderful. - -They had to camp in the same place that night, as Mr. Saxon was not well -enough to go on. The next morning when they got up it was found that -they were short of provisions, and they were wondering what they would -do, when one of the Arabs said, “Oh, look there; there is a lion coming. -Let us shoot him!” “No,” said Mr. Saxon, “perhaps it is one of my -friends.” And so it was--it was the old lion, and he had a very fine -sheep in his mouth. He marched into the tent, laid the sheep at Mr. -Saxon’s feet, and then, nodding his head to the Arabs, turned round and -walked away again. - -He had brought Mr. Saxon a present of a sheep, to show his gratitude for -being eased of the rheumatism with the liniment. - -Mr. Saxon said it was one of the most wonderful instances of gratitude -in a wild beast that had ever been known, and we all thought so too. - -Some of the people in our parlour believed it was all gospel truth; but -Harry laughed, and so did I. I had heard Mr. Saxon’s wonderful stories -about his travels before. - -I knew it was true about his suffering with rheumatism, though, because -I had seen him; and I’ve heard the Swedish gentleman tell how, when Mr. -Saxon was in Rome, he had it so bad that he could hardly move, and the -twinges used to make him yell out. And one day one of the Pope’s -chamberlains came to take him to the Vatican, and he couldn’t crawl -across the room. He was in an awful state, because he was to be -introduced to the Pope, and it was a great honour, and it made him very -upset to think he should have to lose it. The Pope’s chamberlain, who -was an Englishman, recommended a very hot bath. So Mr. Saxon had one put -in his bedroom; and, in his hasty, impulsive way, got into it without -trying the heat. It was so hot that he was nearly boiled alive, and he -jumped out in such a hurry that the bath was tilted over, and boiled -all the pattern out of the carpet, and went through the ceiling, and Mr. -Saxon danced about, and swore, and went on dreadfully--like he can if -he’s put out. It cost him ten pounds for the damage; but his rheumatics -had gone quite away, and he was able to be introduced to the Pope that -afternoon; so he didn’t mind the ten pounds. But the Swedish gentleman -told us that he was the colour of a boiled lobster for a fortnight -afterwards. - -Another time that he had the rheumatism come on very awkwardly--so the -Swedish gentleman told us, and I think he tells the truth--was at -Madrid. Mr. Saxon was at a bull-fight, and after the third bull had been -killed the beautifully dressed men who fight the bulls all went out, and -the people all began to jump into the arena. Mr. Saxon and the Swedish -gentleman thought that was a short cut to get out, so they got over into -the circus too. Presently, to their horror, the doors were opened, and -two bulls came galloping in. The Swedish gentleman jumped over the -barriers quick; but Mr. Saxon, when he went to follow, had a sudden -attack of rheumatics in his legs, and couldn’t move. He gave a horrified -look, and saw one of the bulls making straight at him. He turned round -to try and run; but the bull caught him, and threw him right up on the -top of the barrier, and the Swedish gentleman seized him and pulled him -over, while all the people clapped their hands, and shrieked with -laughter. - -Of course Mr. Saxon thought he must be wounded, and couldn’t make out -why he didn’t feel where the bull’s horns had been; but when he looked -round he saw all the people in the ring playing with the bulls, and the -boys waving their cloaks in front of them, and then running away; and -then he saw that the bulls had big indiarubber balls on their horns, to -prevent them hurting. - -It was explained to him afterwards by a Spanish gentleman that, after -the real bull-fight is over, the young bulls, with their horns -protected, are turned into the ring for the boys and young men to play -with, and it is with these bulls that many, who afterwards become -bull-fighters, take their first lesson. But it was very awkward for Mr. -Saxon having his rheumatics come on just as the bull was running at -him, before about five thousand people in the great bullring at Madrid. - -The Queen of Spain, Mr. Saxon told us, was in the royal box, and she -laughed as heartily as anybody. So Mr. Saxon tells everybody that he has -had the honour of appearing as a bull-fighter before the royal family in -Madrid, which is much more true than a good many of the stories he tells -about his adventures abroad, I dare say. - -The next day Mr. Saxon was rather melancholy again, and he said he -shouldn’t stop, as he thought the country didn’t suit him at that season -of the year. It was the autumn; and he said the fall of the leaf always -made him ill. - -“Yes, sir,” I said; “a good many people feel it. It’s always a trying -time for invalids.” - -“My dear Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “all times are alike to me. In the -winter my doctor says, ‘Ah, it’s the cold weather makes you queer; -you’ll be better when it’s over.’ When the spring comes, he says, -‘People with livers are always queer in the spring.’ When it’s summer, -he says, ‘The heat always upsets livers.’ When it’s autumn, he says, -‘People with the least acidity in their blood always feel the autumn;’ -and when it’s winter it’s the cold that’s bad for me again. And that’s -the game they’ve played with me for the last ten years. It’s just the -same if I go out of town for the benefit of my health. If I go to the -seaside, the sea is bad for bilious people. If I go inland, it isn’t -bracing enough. If I go to a bracing place, the air is too strong for -me. If I go to a relaxing place, the air is too mild for me. There isn’t -one of the beggars who pocket my guinea that has the honesty to say that -nothing will ever make me any better.” - -“I wonder you take their prescriptions,” I said, “if you don’t believe -they can do you any good.” - -“I’m not going to take any more,” he said. “Why, this last year I’ve -tried the hot-water cure, the lemon cure, and the cold-water cure. I’ve -worn four different sorts of pads and belts, I’ve been medically rubbed, -and I’ve put myself on milk diet. I buy everything that’s advertised in -the newspapers and on the hoardings, and I take everything everybody -sends me, and the only time I was really well for a week was when I sent -my little dog, who had a bad liver, to the veterinary surgeon, and he -sent her some powders, and I took them by mistake for my own. When I -went to get some more, the vet. had gone for his holiday and left an -assistant. The assistant looked over the books and sent me some more -powders. I thought they tasted different; but I took them, and ever -since that I have never been able to pass a cat’s-meat barrow without -wanting to stand on my hind legs and beg. The stupid assistant had made -up some powders to give a dainty pet dog an appetite instead of my -little dog’s liver powders.” - -“Oh, Mr. Saxon,” I said, laughing; “you don’t expect me to believe -that!” - -“I can’t help whether you believe it or not, Mrs. Beckett,” he said; -“I’m only telling you what actually happened.” - -I stopped with him a little and tried to persuade him to give us a -little longer trial. He couldn’t expect changes of air to do him good in -a day. He said there was something in that, and he’d try another day or -two. - -I got Harry to offer to go for a long walk with him; and when Harry came -back, he said, “My dear, I really think this time Mr. Saxon is a bit -dotty.” - -“Whatever do you mean, Harry,” I said. - -“Well, he’s been asking me if I could get him a nice jolly crew of -sailors to man a pirate ship for him, as he thinks of turning pirate. He -says he’s been ordered a sea voyage, and that’s the only way he could -take it without feeling the monotony of it.” - -“Oh,” I said, “you mustn’t take any notice of his talking like that. -Once, when he was ordered horse exercise, I remember him saying that -he’d turn highwayman, and wear a mask, and have pistols in his belt, as -he must have something to occupy his mind while he was riding, or he -should go to sleep and tumble off.” - -Poor Mr. Saxon! I often wonder whether people, who don’t know him well, -believe that he really means the idiotic things he says. He says them so -seriously that you can’t help being taken in by them sometimes. - -After he had been with us a couple of days he sent a telegram to London -and had a telegram back, and then he called me up, and he said, “Mrs. -Beckett, I’m going to ask you a very great favour.” - -“Yes, sir,” I said, wondering what was coming. - -“A very dear friend of mine,” he said, “who has been for five years in a -lunatic asylum has been cured, and is to be released to-morrow. He has a -wife and family. Before he goes home to them we are anxious to see how -he will behave--if he is quite cured, in fact.” - -“Yes, sir,” I said, still wondering what I had to do with his mad -friend. - -“I have asked him to come here and stay with me.” - -“What, sir!” I said, starting. “To come here!” - -“Yes; but don’t be alarmed. I believe he is quite cured, and as sane as -I am now. He is a very nice man--a little odd in his ways; but he -wouldn’t hurt a fly. He is coming to-night. I assure you there is no -danger, or I wouldn’t have asked him: only his friends think it will be -better for him to get accustomed to his freedom before he goes home.” - -“Of course, sir,” I said; “but it’s a great responsibility for you.” - -“Oh, I’m not afraid; but I want you to help me.” - -“How, sir?” - -“Well, please put him a very blunt knife at dinner, and if he gets up in -the morning before I do and goes out, just ask your husband not to let -him go far away or let him out of his sight. That’s all.” - -“Very good, sir,” I said; but I didn’t like it, and I went down. I said -to Harry, “Here’s a nice thing. Mr. Saxon has asked a lunatic to stay -with him, and he wants us to look after him!” - -That night the gentleman arrived. He was a very thin, very mild, -amiable-looking gentleman of about fifty, with long black hair, turning -grey. - -Mr. Saxon told us he was a literary gentleman and a fine scholar, and -had written a great many burlesques, and it was this that had brought -him to a lunatic asylum. He certainly was a little odd, and seemed -rather nervous. I thought that was on account of his finding himself -without any keepers about him. - -He spoke very nicely, and laughed a good deal, and seemed a little -fidgety and funny; but that was all. - -I put him a very blunt knife at dinner, and when he tried to cut his -meat with it, he said, “God bless me; this is an awful knife! Give me -another, please.” - -I looked at Mr. Saxon for instructions; but he shook his head. So I -said, “It’s the sharpest we have, sir.” - -“Shall I cut your meat up for you, Bob?” said Mr. Saxon. - -“No, thank you,” said the gentleman; and he made another try; but he -groaned over it and went quite hot, and kept saying, “God bless me!” and -muttering to himself. - -He and Mr. Saxon sat and smoked pipes all the evening, and they went to -bed early, Mr. Saxon telling me not to give his friend a candle, as it -wasn’t advisable to trust him with fire. - -The gentleman asked for a candle. But I said I was very sorry, but all -the candles were engaged. - -He went into his bedroom and went to bed in the dark. But he went on -awfully, groaning, and saying, “God bless me!” and that he never heard -such a thing in his life. - -In the morning he got up early, and, to our horror, came down with his -hat on and went out. - -“Harry,” I said, “Follow him, quick; he’s going towards the horse-pond.” - -Harry said it was all very fine. He wished Mr. Saxon would take charge -of his own lunatics; but he put on his hat, and went after the -gentleman. - -They came in in half an hour, the gentleman looking very bad tempered. - -At breakfast, I heard him say to Mr. Saxon that the landlord had been -following him. - -“Nonsense, Bob,” said Mr. Saxon. “Come, old fellow, eat your breakfast.” -There were chops for breakfast, and I had put the blunt knife on again. -The gentleman tried to cut his chop with it, and then he flung it down, -and said, “God bless me, Saxon, I can’t stand this place. I can’t cut my -food; I have to go to bed in the dark; and I’m followed when I go out. -One would think they took me for a lunatic.” - -“Poor fellow,” I said to myself; “that’s always the way. They never have -the slightest idea that they _are_ lunatics.” - -The gentleman and Mr. Saxon went out for a walk, and the gentleman came -in first and went up to the sitting-room. I heard him open the window, -and that gave me a turn. I thought, “Oh, dear me, he has given Mr. Saxon -the slip. Perhaps he is going to throw himself out of the window.” - -I rushed upstairs and opened the door, and saw that he was leaning half -way out of the window. He made a movement, as if he was going to throw -himself right out; but I rushed in, and seized him by the coat-tails. - -“Sir,” I said; “come in, please; that window’s dangerous!” - -“God bless me!” he said, turning round. “What does all this mean? Am I -in a private lunatic asylum?” - -“No, sir,” I said. “Pray be calm, sir. Come, sit down; you’re not very -well. Mr. Saxon will be here directly.” - -He sat down, and looked at me, with such a strange look on his face, -that I felt he had been let out too soon, and I made up my mind to -advise Mr. Saxon to send him back. It wasn’t safe to have an only -half-cured lunatic about the place. - -“Go out of the room, if you please, madam,” he said. “I think it is very -great impertinence on your part to come in without being asked.” - -“No, sir,” I said; “I shall not leave you in your present condition, and -if you make any resistance I shall call my husband. Now be a good, kind -creature, and sit still till Mr. Saxon comes in.” - -“God bless me,” he said, “am I mad? What does it mean? I--I--confound -it, Saxon” (Mr. Saxon had come in), “what sort of a place is this that -you’ve asked me to? Is it an hotel, or an asylum for idiots? This woman -is certainly mad!” - -“Poor gentleman!” I thought, “they always think it’s you and not them -that’s mad.” - -Mr. Saxon looked at me and then at his friend, and then he burst out -laughing. - -I don’t know what put it into my head; but it came like a flash that I’d -been “had,” as Harry calls it. - -I went hot and cold, and didn’t know which way to look. - -“It’s all right, Bob,” said Mr. Saxon; “don’t blame Mrs. Beckett. It’s -my fault. I told her you were only let out of a lunatic asylum -yesterday, and she and her husband have been seeing that you don’t get -into mischief.” - -I made for the door, and got downstairs quick. But I could hear the -gentleman going on, and saying it was too bad, and that it was a -shameful thing to have made out that he was a lunatic. But he was all -right at dinner-time, and he laughed about it, and said Mr. Saxon was an -awful man, and always up to some idiotic trick or other. - -And so he was. But it was a long time before I felt quite comfortable -with the gentleman we’d treated as a lunatic, and given a blunt knife -to, and made to go to bed in the dark, and watched about wherever he -went. - -It was too bad of Mr. Saxon to play such a trick on us; for the -gentleman was as sane as he was, and, if it came to that, a good deal -saner. For sometimes Mr. Saxon does things, and says things, that are -only fit for a lunatic asylum; and I’ve heard his friends say to him, -“Why, if anybody who didn’t know you were to hear you, they’d take you -for a lunatic.” - -Mr. Saxon and the gentleman who wrote burlesques went away together. Mr. -Saxon was really much better when he left, and he said so. He’s promised -to send us his portrait with his autograph under it to put up in our -little private room, and before he left I got his permission to allow me -to dedicate my next book to---- - - * * * * * - -What! The billiard balls gone. Nonsense! You’ve looked everywhere for -them, John, and they’re not there? You don’t mean to say they’re stolen? -Well, I declare, what next! I suppose somebody has been in and found the -place empty and walked off with them. I knew something would come of -that separate entrance. It’s your own fault, for not locking the room up -when you go to dinner. Your master will be in a fine way when he hears -of it. I expect he’ll make you pay for them, and it will serve you -right. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -_THE VILLAGE WITCH._ - - -People who have lived all their lives in London, when they come to live -in a country place generally find the inhabitants what is called “behind -the world,” and the village that our hotel is in is no exception to the -rule. Even the railway, which has done a lot to take stupid ideas out of -country people, hasn’t made our village folks quite as sharp as they -should be. The old people--those who were born before School Boards and -all the new-fangled ideas--have some awfully funny notions, and nothing -you can say will shake their belief in them. - -In our village there are still no end of old people who believe in -charms, especially for warts; and one day that I had one come on my -hand, Graves, the farrier, said quite seriously, “I’ll tell you how you -can cure that, Mrs. Beckett. You get old Dame Trueman to charm it away -for you.” - -I said, “What nonsense, Mr. Graves! You don’t suppose I believe in such -stuff as that?” - -“Oh, but it isn’t stuff!” said Graves. “Dame Trueman has got charms for -no end of things, and there’s plenty of people that she’s done good to, -and cured, when the doctors had given them up.” - -This Dame Trueman was quite a character, and lived up at the end of a -village all alone with a black cat in an old broken-down cottage. Many -years ago she had lost her husband under rather mysterious -circumstances, and, it was said, she had bewitched him and caused his -death, because he treated her badly. - -He was a farm labourer, and worked on the farm that I told you about in -“Old Gaffer Gabbitas,” called Curnock’s Farm; but he used to take more -than was good for him at the village alehouse. People used to say, “How -can he afford to spend such a lot of money out of his wages?” but the -mystery was cleared up when one day it got all over the village that he -had found out where his wife had hidden her savings, and that he had -been helping himself for a long time without her knowing it. - -It seems she had made a bit of money selling charms and telling fortunes -to servant-girls and other foolish people, and had changed her savings -into bank-notes, and sewn them up in the mattress, not telling her -husband anything about it. But he had found it out, and had unsewn the -mattress one day while she was out marketing, taken a couple of notes, -and then sewn the place up again very neatly, and she had never noticed -it. - -How she found it out was through a neighbour who had seen Trueman change -a five-pound note at the inn. Directly his wife heard of that, she went -and unsewed the mattress, and the cat was out of the bag. - -She was heard to say that he would never help himself to any more. And -soon after that, one night he was at the alehouse, smoking his pipe, -when a black cat, that nobody in the place ever remembered to have seen -before, came into the tap-room and jumped up on his knee. - -It was a very curious-looking cat, with very fierce eyes, and it had -three white hairs on its breast. Trueman said, “Hullo, whose cat is -this?” and he put his hand on its back and stroked it. Everybody in the -room declared that as he did so they saw sparks fly out of its back, but -the awful thing about it was that the man gave a sudden cry, as if some -terrible pain had just come to him. The cat jumped off his knee, and ran -out of the door and disappeared. Trueman tried to get on his legs; but -he only staggered half-way across the room and fell down in a heap on -the floor. They ran and fetched the doctor to him; but before the doctor -could get there he was quite dead. - -At the inquest the jury brought it in that he had died of heart disease; -but everybody in the village declared that he had been bewitched by his -wife for stealing her money, and that the black cat was the “familiar,” -or whatever it is called. - -Of course, when I first heard the story, I said, “What nonsense!” and I -couldn’t understand how people living in a Christian country could -believe in such rubbish; but there is no mistake about it that this very -black cat, after the funeral, was seen in Dame Trueman’s house, and it -followed her about like a dog, and nobody had ever seen it in the -village before the night that it jumped on the poor man’s lap at the -alehouse. - -After that the old lady got quite the reputation of being a witch, and -very curious stories were told about her, and the things that went on in -her cottage. She was always very clever with herbs and old women’s -remedies, as they are called, and she had, according to the ignorant -people, wonderful charms for curing sore eyes, and wounds, and other -things; and once when a man working on a farm had put his wrist out, he -went to her, and she caught hold of his hand and muttered a charm, and -pulled it and put it in its place again. - -All these things made the old woman looked up to with a good deal of -fear by the ignorant people. Nobody liked her; but they were all a bit -afraid of her. And it was said that if anybody offended her she could -put them under a spell, and bring misfortune upon them. - -There was a boy in the village, a mischievous young imp, named Joe -Daniels. His mother did washing, and he used to go round with an old -perambulator and fetch it and also take it home. One day that he was -wheeling his perambulator along with a bundle of linen on it, he met Old -Dame Trueman coming down the lane, and after she had passed him he said -to another boy that was with him, “Do you know she’s an old witch, and -rides through the air on a broomstick? My mother says she ought to be -burned alive, if she had her deserts.” - -Dame Trueman, who was hobbling along, being a little lame with one leg, -heard the boy, and she turned round and said, “Your mother says that, -does she?--let her beware!” Then she made an awful grimace at the boy, -and shook her stick at him. He declared that fire came out of her eyes, -and that he felt an awful sensation go all over his body. When he got -home he told his mother what had happened, and she was in a terrible -state, and said she would be ruined, as the old witch would be sure to -put a spell on her now. She was in such a state that she went off to the -clergyman and asked him what she could do to guard against the spells. -He lectured her, which was quite right, and told her it was very wicked -to believe in such things as witches, as there weren’t any. But it -certainly was a fact that, from that day, nothing went right with Mrs. -Daniels. She had the best linen, belonging to the richest family she -washed for, stolen out of her drying-ground two days after; and her boy -Joe, that the witch had shaken her stick at, was run over by a horse and -cart the next time he took the washing home, and had his leg broken; -and, to crown everything, it got about that she had taken washing of a -family that had come down from London with the scarlet fever, and after -that nobody would send her any washing at all; and, having been security -for her married daughter’s husband, and signed a bill of sale on her -things, everything was seized one day, and the poor woman took on so -about it that she died not long afterwards; and little Joe was sent away -to a training-ship to be made a sailor, and the first time he went to -sea he fell down off the top of the mast into the water and was drowned. - -This is one of the stories that I was told in our bar-parlour one night -that we were talking about charms and things, and it brought up about -old Dame Trueman. I said that all these things might have happened. I -found out afterwards that they did--but that didn’t prove that the old -woman was a witch, or that her “charms” were anything more than ordinary -remedies. - -Our new clergyman, poor Mr. Wilkins’s “young whipper-snapper,” was -awfully wild when he found that a lot of his parishioners believed in -witches and spells, and he made it his business to investigate a lot of -things that were being said about the old woman. He found out that she -was telling fortunes by cards on the quiet, and selling a lot of foolish -young women charms to make them get fallen in love with, and all that -sort of nonsense; so he went straight up to the dilapidated old cottage -where the old Dame lived, and he told her that if he heard any more of -it he would have her up before the magistrate, and she would be sent to -prison. - -Of course she pitched him a nice tale, and tried to make out that it -wasn’t true; but that she was a poor, lone widow woman, and that these -stories were circulated by her enemies to do her harm. - -Graves, the farrier, said, when he heard that the young clergyman had -been threatening the Dame, that something was sure to happen to -him--that nobody ever crossed “the old witch’s” path without coming to -grief. - -I laughed at the time, and told Graves that a great strong fellow, like -he was, ought to be ashamed of himself for having such silly, childish -ideas; but it was a very remarkable thing that, the week after, the -young clergyman was riding past the Dame’s door, when her black cat -dashed suddenly across the road, and so terrified the clergyman’s horse -that it bolted and ran into a tree, and fell, and flung the young -clergyman off on to his head, and he was confined to his bed for six -weeks in consequence. - -Of course it was only a coincidence; but Graves was quite triumphant -about it, and he said to me the evening of the accident, “Well, Mrs. -Beckett, what about old Dame Trueman being a witch now?” - -Of course, things happening like this, and the things that had happened -before, made a great impression on the ignorant people; and even people -who weren’t ignorant said it was very odd that everybody who crossed or -offended that dreadful old woman came to grief. It was no good arguing -against it, because these things were known all over the village, and -there is no doubt that the old hag made a lot of money out of her dupes, -in consequence of her being held in such dread and looked up to as -having supernatural powers. - -As I said when I began to write about her, folks who live in London can -hardly credit the number of people in villages who still believe in -magic and spells and charms and witches. But even in some parts of -London there are people who believe the same thing, because every now -and then you read about “a wise woman” being brought up at the -police-court for swindling young women by telling their fortunes, and -selling them charms; and not long ago Harry read a bit out of the paper -to me about “a wise woman,” who had got five pounds out of a working -man’s wife for a bottle of something which she was to put in his tea to -make him die, so that she could marry another man. A nice wife and a -nice woman she must have been! - -What has made me write so much about old Dame Trueman is this. There was -an old gentleman who used to come to our smoke-room pretty regularly of -an evening; but not till after Mr. Wilkins had left, and so he might be -called a new customer. He was an old gentleman who took a small house in -the neighbourhood, and it was said he was a retired builder. He was very -nice and quiet, and I should say comfortably off, for his house was -nicely furnished, and although there was only himself and his wife, they -had two servants, and kept a pony and trap. - -Mr. Gwillam--that was the old gentleman’s name--began to use our house -of an evening soon after he came, I suppose finding it dull at home, and -he always smoked a long clay pipe, and drank hot grog in the good -old-fashioned way. He didn’t talk very much, only joining in the -conversation now and then; but he was a wonderful listener, and the -other customers soon found out that he was very simple-minded, because -he took everything he heard for gospel. Some of them, when they found -that out, used to start telling the most dreadful stories about what had -happened in the place, and it was a sight to see the dear old gentleman -open his innocent blue eyes, and to hear him say, “Good gracious!” - -Somebody who knew him told us that what made him seem so simple and -eccentric at times was that years ago, while superintending some -building operations, he had fallen off a ladder on to his head, and it -had affected him a little. - -We liked him very much, because he was so nice and quiet, and, being an -independent and retired person, he was just the sort of customer we -liked to get into the smoke-room, as it brings others of the same class, -and keeps the wrong sort out, as the wrong sort never feel comfortable -where the right sort are. - -The first thing that made me think Mr. Gwillam really was a little -eccentric was his saying very quietly one evening that according to -Revelations the end of the world would be at five-and-twenty minutes -past six in the evening the last Friday in August, 1890. I thought it -was a very odd thing to say, as nobody was talking about the end of the -world, and, in fact, just at the time there was a dead silence. - -I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “Indeed!” Then he said, “Oh yes; -but it’s nothing to be frightened at, as we shall all be caught up by a -whirlwind.” - -Graves, the farrier, looked at Mr. Gwillam for a minute, and then he -said, “How do you know that, sir?” - -“Oh,” he said, “I read it in the _Evening Standard_, and that is a most -respectable paper. It has been in several evenings.” - -“Oh,” said Graves, “has it? It’s very good of the editor to let us know. -I hope we shall go up steady and not knock against each other. It will -be very awkward if some of us turn over and go up head downwards.” - -I frowned at Graves, as it seemed to me wrong to jest about such -matters; but I knew where Mr. Gwillam had seen it. It was an -advertisement which some madman had put in for years, having nothing -better to do with his money. But I thought it very queer that anybody in -their senses could believe such mischievous nonsense. - -After that I began to notice one or two queer things that Mr. Gwillam -said, and I made up my mind that he must have what Harry calls “a tile -loose;” but how loose it was I didn’t know till he did something which -made quite a sensation in the village. One night in our smoke-room he -happened to mention that, coming out of his gate, he had come upon one -of his maid-servants talking to a queer-looking old woman, and when he -described the woman everybody said, “Why, that is old Dame Trueman, the -witch!” - -He looked very horrified, and said, “Do you mean to say that a witch is -allowed to live in the place?” - -That turned the conversation on to the subject, and everybody began to -tell stories about Dame Trueman; of course, making them out as awful as -possible to astonish the old gentleman. - -He didn’t say much that night; but the next evening when he came he -didn’t look very well, and he said that he had been awake all night -thinking about the witch. - -He smoked his pipe and had his glass of grog; but he went away early. -After he was gone I said it was a pity for them to have told him such a -lot of stuff about old Dame Trueman--he was just the man to take it all -for gospel. - -The next evening he didn’t come as usual, and I was afraid he was ill, -and our doctor happening to look in, I asked him if he had heard if Mr. -Gwillam was ill. - -“Yes,” he said, “he is a bit poorly; but it’s nothing. The old boy -hasn’t been able to sleep the last night or two, and it has upset his -nerves. He’s got some absurd idea into his head that he is under a -spell. He can’t be quite right in his head.” - -The next day after dinner Graves came in in quite a bustle, and said, “I -say, Mrs. Beckett, whatever do you think has happened?” - -“How should I know?” I said. And if you come to think of it, it’s absurd -for people to ask you what you think has happened. As if, out of the -thousands of things that might happen, anybody could think straight off -at once of the one that has happened. - -“Oh,” said Graves, “there’s been an awful scene in the village! Old -Gwillam was out for a walk this morning, and he saw old Dame Trueman -coming along, and he ran after her and seized her by the neck and tried -to push her into the horse-pond, shouting out that she was a witch, and -a crowd came round, and some of them said, “Serve her right!” But the -others interfered and dragged the old woman away, half-choked and black -in the face, and then he ran after her, and laid into her with his -walking-stick, shouting and cursing, and saying that she had bewitched -him, and prevented him from sleeping; and the end of it was that Jones, -the policeman, had to come to the rescue, and rush in and stop Mr. -Gwillam. But he was so excited that he whacked into the policeman, and -for that he was marched off to the police-station, all the village -tagrag and bobtail following.” - -When Graves told me that, I thought it was a very dreadful thing. I laid -the blame on the people who had told the poor old gentleman all that -nonsense about Dame Trueman being a witch. - -Harry went up to the police-station to make inquiries, and he told me -that Mr. Gwillam had been allowed to go home; but he was to be summoned -for assaulting the policeman, and also that Dame Trueman had been and -applied for a summons against him for assaulting her. - -There was a lot of talk about it in our bar and in the parlour that -evening, and it was the biggest sensation we had had in the village -since the inquest on the London gentleman, who was found dead in the -wood near the Silent Pool, with a pistol in his hand, and a letter in -his pocket saying he had committed suicide because he heard voices. It -was a dreadful letter, and showed the poor fellow was quite mad. I cut -the letter out from our county paper, and kept it, because I thought it -so curious, as showing what extraordinary delusions some people go -through life with, appearing sane in every other way. This was some of -the letter-- - -“I have committed suicide to escape from the pursuit of a devilish -agency. This is the story of my life. When I was a boy of tender age, -some organization of individuals erected--where, of course, I cannot -tell--an elaborate scientific contrivance for conveying all kinds of -sounds and disagreeable sensations to the human frame. At the time this -was first erected it was not brought into full play; but at a very early -stage these persons worked upon my feelings by simulating the voices of -persons with whom I was brought into contact. But, since then, wherever -I go I have been annoyed by this scientific agency. Wherever I go the -sound of human voices is conveyed to me. When I sit down an intense -heavy pressure is brought to bear upon my body, destroying the effect of -the food I eat, and producing great discomfort. This and the voices have -at last driven me mad, and as no human agency will protect me I am -determined to end my life, believing that beyond the grave those voices -will not be allowed to pursue me, and I shall be at rest.” - -Poor fellow!--but I suppose it is a common delusion, that about voices. - -Of course Mr. Gwillam wasn’t as mad as that; but it was certain that he -must have delusions because of his believing about the end of the world -coming at twenty-five past six on a Friday, and about our going up into -the skies on a whirlwind. And it was a delusion for him to believe that -Dame Trueman had bewitched him. - -When the summonses came on for hearing before our magistrate, the little -justice-room was crowded almost to suffocation. Mr. Gwillam, poor -gentleman, had gone about the village, and got all the people who had -anything to say against Dame Trueman to promise to come forward and -prove that she had practised witchcraft, and what he called the black -art. - -He was very troublesome directly the case began, interrupting every -minute, and saying that by the law of the land all witches had a right -to be burned at the stake, and a lot of nonsense, and the magistrate had -to speak quite cross to make him be quiet. - -Old Dame Trueman was in court, and they say she looked most -malignant--in fact, as much like a witch as it was possible to look -without being one--and she told the magistrate how she had been -assaulted. The magistrate asked Mr. Gwillam what he had to say, and he -told the most extraordinary story you ever heard in your life. - -He declared that “the old witch” had put a spell upon him so that he -could not sleep. He had seen her plotting with his servant at his gate, -and that night he couldn’t sleep, nor the next night either, and that he -never should have slept again, only he was determined to find out what -the spell was; and so he got up in the middle of the night and went out -into his garden, and there, under a clod of earth, he discovered a toad, -that was walking round and round. He said the toad had been charmed and -put there by the witch, and as long as it kept walking round and round -he could not go to sleep, so he had killed the toad, and the proof that -it was a spell, was this--that directly he had killed it he went back -to bed again and fell asleep, and he had not had another bad night -since. - -The magistrate looked over his gold spectacles very hard at Mr. Gwillam, -and he said, “My dear sir, I’m very sorry for you; but we can’t accept -your explanation. No toad could have anything to do with your sleeping, -and there is no such thing as a witch.” - -“What!” exclaimed Mr. Gwillam, “no such thing as a witch! Why, this -woman is one! I have dozens of witnesses here to prove that she has put -them under her spells. I demand that she shall be punished as the law -directs, and burnt alive, or drowned in the horse-pond!” - -The magistrate, of course, had heard the rumours about Dame Trueman, -because they had been the common talk in the village for years, so he -thought it was a good opportunity to give the people a lecture, and he -made a long speech, saying how wicked it was to suppose that anybody had -supernatural powers; that witches were only believed in when people were -ignorant and degraded and knew no better, and he was ashamed to think -that in such a thriving place as our village there were still people so -foolish as to entertain such beliefs. As to the story about the toad, it -was too absurd. It was trifling with the Court to make such an excuse -for a wanton attack upon a feeble old woman. - -“It is no excuse!” exclaimed Mr. Gwillam indignantly. “She is a bad old -woman, and she put that toad in my garden to charm me. She charmed me, -and I got no rest day nor night for her till I found this walking toad -under the mould. She dug a hole, and she put it there to have a spell on -me. She went round and round this walking toad after she had buried it, -and I shouldn’t have slept till now if I hadn’t found it and killed it.” - -The magistrate called the doctor up and whispered with him for a little, -and then he said that no doubt Mr. Gwillam, who was a very respectable -person, was the victim of a delusion, and had allowed himself to be -carried away by his feelings. He must mark his sense of the impropriety -of the proceedings by fining him ten pounds--five pounds for each -assault--or a month’s imprisonment. - -“I won’t pay!” shouted Mr. Gwillam, brandishing his umbrella. “I’ll go -to prison!” - -He was quieted down a little and taken into another room, and the crowd -was got away while a consultation was held. The old gentleman’s wife saw -the magistrate, and asked to be allowed to pay the ten pounds without -her husband knowing it, and this was done, and presently he was released -believing that the magistrate had altered his mind. - -That evening he came into our bar-parlour as calm as though nothing had -happened. I had begged the customers not to say anything about the -affair to him, and they didn’t. But just as I thought everything was all -right he startled everybody by saying that he was going to wait for the -witch at midnight, and rid the place of her. - -“Harry,” I said to my husband in a whisper, “you must see Mr. Gwillam -home, and don’t leave him till he’s safe in his own house. He isn’t fit -to be trusted alone. He’ll murder that old woman, or some awful thing.” - -So Harry went home with him that evening, and saw him safe indoors, and -told his wife to look after him; but we all agreed that he ought to be -watched, or something dreadful would happen, as he’d evidently got the -witch on his mind. - -But before anything was done, a most extraordinary thing happened. One -morning soon after the trial, the neighbours noticed that there was no -smoke coming out of Dame Trueman’s chimney. They thought it odd, as she -was generally up and her fire alight very early. About twelve o’clock a -young woman, who, it seems, had an appointment with her to get a charm -for her lover, who was going to sea, called at the house, and knocked at -the door, but couldn’t make anybody hear. Some people saw her knocking, -and getting no answer, and made up their minds something was wrong, so -they went and forced the door open. - -“When they got inside all was quite still. They called out, but got no -answer. One of them then went into the kitchen and gave a cry of horror. -There, on the hearth, by a fire that had gone out, lay something that -looked like a heap of cinders. And walking round and round the heap was -a black cat with three white hairs on its breast. - -The heap of cinders was old Dame Trueman. The witch was dead. It was -supposed that she fell forward in a fit of some sort into the fire, and -her clothes caught, and that she was burned to death on the hearth. -Nothing else had caught light from the flames, as the kitchen was all -paved with bricks. - -That was the end of “our witch,” and a very awful end it was, and a nice -sensation it made in the village. Of course she wasn’t a witch; but I’m -afraid she was a very wicked old woman, and was quite willing to be -thought to be able to cast spells, because she made money by it. - -When her house was searched, over a hundred pounds was found concealed -in different places. The black cat disappeared the day she was found -dead, and nobody ever saw it again. - -I know there are lots of London people who will think that I am like the -customers in our smoke-room, and that I have exaggerated; but I have -not. I have just told you the true story of our village witch--and I can -show you the county paper with the account in it of Mr. Gwillam’s trial -for beating her; and the very words he said about the walking toad are -in it. - -After the witch was dead, Mr. Gwillam seemed to get better; but to the -last he persisted that it was his killing the toad that had brought -about the old woman’s death. It was one of her “familiars,” and he had -slain her in slaying that. Nobody attempted to argue with him on the -question. He didn’t come to our place very long afterwards, because he -got an idea that whenever he went out he was followed by a shadow, and -if ever the shadow overtook him it would kill him; so his wife had a man -to look after him and go about with him, who was really his keeper, and -he was never brought out after dark. Poor gentleman, I have no doubt it -was all the result of his tumbling off the ladder on to his head before -he retired from business. - -The cottage that “the witch” had lived in so many years was done up and -thoroughly repaired; but nobody would live in it, as it was said to be -haunted. Some boys declared that late at night they had seen a black cat -with three white hairs on its breast prowling about on the roof and -making a most unearthly noise, and that---- - - * * * * * - -The post! Thank you. Oh, Harry! who _do_ you think this letter’s from? -It’s from Jenny. She and her husband are coming to stay with us at last, -and they’re going to bring the baby. Oh! I am so glad. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -_CONCLUSION._ - - -I don’t know why it is, but when I sit down to write this “Memoir,” -knowing that it may be the last that I shall ever write, it makes me -feel a little sad. - -In all human probability I, Mary Jane Beckett, am writing the last few -pages of the last book that will ever come from my pen. We are leaving -the ‘Stretford Arms,’ and going into a much larger house--a real big -hotel in a well-known county town--where we shall have waiters in -evening dress, and a big coffee-room, and a large commercial-room, and -we shall make up over fifty beds, besides having a large room for sales -and auctions, and another very large, lofty room for balls and big -dinners and assemblies, and that sort of thing. - -I am very sorry to leave the dear old ‘Stretford Arms,’--our first -house, and the one where we have spent some happy years, and where my -little Harry and my little Mary were both born; but we have made money, -and we must not stand still. We have sold the house most advantageously, -and made a very large profit, as we ought to do, for we have worked the -business up and improved the premises very considerably. - -It was a long time before we made up our minds, and we had very long and -anxious talks; but a friend of Harry’s told us about the big hotel that -was to be had in a Midland county town, and which was just the place for -us to work up and do well in, and Harry, having a means of getting all -the extra money, wanted to take it. It seemed a pity to let it go, -especially as we could never hope to do better than we were doing at -the ‘Stretford Arms,’ and if we are not going to work hard all our lives -we must get into a place where we can make a bigger profit, and get more -scope for our capital. - -I have been to see the new house, and a very fine place it is. The rooms -are simply grand. It is right opposite the Corn Exchange, and has a -noble entrance-hall with statues in it, and is called the “Royal Hotel,” -because Queen Elizabeth once slept there. Harry says that Queen -Elizabeth seems to have slept at nearly every old hotel in the kingdom; -but that is all nonsense. - -The place is in really excellent order, having not long ago been -refurnished by a great London firm, and some of the bedrooms are fit for -Queen Elizabeth to come to now. - -It will be quite a different trade, of course, to what we have been -accustomed to, as coffee-room customers and commercial gentlemen come in -every day by the trains, and it is a big racing house when the races are -on, and they are very famous races indeed. It will be something new for -me to study the commercial gentlemen and the sporting gentlemen, as we -didn’t have any at the ‘Stretford Arms,’ not having any shops or a -racecourse. I am told that I shall pick up a lot of character among the -commercials, who are most entertaining and full of anecdotes; but it -will be too late to put them in my book, as I must finish it now. I know -I shall have no time at the “Royal Hotel,” for it will be a big task to -manage it, and take us all we know. - -I am told, too, that some of the sporting gentlemen would make capital -stories, one of them being a young marquis, who is very odd and goes on -anyhow. I suppose it will be what Harry calls “a warm time” at race -time. I rather dread it. If it is too warm I shall keep out of the way. - -But that is like me. Here am I beginning to worry about things before -they happen, and instead of that I ought to be getting this chapter -finished, for to-morrow is “the change,” and the new people take my dear -old home over and enter into possession. - -Everybody about the place is _so_ sorry that we are going, and the -nicest and kindest things have been said of us. There was some talk of -giving Harry a banquet; but we thought it best not for many reasons, and -so last night a few old friends and customers came into our bar-parlour -and had a little supper with us, and during supper the Doctor, who has -been one of our best friends, presented us, in the name of the company, -with a most beautiful silver salver for our sideboard, and on it was -engraved “To Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, from a few old customers of the -‘Stretford Arms,’ wishing them long life, success, and happiness.” - -It was very kind of them, wasn’t it? and we both felt it very deeply. It -is a most beautiful salver, and we shall treasure it as long as we live, -and I hope our children will treasure it after we are gone. It is very -gratifying, when you have tried to keep up the character of your house -and to make your customers comfortable, to know that your efforts have -been appreciated, and that everybody wishes you well in your new -undertaking. - -We are going to spend a week in London before we take possession of the -“Royal Hotel,” as Harry has his solicitor and the brokers to see, and a -lot of business to attend to, and I want to take my boy to the -Zoological Gardens. He is very fond of his Noah’s Ark, and is always -delighted to hear his father tell him about the great big animals that -live in foreign parts, and I am most anxious to hear what the dear child -will say when he sees a real elephant and hears a real lion roar. He is -most intelligent for his age, and, though we were rather afraid while he -was teething, he has had the most perfect health ever since, and is as -fine a little fellow as you could find in the kingdom, and very sturdy -on his legs. He has a little sailor suit now, and marches about as proud -as you please; but he will keep his hands in his pockets. The sailor -suit which I bought him included a knife on a piece of whip-cord, which -was the terror of my life for a long time. I wanted to take it away; but -he screamed himself almost into convulsions, and I was obliged to let -him keep it; but I lived in hourly dread of nurse coming rushing in to -say Master Harry had cut himself. - -I can’t think why it is that boy children always want to keep their -hands in their pockets, and so dearly love a knife. Little girls don’t -care about knives; but, then, little girls are easier to manage in every -way than little boys, who begin to assert their independence at the very -earliest age. - -I hope where we are going to will suit my little ones as well as this -place has done; but everybody tells me that it is a most healthy town, -and so I won’t begin to fidget on that score, though I should feel much -happier if our nice, kind, clever doctor could be near us. But, of -course, that can’t be. - -I believe I shall cry to-morrow when we leave the dear old ‘Stretford -Arms;’ but I shall try not to. I have been very happy in it, and we have -been very fortunate, far more than we had any right to expect, seeing -that we were only young beginners. - -The packing up has been an awful job. It is really wonderful how things -accumulate. We have had to buy boxes and I don’t know what, and we shall -want a big van to take everything, as we take some of our furniture away -with us, the new people having some of their own they want to bring in. -I am very glad, as it will always be something to remind us of the old -place. - -Things in this village haven’t changed much since we first came. Dashing -Dick’s grandmother, poor old lady, is now quite paralyzed; but the lad -has turned out much better than was expected, and has been sent to sea, -and writes very nice letters to her from foreign parts, and has begun to -send her a little money. Old Gaffer Gabbitas, his daughter, who lives in -the village, told us, a little time ago was found dead in his armchair -one Sunday afternoon, with his Bible on his lap open at the place where -he had been reading it when he fell asleep for the last time. We have -written out to Mr. Wilkins in Australia, giving him our new address, and -saying we shall always be glad to hear from him; and dear Jenny has -another baby, a little girl, so, as she says in her letter, we are both -equal now. - -Graves, the farrier, has much improved lately. He is more civilized -since he took to use our house regularly, and gave up going to the other -place. He came out quite nobly not long ago, in a little affair which -made some talk in the village. One of his men injured himself while -working at the forge, he being, I am sorry to say, the worse for liquor -at the time (the man, not Graves), and was so bad he had to be sent to a -London hospital, where he remained some time, and all the while he was -away Graves paid his money to the wife, because she was an invalid, and -had a large family. This shows that there is often a lot of good under a -rough exterior; but I believe blacksmiths and farriers are very -good-hearted men as a rule, and I always respect them, for I never see -one without thinking of that noble-hearted blacksmith in the beautiful -piece of poetry which I also heard as a song one night when there was an -entertainment at our national schools. It was a lovely idea, that brawny -fellow going to church of a Sunday, and thinking of his dead wife when -he heard his daughter singing in the village choir, and wiping away a -tear. - -Graves isn’t the man to do that sort of thing--he couldn’t, because he -has never married, and I don’t think he is so regular in attendance at -church as the other blacksmith was; but his keeping that poor woman and -children all those weeks, shows that his heart is in the right place, if -he doesn’t always pick his words as carefully as he might. - -Miss Ward, our barmaid, that you may remember was so unfortunate in her -young man, that horrid fellow Shipsides, has married well, I am glad to -say, and she and her husband have been put in to manage a public-house -in the South of England. She wrote to me, and told me when she was -married, and sent me a piece of cake, and I wrote her a nice letter -back, and said how pleased I was to hear it. - -Of course, directly I knew we were going to move, I wrote to Mr. Saxon, -and told him what our new address would be, and said that he might be -sure if he paid us a visit no one would be more welcome. He wrote back -and said perhaps he would come when the races were on. I hear he has -taken to go racing lately, which is a thing I should never have -expected, though I remember hearing that, years ago, he used to be very -fond of sport, but got too busy to keep it up. I hope it will do him -good; at any rate, it is a change, and the fresh air is just what he -wants. But I hope he won’t gamble and lose a lot of money; but I don’t -think he will, as he has to work too hard to get it. I have been told -that he takes that nice Swedish gentleman about with him to the races, -so perhaps he will come, too. I shall be very glad to see him again, as -he was one of the nicest gentlemen I ever talked to, and had been all -over the world, and was full of information. Poor fellow! he ought to be -taken about; for he must have a bad time of it at home with Mr. Saxon, -whose liver seems to get worse as he gets older. - -The last I heard of him he had been to Italy for a month, for the -benefit of his health, and came back in a fortnight, swearing that he -had shortened his life by ten years, by going. Fancy a man going away -for rest, and to benefit his health, and travelling five thousand miles, -night and day, in a railway carriage, and then going on because he felt -knocked up. But, with all his faults and his queer ways, there will be -nobody that I shall be more pleased to see at the “Royal Hotel” than Mr. -Saxon. - -The new clergyman, the young fellow who was the cause of Mr. Wilkins -going to Australia, has turned out what Harry calls “quite a trump.” -There is no mistake about the impression he has made in the place. He -has woke it up, so to speak, and, though nobody liked him at first, -resenting his new-fangled ways, now he is the greatest favourite with -everybody. He is a fine cricketer, and has made a cricket club, and he -sings capitally, and gets up penny readings and entertainments in the -winter, and his sermons are first class. The first Sunday some of the -old-fashioned people were horrified. He made a joke in his sermon, and -it was such a good joke that it made the people laugh before they -remembered where they were. He said afterwards that he saw a lot of -people were horrified, but that it wasn’t wicked to laugh. He said being -good didn’t mean being sulky and gloomy and pulling a long face, and -there was no more harm in feeling glad and gay inside a church than -outside it; in fact, if there was any place in which people ought to -feel comfortable and happy, and ready to smile on the slightest -provocation, it was when they were worshipping One who had done so much -to make His people glad and gay and happy here below. - -It took time to get the old-fashioned people round to his way of -thinking; but he did it at last, and now our parson is the best-liked -man in the place. Everybody respects him and likes him, and nobody is -afraid of him, except the bad characters, and they are afraid of him -because he don’t care whether they are high or low, rich or poor. He -tells them straight what he thinks of them. The Rev. Tommy was a dear -nice old gentleman; but his mind was always wandering away to before the -Flood, and he let everything after the Flood go its own way. The new -man, “the whipper-snapper,” doesn’t bother himself even about yesterday. -He makes the best of to-day, and looks out for to-morrow, and, after -all, that is the only way to take life practically, and to make the best -of it. - -Which reminds me that I have to make the best of to-day myself, and to -look out for to-morrow as well, for I shall have all my work cut out, so -my dear old “Memoirs” will have to be cut short, and wound up, and put -away, for there won’t be any “Memoirs” at the “Royal Hotel.” - -I think I have told you nearly everything about the people you know who -have been mixed up with the ‘Stretford Arms.’ We leave it with plenty of -friends, and, I honestly believe, without a single enemy. And we leave -it with a first-class reputation and an excellent connection. It has -become quite a “pulling-up house,” as it is called in the trade, with -people who drive from London, and is now well-known as a quiet and -comfortable country hotel for ladies and gentlemen and families, who -wish to stay for a little time a short distance from town. The local -connection has not been neglected, and our smoke-room has become quite a -nice little local club, while the billiard-room has brought many of the -young fellows from the best private houses to make it a rendezvous. We -have been very particular to keep the billiard-room quiet and select, -and to discourage gambling, and this has made it a boon to the -neighbourhood, when with bad management it might have become quite the -reverse. - -The new people who are coming in are luckier than we were, for they will -find a good business ready made for them. All they have to do is to keep -everything up to the mark, and I think they will. I have seen them -several times, and I like them very much. Their name is Eager. Mr. -Eager is a man of about thirty-five, tall and dark, and I think rather -handsome, and his wife is a pretty little woman of about -five-and-twenty. They have both been in the business before, her papa -having been an hotel-proprietor in the North of England, and he having -been manager to a small hotel at the seaside, where the proprietor was -his uncle. - -They are very nice, quiet, straightforward people, and our business with -them has been done very pleasantly indeed. They are what we were when we -took the ‘Stretford Arms’--a newly-married couple--and they seem most -affectionate and amiable. - -Mrs. Eager and I had a quiet cup of tea together while the gentlemen -were talking business over a cigar and a glass of whiskey-and-water, and -she told me all about their meeting, and falling in love, and it wasn’t -at all a bad story. - -It seems that Mrs. Eager, who was a Miss Braham, was staying with her -papa, who was not very well, at the seaside place where Mr. Eager’s -hotel was. Her papa was a good swimmer, and used to bathe early in the -morning from the beach. One morning he was swimming when suddenly he -felt very bad, and found he was losing strength, and being carried too -far from shore in a rough sea. Another gentleman who was swimming, saw -what was the matter, and swam towards him, and managed to help him, and -keep him up and shout till a man on the beach saw them, and jumped into -a boat and rowed out to them, and rescued them both. The old gentleman -(he wasn’t very old) was very grateful, and said the young fellow, who -was Mr. Eager, had saved his life--and that was quite true, for, but for -him, he would have been drowned, as his strength was fast deserting him. - -That began the acquaintance, and Mr. Eager was invited to come and stay -at Mr. Braham’s hotel up north, and he did; and then the daughter, as -well as the papa, took a great liking to him, and they were very soon -engaged to be married. When the father found how the land lay he was -very pleased, and he said he would start the young couple in a nice -little hotel of their own as soon as they were married, and that is how -they came to take the ‘Stretford Arms’ of us. - -I hope they will be as happy in it as we have been. I shall often sit -and think of an evening, when I am at the “Royal Hotel” of the little -‘Stretford Arms,’ and, in fancy, I shall see the dear old bar-parlour -and the smoke-room, and the customers sitting there smoking their -evening pipes, when I am far away. - -“What is it? Come in. The master wants me? All right; say I’m coming -directly.” I must finish. I have promised Harry that I won’t start any -more “Memoirs” in the new house, as he says, when I have a few minutes -to spare, he wants to enjoy the pleasure of my society; and so I am -going to get every bit of this book written and finished to-night, and -then good-bye to pens and ink, and all the pleasure and all the pains of -authorship. - -Looking back on all that has happened since I left service, and married -Harry, and went into this line of business, I feel that I have every -reason to be grateful. We have had good luck, good health, and a good -time, and not one really great or serious trouble. If we go on as we -have begun, perhaps before we are too old to enjoy it we shall have made -enough money to retire and live in a pretty little house, and devote -ourselves to each other and our children. That is my idea of happiness. - -When that time comes I may perhaps be tempted to write some more of my -experiences. I dare say I shall have had plenty by then. But till that -time does come I have made up my mind to think about no books but the -books of the “Royal Hotel,” and to study no characters but the -characters of my servants. And so, gentle reader, though it makes me -feel sad to say the words, I have at last to wish you good-bye--a long, -long good-bye. I hope you won’t forget me altogether, but that -sometimes, when you are reading other people’s stories, you will say to -yourself, “I wonder how Mary Jane is getting on;” and if any of you are -ever near the Midland town we are going to make our new home in, I hope -you will come and stay at the “Royal Hotel,” proprietor Harry Beckett, -late of the ‘Stretford Arms.’ You may be sure that we shall make you as -comfortable as possible, and I think from what you know of my husband -and myself you will be able to rely upon finding a good kitchen and a -good cellar, and comfort, cleanliness, and attention, combined with -moderate charges. - -Please don’t think that I say this by way of advertisement. I should be -very sorry to make my book an advertisement for my business, as I don’t -believe in that sort of thing. I have written the “Memoirs” of our -village hotel as I wrote the “Memoirs” of myself in service, because I -thought I had something to write about that would be interesting to the -people who read books. As a landlady, I have had as many opportunities -of observing people and hearing their stories as I had when a -servant--more varied opportunities as the landlady than as the servant. -I hope that now, as in the former “Memoirs,” I have written nothing -which can offend or be considered a breach of confidence. I have tried -in my humble way to describe everything I have seen and heard -faithfully, and to give a correct description of all that happened in -our hotel. - -“All right, dear; I won’t be one minute.” I _must_ finish this chapter -now, or I shall not have another chance. To-morrow we shall be moving up -to London, and I shan’t get a minute. Good-bye, dear reader; that -impatient husband of mine won’t let me have another minute to myself, -and so I can’t write the nice finish that I wanted to. All I have time -to say is this. Don’t all of you go and take country hotels or village -inns because we have done so well and been so comfortable. For one that -succeeds in our business there are half-a-dozen who fail; and I have -told you a good deal more about the bright side of our business than -about the dark side, because I don’t think people nowadays want to look -on the dark side of anything more than they can help. We have been -fortunate; but you might get a business that would nearly drive you mad, -and ruin you. I told you about a few of the dangers of taking a business -in our line in my first chapter, and since I wrote that I have learnt a -good deal more. I could tell you some stories of hard-working young -couples who have put all their capital, and a lot of their friends’ and -relations’ capital, into a licensed house, and come to the most -dreadful grief. I know there is an idea that a public-house or an hotel -is a royal road to fortune. The money makes itself, and all the landlady -has to do is to dress herself up and wear diamond earrings and a big -gold chain, while the landlord drives a fast trotter in a gig, and goes -to races, and comes home and spends the evening in smoking big cigars -and drinking champagne. - -That is the idea some people have of being a licensed victualler, and it -is a very nice one. Go to the Licensed Victuallers’ Asylum and ask some -of the inmates what _their_ idea is, and you will hear a different tale. - -We have done well because we have worked hard, and because we walked -before we tried to run, and looked after our business ourselves, and -didn’t expect it to go up all by itself in a night, like the mushrooms -grow. “Luck,” you say. No, that is a word that has no right to come into -business at all. I was reading a book of poetry the other day, that one -of the gentlemen who stays with us left behind him, and I came on -something about Luck which I thought was so good that I copied it out. - -It was this---- - - “A right hand, guided by an earnest soul - With a true instinct, takes the golden prize - From out a thousand blanks. What men call luck - Is the prerogative of valiant souls-- - The fealty life pays its rightful kings.” - -Of course I don’t mean to say that Harry and I are “rightful kings.” -That is the way a poet has to put it to make it poetry, I suppose; but I -do mean to say that the first part of the verse is true about us and the -way we got on. And so, if we drew a prize where others get blanks, it -isn’t fair to put it down to our “luck.” - -But, luck or no luck, we did draw a prize, and I hope we are going to -draw another. The “Royal Hotel” will never be to me what the ‘Stretford -Arms’ was. There won’t be the romance about it, and perhaps it is as -well, as a woman with a big business and two little children to look -after hasn’t much time for romance. The romance of the ‘Stretford Arms’ -was very nice though, for it enabled me to write these Tales of a -Village Inn, and to ask the reader to share in the joys and sorrows, -the pains and pleasures, and the trials and adventures of Mary Jane -Married, and--no, not settled--anything but settled. - -If you could see the way this room is blocked up with boxes half packed, -and how things are lying about all over the place, you wouldn’t say -settled--unsettled, just at present, would be the word. Never mind; I -dare say it will come all right, and in a few weeks we _shall_ be -settled at the “Royal Hotel,” and I hope it will be a very long time -before we make another move. - -And now, farewell, dear reader; I must write the word at last. Harry -sends you his kind regards, little Harry says “Ta-ta,” and my dear -little baby girl puts her little fat hand to her mouth and blows you a -kiss, and, with just one little tear of regret in her eye, Mary Jane -Beckett, formerly Mary Jane Buffham, and late of the ‘Stretford Arms’ -Hotel, wishes you all a long and happy life, and bids you slowly and -sadly a long “Farewell.” - - * * * * * - -It is written, the last line. Perhaps the last line I shall ever write -for print. Think kindly of me, won’t you? and let my book have a nice -place in your library. I can promise you that it will be a nicer cover -than the last. No grinning policeman this time, with his arm round my -waist. This will be a book that I can give to my husband, and be proud -of, and write his name inside-- - - “_To my dear Harry._ - _From his loving wife, the Authoress._” - - - THE END. - - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. - - [Illustration] - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY JANE MARRIED *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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Sims</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Mary Jane Married<br /> - Tales of a Village Inn</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George R. Sims</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 12, 2019 [eBook #60899]<br /> -[Most recently updated: December 2, 2023]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY JANE MARRIED ***</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="405" height="550" alt="[The -image of the book's cover is unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p class="c">MARY JANE MARRIED<br /><br /><br />UNIFORM WITH THE PRESENT VOLUME.<br /><br /> -<i>Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.</i><br /><br /> -<big>MARY JANE’S MEMOIRS.</big><br /><br /> -By GEORGE R. SIMS.<br /><br /> -<i>WITH A PHOTOGRAPHED PORTRAIT OF MARY JANE.</i></p> - -<p>“A quite Defoe-like revelation. It is, in effect, a series of social -sketches drawn by a keen and humorous observer. Can be heartily -recommended to all and sundry.”—<i>Globe.</i></p> - -<p>“A very entertaining autobiography.... Mary Jane has a faculty for -observing character, and a power of delineating its movements and -development, not distantly related to those of Mr. Sims himself. Mary -Jane has so full a fund of exciting incident to draw upon, and so -pleasant a manner of philosophizing, in her homely way, upon the ups and -downs of a servant’s life, that should she ever take the field as a -novelist independently of her present sponsor, he will have a formidable -rival to contend with.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> - -<p>“Mr. Sims has portrayed in an amusing manner the trials, woes, and -triumphs of domestic servants. There is such an amount of truthfulness -in the narrative that we can almost accept the portrait of Mary Jane as -that of the authoress of the memoirs Mr. Sims is supposed to edit, and -to believe that it is really genuine.”—<i>Metropolitan.</i></p> - -<p>“There are some pages in these memoirs which it is impossible to read -without laughing heartily, while the chapters devoted to the account of -the Chelsea mystery are almost tragic in their intense realism.... -Dickens never did anything better than ‘Mrs. Three-doors-up,’ or ‘Mr. -Saxon, the author, and his mother-in-law.’. The book is full of -unvarnished naturalism of a healthy, sensible, wholesome kind. It is -quite the best thing Mr. Sims has yet written.”—<i>Whitehall Review.</i></p> - -<p>“Those who have not yet made Miss Buffham’s acquaintance will here find -in her a very entertaining narrator of vast experiences in the way of -domestic service.”—<i>Daily News.</i></p> - -<p>“Much of the book is broad comedy, and most laughter-provoking, and -reminds one of the best of the famous ‘Mrs. Brown.’. Generally, the book -is remarkable for its Defoe-like verisimilitude, and added to this is an -inexhaustible fund of humour and broad though harmless fun.”—<i>Public -Opinion.</i></p> - -<p>“Genuine amusement awaits the public in the perusal of Mary Jane’s -experiences, edited by the popular writer who has put them into book -form. This view of the world from the housemaid’s pantry is full of -shrewd observation and apparently unconscious humour, and is throughout -diverting.”—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> - -<p>“Mary Jane’s experience of domestic service makes a very entertaining -book. She sees some strange things, and describes them in a lively, -good-tempered way.”—<i>St. James’s Gazette.</i></p> - -<p>“Mr. Sims is a clever story-teller, but he is to be admired for his -philanthropic spirit even more than for his artistic skill. Mary Jane’s -observations are shrewd and suggestive. There is a realistic tone about -the whole which makes these records interesting.”—<i>Congregational -Review.</i></p> - -<p class="c">ALSO BY GEORGE R. SIMS.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Each the same size and prices.</i></p> - -<p class="c"> -<b>ROGUES AND VAGABONDS.</b><br /> -<b>THE RING O’ BELLS.</b><br /> -</p> - -<p class="c"><i>LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.</i></p> - -<h1>MARY JANE MARRIED</h1> - -<p class="c"><big><span class="smcap">Tales of a Village Inn</span></big><br /> -<br /> -BY<br /> -<br /><big> -GEORGE R. SIMS</big><br /> -<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF “MARY JANE’S MEMOIRS,” “THE DAGONET BALLADS,”<br /> -“ROGUES AND VAGABONDS,” “THE RING O’ BELLS,” ETC.</small><br /> -<br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" width="100" alt="colophon" title="" /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="eng">London</span><br /> -CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY<br /> -1888<br /> -<br /> -[<i>The right of translation is reserved</i>]<br /> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td> </td> -<td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">Mary Jane explains</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">The Squire’s Room</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">Miss Ward’s Young Man</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_28">28</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">The Reverend Tommy</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_43">43</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">The London Physician</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_57">57</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">Mr. and Mrs. Smith</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_71">71</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">Mr. Saxon’s Ghost</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_84">84</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Croker’s “No. 2”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_99">99</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">Old Gaffer Gabbitas</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_112">112</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">Dashing Dick</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_127">127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">Our Odd Man</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_141">141</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">Tom Dexter’s Wife</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_155">155</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">A Love Story</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_168">168</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">The Young Play-Actor</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_183">183</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">The Billiard Marker</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_196">196</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">The Silent Pool</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_210">210</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">The Owen Waleses</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_223">223</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">Mr. Wilkins</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_236">236</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">One of our Barmaids</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_250">250</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><span class="smcap">Mr. Saxon again</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_263">263</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">The Village Witch</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_277">277</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><span class="smcap">Conclusion</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_291">291</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<h1>MARY JANE MARRIED.</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /><br /> -<i>MARY JANE EXPLAINS.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> is no use my trying to stop myself. I’m sure I’ve tried hard enough. -When I changed my name from Mary Jane Buffham to Mary Jane Beckett by -marrying Harry, my sailor sweetheart (God bless him!), I said to -myself—Now, Mary Jane, my girl, no more pens and ink. You’ve written a -book and had it published, and the newspaper gentlemen have been most -kind in what they said about it. You’d better be satisfied with that, -and do your duty in that state of life unto which you have been called, -that state being mistress of a sweet little hotel—inn, some people will -call it, but it’s quite as much right to be called an hotel as lots of -places that have “Hotel” up in big letters all over them—in a pretty -village not very far from London. Of course I have enough to do, though -Harry takes a good deal off my shoulders; but there are so many things -that a landlady can do to make a house comfortable that a landlord -can’t, and I take a great pride in my dear little home, and everybody -says it’s a picture, and so it is. Harry says it’s my training as a -thorough servant that makes me such a good mistress, and I dare say it -is. Our house is called “The Stretford Arms,” and we put “Hotel” on the -signboard underneath it soon after we had it, and made it pretty and -comfortable, so that people—nice people—came to stay at it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span></p> - -<p>But, oh dear me, before we got it what a lot of trouble we had! If you -have read my “Memoirs” you know all about me and Harry, and how I left -service to marry him, and he made up his mind—having a bit of money -saved, and some come to him from a relative—to take a nice little inn -in the country; not a public-house, but something better, with plenty of -garden to it for us to have flowers, and fruit, and fowls, and all that -sort of thing; and we made up our minds we’d have one with a porch and -trellis-work, and roses growing over it, and lattice windows, like we’d -seen in a play before we were married.</p> - -<p>We hadn’t gone into business when my book came out in a volume. When the -publisher sent me a copy, I thought, “Oh, how proud I shall be when I -show this to Harry!” I declare I could have cried with rage when I took -the brown paper off and saw the cover. It was most wicked, and upset me -awfully. There on the cover was a picture of me sitting in my kitchen -with a horrid, grinning policeman, with his arm round my waist. I threw -the book on the floor, the tears streaming down my face. It was such a -bitter disappointment.</p> - -<p>Harry came in while I was crying, and he said, “Why, my lass, what’s the -matter with you?” And I sobbed out, pointing to the book, “Look at that, -Harry!” Harry picked the book up, and when he saw the cover his face -went crimson under the sunburn.</p> - -<p>He said, “Did this ever happen, Mary Jane?” and I said, “No, Harry. Do -you think I would ever have demeaned myself like that?”</p> - -<p>He looked at the grinning idiot of a policeman for a minute, and then he -brought his fist down hard right on his nose (the policeman’s). Then he -said, “Put it out of my sight, and never let me see it again.” But -presently he said, “There must be something about you and a policeman in -the book, or they wouldn’t have put him hugging you on the cover. Which -chapter is it? I’ll read it and see what the truth of this business is.”</p> - -<p>I recollected then that there <i>was</i> something about a policeman, so I -said, “No, Harry, dear, don’t read it now; you’re not in a fit state of -mind. But whatever there is, I swear he didn’t sit in my kitchen with -his arm round<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> my waist; and he—he—he wasn’t—a grinning idiot like -that.”</p> - -<p>I took the book away from Harry, and wouldn’t let him see it then. But -he kept on about it all the evening, and I could see it had made him -jealous as well as savage; and it was very hard—all through that horrid -picture the pleasure I had looked forward to was quite spoilt. But so it -is in this world; and how often it happens that what we have been -longing for to be a pleasure to us, when it comes is only a -disappointment and a misery!</p> - -<p>Harry said to me that evening that he would go to London and see the -publishers, and have it out with them about the picture. He said it was -a libel on my character, and he wasn’t going to have his wife stuck -about on all the bookstalls in a policeman’s arms. But, I said to him, -the publishers didn’t mean any harm, and it was no good being cross with -them, or making a disturbance at their office.</p> - -<p>But some time afterwards I wrote a little note to Messrs. Chatto and -Windus about it, and Mr. Chatto wrote back that he was very sorry the -picture had caused words between me and my husband, and, in the next -editions, it should be altered, and soon after that he sent me a proof -of the new cover, and it was Harry with his arm round my waist instead -of the policeman, which makes all the difference.</p> - -<p>There were many things that I shouldn’t have written, perhaps, if I’d -been quite sure that they would be published, and my husband would read -them; but, after all, there was no harm, and I only wrote the truth. I -wrote what I saw, and it was because it was the real experience of a -real servant that people read it, and, as I have reason to know, liked -it. And now, after I have been landlady of a village hotel, doing a nice -trade both in the bar and in the coffee-room (why coffee-room, I don’t -know, for there is less coffee drunk in it than anything), I find myself -putting down what I have seen and heard on paper, just as I did in my -“Memoirs.”</p> - -<p>People say to me sometimes, “Law, now, fancy your noticing that!—I -never did;” and that’s the secret of my being an authoress, I suppose. I -keep my eyes open, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> my ears too; and if I see a character, I like to -watch it, and find out all about it.</p> - -<p>I’ve seen some strange characters in our inn, I can tell you; and as to -the people in the village, why, when you come to know their stories, you -find out that every place is a little world in itself, with its own -dramas being played out in people’s lives just the same as in big towns. -Yes, there are village tragedies and village comedies, and the village -inn is the place to hear all about them. I haven’t got an imagination, -so I can’t invent things, and I think it’s a good thing for me, because -I might be tempted to make up stories, which are never so good as those -that really happen. I thought when I came to this village I should have -nothing to write about, but I hadn’t been in it long before I found my -mistake. I hear a lot, of course, in the bar-parlour, because it’s like -a club, and all the chatty people come there of an evening and talk -their neighbours over, and I hear lots more in the house from the market -women and from our cook and the people about the place, and I can -promise you that I have learnt some real romances of real life—rich and -poor, too—since I became the landlady of the ‘Stretford Arms.’</p> - -<p>We didn’t get into the place all at once. Oh dear me, what an anxious -time it was till we found what we wanted! and the way we were tried to -be “done,” as Harry calls it, was something dreadful. Harry said he -supposed, being a sailor, people thought he didn’t know anything; but -when we came to compare notes with other people who had started in the -business, we found our experiences of trying to become licensed -victuallers was quite a common one.</p> - -<p>We had a beautiful honeymoon first; but I’m not going to write anything -about that, except that we were very happy—so happy that when I thanked -God for my dear, kind husband and my happy life, the tears used to come -into my eyes. But all that time is sacred. It is something between two -people, and not to put into print. I don’t think a honeymoon would come -out well in print. It is only people who are having honeymoons who would -understand it.</p> - -<p>After we had had a nice long honeymoon, Harry began<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> to think it was -time we looked out for something; so he said, “Now, little woman, this -is all very nice and lazy and lovely, but we must begin to think about -the future. The sooner we look for a place the better.”</p> - -<p>So every day we read the advertisements in the papers of public-houses -and inns and hotels in the country which were for sale.</p> - -<p>Whenever we saw “nice home,” or “lovely garden,” or “comfortable home -just suited to a young married couple,” we wrote at once for full -particulars. When we wrote to the agents about the best ones, I found -that it was very like the paragon servants advertised—they had just -been disposed of, but the agent had several others equally nice on hand -if we would call.</p> - -<p>It was very annoying to find all the “lovely gardens” and “charming -homes,” which were so cheap, just gone, and to get instead of them -particulars of a horrid place at the corner of a dirty lane, with only a -back yard to it, or something of that sort.</p> - -<p>We went to see some of the places the agents or brokers sent us, and -they were very much nicer in the advertisements than they were in -themselves.</p> - -<p>One house we went to look at we thought would do, though the situation -seemed lonely. We wrote we would come to see it on a certain day, and -when we got there, certainly there was no mistake about its doing a good -trade. They asked a lot of money for it, but the bar was full, and in -the coffee-room were men who looked like farmers having dinner and -ordering wine, and smoking fourpenny cigars quite fast. And while we -were having dinner with the landlord in his room, the servant kept -coming in and saying, “Gentleman wants a room, sir,” till presently all -the rooms were gone, and people had to be turned away.</p> - -<p>“It’s like that now nearly always,” said the landlord. “If it wasn’t -that I must go out to Australia, to my brother, who is dying, and going -to leave me a fortune made at the diggings, I wouldn’t part with the -house for anything.”</p> - -<p>“Where do the people all come from?” said Harry. “The station’s two -miles off.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said the landlord, “there’s something against the Railway -Hotel—it’s haunted, I believe, and this last month everybody comes on -here. If you like to start the fly business as well, you’ll make a lot -of money at that. Flys to meet the trains would fill you up every day.”</p> - -<p>We went away from the house quite convinced that it was a great bargain, -and Harry said he thought we might as well settle with the agents, for -we couldn’t do better.</p> - -<p>But when we got to the station we had just missed a train, and had an -hour to wait, so we went to the Railway Hotel. I sat down in a little -room, and had some tea, while Harry went into the smoke-room to hear the -talk, and see if he could find out about the place being haunted, and if -it was likely to be haunted long.</p> - -<p>In half an hour he came back looking very queer. “Mary Jane,” he said, -“that swab ought to be prosecuted”—meaning the landlord of the inn we -had been after.</p> - -<p>Then he told me what he’d found out in the smoke-room, hearing a man -talk, who, of course, didn’t know who Harry was. He was making quite a -joke about what he called the landlord’s “artful dodge,” and he let it -all out.</p> - -<p>It seems the place we had been after had been going down for months, and -the landlord had made up his mind to get out of it before he lost all -his capital. So to get a good price he had been getting a lot of loafers -and fellows about the village to come in and have drinks with him and -fill up the place, and the day we came nobody paid for anything, and the -farmers in the coffee-room were all his friends, and it was one man who -kept taking all the bedrooms that the servant came in about when we were -there.</p> - -<p>Wasn’t it wicked? But it opened our eyes, and showed us that there are -tricks in every trade, and that we should have to be very careful how we -took a place by its appearance.</p> - -<p>But, cautious as we were after that, we had one or two narrow escapes, -and I may as well tell you something about them as a warning to young -people going into business. Of course we laughed at the tricks tried to -be played on us, because we escaped being taken in, but if we had -invested our money and lost it all in a worthless concern, we shouldn’t -have been able to laugh. Perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> Harry would have had to get another -ship, and I should have had to get another situation, and be a servant -again. And a nice thing that would have been with my ba——</p> - -<p>But I must not anticipate events. I know more about writing now than I -did when I put my “Memoirs” together, and I’m going to see if I can’t -write a book about our inn, and our village, and all that happened in -them, without troubling the gentleman who was so kind to me over my -first book. I wish he had seen to the outside as well as the inside, and -prevented that nasty, impertinent, grinning policeman behaving so -disgracefully in my kitchen on the cover.</p> - -<p>I say we can afford to laugh now; and there are many things in life to -laugh at when we are on the safe side that we might cry at if we -weren’t. I know that I always laugh when people say about me not having -changed my initials, but being Mary Jane Beckett instead of Mary Jane -Buffham, and they quote the old proverb:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Change your name and not the letter,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Change for the worse and not the better.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>I laugh, because I <i>have</i> changed for the better; and Harry’s as good as -gold and as gentle as a baby—well, a good deal gentler, for I shouldn’t -like Harry to pull my hair, and put his finger in my eye, and kick me -like my ba——</p> - -<p>But I am anticipating again.</p> - -<p>I was writing about the houses we went to look at before we fixed on the -‘Stretford Arms.’ There was one not quite in the country, but out in a -suburb of London—a new sort of a suburb: rather melancholy, like new -suburbs are when some of the houses are only skeletons, and the fields -are half field and half brickyard, and old iron and broken china lie -scattered about, with a dead cat in a pond that’s been nearly used up -and just shows the cat’s head; and a bit of rotten plank above the inch -or so of clay-coloured water. And there’s generally a little boy -standing on the plank, and making it squeeze down into the water and -jump up again, and smothering himself up to the eyes in squirts of the -dirty, filthy water, which seems to be quite a favourite amusement with -little suburban boys and girls. I suppose it’s through so much building -always going on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span></p> - -<p>We went to look at a nice house, that certainly was very cheap and -nicely fitted up, in this new suburb; and there was a fair garden and a -bit of a field at the back. It stood on the high-road, or what would be -the high-road when the suburb was finished, and we were told it would -one day be a fine property, as houses were letting fast, and all being -built in the new pretty way; you know what I mean—a lot of coloured -glass and corners to them, and wood railings dotted about here and -there, something like the Swiss Cottage, where the omnibuses stop—Queen -Anne, I think they call them.</p> - -<p>We wanted to be more out of town, but we heard such glowing accounts -from the broker about this place, we hesitated to let it go. The -landlord, we were told, was giving up the business because he had to go -to a warmer climate for the winter, being in bad health, and, having -lost his wife, he had nobody to leave behind to look after the place. If -ever you try to take a business, dear reader, I dare say you will find, -as we did, that the people who are going to sell it to you never give up -because things aren’t good, but always because they’ve made so much -money they don’t want any more, or because they have to go and live a -long way off. I suppose it wouldn’t do to be quite truthful in -advertising a business for sale, any more than in giving a servant a -character. If the whole truth and nothing but the truth was told in -these cases, I fancy very few businesses would change hands and very few -servants get places.</p> - -<p>We had only seen this house in the new suburb once on a very fine day in -the autumn, and it looked very nice, as I told you; but, as luck would -have it, we made up our minds to go down without saying we were coming, -one wet Saturday afternoon. “Let’s see how it looks in bad weather,” -said Harry. So I put on my thick boots and my waterproof, and off we -went.</p> - -<p>Certainly that new suburb didn’t look lively in the rain. The mud was up -to your ankles in the new roads, and the unfinished houses looked soaked -to the skin, and seemed to steam with the damp.</p> - -<p>When we got to the house we went in and asked for the landlord. “He’s -very ill in bed,” said the barmaid, who had her face tied up with a -handkerchief.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with him?” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Rheumatics,” said the barmaid. “He’s regular bent double, and twisted -into knots with it.”</p> - -<p>The barmaid didn’t know us or our business, so Harry gave me a look not -to say anything, and then he got the girl on to talk about the house.</p> - -<p>“House!” she said, putting her hand to her swollen face; “<span class="lftspc">’</span>tain’t a -house; it’s a mausolium—it’s a mortchery. Why, the cat as belongs to -the place can’t hardly crawl for the rheumatiz. And the master, who came -here a healthy, upright young man a year ago, he’s a wreck, that’s what -he is, and the missis died here. If he don’t sell the place and get out -of it soon he’ll die here too.”</p> - -<p>“And how long have you been barmaid here?” asked Harry.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I ain’t the regular barmaid. She’s gone away ill. I’m the -’ousemaid; but I serve in the bar when any one wants anything, which -isn’t often now, for the people declare as they catch cold only standing -in the place.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with it?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with it?” said the girl. “Why, damp’s the matter with -it. It was built wet, and it’ll never get dry. And there ain’t no -drainage yet; and when it rains—— Well, you should see our cellars!”</p> - -<p>“I think I will,” said Harry, “if you’ll allow me;” and by pitying the -girl, and one thing and another, Harry managed to get her to let him see -the cellars.</p> - -<p>It was really something shocking. The cellars were full of water, and -the beer and the spirits were actually floating about.</p> - -<p>“It’s only on days when it’s pouring wet we get like that,” said the -girl; “but the damp’s always in the house.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Harry, “it would be.” With that he finished his glass of -beer and biscuit, and said “Good day,” without troubling to leave word -for the landlord that he had called.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” he said, when we got outside, “I don’t think this place’ll -do. I want a business ashore, not afloat.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry,” I said, almost with a little sob, for it did seem as if we -were never to be dealt fairly with—“oh, Harry,” I said, “isn’t it -dreadful? Fancy that we might<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> have gone into that place and died there -for all these people cared.”</p> - -<p>“Self-preservation, my dear,” said Harry; “it’s only a natural thing, if -you come to think of it. This poor fellow wants to get out, and to get -himself out he must let somebody else in. So long as he doesn’t die -there, it doesn’t much matter to him who does.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t answer, but I felt quite sad all the way home. It seemed to me -that life was one great game of cheat your neighbour, and I began to -wonder if to get on in business we should have to cheat our neighbours -too. And that evening, when we were in our lodgings, sitting by the nice -cosy fire, and I was doing my work, and Harry was smoking his big brown -meerschaum pipe, I told him how sad I felt about all this trickery and -deceit, and I asked him if perhaps there might not be some business that -we could buy that wasn’t so full of traps and dodges as the public-house -business. He shook his head, and said, “No. He was sure a nice little -country inn was what would suit us, and it was only a question of -waiting a little, and keeping our wits about us, and we should get what -we wanted, and be none the worse for the experiences we picked up in the -search.”</p> - -<p>And we did pick up some experiences, and I wish I had time to write them -all out: I am sure that hundreds of thousands of pounds of hard-earned -money would be saved, and many suffering women and helpless children be -shielded from misery.</p> - -<p>Harry has got his eyes pretty wide open, and he knows how to take care -of himself, but he has often said to me that in trying to get a -public-house he met more land-sharks lying in wait for his money than -ever he saw in Ratcliff Highway lying in wait for the sailors. I should -like to show up some of these nice little advertisements of desirable -houses you see in the daily papers, but perhaps it wouldn’t do. I’m -always so afraid of that law which sends you to prison for writing what -is true—the law of libel, I think it is called. But this I will say, -that I hope no young married couple with a bit of money will ever take a -public-house except through a really respectable broker. Don’t be led -away by a beautiful description:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> and when you call on the broker and he -won’t tell you where it is till you have signed a paper, don’t sign it. -If you do you’ll have to pay for it. The broker and the man who is -selling the property will “cut you up”—that’s what Harry calls -it—between them, and you’ll probably go into the house only to leave it -for the place which is called “<i>the</i> house,” and where there are plenty -of people who have got there through putting all their little fortune -into one of these “first-class houses” as advertised.</p> - -<p>We had plenty of them tried on us, and of course we saw plenty of -genuine concerns. Some brokers are very nice, and all is square and -above-board; and they let you know all about the property, and tell you -the truth about it, and don’t make you sign anything before they tell -you where it is to be seen.</p> - -<p>At one place which <i>wasn’t</i> a swindle we had an adventure which I can’t -help telling. It was a very pretty place just by a lock on the river, -with gardens and roses, and a place for a pony, and quite a pretty view, -and the rooms very cosy and comfortable, and Harry and I quite fell in -love with it.</p> - -<p>“I do believe this place will do, dear,” I said, being quite worn out -with seeing so many.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Harry, “it’s a perfect little paradise. I think we could be -very happy here, my darling, and the customers seem nice, quiet sort of -people, don’t they?”</p> - -<p>We talked like that before we’d made our business known and been shown -over the place.</p> - -<p>Presently we went round the outhouses, and as I was going on a little -ahead I went into one before our guide came up. I went right in, and -then I gave a shriek and ran out, feeling as if I should fall to the -ground.</p> - -<p>There, lying on the straw, stark and staring, I had seen the dead body -of a man, and, oh, that dreadful face! I shall never forget it while I -live.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” cried Harry, running to me and catching me in his -arms just as I was fainting.</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh!” I gasped; “there’s a dead man in there.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s nothing,” said the guide. “There’s always something of the -sort in that shed. It’s kept on purpose.”</p> - -<p>“What!” I stammered; “always a corpse there?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am. You see, most of the people as throws theirselves into the -river get carried into this lock, so we’re always on the look-out for -’em, and this is the inquest house. Lor’, ma’am, you wouldn’t believe -what a lot of custom they bodies bring to the house! What with friends -coming to identify ’em, and the inquest and the funeral, it’s a very -good thing for the house, I can tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry,” I said, as soon as I felt a little better; “I could never -be happy here. Fancy these roses and flowers, and yet always a corpse on -the premises. Let’s go away; we don’t want to see any more.”</p> - -<p>But we did get settled at last. We found the place where I’m writing -these Memoirs—the ‘Stretford Arms.’ It is called so after the -Stretfords, who were the great family here, and it’s on what used to be -their property, and nice people they were—some of them—but a queer lot -some of the others, with stories in the family to make the <i>Police News</i> -Sunday-school reading to them. The house is very pretty, quite -countryfied, and standing back from the road, with a garden on each side -of it, and lots of trees. And the windows are latticed, and there are -creepers growing all over the walls, and it looks really just like the -pretty house Harry and I saw in the melodrama and fell in love with.</p> - -<p>We got it through a respectable broker, who was very useful to us, and -told us everything we had to do, and put us right with the brewer and -the distiller, and managed “the change” for us capitally, and gave us -excellent advice about the house and the class of customers we should -have to deal with, and was very obliging in every way.</p> - -<p>He told us that it was just the house to suit us, and we should just -suit the house. He said it was a mistake to suppose that a man who could -manage one house could manage another. “There are men for houses and -houses for men,” he said, “and this was the house for a quiet, energetic -young couple, with taste and pleasing manners, and plenty of domestic -management.”</p> - -<p>It was nice of him—wasn’t it?—to say that, and he didn’t charge for it -in the bill. He explained that it was a house which might easily be -worked up into a little country hotel, if it had a good housewife to -look after it;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> and Harry and I both felt that we really were lucky to -get it, and we made up our minds to try and make it a nice, quiet hotel -for London people, who wanted a few days in the country, to come and -stay at.</p> - -<p>I remember hearing my old master, Mr. Saxon, say how nice it was to know -a really pretty country inn where one could have a room and breathe pure -air for a few days, and eat simple food, and get away from the fog and -the smoke, and feel truly rural.</p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said, “as soon as we’re straight, and everything’s in order, -I’ll write and let a lot of my old masters and mistresses know where I -am. Perhaps with their recommendation we might get a nice little -connection together for the hotel part. The local people will keep the -bar going all right.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Harry, “that wouldn’t be a bad plan; and don’t you think -that literary gentleman you lived with—the one that had the bad -liver—might come, and recommend his friends? I should think it was just -the house for a literary gentleman. Why, I believe I could write poetry -here, myself.”</p> - -<p>The dear old goose!—I should like to see his poetry. He’s always saying -that some day <i>he</i> shall write his Memoirs, and then I shall be nowhere.</p> - -<p>Oh dear, what fun it would be! But he wouldn’t have patience to go on -long; he hates pens and ink.</p> - -<p>But when he said about the literary people I didn’t answer all at once. -I should like Mr. Saxon to come, but I don’t think I should like it to -be a literary house altogether. Literary gentlemen are so queer in their -ways, and they are <i>not</i> so particular as they might be with the ink, -and they do burn the gas so late, and some of them smoke in bed; and -there was another thing—if we had a lot of literary people down, they -might get hold of the characters and the stories of the place, and then -where would my book be?</p> - -<p>So I said, “No, dear; I think we’ll ask Mr. Saxon to come, but we won’t -try to get any more writers just yet. What we want are nice, quiet -married couples and respectable elderly gentlemen—people who can -appreciate peace and quietness, and won’t give much trouble.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Ah me! when I think of the respectable elderly gentleman who <i>did</i> come, -and then remember that I thought elderly respectable gentlemen were -desirable guests, I feel inclined to——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Oh, dear, dear, how unkind of you, baby! You needn’t have woke up just -as I’ve got a few minutes to myself. All right, dear, mamma’s coming. -Bless his big blue eyes! Oh, he <i>is</i> so like Harry!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /><br /> -<i>THE SQUIRE’S ROOM.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> we got into our new house everything was very strange at first. -Harry knew something about the business, having been with a relative, -who was in the same line, for six months that he didn’t go to sea; but -to me it was something quite new.</p> - -<p>We took on the people who had been with the late owners, and that was a -great help to us—one girl, the barmaid, being a very nice young woman, -and a great comfort to me, telling me many things quietly that prevented -me looking foolish through not knowing.</p> - -<p>She was about four-and-twenty, and rather pretty; Miss Ward her name -was, and she didn’t mind turning her hand to anything, and would help me -about the house, and was quite a companion to me. She said she was very -glad we had taken the place, because she hadn’t been comfortable with -the people who had left it. The master was all right, but his wife was -very stuck up, having been the daughter of a Government clerk, and she -wouldn’t have anything to do with the business, saying it was lowering, -and only dressed herself up and sat in her own room, and read novels, -and wanted everybody about the place to attend on her instead of the -customers, and was very proud and haughty if any of them said “Good -evening, mum,” to her, hardly having a civil word for them, though it -was their money she dressed herself up on.</p> - -<p>She and her husband were going to have a real hotel instead of an inn, -she having come into money, which was why we got the place so cheap.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span></p> - -<p>Certainly it was left beautifully clean, that I will say; and there was -an air of gentility about the place that was comforting. When Harry had -first talked about going into this sort of business I felt rather -nervous. My idea of an inn was a place where there were quarrels and -fights, and where you had to put people out, and where wives came crying -about ten o’clock to fetch their husbands home.</p> - -<p>But I felt quite easy in my mind as soon as we were settled down in the -‘Stretford Arms,’ and very nice and cosy it was of an evening in our -parlour, with three or four nice respectable people sitting and smoking, -and Harry, “the landlord” (dear me, how funny it was to hear him called -“landlord” at first!), smoking his pipe with them, and me doing my -needlework. Every now and then Harry would have to get up and go into -the bar, to help Miss Ward, and say a word or two to the customers, but -they were all respectable people; and the light and the warmth and the -comfort made a nice dozy, contented, sleek feeling come over me.</p> - -<p>I don’t know what made me think it, but the first night in our little -parlour I felt as if I ought to purr, because I felt just as I should -think a cat must feel when she settles down comfortably in front of the -fire, on that round place that is in the middle of a fender.</p> - -<p>I didn’t go into the bar much, having the house to see to, and getting -the rooms to look pretty, and fitting them up as bedrooms, we being -quite determined to make it a little hotel where people could stop.</p> - -<p>We made one of the rooms look very pretty, and bought some old volumes -of <i>Punch</i> and <i>Fun</i> for it, and a picture or two, and called it the -coffee-room; and we kept another room for the local people to have bread -and cheese and chops in. As soon as we were quite ready we had “Hotel” -put up big, and I wrote nice letters to all my masters and mistresses, -and I wrote specially to Mr. Saxon, asking for his patronage.</p> - -<p>I was very anxious to get him, because I thought perhaps if we made him -comfortable he would put us a nice paragraph in some of the papers he -wrote for, and that would be a good advertisement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></p> - -<p>I soon began to find out a good deal about our customers and our -neighbours, and the people who lived in the village. The most famous -people, as I have said before, were the Stretfords, the family whose -land our house was on, and whose arms were on our signboard.</p> - -<p>We hadn’t anything to do with the Stretfords ourselves, and they didn’t -live in the place any longer, the house having passed to a stranger, and -all the property being in other people’s hands, but the place was -saturated with stories of the old Squire’s goings-on. Poor old Squire! -He was dead long before we took his “Arms,” and everything belonging to -him had gone except his name; but the old people still spoke of him with -love and admiration, and seemed proud of the dreadful things he had -done.</p> - -<p>When I say dreadful I don’t mean low dreadful, but high dreadful—that -is, things a gentleman may do that are not right, but still -gentlemanly—or, rather, they were gentlemanly in the Squire’s time, but -wouldn’t be thought so nowadays.</p> - -<p>I’ve heard old people tell of “the days when they were young,” and the -things that were thought nothing of then for a gentleman to do. There is -a dear old gentleman with long white hair who uses our house, who lived -servant in a great family in London sixty years ago, and his father -before him, and the stories he tells about the young “bloods”—that is -what he calls them—are really wonderful.</p> - -<p>They were a nice lot certainly in those days. If they went on like it -now they would be had up before a magistrate, and not allowed to mix -with respectable people. They were great drinkers and great fighters and -great gamblers, and thought nothing of staggering about the streets and -creating a disturbance with the watch or pulling off knockers, and doing -just the sort of mischief that only very young fellows and little rough -boys do in the streets now.</p> - -<p>Squire Stretford was one of the good old sort of country gentlemen, with -red faces and ruffled shirts, who carried snuffboxes and sticks with a -tassel to them, and didn’t think it any harm to take a little too much -to drink of an evening.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> And he was a great gambler, and would go up to -London to his club and gamble, till, bit by bit, he had to part with all -his property to pay his debts.</p> - -<p>He had a daughter, a fine, handsome girl she was, so I was told, and a -lovely rider. Miss Diana her name was, and she was in love with a young -fellow who lived at a great house not far from the Hall—a Mr. George -Owen. His father was a pawnbroker in London, having several shops; but -the son had been to Oxford, and had never had anything to do with taking -in people’s watches and blankets and flat-irons. When Miss Diana told -her papa that if she couldn’t have George Owen she would never have -anybody, he was in a dreadful rage. “Good heavens, Di,” he said, “you -must be mad! Marry a fellow who lends money on poor people’s shirts and -flannel petticoats? Marry the man that’s got our plate, and your poor -mother’s jewels; a Jew rascal, who only lends about a quarter what -things are worth, and sells them in a year if you don’t redeem them? -Why, you’ll be proposing the dashed fellow who serves me with a writ for -my son-in-law next!”</p> - -<p>It was no good for the poor young lady to argue that young Mr. Owen was -a private gentleman, and hadn’t anything to do with the business—the -old Squire wouldn’t listen to her. “If ever you marry that man, Di,” he -said, “you’re no daughter of mine, and I’ll never speak to you again as -long as I live.”</p> - -<p>Miss Di never said any more, but moped a good deal; and Mr. Owen never -came to the Squire to ask for her hand, because, of course, she’d told -him that it was no use.</p> - -<p>But the Squire went on just as reckless as before, gambling and enjoying -himself, and being up in London more than ever.</p> - -<p>One morning he came down by the first train from London, looking very -pale, and he went straight up to the Hall, and got there just as Miss Di -had come down to breakfast. “Di,” he said, “I’m going away, and you’ll -have to go away too. I’ve lost the Hall.”</p> - -<p>It was true; he’d actually played for the Hall, the old place where he -was born, and lost it at cards, having parted with everything else long -before. They say that altogether he must have gambled away a hundred -thousand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> pounds—at any rate he was ruined, for all his estate and all -his property had been lost, and he was in debt.</p> - -<p>Miss Di looked at her pa, and said, “What am I to do?”</p> - -<p>“Come abroad with me,” he said; “we must live cheaply for a little while -somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“No, I sha’n’t,” said the girl; “as long as you kept a home for me, I -obeyed you as your daughter. As you have gambled my home away, I shall -go where there is one for me. I shall marry George Owen.”</p> - -<p>And marry him she did very soon after. The Squire wasn’t at the wedding, -you may be sure. He went away abroad, and lived there for years—how -nobody knew; and strangers took the Hall and the lands; and the name of -Stretford, that had been in the place for hundreds of years, died out of -it; the village inn, the ‘Stretford Arms,’ being the only thing that -kept it alive.</p> - -<p>And it was in the best bedroom of that inn—a dear old-fashioned room it -is, with a great four-post bedstead, and an old oak chest, and a big -fireplace with old brass dogs for the logs of wood—that the old Squire -lay, years afterwards, dying.</p> - -<p>It was years before we came to the place, but the room the old Squire -lay in seemed a sacred place to me directly I had heard the story, and -over and over again when I’ve had a fire lighted there for a guest who -was expected, I’ve stood and watched the firelight flickering on the old -oak panels, and I’ve seen the old Squire’s handsome face lying on the -pillow of the great four-post bedstead.</p> - -<p>He had come back from abroad, terribly broken and ill and poor. He said -he knew he was dying, and he wanted to die as near the old place as -possible. He wouldn’t have anything to do with his daughter, Mrs. Owen, -and would never take a penny from her, though she was very rich; and -when he came back, and she wanted to see him and get him to consent to -be taken to her house, he said, “No, he didn’t want to die in pawn. He’d -as soon have the sheriff’s officer or a Jew money-lender sitting by his -death-bed as a pawnbroker or a pawnbroker’s wife.”</p> - -<p>It’s wonderful how with some people this family pride will keep up to -the last. Of course it isn’t so much nowadays, when ladies of title -marry rich tradesmen, and are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> very glad to get them, and noblemen don’t -mind making a marine-store dealer’s daughter a lady, if her pa has -enough money to give her a fine dowry.</p> - -<p>But the Squire was one of the proud old sort that began to go out when -railways began to come in. That’s how Mr. Wilkins, the parish clerk, who -uses our parlour regularly of an evening, puts it. It was Mr. -Wilkins—quite a character in his way, as you’ll say when you know more -about him—who told me the story of the old Squire after whose Arms our -house is named.</p> - -<p>The people who had our house at the time were the Squire’s butler and -his wife, and of course they made their dear old master as comfortable -as they could, and made his bill as light as possible, for he would pay -for everything with the little bit of money he’d got, and would swear -just as he used to do in former days if they didn’t let him have his -bill regularly.</p> - -<p>One day he said to the doctor, “Doctor, how long do you think I shall -live?”</p> - -<p>“Why do you ask?” said the doctor.</p> - -<p>“Because I must cut my cloth according to my measure,” said the Squire. -“I want to know how long I’ve got to spread my money over. My funeral -will be all right, because I’ve paid for that beforehand.”</p> - -<p>Which he had, as was found out afterwards.</p> - -<p>Well, the doctor was in a fix. He knew if he said a long time the poor -old gentleman would begin to starve himself and do without his wine, and -if he said a short time he thought it would be cruel; so he said that it -all depended upon the turn his illness took.</p> - -<p>It was in the winter time that the Squire lay ill at the “Arms,” and -Christmas was coming.</p> - -<p>As it came nearer, the Squire grew weaker and weaker, and everybody saw -he was going home. One evening the landlady went up to the Squire’s -rooms, and found him out of bed with his dressing-gown on, sitting in a -chair and looking out of the window. It was a bright, frosty evening and -the moon was up, and you could see a long way off.</p> - -<p>She went in on tiptoe, fancying he might be asleep, and not wanting to -wake him, and she saw he was looking out over the fields right away to -the old Hall. It stood out in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span> the moonlight far away, looking very -haunted and gloomy, as it often does now when I look at it from that -very window.</p> - -<p>The tears were running down the old man’s face, and he was quite -sobbing, and the landlady heard him say to himself, “The dear old place! -Ah! if I could only have died there I could have died happy.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Owen used to come every day to ask after the Squire, and the -landlady told him about this, and he set about thinking if something -couldn’t be managed. He knew the Squire wouldn’t take charity or be -beholden to anybody, or accept a favour; and the thing was—how could he -be got back to the Hall believing it was his own?</p> - -<p>Mr. Owen told his wife—the Squire’s daughter—and they both put their -heads together, as the saying is. Miss Di, as she was always called -about here, suddenly had an idea, and Mr. Owen went to London that -night.</p> - -<p>The next day the Squire was told that an old friend wanted to see him, -and when he was told it was a friend of the old wild days he said, “Let -him come—let him come.”</p> - -<p>The friend was Colonel Rackstraw—that was the name, I think—a great -gambler, like the Squire—and it was to him the Squire had lost the -Hall.</p> - -<p>It was quite a meeting, those two old fellows seeing each other again, -they say, and they began to talk about old times and the adventures they -had had, and the Squire got quite chirrupy, and chuckled at things they -remembered.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Rackstraw,” says the Squire presently, “I never had your luck; you -were always a lucky dog, and you broke me at last. I didn’t mind -anything but the old place—that settled me.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” says the Colonel, “I haven’t done much good by it. There it -stands. The people I let it to have cleared out (which wasn’t true), and -I’ll sell it cheap.” (He’d sold it long ago, and the people living in it -were big wholesale tailors.)</p> - -<p>“So the old place is for sale?” says the Squire.</p> - -<p>“Yes; will you buy it?”</p> - -<p>“I, my dear fellow! I’m a pauper.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, of course; I forgot,” says the old Colonel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> “Well, I’ve -come to cheer you up a bit. I suppose you never touch the pictures now?”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” says the Squire, “not for a long time. I haven’t had any money -to lose.”</p> - -<p>“I should like to have had a quiet game with you for auld lang syne,” -says the Colonel. “Shall I ring for a pack?”</p> - -<p>“I should like it. I should like to have one more turn with you, old -friend, before I die; but—but——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, come, it’ll do you good—cheer you up; and as to the stakes—well, -we’ll play for silver, just to make the game interesting.”</p> - -<p>After a lot of coaxing the old Squire consented, and the Colonel got the -cards, and pulled a table up to the bed, and they began to play.</p> - -<p>The Squire soon forgot everything in playing. The old excitement came -back; his cheeks got red, and his eyes grew bright, and he kept making -jokes just as they say he used to do.</p> - -<p>He had wonderful luck, for he won everything, and he was so excited he -must have fancied himself back again at the club by the way he went on. -When he had won they made the stakes higher, and he kept winning, till -he had won quite a lot. The Colonel had bank-notes in his pocket and he -paid them over, and presently he said—</p> - -<p>“Look here, Stretford, I’ll play you double or quits the lot.”</p> - -<p>The Squire was like a boy now. “All right,” he said; “come on.” He won, -and the Colonel had to owe him a lot of money.</p> - -<p>When the Squire was quite worked up the Colonel cried out, “A thousand!” -He lost it. “Double or quits!” He lost again—and so on till he had lost -a fortune: and then he pretended to be awfully wild, and brought his -fist down on the table and shouted out, “Confound it, I’m not going to -be beaten! I’ll play you the Hall against what you’ve won.”</p> - -<p>I wish you could hear Mr. Wilkins tell the story as he told it to Harry -and me in our bar parlour. He made us quite hot the way he described -this game with the Colonel and the dying Squire, and he made it quite -real, which I can’t do in writing. We were quite carried away, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> -knew when it came to the Hall being staked, and Mr. Wilkins described -the Squire sitting up, almost at death’s door, and laughing and -shouting, and evidently carried away by “the ruling passion” (that’s -what Mr. Wilkins called it), that he must have believed himself back -again at his club and the devil-may-care fellow he was in those days.</p> - -<p>“Done!” said the Squire.</p> - -<p>And then they played for the old Hall that the Squire had lost ten years -ago.</p> - -<p>And the Squire won it!</p> - -<p>As he won the game he flung the cards up in the air, and shouted out so -loud that the landlady ran up, thinking he was in a fit or something.</p> - -<p>“I’ve won it!” he cried. “Thank God—thank God!” Then he fell back on -the bed, and burst out crying like a child.</p> - -<p>The doctor came in to him and gave him something, and by-and-by they got -him to sleep.</p> - -<p>“He’ll rally a bit,” said the doctor; “the excitement’s done him good, -but he’ll go back again all the quicker afterwards.”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The next morning it was all over the village that the Squire was better, -and was going back to the Hall again; that he’d come into money or -something, and had bought it back again. Mr. Owen arranged -everything—him and Miss Di—or Mrs. Owen, I should say.</p> - -<p>The people came from far and near, and gathered about the old place when -they heard that the Squire was coming, and they determined to give him a -grand welcome.</p> - -<p>The doctor had a long conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Owen that morning, -and determined to try the experiment. He got the Squire up and dressed, -and, well wrapped up, he was carried down and put in a close carriage, -and then they drove away to the Hall.</p> - -<p>The people shouted like mad when they saw the Squire coming, and they -took the horses out, and dragged the carriage right up to the doors.</p> - -<p>The landlord of the “Arms” was there in his old butler’s coat, and he -received the Squire, and he was taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> into the big room, which had been -the justice-room, and the villagers all crowded in; and the Squire, -sitting in his old easy-chair by the fire, received them, and, after he -had had some stimulant, made a little speech that brought tears into the -people’s eyes, and thanked them, and said he should die happy now, for -he should die master of the dear old place.</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>After that the Squire never left his bed, but he was very happy; he lay -in the old room—the room his wife had died in—and all the old things -were about him, just as he had left them; and on Christmas Day he told -the doctor to send for his daughter and “the pawnbroker.”</p> - -<p>They came, and the Squire kissed his daughter, and said he was so happy -he couldn’t let anything mar his happiness; so he forgave her and kissed -her, and then held out his hand and said, “Mr. Owen, they tell me that -for a pawnbroker you are a very decent fellow.”</p> - -<p>He didn’t live very long after that—only a few weeks; but he saw his -daughter every day, and she was holding his hand when he died. It was -just in the twilight he went—only the firelight let everything in the -room be seen.</p> - -<p>He had been sinking for days, and hadn’t said much; but he seemed to get -a little strength for a moment then. He had had his wife’s portrait -brought from Mrs. Owen’s and hung on the wall opposite his bed. He -looked at that—a long, loving look—and his lips seemed to move as if -he was saying a little prayer.</p> - -<p>Then he pressed his daughter’s hand, and she stooped and kissed him, and -listened to catch his words, for he spoke in a whisper.</p> - -<p>“God bless you, dear,” he said; “I’m at peace with everybody, and I’m so -glad to die in the old place. Tell the pawnbroker”—a little smile -passed over his face as he whispered the word—“tell the pawnbroker that -I forgave——”</p> - -<p>Miss Di could catch no more. The lips moved, but no sound came. Then all -was quiet. A little gentle breathing, then a deep long sigh—a happy -sigh—and then—the end.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></p><p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>When Mr. Wilkins first told me and Harry that story, the way he told it -(oh, if I could only tell it in writing like that!) made me cry, and -Harry—he pulled out his handkerchief and had a cold just like he had -when the clergyman was reading our marriage service. Several times while -that service was on I thought Harry had a dreadful cold, but he said -afterwards, “Little woman, it wasn’t a cold; it was the words and the -thoughts that came into my heart and made it feel too big for my -waistcoat; and I felt once or twice as if I should have liked to put my -knuckles in my eyes, and boo-hoo, like I used to when I was a boy.”</p> - -<p>It came home to us, you see, having the ‘Stretford Arms;’ and it being -in our house that it all happened, long, long ago—and that room, the -Squire’s room, was my pride after that, and I kept it a perfect picture; -but I never dusted it or arranged it without thinking of the poor old -gentleman sitting in the big armchair, and looking out in the moonlight -at the old home that he had lost—the home his race had lived and died -in for hundreds of years.</p> - -<p>Of course as soon as we’d got over the first effect of the story, we -asked Mr. Wilkins to explain how it had been done, though we guessed a -good deal.</p> - -<p>He told us that it was all through Mr. George Owen—(“He was a brick,” -said Harry, and though I couldn’t call him a brick, because somehow or -other “brick” isn’t a woman’s word, I said he was an angel, which Harry -says is the feminine of “brick”)—and it was he who had arranged the -whole thing.</p> - -<p>The wholesale tailors were going away for three months, and Mr. Owen had -got them to let him rent the place of them for the time, and longer if -he wanted it, and then he had gone off to London and found the Colonel, -who was an old bachelor living in Albany something—whether the barracks -or the street I forget—and, knowing the whole story from Miss Di, he -had begged him to come down and assist in the trick—if trick is the -word for such a noble action.</p> - -<p>The Colonel had played to lose, the money being Mr. Owen’s, and it had -all been arranged, and he was very glad to do it for his old friend, for -though a born gambler,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> the Hall had always stuck in his throat—to use -a common saying.</p> - -<p>I wrote the story down when Mr. Wilkins had told it us, because I -thought if ever I wrote the memoirs of our inn, I couldn’t begin with a -better one than the story of old Squire Stretford, seeing that the -strangest part of it took place in our house, and that our house is the -‘Stretford Arms,’ and the Stretfords are bound up with the history of -the place.</p> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Owen left the neighbourhood soon after that; they sold -their house, and went to live in another part of the country, and the -wholesale tailors came back again. The eldest son of the tailors has the -place now, and he sometimes comes in and has a chat with Harry. When he -was a boy he ran away to sea, and his people never knew what had become -of him for ever so long, and gave him up for dead, till one morning his -ma came down to breakfast and found a letter from him, dated from some -awful place where cannibals live. It was some island that Harry knew -quite well, having been there with his ship, but since cannibalism had -been done away with, it being many years after the wholesale tailor’s -eldest son was in those parts.</p> - -<p>Of course he is a middle-aged man now, this eldest son, and settled -down, and has the business, and is quite reformed; but he likes to come -and talk to Harry about that cannibal island, and foreign parts which -they have both visited. I think it is likely to be a very good thing for -us in business, Harry having been a sailor. People seem to like sailors, -and, of course, if they can talk at all, and can remember what they have -seen, their conversation is sure to be interesting.</p> - -<p>When Harry sometimes begins to spin a yarn of an evening, everybody -leaves off talking and listens to him, not because he is the landlord, -but because he has something to say that is worth listening to, about -places and people that nobody else in the company knows anything about. -I wish I could use some of his stories here, but I can’t, because I am -only going to write about what belongs to our hotel and the village, and -the things that I see and hear myself.</p> - -<p>When the gentleman who lives at the Hall that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> the home of the -Stretfords for so many years comes in of an evening, of course we always -ask him in the——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The cat asleep in baby’s cradle! Oh, Harry! and I only left you with him -for half an hour while I did my writing. Don’t laugh! please don’t -laugh! I’ve heard the most terrible things about cats in babies’ -cradles. I declare I can’t trust you with baby for a second. Thought -they looked so pretty together, did you? A nice thing if I’d found my -dear baby with its breath sucked by the cat, and its father looking on -laughing!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /><br /> -<i>MISS WARD’S YOUNG MAN.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I told</span> you that when we took over the ‘Stretford Arms’ we kept most of -the people about the place, and among them the barmaid, Miss Ward—Clara -we generally called her. She was a great help to us, knowing the ways of -the place and the customers; for you may be sure everything was very -strange to us at first.</p> - -<p>If I were to tell you that once or twice I really felt inclined to sit -down and cry, you would laugh at me; but it was true. I said to Harry, -when we went to bed the first night, quite worn out, “Harry, we shall be -ruined! We’ve gone into a business we know nothing about, and we shall -lose all our money.”</p> - -<p>Harry laughed, and said I was a goose, and he was soon fast asleep. But -I lay awake for ever so long, imagining all manner of dreadful things; -even seeing ourselves seized for rent, the customers having all gone -away through my knowing nothing about the business. And when I wasn’t -thinking of that, I was seeing a great big navvy come into the bar and -begin to swear, and throw quart pots at the plate glass, and Harry -jumping over the bar and having a fight with him, and both of them -rolling over on the floor, and knocking their heads against the -spittoons.</p> - -<p>If once I begin to think instead of going to sleep, I think dreadful -things, and they seem quite real at the time. I wonder why it is that -everything in your life seems going wrong sometimes when you lie awake -at night, and when you’ve been to sleep and wake up in the morning -everything seems to have come right again?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></p> - -<p>I know that the first night at our new home, when I didn’t sleep, beside -the things I’ve told you, I imagined people coming and taking our rooms, -and staying for a week and not paying their bills, and I couldn’t get -out of my head a story I had once heard about a gentleman who stayed a -month at an hotel, and lived on the fat of the land, borrowed ten -pounds, and went away leaving a very heavy box, and when the box was -opened it was full of nothing but bricks.</p> - -<p>And I was dreadfully frightened about the licensing laws. I didn’t know -much about them, but I had read cases in the papers about landlords -being summoned, and the first night, when it was closing time, and the -customers in our bar and smoking-room were slow in going, and Harry had -to say, “Now, gentlemen, please!” twice, and still they stopped talking, -and one old gentleman didn’t seem as if he’d ever get into his overcoat, -being a little paralyzed on one side, I felt inclined to drop down on my -knees and say, “Oh, do go; please go! Fancy if the policeman comes and -Harry’s summoned!”</p> - -<p>Of course I soon got over this sort of thing, and now they tell me I -make a very good landlady indeed; but at first everything made me -dreadfully nervous, and I made a few mistakes.</p> - -<p>Miss Ward, as I told you, was our right hand. She was a tall, rather -pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes, and about five-and-twenty, with a -history, which she told me one afternoon when we were slack, and we were -both sitting in the parlour doing needlework.</p> - -<p>Her father was a farmer in Essex, but, times being bad, she was taken by -her uncle, who had a large hotel and no children of his own, and brought -up like a lady, only just superintending things that her aunt, being an -invalid, couldn’t see to.</p> - -<p>Her uncle had made a fortune with his hotel, and could have retired, but -instead of that he took to sporting, and went to race meetings, and was -a good deal away from home.</p> - -<p>After a time, people began to notice a change in his manner, and he -neglected his business altogether, and would come home sometimes with -his dog-cart full of legs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> of mutton, and poultry, and things, which he -said he’d bought cheap. One day he brought home fifty ducks in his trap; -and another day he brought six mastiff dogs, and they were all kept -chained up in the yard, and a nice noise they made.</p> - -<p>But that wasn’t the worst. He got very violent if his wife objected to -his buying things, and she said she was sure he wasn’t right in his -head. After a terrible quarrel about his buying four billiard tables, -and having them sent home, with nowhere to put them, he went off, and -was away for weeks, and when he came back he never said where he’d been, -but letters began to come, and his wife opened them, and it seemed he’d -been about the country and had bought horses and traps everywhere, and -had left them at different yards at hotels, and there they were, eating -their heads off—the horses, not the traps.</p> - -<p>And they found out that he’d bought a sailing vessel at Brighton, and it -was lying on the beach; and in London he’d been to a sale and bought a -lot of pictures, and had them sent to a furniture depository, where they -were standing at a fearful rent.</p> - -<p>It seemed as though he couldn’t think of enough ways to fool his money -away, and they found he’d got rid of thousands.</p> - -<p>His wife went to a solicitor to see what could be done to stop him -getting rid of any more, and when he found it out he jumped about the -place and smashed the furniture, and went down in the cellar with a -hammer and broke bottles, till you could have swum about the place in -mixed wine.</p> - -<p>Everybody said that his brain was softening, or something of the sort, -and he would have to be put under restraint. Poor Clara told me they had -a dreadful time with him, and it came to the worst one evening, when -there was a ball and supper being given in the big room belonging to the -hotel. Everything was ready for the supper; pies and jellies, and -creams, and tipsy cakes: and her uncle went into the supper-room when -the table was all beautifully laid; and when the guests began to come -in, he ordered them all out, saying it was his house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> and he wasn’t -going to have a pack of people dancing and singing, when they ought to -be in bed and asleep; and, before anybody knew what he was going to do, -he seized the jellies and the creams and threw them at the guests, -regularly bombarding them, so to speak, before anybody could stop him. -It was a dreadful sight. The poor ladies shrieked, as jellies and creams -came all over them; and one gentleman was smothered all over his head -with a dish of tipsy cake, the custard running down over his face.</p> - -<p>The people who were just coming in at the doorway couldn’t get back, -because the people behind pressed forward; and there were tongues, and -hams, and patties, and fowls, and jellies, and greasy things flying -right and left and all among them—that madman seizing things with both -hands to hurl at them.</p> - -<p>When Miss Ward told me about it first, I couldn’t for the life of me -help laughing. I could see the jellies and the creams hitting the -people, and I thought how ridiculous they must have looked; but, of -course, it was very dreadful, and that was the finishing stroke to the -house. People wouldn’t come there to have things thrown at them by the -landlord. And when he was put in an asylum, where he died, it was found -out he had got rid of so much money, and was liable for so much more, -that his affairs had to be wound up and the business sold. Out of the -wreck there was only just enough left for the aunt to live on, and so -Miss Ward had to go out as a barmaid, her own father not being able to -offer her a home, through a large family, and farming having become so -bad.</p> - -<p>She had had a good education, though, and could play the piano and spoke -a little French, and was very ladylike; and that, I dare say, made me -take to her at once. I liked her so much that I always tried to make the -place as easy for her as I could; and when one day she said she hoped I -would have no objection to her young man coming there to see her -occasionally, I said, “Oh dear no; certainly not.”</p> - -<p>I knew myself how hard it was never to be able to speak a word to your -sweetheart, when perhaps he’s got plenty of time of an evening, now and -then, just to come and say a few words to you and cheer you up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></p> - -<p>When I told Harry he was quite agreeable. You may be sure he remembered -how he used to come and see me, and how much happier we had been when we -could see each other comfortably without deceiving anybody.</p> - -<p>“She’s a nice girl,” he said, “and I’m sure her young man will be -respectable, and not one of those low fellows, who get in with barmaids -and lead them on to change bad money for them, and do all manner of -dreadful things with the till.”</p> - -<p>It was about a week after that, one Sunday afternoon, that Miss Ward’s -young man, who lived in London, came to our house for the first time. -Directly I saw him I didn’t like him. He’d got red hair, which, of -course, oughtn’t to be against a man, because it’s a thing he can’t -help—but there was what I call a “shifty” look in his face. He never -looked at you when he spoke to you, and when you shook hands with him, -his hand was one of those cold, clammy hands that I never could abide.</p> - -<p>But he was very agreeable. He brought me a cucumber and a bunch of -flowers, and, it being teatime, we asked him to join us. He was very -affectionate and nice to Miss Ward, and as they sat there with us, and -she kept looking up in his face, and showing how proud she was of every -word he said, my thoughts went back to the day when Harry came home from -sea, and my good, kind mistress let him come down in the kitchen and -have tea with us, and that softened me towards Miss Ward’s young -man—Mr. Shipsides his name was—and I made up my mind I’d done him a -wrong in not liking him.</p> - -<p>How he did talk, to be sure! All that teatime nobody else could get a -word in edgeways. He told us all about the business he’d bought in -London, and what a nice home he was getting together, to be ready for -Miss Ward when she married him. Poor girl, how her eyes brightened as he -talked of all the beautiful things she was to have in her home!</p> - -<p>He said that he’d taken a splendid shop, and stocked it in the grocery -line, having been an assistant at a grocer’s, and come into money -lately, and that he had the promise of all his former masters’ customers -to deal with him. He told us the first day he opened he had the shop -crowded<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> all day, and had to take on two extra assistants, and that -among his customers were dukes, marquises, earls, and barons.</p> - -<p>Harry looked up at that and said, “Do you mean to say that swells like -that come to your shop after their grocery?” “Not themselves,” said Mr. -Shipsides; “but their names are on my books.” “You’re doing very well,” -said Harry, “if you’ve got a business like that—you must be making -money fast.” “I am,” said Mr. Shipsides; “but of course I can’t put much -by yet, because I’ve got relatives’ money in the business that helped to -start me, and that’s all got to be paid out first, and the place cost me -a lot of money to fit up and stock; but by-and-by, if things go on as -they are now, I shall be on the high-road to fortune, and Clara will -ride in her carriage.”</p> - -<p>Of course, I said I hoped she would; but all the same, it made me wince -a little. I had just a little feeling of womanly jealousy, which, I -suppose, was only natural, at the idea of my barmaid riding in her -carriage, while I was taking a twopenny ’bus, in a manner of speaking, -for, of course, where we lived there were no twopenny ’buses, or -sixpenny ones either for the matter of that.</p> - -<p>I think it took Harry a bit aback, too, hearing the fellow go on like -that, for he said, “I hope when you’ve got your carriage you’ll drive -down here with it. It’ll do us good, you know, to let folks see that -we’ve got a connection with carriage people.”</p> - -<p>Miss Ward laughed at that, but Mr. Shipsides coloured up almost as red -as his hair, and I saw he didn’t like it, so I turned the conversation. -But he always got it back on to himself, and the wonderful fellow he -was, and the wonderful things he was going to do. He made out that he -was very highly connected, although he’d been a grocer’s assistant, and -said his father was the son of a baronet, but had married against his -father’s (the baronet’s) wish, and had gone away—being proud—and never -spoken to any member of the family again; and when he died had made -himself and his brothers and sisters vow they would never seek a -reconciliation.</p> - -<p>“I never heard of a Sir anything Shipsides,” Harry said.</p> - -<p>“That’s very likely,” said the fellow, “because that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> wasn’t the name. -My father was so indignant that he changed it by Act of Parliament; but -his real name was one that is known and respected throughout the length -and breadth of the land.”</p> - -<p>And afterwards we found out that his father wasn’t dead at all, but -alive, and that he was——</p> - -<p>But I mustn’t anticipate.</p> - -<p>Mr. Shipsides, after tea was over, had a cigar with Harry while Miss -Ward went into the bar, the house being opened again. Harry got out a -box of cigars and put them on the table, always doing the thing well, -like a sailor, for though he is in business on shore, he’ll never quite -get rid of the sea. I had to go upstairs to see to things, and Harry -went into the bar, so Mr. Shipsides was left alone with a bottle of -whiskey and the box of cigars. He didn’t stop long, saying he had to -catch a train back to town, so he said good-bye to Miss Ward and shook -hands with Harry in the bar, and went off.</p> - -<p>And when Harry went into the parlour the whiskey-bottle was half empty, -and quite a dozen cigars were gone, and as Shipsides couldn’t have -smoked them in the time, he must have filled his pockets.</p> - -<p>Harry and I looked at each other when we found it out, but I said, -“Don’t say anything before Miss Ward, it will only hurt her feelings;” -but after that I tried to get into her confidence about her young man, -having an uneasy feeling that he wasn’t quite good enough for her.</p> - -<p>But what she said about him made him out to be quite a beautiful -character. She said that he had brought up his younger brother and his -sisters, and had paid for their education out of his salary, and that he -was a most steady young fellow, and had been teacher in a Sunday-school, -and was always asked to tea with the clergyman on the Sundays that he -didn’t come to see her.</p> - -<p>“But how did he get the money to buy this grand business he talks -about?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she said, “it was left him in his late master’s will. His master -had a great respect for him because he managed his business so well -while he was ill. It wasn’t quite enough to start the business, but the -rest he borrowed from his friends.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear,” I said, “I hope you’ll be very happy.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure we shall,” she said; “he’s so steady and so affectionate, and -he consults me about everything for our home, and everything I want I’m -to have.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going to live at the business, then?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” she said; “Tom” (that was his Christian name) “says it’s not a -nice locality to live in, so he’s taken a house a little way out.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t say any more, but I thought a good deal. Still, the poor girl -might be right about her lover; and his filling his pockets with the -cigars might only be a peculiarity. The richest people often do that -sort of thing, because I remember Harry telling me about a nobleman, -Lord Somebody, who was invited to lunch on board a ship in harbour that -Harry was on. There was a beautiful cold champagne luncheon laid out, -and Harry saw this nobleman, while everybody was eating, put two roast -fowls in his coat-pockets, and then try to get a bottle of champagne in -as well. The captain was very indignant, and went up to him and said, -“You can eat as much as you like, sir, but don’t pocket the things.” -Lord Somebody turned very red, and said, “Dash it, sir! do you know I’m -a nobleman?” “You may be a nobleman,” said the captain; “but I’m hanged -if you’re a gentleman; and if you don’t put those cold fowls back on the -table you’ll go ashore a jolly sight quicker than you came aboard.” The -lord who did that was a well-known nobleman, and very rich, so that -pocketing things isn’t any proof of a man being a nobody or poor.</p> - -<p>Two or three days after that Harry went to London on business, and when -he came back he said, “I say, little woman, do you remember that -Shipsides telling us that dukes, marquises, earls, and barons were his -customers?”</p> - -<p>I said, “Yes, I do.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Harry, “I know where he got that from. There’s a tea -advertised all along the railway lines in all the stations, and it says -on it, ‘as supplied to dukes, marquises, earls, and barons.’ He’s seen -that, and that put it into his head. If he’d tell one lie he’d tell -another, and mark my words, Mary Jane, Miss Ward’s young man is a -humbug.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Two Sundays after that Mr. Shipsides came down again, but we didn’t ask -him in to tea. We had company, which was one reason, but really we -didn’t want to encourage him, feeling sure he was a man who would take -advantage of kindness.</p> - -<p>But it was an awful nuisance, for all the evening he was leaning over -the bar, talking to our barmaid, and taking her attention off her work. -I didn’t like to say anything, no more did Harry, especially as we -weren’t very busy, many of our regular customers not being in on Sunday -evenings, when we did more of a chance trade than anything—principally -people who’d been down to the place for the day from London, or people -driving home to town, and that sort of thing.</p> - -<p>When it was closing time the fellow didn’t offer to go, so Harry said, -“I say, Mr. Shipsides, the train for London goes in ten minutes. You’ll -have to hurry to the station to catch it.”</p> - -<p>He went away then, and we closed the doors; but about twenty minutes -afterwards there came a ring at the bell, just as we were going upstairs -to bed.</p> - -<p>Harry went to the door, but didn’t open it, saying, “Who’s there?”</p> - -<p>“Me,” said a voice.</p> - -<p>“Who’s me?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Shipsides.”</p> - -<p>And if it wasn’t him come back again. So Harry opened the door and asked -him what he wanted.</p> - -<p>“I’ve missed the train,” he said; “so I’ll have to take a room here for -the night.”</p> - -<p>Harry didn’t know what to say, so he let him in, and gave him a candle, -and showed him upstairs to a room.</p> - -<p>We didn’t like it at all, but Harry said we couldn’t turn a customer -away; and of course Shipsides only came as a customer, and would have to -pay for his room.</p> - -<p>The next morning he came down, and walked into the coffee-room as bold -as brass, and ordered his breakfast. He had eggs and bacon and a chop -cooked, and then he wanted hot buttered toast and marmalade.</p> - -<p>I waited on him, though I didn’t like it, but I wouldn’t send Miss Ward -in. Harry said it was better not.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span></p> - -<p>He talked away to me nineteen to the dozen, but quite grand, just as if -he was patronizing our house, and he had the impudence to say that the -tea wasn’t strong enough, and would I make him some more, and when he -began to tell me how he liked his tea made I flushed up and said, “I -think I ought to know how to make tea, Mr. Shipsides.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! of course,” he said; “but where do you buy your tea? Perhaps it’s -the fault of the article, and not the making.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” I said; “the tea is all right—it’s the same that’s supplied to -the dukes, marquises, earls, and barons. You’ve seen it advertised at -all the railway-stations.”</p> - -<p>I couldn’t help saying it, he made me so indignant. He didn’t say -anything, but I made the next tea very weak on purpose, and he drank it -without a murmur.</p> - -<p>After he’d done his breakfast I put the time-table in front of him, and -I said, “The next train’s at 9.15. Hadn’t you better go? You’ll be late -to business.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” he said. “Now I’m here I’ll stop for the day. I’ve a customer -at one of the big houses near here. I’ll go and look him up.”</p> - -<p>He went out, but he came back at dinner-time and ordered a dinner in the -coffee-room. He wanted fish, but I said, “We don’t have fish on -Mondays—it isn’t fresh.” So he had soup and a fowl and bacon, and when -I said, “What beer will you have?” he said, “Oh, I’ll drink a bottle of -wine for the good of the house. Bring me a bottle of champagne.”</p> - -<p>I went to Harry about it, and he went in and said, “Look here, old man; -let’s understand each other. Of course, you’re not here at my -invitation.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” answered the fellow. “I’m here for my own pleasure, Mr. -Beckett, and I suppose I can have what I like, if I pay for it.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” said Harry; and he went and got him the champagne.</p> - -<p>I could see Miss Ward didn’t quite like it. She felt that it wasn’t -quite the thing, she being our barmaid, for him to come staying there, -and swelling about the place, instead of attending to his business in -London.</p> - -<p>But <i>he</i> didn’t see there was anything out of the way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> evidently, for -after dinner he went into the bar-parlour and called for a cigar: “One -of your best, old man, and none of your Britishers”—that’s what he had -the impudence to say.</p> - -<p>You may be sure Harry didn’t put the box down by him this time. He got a -cigar out and put it in a glass, and brought it to him.</p> - -<p>The champagne had evidently made him even more talkative than usual, for -he began to find fault with the place, and to tell us what we ought to -do. I stood it for a little while, and then I let out. “Mr. Shipsides,” -I said, “I think we are quite capable of managing our own business, -although it isn’t like yours—one that manages itself.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no offence, I hope,” he said, “only you’re young beginners, and I -didn’t think you were above taking a hint. I’ve stayed at some of the -best hotels in the kingdom in my time, you see, and I know how things -ought to be done.”</p> - -<p>I was so wild that I took my work-basket and went and sat in the bar; -and presently he came there and began talking to Miss Ward, which I -thought very rude, and it didn’t look well at all.</p> - -<p>Harry had gone out to see the builder, who was going to fix up some -stabling for us, as we meant to have a nice place for people driving to -put up their traps and horses; and the cook wanted to speak to me in the -kitchen about the oven, which had gone wrong, so I went to her; and -presently I thought it was a good chance to call Miss Ward out of the -bar and tell her to give Mr. Shipsides a gentle hint that he was making -too free.</p> - -<p>So I said, “Cook, just tell Miss Ward I want her for a moment.”</p> - -<p>Miss Ward came, and I spoke to her as nicely as I could, and she saw -that I was right, and promised to tell her young man that we would like -him to keep his place, and not interfere with our business.</p> - -<p>We went back together, and, when we get to the bar, if there wasn’t that -fellow actually serving a customer, just as if he were the landlord of -the place. It took my breath away. “Well, I never!” I said. “If your -young man<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> stops here much longer, Miss Ward, he’ll put his name up over -the door.”</p> - -<p>Poor girl, she blushed to her eyes. “It is only his way,” she said; “he -doesn’t mean any harm.” Then she went into the bar and whispered -something to him, and he came and took his hat and went out. But he came -back at teatime and ordered his tea in the coffee-room, and rang the -bell for more coals to be put on the fire, and made such a fire up that -it was enough to roast the place, and while he was sitting toasting -himself in front of it two coffee-room customers arrived, a lady and -gentleman who had come by train—very nice people. They took our best -bedroom, and had some nice luggage that looked very genteel. They -ordered dinner in the coffee-room for seven o’clock, and when I went in -to lay the table that fellow had gone and sat down at the piano, and was -banging away at it and singing a horrid music-hall song.</p> - -<p>“Don’t do that,” I said, quite sharply. “There are ladies and gentlemen -staying in the house, and they won’t like it.”</p> - -<p>He shut the piano and went and stuck his back against the fire, and -stood there with his coat-tails over his arm.</p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said to my husband when he came in, “you <i>must</i> get rid of -that fellow. If you don’t, I will!”</p> - -<p>So Harry went to him and said, “Look here, Shipsides, I don’t think our -hotel is good enough for you. I should be glad if you’d pay your bill -and take your custom somewhere else.”</p> - -<p>He looked Harry up and down in his nasty, red-haired, contemptuous way, -and then he said, “All right, Beckett”—no Mr., mind you—“all right, -Beckett; if you’re independent, so am I. I’ll say good-bye to Clara and -be off.”</p> - -<p>“When you’ve paid your bill,” says Harry.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’ll be all right! I’ll send you a cheque.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want a cheque for twenty-five shillings,” says Harry. “Cash’ll -do for me.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t got the cash with me,” says the fellow; “and if my cheque -isn’t good enough, you can stop it out of Clara’s wages.”</p> - -<p>And with that he walks into the bar, kisses Clara before the customers, -sticks his hat on one side, defiant like, and walks out of the place as -bold as brass.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span></p> - -<p>And that was the last we saw of Miss Ward’s young man, and the last she -saw of him too, poor girl—for bad as we thought him, he turned out to -be worse.</p> - -<p>A few days after he went, Harry had to go to town to see the brewers, -and, having an hour or two to spare after he’d done his business, he -thought he’d go and look at Shipsides’ shop, and see what sort of a -place it was.</p> - -<p>He knew the address, because Miss Ward used to write to her lover at it, -and sometimes her letters lay about to be sent to post.</p> - -<p>When he got to the street and found the number, it was a grocer’s—but -quite a little common shop, full of jam in milk-jugs and sugar-basins, -and flashy-looking ornaments given away with a pound of tea; and the -name over the door wasn’t Shipsides at all.</p> - -<p>Harry walked in, and said, “I want to see Mr. Shipsides.”</p> - -<p>A little old man, in a dirty apron, behind the counter looked at him, -and said, “Private door; knock twice.”</p> - -<p>Harry thought that was odd; but he went out and knocked twice, and -presently a woman came and asked him what he wanted.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Shipsides,” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” says she, “are you a friend of his?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” says Harry, not knowing what else to say at the moment.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said the woman, “p’r’aps you’ll tell me when you saw him last, -for I haven’t seen him for a week; and he’s been and let himself in -unbeknown to me, and taken his box out somehow, and we want to summons -him for the rent.”</p> - -<p>When Harry saw how the land lay—that’s his sailor way of putting it, -and I’ve caught lots of sailor expressions from him—he altered his -tack—that’s another—and told the woman that he wanted money of Mr. -Shipsides too; and at last he got her to talk freely, and she told him -that the fellow was very little better than a swindler, and she went -upstairs and brought down a lot of letters and showed them to Harry, and -told him they had all come that week for the fellow—and what did he -think she ought to do?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span></p> - -<p>They were all in different female handwritings, and two were in Miss -Ward’s, which Harry recognized.</p> - -<p>“It’s my belief,” said the woman, “he’s a regular bad ’un, and has been -imposing on a lot of young women, and he ought to be ashamed of himself, -for, after he’d left, a poor woman came here after him and said she was -his wife and was in service, and she wanted him to come to her missus -and explain as she was married, as she was going to be turned away -through circumstances which, being a respectable married woman, ought -not to count against her.”</p> - -<p>Harry told me that when he heard that he felt that if he could have met -the fellow he’d have knocked him down—sailors being very chivalrous, I -think the word is, I mean, when women are concerned; and all the way -home he thought of poor Miss Ward, and how I was to break it to her that -her lover was a scoundrel.</p> - -<p>I had to do it; and, in trying to do it gently, I blurted it all out, -and the poor thing fainted right away, and was so ill afterwards she had -to go to bed. I went and sat with her and comforted her, and she cried -and told me everything. That mean fellow had actually had thirty pounds -out of her—all her savings, that she’d drawn out of the Post Office -Savings Bank to give him, towards the capital he wanted for the grand -business he was doing with dukes, marquises, earls, and barons.</p> - -<p>It was a long time before she got over the shock, but it was a lesson to -her, and at last she began to see that she was well rid of such a -vampire.</p> - -<p>And a long time after that we found out—that is, Harry did—a lot more -about the beauty. Happening to go to another house one day—a -public-house in London—Harry, who knew the landlord, told him about our -barmaid and her lover, and when he described him the landlord said, -“Why, that’s the fellow who had twenty pounds out of the barmaid at the -‘Hat and Feathers’ at Hendon!” And then Harry’s friend went and talked -about it in the trade, and by-and-by it was found out that Mr. Shipsides -had got over one hundred and fifty pounds out of different barmaids at -different places, and that he was engaged to marry them all, and he’d -stayed at some of the houses, just like he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> had at ours, and never paid -a farthing—only at one place he’d borrowed five pounds of the landlord -as well.</p> - -<p>The last that we found out about him was that he’d gone to Australia -with the wife of a small shopkeeper he’d lodged with afterwards, and -that she’d robbed her husband of one hundred pounds to go with him. I’m -sorry for her when she got to Australia and her hundred pounds was gone.</p> - -<p>Miss Ward wasn’t with us long after that. I don’t think she felt quite -comfortable. She fancied perhaps that in——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>“<i>Is</i> it a bad half-sovereign? Of course it is, you stupid girl! What’s -the good of bringing it to me now? Why, the fellow’s half a mile away by -this time! Thought he must be respectable, as he asked for a sixpenny -cigar? Nonsense! He wanted nine and sixpence change for <i>this</i> thing. I -declare I can’t sit down quietly for ten minutes but something goes -wrong!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /><br /> -<i>THE REVEREND TOMMY.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">What</span> a lot there is in the world that you must die not knowing anything -about because you don’t get mixed up with it! I don’t know if that’s -quite the way to say what I mean, but it came into my head looking over -the things I had put down in my diary that I thought would be worth -telling about in my new book of experiences as the landlady of a village -inn.</p> - -<p>At first it was all so new and strange to me that I didn’t quite gather -what it meant, some of it. As a servant, of course, I saw a good deal, -and many strange characters, but in their family life mostly. A servant -can’t see much of the outside life of her people—in fact, if you come -to think of it, servants don’t see much outside at all, unless it’s -shaking a cloth in the garden; and many a time when I was a servant have -I made that a very long job on a fine morning, with the sun shining and -the birds singing; for it was so beautiful to breathe the fresh air, and -feel the soft wind blowing in your face with just a dash of the scent of -flowers in it. A dash of the scent!—dear, dear, that’s how your style -gets spoiled by what you have to hear going on round you! I suppose my -style will get public-housey in time, if I’m not careful. It’s hearing -the customers say, “Just a dash of this in it, ma’am,” and “Just a dash -of that,” and so on.</p> - -<p>Seeing the outside view of life—life away from the home—and being -always in a place where all sorts of people and all sorts of characters -come, I have learned things that I might have been a servant a hundred -years<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> and never have known. You get a pretty good view of life under -the roof of an inn, and not always a view that makes you very happy—but -there’s good and bad everywhere, even in the church.</p> - -<p>I know of a clergyman who was a very fine preacher indeed, and a strict -teetotaller and never entered a public-house, but he managed to be very -cruel to his wife on gingerbeer and lemonade. And it came out afterwards -in the courts, when the poor lady tried to get a separation, fearing for -her life, that on the day her husband had knocked her down and emptied -the inkpot down her throat, he had gone off straight to a school meeting -and delivered the prizes for the best essay on being kind to animals, -and had made all the people cry by the beautiful way he spoke about dogs -and horses and cats.</p> - -<p>Our clergyman, the curate, is very different to that, though I must say -he is eccentric. He comes into our coffee-room now and then, and will -have a glass of ale and sit and read the newspaper, because he lives by -himself in lodgings up in the village. He likes talking to Harry, and he -seems to like talking to me; but though he’s a very agreeable gentleman, -I’m always rather sorry to see him come in, especially when his pockets -look bulgy. He’s one of those people who go about in awful places with -hammers, and chip bits of rock and stone off, and dig up bits of ground; -and he’s always got his coat-pockets full of sand and grit, and chalk -and bits of stone, and sometimes a lot of weeds and ferns pulled up by -the roots. I asked Mr. Wilkins, the parish clerk, what the name for -these people was, and he told me geologist, those that went after the -stones, and botanist, those that went after the roots; and he said Mr. -Lloyd—“the Reverend Tommy” he is called in the village when he isn’t -there to hear—was both, and was a great authority, and wrote papers -about rocks and roots and the rubbish he dug up, for learned societies -to read, and that he belonged to a good many of them, and had a right to -put half the letters of the alphabet after his name if he chose.</p> - -<p>I’ve seen the Reverend Tommy come into our place of an afternoon as red -as a turkey-cock, the perspiration pouring down his face, mudded all -over his clothes—he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> always wore black, which made it look worse—and -looking that dirty and untidy and disreputable that if he hadn’t been -known he’d have been taken for a tramp.</p> - -<p>It certainly was very trying for me to see him sit down in our nice, -neat, pretty little coffee-room, putting pounds of mud on the carpet, -and turning all the dirty things out of his pockets on to our nice -tablecloth. Poor dear man; I’m sure he never thought he was doing any -harm, for he didn’t live in this world; he lived in a world of hundreds -of thousands of years ago—a world that our world has grown up on top -of, so it was explained to me afterwards.</p> - -<p>I’d never heard of such things before. Of course I knew there was a -Noah’s Ark, and that the Flood drowned lots of animals, and carried lots -of things out of their proper places and put them somewhere else, as -even a small flood will do. A flood that happened where my brother John -lives, who went to America years ago, as I told you in my “Memoirs,” -washed his house right away, and floated it miles down the river, and -put it on an island, and it’s been there ever since, and he and his -family in it, they liking the situation better, and, as he says, having -been moved free of expense. John wrote me about that from America -himself, so it must be true, and it is a most wonderful place for -adventures, according to John. Of course, if a flood can do that -nowadays, the great Flood that covered the earth must have mixed up -things very much before it went down.</p> - -<p>It was this Flood that made Mr. Lloyd go about with a hammer looking for -bits of the animals that were drowned in it, as far as I could make out. -And when he found bits he was almost mad with delight. “Fossils” he -called the things, but how he could know they were bits of animals was a -wonder to me; they might have been anything. He showed me a lump of -chalk one day that he said was a bit of an animal that had lived in our -village thousands of years ago!</p> - -<p>He made a horrid mess with his things while he was having a glass of ale -and looking at his “specimens,” as he called them, but it was nothing to -where he lodged. His landlady told me that she never went into the room -because he didn’t like her to, but he made his bed himself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> and it was -just pushed up in the corner, and all the rest of the room was bones and -rocks and bits of chalk, and on the wall he’d got skulls and shinbones -and bits of skeletons of different animals, and some pictures of animals -so hideous that the landlady’s daughter, a young married woman, on a -visit to her mother, going in out of curiosity and not knowing what she -was going to see, had a shock that made her mother very, very anxious -about her, and especially as the poor girl would keep on saying, for -some time afterwards, “Oh, mother, that hideous animal with the long -nose! I can see it now.”</p> - -<p>But it was all right, fortunately; because, when the landlady told me -that it was all over, I asked, and she said, “It’s all right, my dear, -thank goodness, and a really beautiful nose.”</p> - -<p>She came to have tea with us one evening soon after that, and through -our talking about her daughter and the fright in Mr. Lloyd’s room, it -led to her telling me many things about our clergyman that I didn’t -know. I knew he was a dear, kind old gentleman, and, when his head -wasn’t full of the Flood and old bones, just the clergyman for a village -like ours. Kind to the old and gentle to the young, treating rich and -poor alike, he was always ready with a good, comforting word of -wholesome Christianity for those who were in trouble.</p> - -<p>He came to our place often after he got to know us, because he liked to -come in of an evening now and then, and have a pipe with Harry in our -own private sitting-room. He had never been in foreign countries, and he -loved to hear about all the places Harry had seen, but he didn’t care -much about the towns and the people. He always wanted to know more about -the soil and the trees and the animals, and what the cliffs and rocks -were like, and asked Harry all sorts of funny questions, which of course -he couldn’t answer, as it wouldn’t do for the mate of a merchantman to -go about the world with his head full of Noah’s Ark and the Flood. He -asked Harry if he hadn’t brought skulls from New Zealand, and other -places he had been to, and I said, “No, indeed he hasn’t. Do you think -I’d have married him if he’d carried dead men’s heads about with him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>I was sorry directly I’d said it, and coloured up terribly—which is a -horrible failing I have. I believe I shall go red when I’m an old woman; -it isn’t blushing—that’s rather pretty, and I shouldn’t mind it—it’s -going fiery red, which is not becoming.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lloyd noticed how hot I’d gone, and he smiled and said, “Don’t mind -me, Mrs. Beckett. I know you didn’t mean anything.” But there was a look -in his face presently that told me I had touched a sore place. It was -only a shadow that crept across his face, and a look that came into his -eyes, but it told me a good deal, and after he’d gone I said to my -husband—</p> - -<p>“Harry, Mr. Lloyd’s been in love at some time and has had a -disappointment.”</p> - -<p>“Old Tommy in love!” said Harry; “then it must have been with a young -woman who lived before the Flood. Nothing after that date would have any -attraction for him.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be so absurd, Harry,” I said. “Women know more about these things -than men do, and I’m as certain as that I sit here that Mr. Lloyd has -been crossed in love, and that it’s through skulls.”</p> - -<p>Something happened to stop our conversation—a gentleman and lady, I -think it was, who wanted apartments—and Mr. Lloyd and his skulls went -out of my head, till his landlady came to tea, and I got talking about -him.</p> - -<p>Then I told her what had been my idea, and I asked her if she knew -anything.</p> - -<p>“Know anything about the Reverend Tommy being in love, my dear?” she -said. “Why, that’s the story of his life!”</p> - -<p>“I knew it,” I said; and I thought what a triumph it would be for me -over Harry, for I must confess I do like to prove him wrong now and -then. Men—even the best of them—will persist in thinking women don’t -know much about anything except how to boil potatoes, how to make beds, -and how to nurse babies, and I have known a husband who even wanted to -show his wife how to do that till she lost her temper, and said, “Oh, as -you know such a lot about it, perhaps you’ll tell me whose babies you’ve -been in the habit of nursing!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Harry—though I don’t want to say a word against him as a husband and a -father, for a better never breathed, God bless him!—has little faults -of his own, and good-tempered as I am and hope I always shall be, yet -once or twice he has nearly put me out, and made me speak a little -sharp, and it’s generally been about baby. A nicer, plumper, healthier -baby there doesn’t exist, but Harry is that foolish over him, you’d -think he (the baby, not Harry) was made of glass and would break. Of -course I’m very fond of showing him to my female friends who come to see -me, and sometimes I just undress him a little to show them what lovely -little limbs he has. If Harry comes in, he begins to fidget at that -directly. “You’ll give that child his death of cold,” he says; “the idea -of taking him out of his warm bed and stripping him.”</p> - -<p>Of course that makes me indignant. No mother likes to be told how to -nurse her own child before other mothers.</p> - -<p>Once when he came in like that I didn’t take any notice, but I just -undressed baby a little more. It was a very warm room, and there was a -bright fire, so it didn’t hurt, and I thought I would just show the -other ladies that I didn’t give the management of the nursery over to -Harry.</p> - -<p>What made me do it, perhaps, more than anything was, that Mrs. Goose—a -dreadful mischief-making old woman, that I must tell you about -by-and-by—was in the room, and she curled her lip in a very irritating -way, and said—</p> - -<p>“Well, I never! What do sailors know about babies? I should like to have -seen my husband interfering between me and my infant when I was young!”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said Harry, “things were different in olden times, I dare say.”</p> - -<p>“Olden times!” says she. “My youngest is only eighteen come next -Michaelmas, Mr. Beckett; but, of course, a man who would teach his wife -how to manage her infant——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, please don’t take any notice, Mrs. Goose,” I said; “it’s only one -of my husband’s funny ways.” And I took baby’s nightgown right off, and -let him kick his dear little legs up, and crow on my lap, with only his -little flannel on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Funny ways or not, my dear,” said Harry, “that baby belongs to me as -much as it does to you, and I’m not going to have its constitution -ruined just to amuse a lot of old women.”</p> - -<p>With that, if he didn’t come and pick up baby and its nightgown, put the -gown on, take baby in his arms, and walk upstairs with it to its cot.</p> - -<p>“Harry, how dare you!” I cried; and I felt so indignant I could have -stamped my foot, for that horrid Mrs. Goose had seen it, and I should be -the laughing-stock of the village.</p> - -<p>I ran upstairs after Harry, quite in a passion, and I pushed the door -to; and, gasping for breath, I said, “Don’t you ever do that again! I -won’t be insulted in my own house before people.”</p> - -<p>“Mary,” he said, gently; “come here, my lass.”</p> - -<p>“No, I won’t,” I said; and then I felt as if I could shake myself like I -used to in a temper at school, and then I began to cry.</p> - -<p>He had put baby in its little cot; and he came and took my hand and drew -me towards him.</p> - -<p>“My little wife,” he said, “we’ve scarcely had a wry word since we’ve -known each other—never an unkind one. Don’t let our first quarrel be -about the child we both love so dearly. Come, my lass, kiss me and make -it up. There may be troubles ahead that we shall have to face, and that -we shall want all our strength to meet. Don’t let’s begin making -troubles for ourselves about nothing.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t kiss him quite at once. I stood for a minute trying to look as -cross as I could, but I couldn’t keep it up. He clasped my hand so -lovingly, and there was such a grieved look in his eyes, that I gave an -hysterical little cry, and threw my arms round his neck, and hid my face -on his breast and cried. Oh, how I cried! But it wasn’t all sorrow that -I had been naughty; I think a good many of the tears were tears of -joy—the joy I felt in having a husband that I could not only love, but -honour and respect and look up to. And I sobbed so loudly that baby put -out his dear little fat arm, and said, “Mum, mum;” and then I fell on my -knees by the cot, and thanked God for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> my baby and my Harry, and I -didn’t care for all the Mrs. Gooses in the whole wide world.</p> - -<p>Writing about our first quarrel over baby has led me away from what I -was going to tell you about the Reverend Tommy. Harry wasn’t at the -tea-table, we being extra busy in the bar, so I and Mr. Lloyd’s landlady -were alone.</p> - -<p>She didn’t want much urging, I found, to talk about her lodger—in fact, -I should think he was the principal subject of conversation, whenever -she went out to tea.</p> - -<p>I’m not going to repeat all the things she told me about his queer ways -at home, because I don’t think people who let lodgings ought to be -encouraged to pry into the private life of their lodgers and reveal it, -or to tell about their ways and habits in the room for which they pay -rent, and where they ought to be as private as in their own home.</p> - -<p>Before we got the ‘Stretford Arms,’ Harry and I were in lodgings for a -short time, and some day I will tell you something about <i>that</i>.</p> - -<p>But the story about the Reverend Tommy that his landlady told me I can -repeat, because it was about his past life; and it seems he used to talk -about it himself sometimes, but always among the gentry. I mean, it was -a subject—kind and unassuming as he was—that he never spoke of to his -inferiors. I can quite understand the feeling. I could tell the ladies -and gentlemen who stay at our place about Harry, and my having been a -servant; but I should not care to talk in the same way to our barmaid, -or our potman, or our cook.</p> - -<p>This was the story—not as the landlady told it; for if I told it her -way, I should have to wander off into something else every five minutes. -If there is one thing I dislike it is people who can’t stick to the -point when they are telling a story.</p> - -<p>The Reverend Tommy, years and years ago, it seems, and long before he -came to be our clergyman, was the curate at a place just beyond Beachy -Head, an old-fashioned village that was on the Downs, hidden in among -them, in fact—a place full of very old houses and very old people, -quite shut away from the world; for you could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> see nothing of anything -except the trees and the tops of the hills, the village lying down in a -deep, deep hollow.</p> - -<p>At least, that is the sort of village I gathered it was from the -landlady, who said Mr. Lloyd had described it to her and showed her -photographs of it.</p> - -<p>He was quite a young man then, and, though the place was dull, it suited -him, because of the cliffs and hills and places round about, where no -end of wonderful old bones and fossils and things were to be found.</p> - -<p>All the time that he could spare he was climbing the cliffs and -hammering away at them to find the treasures that he thought such a lot -of. They were only fisher folk who lived near the cliffs, and they soon -got used to the young clergyman, who climbed like a goat, and would be -let down by ropes, and do things that would have made Mr. Blondin feel -nervous, and all to hammer away at the cliffs and the rocks.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lloyd’s favourite place was a cliff just beyond Beachy Head—it was -a very dangerous one, and many years ago a man had been killed there—a -young fellow who used to do just what Mr. Lloyd did. People told him -about it, but it didn’t frighten him. He said, “Oh, he must have been -careless, or gone giddy. I’m all right.” But it was a very nasty place, -being a straight fall from top to bottom, with only horrid jagged bits -of cliff sticking out.</p> - -<p>I can quite understand what it was like, because on our honeymoon we -went for a day or two to the seaside, and Harry showed me a cliff that -he had gone over when he was a boy after a seagull’s nest, and it made -me go hot and cold all over to look at it, and when we stood at the edge -I clutched hold of Harry’s coat and felt as if we must go over, it -looked so awful. I hate looking over high places; it gives me a dreadful -feeling that I must jump over if somebody doesn’t catch hold of me and -keep me back. That’s a very horrid feeling to have, but I have it, and -nobody ever got me up on the Monument. I can’t even bear to look down a -well-staircase. I always see myself lying all of a heap, smashed on the -floor at the bottom; and even when once in London I used to have to go -over Westminster Bridge, I always walked in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> middle of the road -among the cabs and carts and omnibuses, even in the muddiest weather.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the young woman that I’m coming to presently in this -story—story it isn’t, because it’s true, but you know what I mean—had -the same sort of feeling,—vertigo, I think they call it. At any rate, -one evening when the Reverend Tommy was out with his hammer and his coil -of rope and things that he used, right on the highest and loneliest part -of the cliff, he saw a young woman looking over. It was a summer -evening, and quite light and quite still. There wasn’t a soul in sight -but this young woman, and the Reverend Tommy wondered what she was doing -there all alone. As he got close to her he saw she was quite a young -woman, and very nicely dressed, and that she was very pretty.</p> - -<p>But before he could get right up to her—she hadn’t heard him coming, as -he was walking on the turf of the Downs—this young woman gave a little -cry, swung forward, and in a second had disappeared over the edge of -that awful cliff.</p> - -<p>The young clergyman rushed to the spot, knelt on the edge and peered -over, and then he saw this poor girl hanging half-way between life and -death. As she had fallen, one of the rugged juts I told you of had -caught under the bottom of a short tight-fitting cloth kind of jacket -she wore, and there it held her. It made my blood run cold when the -landlady described it to me, as she had heard it of a lady Mr. Lloyd had -told it to.</p> - -<p>He shouted out to her, but he got no answer; so he made up his mind she -had fainted. He looked about and shouted, but he could see nobody near. -Then he looked over the cliff again, and it seemed to him that the -girl’s jacket was giving way under the strain, and that in a minute she -would be hurled to an awful death on the rocks below.</p> - -<p>I don’t know how he did it, because the landlady couldn’t tell me, not -knowing about ropes and things, but in some way Mr. Lloyd made his rope -fast. I think he drove a big stake or wooden peg into the turf, and -piled stones on it—at any rate, he made his rope fast, as he thought, -and then, with his hammer in his pocket, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> swung himself over and went -down bit by bit, steadying himself every now and then by digging his -foot into holes in the side of the cliff.</p> - -<p>He managed to swing himself right down by the side of the poor girl, and -spoke to her and told her to have courage; but she was senseless.</p> - -<p>He lowered himself a bit more, and then with his hammer beat out a place -in the cliff where it was hard, just room enough for him to put his two -feet in and take the strain off the rope.</p> - -<p>Then he looked above him and below him to see if there was any place -that was safe to stand on without the rope, as he wanted to tie that -round the poor girl’s body.</p> - -<p>He found a place just on the other side where he could stand and hold on -by a jutting piece of cliff, and he got there somehow—he never -remembered himself quite how—but his hands were fearfully bruised in -doing it, and it was as much as he could do to hold on when he got -there.</p> - -<p>The girl had come to a little, but it was getting darker, and he could -only just see her face by the time he had made himself quite firm on the -little ledge.</p> - -<p>When he spoke to her she answered him, and cried to him to save her, and -he told her not to attempt to move or struggle, and, with God’s help, he -<i>would</i> save her.</p> - -<p>She was quite quiet; she seemed dazed, he said—and no wonder at it; I -should have lost my senses altogether—and he managed to get the rope -across her, and then pass it round under her arms, but he couldn’t leave -go with both hands to tie it, and he had to beg and pray of her to try -and do it herself. She was afraid at first to move her arms, for fear -she should fall; but he found that her heels were resting on a bit of -cliff, so that there would not be so much danger if she did it quietly.</p> - -<p>Well, at last she got it tied round her all right, and then, with one -hand, he made the knot she had tied the rope in quite firm, she helping -him; and then it was quite dark, and there they were, with the sea -moaning below them, and the stars up above them.</p> - -<p>When she felt a little safer she began to groan and cry, and say that -she should die, and to pray, and to say that God had punished her for -all her sins.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></p> - -<p>He comforted her, and told her to be a brave girl, but that she must -stop quite still, for he had to climb up the face of the cliff again to -the top if she was to be rescued from her awful position.</p> - -<p>She begged and prayed of him not to leave her, but he said he must—that -he could do nothing more for her if he stopped there, and they would -have to wait till the daylight for help, because the coastguard’s beat -lay some distance away from the edge, and it was no good shouting, as -the wind blew strong from the land and carried their voices right out to -sea.</p> - -<p>When he had made her a little braver he began to go slowly up the side -of the cliff, using his hammer to make little steps.</p> - -<p>It was an awful climb, and every minute it seemed as though he would -have to loose his hold and fall, and be dashed to pieces. But he was one -of the best cliff-climbers in England, and young and strong then, and at -last he reached the top.</p> - -<p>He was so numb and worn out and bruised when he got to the top that he -fell down on the grass and lay there quite a minute before he could -move. Just as he was pulling himself together, he looked up and saw the -coastguard in the distance.</p> - -<p>He shouted at the top of his voice, and the coastguard came running to -him, and, when he heard what was the matter, shook his head. “It’ll be -an awful job pulling the poor girl up,” he said. “She won’t have the -sense to keep kicking herself away from the side of the cliff, and it’s -likely she’ll be dreadfully injured.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s the only chance,” said the parson; “we must be careful, and -go slow.”</p> - -<p>They were careful, and they went slow—so slow that when they at last -dragged the poor girl up she was in a dead swoon, and she never spoke or -opened her eyes, but lay there like a dead thing. They saw that she was -cut and injured, too, for blood was on her face, and when they touched -her arm she groaned and shuddered.</p> - -<p>Of course, something must be done, so the parson picked her up in his -arms and carried her, senseless as she was, across the Downs to the -place where he lodged.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span></p> - -<p>Luckily, it wasn’t far, and he had told the coastguard to go at once -into the village and knock up the doctor and send him.</p> - -<p>The young clergyman’s landlady stared, you may be sure, when she saw her -lodger coming home at that time of night carrying a young woman; but he -explained what had happened, and the landlady gave up her room, and laid -the poor girl on her bed, and got brandy and bathed her face with cold -water, and at last brought her to.</p> - -<p>It was a month before the girl could be moved, she was so injured, and -all that time, when he could, the clergyman, would sit with her and read -to her—for none of her friends came to see her.</p> - -<p>She said she had no friends, when they asked her—that she was an orphan -and a shop-girl in London; that she had been ill, and left her situation -to come to the seaside, and had gone out in the evening, and turned -giddy, and fallen over the edge of the cliff. They sent to her lodgings -in Eastbourne and got her boxes for her, but no letters came for her, -and she never offered to write any. And—well, you can guess what would -happen under such circumstances—the young clergyman fell head over -heels in love with the beautiful girl he had saved.</p> - -<p>She was very beautiful. The landlady told me she had once seen a -photograph of her that the Reverend Tommy kept in his room, and that it -was an angel’s face.</p> - -<p>The end of it was the Reverend Tommy proposed to the girl—Annie Ewen, -she said her name was; and, without stopping to think how little he knew -of her or her antecedents, they were married the month after the rescue -from the cliff.</p> - -<p>They were happy for a month—very happy. The girl seemed grateful to the -young clergyman, and tried all she could to deserve his affection; but -the cloud soon came into the sky, and a big, black cloud it was.</p> - -<p>One day, when the clergyman came home, he found his wife crying. She -said it was a headache—that she was ill, and out of sorts. The next day -when he came home, after his parish work, the house was empty. His young -wife had gone, and left behind her a letter—a letter which no one ever -saw but the man to whom it was written; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> what it was was guessed at -through other things that were found out afterwards.</p> - -<p>The girl hadn’t fallen over the cliff. She had thrown herself over—to -kill herself; to kill herself because a man she believed true was false, -and had deserted her, and she had the same terror of shame and disgrace -that many a poor girl has who knows that she is to be left alone to bear -the punishment of loving a man too much and trusting him too well.</p> - -<p>She told the clergyman she wished to save him the shame of what must be -known if she stopped there; that he could say she had gone to her -friends, who were abroad, for a time.</p> - -<p>The blow broke poor Mr. Lloyd, for he worshipped that woman. He would -have forgiven or borne anything. He tried to find her and tell her so, -and would have opened his arms for her to come back to him and be his -honoured wife.</p> - -<p>He did find her at last; but when he found her he could not say the -words he wanted to speak. It was too late.</p> - -<p>He found her a year afterwards with another man—the man who had caused -her to seek the death from which the clergyman had saved her. But she -loved the other man best, and though he had refused to marry her and -save her from shame she had gone back to him.</p> - -<p>Oh dear me! I’m a woman myself, and I know what queer things our hearts -are; but it does seem to me sometimes that it is easier for a bad man to -win and keep a girl’s love than for a good man. This girl, you see, -would rather be what she was with a man who treated her badly than the -loved and honoured wife of the young clergyman who had saved her. Woman -certainly are——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>What’s the matter in the bar? It’s that new barmaid. “Oh, Miss Jenkins, -how careless of you! I’m so sorry, sir. I hope it hasn’t hurt you very -much. You <i>must</i> be careful how you open soda-water, Miss Jenkins, or -somebody’s eye will be knocked out with a cork, and I wouldn’t have such -a thing happen here for the world. Come into the parlour, please, sir, -and sit down. I’ll hold a knife to it to stop it going black. I <i>am</i> so -sorry!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /><br /> -<i>THE LONDON PHYSICIAN.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Our</span> hotel being just a nice driving distance from London, and a very -easy and convenient distance by train, and the village being really very -quaint and pretty, and nice scenery and walks all round us, we made up -our minds that, if we were lucky, we should soon be able to make it a -staying-place—that is, a place people would come and stop at for a day -or two, or perhaps a week, who wanted a little fresh air and not to be -too far from town. We had every accommodation, and very pretty bedrooms, -and private sitting-rooms, and all we wanted was the connection—the -last people never having worked it up as an hotel, being satisfied with -the local trade and the coffee-room customers, of which there were a -good many in the summer.</p> - -<p>Harry said, as soon as we had put our nice new furniture in and done the -rooms up a little, that he thought we ought to advertise. The -refurnishing was very nice, but it cost a lot of money; and, as we paid -for everything in cash, of course we had to buy useful cheap things. I -had to select the things, as Harry said he was no good at that; so we -went to London together, and looked over one or two big furniture -places.</p> - -<p>It was a great treat, but, of course, nothing was very new to me, as I -had lived in good houses and seen lots of beautiful furniture and had -the care of it—and a nice bother it was to keep dusted, I can tell you, -especially in London, where directly you open a window the dust and dirt -seem to blow in in clouds, and if you <i>don’t</i> open a window it gets in -somehow. It was the ornamental<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> carving, and the chairbacks and things -with fret-work, that used to be the greatest worry. Fret-work it was, -and no mistake, and I used to fret over it, for it would take me hours -to work my duster in and out and get the things to look decent.</p> - -<p>Harry had never seen such beautiful things as we were shown before, and -he kept standing and staring at them really with his mouth almost open, -and it was as much as I could do to get him to leave the beautiful -things and look at the ordinary ones that we wanted.</p> - -<p>The salesman—a very nice young man—when he saw Harry admired the -things, kept showing us cabinets and suites and bookcases that were -really grand. “How much is that wardrobe?” said Harry, pointing to a -very fine one. “Two hundred and forty pounds,” said the salesman; and I -thought Harry would have dropped into a thirty-pound armchair that was -just behind him.</p> - -<p>He whispered to me that it seemed wicked for people to give all that -money for a wardrobe just to hang a few old clothes up in.</p> - -<p>“A few old clothes?” I laughed, and wondered what he would have said if -he could have seen the number of dresses some ladies have, and known the -prices they pay for them. But I didn’t begin talking to him about that, -because I wanted to get our business done and get back again home, and -he would have liked to stop there all day looking at the things and -talking to the nice salesman.</p> - -<p>We chose what we wanted—a few simple things, cheap but pretty, and in -the very newest style, and Harry gave a cheque for them. I can’t tell -you how proud I felt as I stood by and saw my husband take out his -cheque-book and flourish the pen round; and the way he said, “Let’s see, -what’s the day of the month?” was really quite grand.</p> - -<p>It was three days before the goods came down, and when they did, on a -big van, there was quite a little crowd outside to see them unloaded. -When they had been carried upstairs and put in their places, and I had -finished off the rooms with the mats and the toilet-covers that I had -made all ready, and had put the antimacassars in the sitting-rooms, and -stood the ornaments that we had bought on the little cabinet, everything -looked lovely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span></p> - -<p>And all that afternoon I kept going into the different rooms and looking -at them and admiring them, and I fancied I could hear the guests, when -they were shown in, saying, “How very nice! how very neat and -comfortable! what excellent taste!” and paying me compliments on my -sitting-rooms and bedrooms.</p> - -<p>Oh dear me! I know more about hotel customers now than I did then, and I -don’t expect any of them to go into raptures about anything. It’s -generally the other way; they always find something to grumble at. We -had one gentleman who, all the time he was with us, did nothing but -grumble at the pattern of the wall-paper in his bedroom (a very <i>pretty</i> -paper it was, being storks with frogs in their mouths, and some other -animal sitting on its hind legs that I’ve never met anybody who could -tell me its name), and he declared that he had the nightmare every night -through looking at it; and another gentleman wanted all the furniture -shifted in his room because it was green, and he hated green; and -another said the pattern of the carpet made him bilious; and we had a -lady who used to go on all day long to me about the bedroom furniture, -and say it was so vulgar that if she lived with it long she believed -that she would begin to use vulgar language. Then she went into a long -rigmarole about the influence of your surroundings, or whatever you call -it, till I quite lost my patience, and said we couldn’t refurnish the -house for everybody who came.</p> - -<p>It was the same with the beds. One person wouldn’t sleep in a wooden -bedstead, because—— Well, you know the usual objection to wooden beds, -but such a thing, I am sure, need never have been mentioned in my house, -for one has never been known; and if they do get into bedsteads it’s the -fault of the mistress of the house and the servants in nine cases out of -ten.</p> - -<p>Another gentleman, who was put in a room with a brass bedstead—the only -room we had to spare—shook his head, and said he was sorry he had to -sleep on brass, as it destroyed the rural character of the place. Give -him a good old four-poster and he felt he <i>was</i> sleeping in the country, -but with a brass bedstead you might just as well be in London.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> - -<p>And if the customers didn’t grumble about the bedsteads, they did about -the beds. It was really quite heart-breaking at first, when we were very -anxious to please, and so, of course, listened to everything people had -to say, so as to alter what was wrong, if possible. But it was no use. -We had nearly all feather beds at first, and then the customers all -hated feather beds and said they weren’t healthy, and we bought -mattresses, and then half the people that came said they preferred -feather beds, and couldn’t sleep on mattresses.</p> - -<p>And as to the bolsters and the pillows, the grumbling about them used to -be terrible. I think we must have had an extra fanciful lot of people, -for one swore the pillows were too hard, and another that they were too -soft. There was one old gentleman who stayed with us three weeks, and -all that time we never managed to make his bed right. I made it myself, -the housemaid made it, and I even got cook to come and make it, to see -if by accident she could make it right. But it was no use; every morning -he swore he hadn’t slept a wink because the bed wasn’t made his way, and -he kept on about it till he had his breakfast, and then he began to -grumble about the tea, and say nobody in the house knew how to make a -decent cup of tea. Then it was the same with the bacon, and with the -eggs: they were never right. I believe that old gentleman was what you -call a born grumbler; nothing was ever right while he was with us. He -grumbled so much that I said to Harry we must be careful with his bill, -for I felt sure he would fight every item, as some of them do; but when -I took it to him he just looked at the total and threw down a couple of -banknotes, and never said a word or examined a single item.</p> - -<p>I’ve found that often with people who grumble at everything—they don’t -grumble at the bill; and people you think have been pleased with -everything, you have to argue with them for half an hour to make them -believe they’ve had a meal in the house.</p> - -<p>But these people aren’t so much bother as the customers who make it a -rule to grumble at the wines and the spirits and the beer. Harry used to -get quite wild at first when they used to send for him over a bottle of -wine, before a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> lot of people, and say, “Landlord, just taste this -wine.” Harry used to have to take a glass, of course, and put on a -pleasing expression, and taste it and say, “There’s nothing the matter -with it, sir!”</p> - -<p>But, they would have it that it wasn’t sound, or it was new, or it was -corked, or it was something or the other; and the same with the spirits. -There are a lot of people who go about and pretend to be great judges of -sixpenny-worths of whiskey and brandy, and sniff at it, and taste it, -and palate it as if you were selling it ten shillings a bottle and -warranting it a hundred years old. And they’re not at all particular -about saying out loud that it isn’t good. I heard one gentleman say one -day, when our coffee-room was quite full of customers, “Very nice people -who keep this house; pity they sell such awful stuff.”</p> - -<p>It made me go crimson; I felt so indignant, because it wasn’t true. -Harry is most particular, and if anything were wrong he would speak to -the distillers at once; but there is nothing wrong, for he is an -excellent judge of whiskey and brandy himself, and we always pay the -best price to have the best article, because that is what we believe in. -Some people, especially young beginners, do doctor their stuff, I know, -to make a larger profit; but it is a great mistake, for it soon gets -known, and the house gets a bad name.</p> - -<p>I’ve heard a gentleman myself, when asked to go into a certain house -with a friend, say, “No, thank you; if I have anything to drink there, -I’m always ill for a week afterwards.” The tricks of the trade are all -very well, but trade that’s done by trick doesn’t last long, and in -inn-keeping, as in any other business, honesty is the best policy in the -long run.</p> - -<p>These complaints worried us very much, and made Harry almost swear—a -thing which, being a sailor, he can’t help sometimes, but doesn’t do -often, and then only something very mild, quite different to real -sea-swearing, which I’ve heard is very strong indeed.</p> - -<p>He was telling another gentleman in our business who came to see us one -day about it, and the gentleman said, “My boy, we all have to put up -with that sort of thing. But I’ll tell you what to do. If you give a man -a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> bottle of wine, and he grumbles at it, and pretends there’s -something wrong with it, the next bottle he orders give him the worst -you’ve got in your cellar, and it’s ten to one he’ll smack his lips and -say, ‘Ah, that’s something very different now.’ Then you say, ‘Yes, sir; -it was a mistake yesterday—a mistake of the cellarman’s.’ ‘Ah,’ he will -say, ‘I am a connoisseur, and my opinion of a wine is taken by the best -judges.’ You humour him and flatter him a bit, and if he stays long -enough he’ll drink up all the common wine that you’ve got, pay the top -price, and recommend your house everywhere for its ‘capital cellar.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Of course Harry wouldn’t play such a trick, but it would have served -some of the customers right if he had. There are people who think it -shows what a lot they know to grumble at the quality of -everything—especially at hotels, where some gentlemen never forget to -let everybody know that they are capital judges of wines and spirits. -With the cigars, too, there is trouble sometimes, though, of course, not -so much, as hotel customers who smoke good cigars generally carry their -own Havannahs, and for the ordinary cigars, except in the bar and the -smoking-room, there is not much call.</p> - -<p>But sometimes a gentleman who is sitting in our parlour talking to us, -will ask for a Havannah cigar, and Harry will offer him one of the -best—and they are really good, for Harry is a judge, and has been with -his ship to Havannah, and smoked them green. And I’ve known a -gentleman—after smoking the Havannah a little while—say, it was a -British cigar in a Havannah box; he could tell by the flavour. And the -same gentleman, one evening that we were out, asked for a cigar, and our -barmaid gave him one of the threepenny ones by mistake, and he liked it, -and said that was something like a cigar. He said Harry had been -swindled in the others.</p> - -<p>Of course I don’t say all gentlemen are like this. Plenty of them who -come to our place do know good wine and good cigars, and when they get -them, appreciate them, and don’t mind paying for them.</p> - -<p>It is always the people who grumble so much about the quality that are -the worst judges, and they do it to be thought good judges. I only -mention these things to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> show what innkeepers have to put up with, and -how difficult it is for them always to please their customers, though -they try as hard as they can.</p> - -<p>Soon after our hotel was quite ready and repainted and repapered, we -determined to advertise. We put an advertisement in a London paper, and -the next morning we had twenty or thirty letters. “Oh, Harry,” I said, -“that advertisement has brought us a lot of customers already.” I -expected all the letters were ordering apartments. So when I opened them -I was very disappointed. They were all from different newspapers, and -guide-books, and railway time-tables, and things of that sort, enclosing -our advertisement cut out, and saying, “The cost for inserting this -advertisement in so-and-so will be so much;” and soon after that, we -began to be pestered with men coming in with big books in a black bag -which were just coming out, and they talked for an hour to try and -convince us that we ought to put our advertisement in their books.</p> - -<p>Some of these books were going all over the world, and everybody was -sure to read them; they would be put in every hotel in Europe and Asia -and Africa and America, and I don’t know where else besides.</p> - -<p>Harry listened for a long time, till the advertisement man began to -point out that we should be advertised all over the world for thirty -shillings, and then Harry said, “Thank you—but we can’t go into your -book till we’ve enlarged our premises. If we are to have customers from -Europe and Asia and Africa and America, we shall want a barracks instead -of a village hotel.”</p> - -<p>But our first advertisement did bring us some customers, and from -London, too. It was very nicely worded, because we had copied one that -was in the <i>Daily News</i>, and altered it to suit our hotel. We said: -“Pretty and quiet little country hotel. Charming apartments. Picturesque -scenery. Moderate terms. Very suitable for ladies and gentlemen desiring -home comforts, perfect privacy, and salubrious air.”</p> - -<p>We got several answers to the advertisement from people who didn’t come. -The questions they asked were awful—it took me a whole day nearly to -answer them. Were we on gravel soil? Where did we get our water from?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> -Was the church High or Low? How far off was the nearest doctor? Was the -air bracing or relaxing?—and, some of them, if these things were all -satisfactory, were good enough to say that they would come if we could -take them on inclusive terms. One lady and her three daughters, after -writing four pages every other day, wanted the best sitting-room and -three bedrooms, fire and light, breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, and -late dinner, for two guineas a week for the four of them, no extras to -be charged.</p> - -<p>It was about a week after our advertisement appeared that we got our -first visitor through it. A very nice old gentleman, with beautiful -silver hair and gold spectacles, and a hand portmanteau, arrived one -evening, and told us that he’d seen our advertisement, and he’d come to -give the place a trial.</p> - -<p>He told us that he was a London physician, and had been ordered a few -days’ holiday; and he had seen our advertisement, and thought, if it -suited, it would be just the place for him to send some of his patients -to. He said he had a big practice among City men, and he had often to -tell them to go and sleep in the country for a week or so because of -their nerves; but as they wanted to get to business every day he -couldn’t send them far, and we were just the right distance.</p> - -<p>Harry was delighted when he heard the gentleman say that, because it was -just the sort of connection he wanted—people who wanted to be quiet and -go to bed early, and wouldn’t want a lot of waiting on till all hours of -the morning; and people of that sort, business people, are always so -respectable.</p> - -<p>You may be sure we made the celebrated London physician as comfortable -as we could, and gave him the best rooms, and waited on him hand and -foot, and I went into the kitchen myself to look after cook while his -meals were being prepared, because our cook was what you call “unequal.”</p> - -<p>One day everything would be beautiful, a credit to the best hotel in the -kingdom, and the next day everything would be spoiled. And she always -was at her best when we’d nobody particular in the house, and she was -always<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> at her worst when it was a very particular customer. And she had -a vile temper, too, as most cooks have, through standing so much over -the fire, and wanted a lot of humouring, especially when she knew -everything depended on her and I was anxious.</p> - -<p>When the London physician came, I remembered how particular doctors are -about food for their patients, especially for those that have nerves, -and stomachs, and gout, and other things that come from overwork and -anxiety, some of them saying that a badly-cooked dinner is at the bottom -of many ailments that people suffer from, such as dyspepsia and -indigestion.</p> - -<p>So I stopped in the kitchen as much as I could to keep cook up to the -mark for the London physician, and, to make her try her best, I told her -if she suited she was to have her wages raised when we began to get -busy.</p> - -<p>She <i>did</i> try her best, and came out really quite grand once or twice in -entrées and fancy puddings that I didn’t know she knew anything about, -so that all the time the London physician was with us his dinners were -fit for a nobleman.</p> - -<p>He enjoyed them, too, and no mistake, and there wasn’t much that went up -that came down again. “Ah, my dear madam,” he said to me one day, when I -came to clear away and found that he’d finished a whole apple charlotte, -and only left a quarter of a wine-jelly that cook had made—“ah, my dear -madam, your salubrious air has made a new man of me. Why, before I came -down here the very sight of food almost made me ill!”</p> - -<p>He was very affable and chatty, not only to me, but to everybody, and we -all liked him very much. Of an evening, he said he felt lonely in his -sitting-room, so he would come down and sit in the bar-parlour, and have -his pipe and talk with Mr. Wilkins, and the one or two of our neighbours -that made it a sort of a local club.</p> - -<p>He was a very nice talker, and full of anecdotes. So he soon got to be -quite a favourite, and Mr. Wilkins told him about the people in the -neighbourhood, and of course that story about the Squire’s room that I -told you when I began these Memoirs.</p> - -<p>He said it was a very pretty story, and then he asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> about the people -who lived at the Hall now. “Oh,” said Mr. Wilkins, “it’s the eldest son -of the Phillipses, the wholesale clothes people, who lives there now. -The old people are dead, and he’s the master of the place, and lives -there with his family. They’re very rich, for his father made an immense -fortune in business.” (Mr. Phillips was the gentleman I told you about -who comes and talks to Harry sometimes about foreign parts, through -having run away to sea himself when a boy.)</p> - -<p>“Is he married?” said the London physician.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes,” I said, joining in the conversation; “he married a very rich -young lady, and has a large family.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s see,” he said, “she was a Miss Jacobs, wasn’t she?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; that was the name. She’s a very beautiful woman. I’ve got a -picture of her in an illustrated newspaper, if you’d like to see it.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, I should very much.”</p> - -<p>I went and got out a back number of an illustrated lady’s paper that had -Mrs. Phillips in it, sketched at the Lord Mayor’s ball.</p> - -<p>“That’s her, sir,” I said, pointing to her picture; “but she’s really -handsomer than she looks here. That dress was made for her in Paris, it -says here. Everybody noticed her at the ball, not only because she was -so beautiful, but because of her diamonds. They say she’s got the finest -jewellery in the county.”</p> - -<p>The London physician looked at the picture, and said she was certainly -very handsome; and then he asked about the house they lived in, and if -the grounds were very fine.</p> - -<p>“Fine!” said Mr. Wilkins; “they’re grand! Haven’t you seen them?”</p> - -<p>“No; I didn’t know that they were open.”</p> - -<p>“They aren’t,” said Mr. Wilkins; “but I can always go when I like and -take a friend. I’m going up there to-morrow to see the head gardener. If -you’d like to go, sir, I should be very pleased to show you over the -place.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you. I’ll go with pleasure. I should like to leave a card at the -hall, as I knew Mrs. Phillips’s brother once. I might inquire after his -health. Is Mr. Phillips at home?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No; he’s on the Continent. Mrs. Phillips would have been with him, but -she’s ill in bed.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m sorry for that,” said the physician. “Never mind, I can see the -grounds with you.”</p> - -<p>The next day Mr. Wilkins called and took our guest up to the Hall, and -when he came back he said, “What a delightful old place! I don’t wonder -at the old Squire feeling the loss of it so much.”</p> - -<p>“Did you see the house, sir?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; Mr. Wilkins got the butler to take me over it. What a -beautiful drawing-room!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is, sir,” I said. “Ah, you can do a lot with money—and they’re -rolling in it.”</p> - -<p>He had been with us nearly a week when this happened. The morning after -that he said he must go to London for the day to make some arrangements, -but he would be back in the evening, and he hoped, if he found all well -at home, to be able to stay a few days longer. He said he’d be back by -the six o’clock train, and would I have dinner ready for him at -half-past.</p> - -<p>He came back and said he was very sorry, but he found he shouldn’t be -able to stay as he had hoped, so would I have his bill ready for him in -the morning, when he would have to return to town.</p> - -<p>“I hope you have been comfortable, sir?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Very comfortable indeed, Mrs. Beckett, and I shall certainly recommend -all my patients who want a few days’ change and rest to come to you.”</p> - -<p>That evening, about nine o’clock, one of our customers came into the -bar-parlour looking very pale. It was Mr. Jarvis, the miller, whose mill -was about five minutes’ walk from the lodge gates of the Hall.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Jarvis?” everybody said, for they saw something was -wrong directly they looked at him.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he said; “it’s nothing. I shall be all right directly; but I’ve -had a narrow escape. You know how narrow the lane is near my place. -Well, as I was walking along coming here I heard wheels, and before I -could get out of the way a dog-cart came along at a fearful pace, and -the shaft caught me and threw me into the hedge. It was a mercy I wasn’t -killed. I shouted after the man<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> who was driving, and he turned round -and used the most fearful language at me. What with the fright and my -rage at being treated like that, it’s no wonder if I look queer. Give me -six o’ brandy neat, Mrs. Beckett, please.”</p> - -<p>“How disgraceful!” said the London physician. “Do you know the driver?”</p> - -<p>“No, he don’t belong about here. I couldn’t see his face, because he -didn’t carry no lights; but he were a Londoner. I could tell by the way -he spoke.”</p> - -<p>The conversation turned on Londoners and their horrid ways in the -country, and how they drove over people; and Mr. Wilkins said that there -ought to be something done to stop it, for at holiday times and on -Sundays a lot of roughs came from London, and, when they got drunk in -the evening, drove at such a rate and so carelessly that it was a mercy -people weren’t killed every day.</p> - -<p>He said there ought to be two or three of the inhabitants in places that -suffered from the nuisance made special constables, and be about every -Sunday evening to look out for the wretches, and have them caught and -brought to justice.</p> - -<p>The conversation was still on the same subject when it was closing time, -and they all had to go. The London physician told me he was going by the -half-past nine train in the morning, and to be sure and have his bill -ready: and I promised to see that it should be. Then he said good night -and went to bed; and we went to bed about a quarter of an hour after, -and I went to sleep and dreamed that a man in a dog-cart was driving -over me, and I was running away, and the faster I ran the faster he -drove, and I was just falling down and the dog-cart was coming over my -body, when somebody shouted, “Hi! hi! hi!” and I woke up with a start.</p> - -<p>And somebody <i>was</i> shouting “Hi!” and hammering at our bedroom door.</p> - -<p>I sat bolt upright in bed to see if I was awake, and then I woke Harry, -who’d sleep, I believe, if somebody was hammering on his head instead of -on the door.</p> - -<p>“Harry!” I screamed, “there’s something the matter. See who it is.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He got up and opened the door, and there was Jones, our village -policeman.</p> - -<p>“Hullo!” says Harry, “how the devil did you get in?”</p> - -<p>“Walked in,” he said; “do you know your front door’s open?”</p> - -<p>“What!” said Harry. “Why, I bolted and barred it myself.”</p> - -<p>“It’s open now, then,” said Jones. “I only found it out by accident. It -looked shut all right when I passed it twice before, but just now when I -came by I could see a streak of light, and I pushed it and it flew back -wide open, so I found my way upstairs and woke you. You’d better come -down.”</p> - -<p>Harry was out after the policeman in a minute, and I got up and dressed, -knowing something must be wrong, for I’d seen Harry bolt up that door -with my own eyes.</p> - -<p>It was about five in the morning, and just getting daylight. I went down -all of a tremble, and my heart beating loud enough to be heard all over -the house. I found Harry and the policeman examining the door.</p> - -<p>“It’s been done from the inside,” said Harry; “that’s certain. What can -it mean?”</p> - -<p>“Who’s in the house?” said the policeman.</p> - -<p>“Only the servants and ourselves and the gentleman who’s been staying -here for a week,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Go and see if the servants are in bed, please, ma’am,” said Jones.</p> - -<p>I went and knocked at their doors, and they thought they were all -oversleeping themselves, and late, and jumped up directly I knocked.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the policeman, when I told him, “you’d better see if that -gentleman’s in the house still.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nonsense!” I said; “I can’t go and disturb him at this hour. -Whatever would he think? Besides, it mightn’t be wise to let him know -about this. It isn’t a thing to do the house good.”</p> - -<p>“I’d like you to go,” said Jones, “just for me to be able to say I -ascertained as no one had left the house. Which is his room?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take you,” said Harry; and they went upstairs together. Presently -Harry came tearing down.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mary Jane;” he said, looking as scared as if he’d seen a ghost, “the -London physician’s gone, and he’s taken his portmanteau with him!”</p> - -<p>I couldn’t speak. I dropped down flop on the stairs with horror.</p> - -<p>And at that very minute a man on horseback came dashing through the -streets, and pulled up by our door as Jones ran out to see what it could -be.</p> - -<p>It was a groom from the Hall. “I’m going to the station for help,” he -said. “The Hall’s been broken into in the night by burglars, and the -missus’s jewellery——”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>“<i>What’s that?</i> It’s in the best sitting-room, Susan. It’s something -smashed. Oh dear me, whatever can it be? What! the <i>best</i> vase! Of -course; the cat got on the mantelpiece! Well, whose fault is it? I told -you you’d shut it in one day by accident, and now you see what’s -happened!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /><br /> -<i>MR. AND MRS. SMITH.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a long time before I got over the burglary at the Hall. It was a -most daring thing, and the detective that came down from London, said it -was the work of an old hand. A nice haul the wretches had made, though -they hadn’t got all Mrs. Phillips’s diamonds and jewels, because, it -seems, the best had been sent to the bank, but they had taken a lot that -were in her room, and valuable plate and things, and got clean away with -everything.</p> - -<p>We didn’t learn all about it till next day. The first story that went -about when people got up in the morning was that Mrs. Phillips had been -murdered in her bed, but, thank goodness, it wasn’t as bad as that; but -the nurse that slept in the next room to her, got a nasty knock on the -head, hearing a noise and coming in, which made her so queer that she -was a long time before she could say what the man was like she saw in -the room, ransacking the things.</p> - -<p>But what gave us the most dreadful shock first of all, was the -disappearance of the London physician, and him going out in the middle -of the night and leaving our front door open.</p> - -<p>Directly we told the policeman, he said, “He’s the man.”</p> - -<p>“What man?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Why, the man that committed the burglary.”</p> - -<p>I couldn’t believe that. I said it was nonsense. A London physician -wouldn’t go breaking into people’s houses at night. But he certainly was -gone, and his hand portmanteau too, and he didn’t come back again the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> -next morning, and then we recollected about his going up to the Hall -with Mr. Wilkins, and his having seen the grounds and been shown over -the house by the butler.</p> - -<p>But it was such a dreadful idea that it was a very long time before I -could believe it, and I didn’t quite till the detective came down from -London and began to ask questions.</p> - -<p>We’d never asked the physician his name, and no letters had come for -him, which he explained by saying, that as he wanted to be quite quiet -and rest, he had ordered no letters to be forwarded, only he was to be -telegraphed to in case of anything very particular, and of course we -should have taken up any telegram that came, and said, “Is this for you, -sir?” because there was nobody else staying in the house. His going away -like that and not coming back again, wasn’t what a first-class London -physician would have done, so it was evident he’d deceived us about -himself, and if he’d done that, why shouldn’t he be the burglar?</p> - -<p>The detective said it was a “put-up job”—that’s what he called it. He -said the Hall had been “marked,” and this fellow had come to stay at our -house so as to take his observations and find out all he could, and “do -the trick” (those were the detective’s words) as soon as he saw a good -opportunity.</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Wilkins was nearly mad to think that he’d been the one to take -him over the grounds and introduce him to the butler, and so let him -find out all he wanted to, and you may be sure that we were pretty mad, -too, that the burglar who burgled the Hall should have been a visitor -staying at our house. Our first visitor, too, and one we’d been so proud -of, and thought was going to do us such a lot of good!</p> - -<p>It wasn’t his not paying his bill so much that we minded as the scandal!</p> - -<p>Harry said, “Well, we wanted to get something about our house in the -papers, and, by Jove, missus, we’ve got it! It’s all over the county -now. I shouldn’t wonder if our hotel wasn’t known as ‘The Burglar’s -Arms.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry,” I said, “don’t say that—it’s awful. If we got a name like -that no respectable person would pass a night here.” I began to think, -when Harry said that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> about an inn I’d seen on the stage, where awful -things are done—a murder, I think; by two awful villains who stayed -there, though they made you laugh. Their names were Mr. Macaire and Mr. -Strop, I think; but how the landlord could have taken them in dressed as -they were, and putting bread and cheese and onions in their hats, and -stuffing their umbrellas with meat and vegetables, I couldn’t -understand. You could see they were bad characters, but no one would -ever have suspected that silver-haired, golden-spectacled old gentleman, -who really looked just what he said he was—a London physician.</p> - -<p>I must confess that for a good many nights after the awful discovery I -didn’t feel very comfortable. It made me nervous to think that we should -never know who was sleeping under our roof. I’m sure I should never have -suspected that nice amiable old gentleman of being a burglar.</p> - -<p>We got over it after a bit, and when no trace was found of the burglar, -and the excitement was over, I didn’t think so much about it. All that -was found out was that the man in the dog-cart who nearly drove over the -miller was an accomplice. They traced the wheels away from the Hall, and -the detective said the man in the dog-cart had waited for the physician -and driven him off with the “swag.” (That’s what the detective called -it.)</p> - -<p>A few days after that another old gentleman came, and wanted a room, but -he’d only got a black bag, and I was so nervous that I told him we were -full, and he went back to the station, and went on somewhere else.</p> - -<p>Of course it was a stupid thing to do, but my nerves were bad, and being -an <i>old</i> gentleman and having no luggage it gave me a turn, and I sent -him away on the spur of the moment.</p> - -<p>Afterwards we found out he was a big solicitor in London, and very -savage with myself I was for my foolishness.</p> - -<p>Soon after that two more customers came, and I was not a bit frightened -of them, for they were just the sort of people we wanted. It must have -been a little more than a fortnight after the burglary that the station -fly brought us a young lady and gentleman with some lovely -luggage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span>—honeymoon luggage I saw it was at once by the new dress -trunks, and the new dressing-bags, and I knew it was a honeymoon by the -way the young gentleman helped the young lady out of the fly and the -bashful way he came in and said, “Can I have apartments here for myself -and my wife?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, sir,” I said; “I will show you the apartments we have -vacant.”</p> - -<p>We had all the apartments vacant, but of course it’s never business to -say that. I took him upstairs, the lady following, and showed him the -best sitting-room and the best bedroom, and he said to his wife, “I -think these will do, dear, don’t you?” and she said, “Oh, yes! they are -very nice indeed,” and then she went to the window and looked out into -the garden, and said, “Oh, what a pretty garden!”—and then he went and -looked out too, and she slipped her arm through his, and they stood -there together, and I saw him give her a little squeeze with his arm, -and it made me think of my own honeymoon, when Harry used to squeeze my -arm just like that.</p> - -<p>When I went downstairs the young gentleman followed me to settle with -the fly, and I told him not to bother about the things—everything -should be sent upstairs directly. He was very shy and awkward, I -thought—shyer and awkwarder than Harry had been; but then, of course, -he wasn’t a sailor, and sailors have a knack of accommodating themselves -to circumstances at once.</p> - -<p>When I went up to take their orders for dinner, I knocked at the door, -and I heard them move before the young gentleman said, “Come in.”</p> - -<p>I’m sure they were sitting side by side on the sofa, and when I went in -he was standing up by the fireplace, and the young lady was looking out -of the window, with her face close to the glass, just as if they hadn’t -been within a mile of each other!</p> - -<p>“What time will you have dinner, please?” I said; “and what would you -like?”</p> - -<p>He turned to her and asked her what I had asked him.</p> - -<p>“Six o’clock, I think, dear,” she said.</p> - -<p>“And what shall we have?”</p> - -<p>“What you like, dear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>I saw that they didn’t quite know what to say, so I suggested what we -could get easiest, and they said, “Oh, yes; that will do capitally,” and -seemed quite pleased that I had helped them.</p> - -<p>“Will you take dinner, here, sir,” I said, “or in the coffee-room?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, here, please, if you don’t mind,” said the young lady, turning -round from the window in a minute, and looking at me quite anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s no trouble,” I said. “All your meals can be served here.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said; and they both seemed quite relieved at not having -to go down in the coffee-room.</p> - -<p>Before dinner they went out for a little walk, and I stood at the door -and looked after them as they strolled away.</p> - -<p>Oh, how happy they looked!—his arm through hers, and his head bent down -a little listening to her. It made a tear come into my eye as I watched -them.</p> - -<p>I think it is so beautiful to see young sweethearts together like that, -in the first beautiful sunshine of their married life, without a care, -without a thought except for each other. I think it must be one of the -most beautiful things in life, that first happy married love, that first -“together,” with no good-bye to come, and the future looking so bright -and peaceful. Troubles <i>must</i> come, we know. It’s very few couples who -can go on to the end of the journey loving and trusting and worshipping -like that; but even when the troubles come, there is that dear old -happy, holy time—the purest and most sacred happiness that we get in -this world—to look back upon; and it is so bright in our memory that -its light can reach still to where we stand in the darkness, and make -that darkness less.</p> - -<p>I know it’s sentimental, as they call it, to talk like that; but I can’t -help being sentimental when I write about that happy boy-husband and -girl-wife—write it at a time when I have had my own little troubles of -married life; only <i>little</i> ones, Harry is <i>so</i> good—and my own love -and my own honeymoon get mixed up in my mind with theirs, and that makes -sentimental thoughts come into my head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span></p> - -<p>When they came in just before dinner, the table was ready laid for them, -and I had gathered some flowers and made a nice nosegay, and put it in a -glass, to make the table look nice; and I waited on them myself—Susan, -the housemaid, carrying the dishes up for me.</p> - -<p>The young lady looked so pretty with her hat off when she sat down to -dinner, her cheeks bright with the air and the sunshine, and her -eyes—those beautiful, gentle brown eyes that have such a world of love -in them—watching her husband every moment, that for a minute I stood -and looked at her instead of taking the cover off the soles.</p> - -<p>She caught my look, and went <i>so</i> red, poor girl; and I felt quite -confused myself, and was afraid I had made her uncomfortable by my -awkwardness.</p> - -<p>The young gentleman served the fish all right, but when I put the next -dish in front of him—a roast chicken—he looked at it quite horrified, -and the young lady she looked horrified too. Then they both looked at -each other and laughed.</p> - -<p>“I—I’m afraid—I—er—can’t carve this properly,” he stammered. “Would -you mind cutting it up downstairs?”</p> - -<p>I smiled, and said, “If you like, sir, I’ll carve it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you so much,” he said; “I’m such a bad carver.”</p> - -<p>I took the chicken on to the side-table, and cut it up for them; and -from that minute both their spirits rose. I’m sure that chicken had been -on their minds from the moment they ordered it.</p> - -<p>They had a bottle of champagne with their dinner; and to follow the -chicken I had made a fruit tart, and they both said it was beautiful, -and they ate it all. I told them I made it myself, and the young lady -said it was very clever of me, and asked me how to make pastry as light -as that. I told her my way, and they got quite friendly, and asked me -about the hotel, and how long I’d been there; and then I told them how -I’d lived in service; and then the young lady asked me how long I’d been -married, and all the shyness wore off, and they began to laugh quite -merrily; and the young gentleman, when he heard Harry was a sailor, said -he hoped he should see something of him, as sailors were jolly fellows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<p>After they’d had some tea, I said to Harry, “Harry, I shall take them up -our visitors’ book that we’ve bought. They’re our first customers since -we’ve had it, and must put their names in for us.”</p> - -<p>We bought that visitors’ book after the burglar had stayed with us that -we’d never asked his name, because Harry said we must always ask -people’s names in future, and you can do it in a nicer way by saying, -“Please enter your name in the visitors’ book.”</p> - -<p>I got the book, and was going upstairs with it, when Harry said, “Wait a -minute. Won’t it be better to write a few names in first? P’r’aps they -won’t like to be the first, being on a honeymoon; it will be so -conspicuous, and everybody who comes afterwards will see their names, -being the first, and they mightn’t like it.”</p> - -<p>That was quite true, and I understood what Harry meant; so, not to be -deceitful and write false names, I wrote my maiden name first, and then -Harry wrote H. Beckett, and I went into the bar and got Mr. Wilkins, who -had just come in, to write his name, and then we put the names of some -of the people who came in of an evening.</p> - -<p>When I went in, the young lady was sitting in the arm-chair reading a -book out loud, and the young gentleman was smoking a cigar, sitting by -the table, listening to her.</p> - -<p>“If you please, sir,” I said, “will you kindly write your names in our -visitors’ book?”</p> - -<p>If I’d asked them to come to prison they couldn’t have looked more -terrified. I saw both their faces change in a moment, the young lady’s -going quite white, and the young gentleman’s quite red.</p> - -<p>His hand trembled as he took the cigar out of his mouth. But he -recovered himself in a moment, and said, “Certainly—with pleasure.”</p> - -<p>I gave him the book, and put the pen and ink by him, and I saw him -exchange glances with the young lady, as much as to say, “Don’t be -frightened. I’ll manage it.”</p> - -<p>Then he took the pen and wrote in a bold, distinct hand, “Mr. and Mrs. -Smith, from London.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” I said; and took the book and went downstairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said, “there’s something wrong upstairs.”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” he said; “whatever do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what I mean,” I said; “but that young gentleman has signed -a false name in our visitors’ book.”</p> - -<p>Harry looked grave for a minute, and he didn’t like the idea any more -than I did, and I felt so sorry that there should be anything that might -be wrong, because I had taken to the young lady and gentleman so much, -and they seemed so very nice.</p> - -<p>Presently Harry said, “Perhaps it’s a runaway match.”</p> - -<p>“No,” I said, “I don’t think so, because of the luggage and the -dressing-bags.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, they might have had them all ready,” he said; “if people <i>are</i> -going to run away they can have luggage.”</p> - -<p>“They are so young,” I said; “it—it can’t be anything worse than that, -can it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” said Harry, “I’m sure it’s not. Come, cheer up, little woman; -don’t let’s get frightened because we’ve had one bad lot in the house! -Nice hotel-keepers we shall be if we’re going to be nervous about -everybody that puts up at the ‘Stretford Arms!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>I tried to laugh, but I didn’t feel comfortable, and all that night I -kept thinking about it, and in the morning, when I took the breakfast up -to the sitting-room, I think they saw by my manner that I suspected -something, and they both looked very uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>We didn’t talk at all. I only just said “Good morning,” and I put the -eggs and bacon on the table and left them.</p> - -<p>About ten o’clock they went out for a walk, and I went upstairs to see -that the rooms had been properly tidied up by the housemaid.</p> - -<p>When I went into the bedroom the first thing that caught my eye was the -young gentleman’s dressing-bag. It was closed, and the waterproof cover -was over it, but not fastened.</p> - -<p>I lifted it off the chair on which it stood, to put it on the chest of -drawers while the chair was dusted, and as I did so the waterproof flap -flew back, and I saw that there were three initials stamped on the -leather, and the initials were “T. C. K.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I knew it!” I exclaimed; and I rushed downstairs and told Harry.</p> - -<p>“If his surname begins with K, it’s certain his name isn’t Smith,” said -Harry.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want you to tell me that!” I said, a little sharply. “I do know -how to spell. What I do want to know is what we are going to do?”</p> - -<p>“How do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“How do I mean! I suppose we are not going to let people stay at our -hotel under false names after the lesson we’ve had with the London -physician.”</p> - -<p>Harry looked puzzled.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear,” he said, “I haven’t much experience yet, and I don’t -know. I suppose as long as people pay their bill and behave themselves, -they can stay under what name they choose. Besides,” he said, his face -brightening, and being evidently struck with an idea, “people do travel -nowadays under false names. The Queen, when she travels, calls herself -the countess of something or other, and so do many crowned heads.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they do,” I said; “but you don’t want me to believe that we’ve -got crowned heads staying in our house.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Harry, laughing, “I’m sure they’re not crowned heads, but -they may be big swells who are travelling in—in something.”</p> - -<p>“Incognito, you mean.”</p> - -<p>I knew the word from a story I’d read with that title to it.</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s it. Perhaps they’re a young earl and countess.”</p> - -<p>“No, they’re not, or they’d have coronets all over their bags, and on -their brushes.”</p> - -<p>While we were talking, the young couple came in, and went up to their -sitting-room and rang the bell.</p> - -<p>I went up, and they ordered luncheon. While I was taking the order, -Harry came up and called me out of the room.</p> - -<p>“Here’s a telegram for Mr. Smith,” he said; “somebody knows him by that -name, at any rate.”</p> - -<p>I took the telegram in and handed it to the young gentleman. The young -lady, who was sitting down,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> jumped up and watched him with a frightened -look in her eyes as he tore the envelope open.</p> - -<p>He read the telegram, and sank down on to the sofa.</p> - -<p>“I’ve an important telegram,” he stammered. “We must go home at once: -somebody ill. Let me have my bill. What time’s the next train to -London?”</p> - -<p>I looked at the clock.</p> - -<p>“In half an hour, sir,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Order a fly to the door, then. We shall be ready. Pack your things, -dear,” he said to the young lady; and then, turning to me, “Let me have -the bill at once.”</p> - -<p>This new turn worried me more than anything. There was evidently -something very wrong. Harry agreed with me, and we both felt glad they -were going.</p> - -<p>I took up the bill, and he paid it, and said he was sorry to have to go, -and he gave me half-a-sovereign, saying, “For the servants,” and then he -and the young lady went downstairs and got into the fly.</p> - -<p>I noticed that she had a thick veil on, but I could see she had been -crying and was trembling like an aspen leaf.</p> - -<p>When they had driven off, I said to Harry, “Thank goodness they’re gone! -It’s quite a load off my mind.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “it’s a rum go. We’ve been trying all we know to get -people to come to our house, and when they do come we’re jolly glad to -get rid of them.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t answer him, but I never got Mr. and Mrs. Smith out of my head -all that afternoon, and I made up my mind they’d be a mystery to me for -the rest of my life.</p> - -<p>But they were not.</p> - -<p>That very afternoon, just as we were sitting down to tea, two gentlemen -drove up in the station fly, and one of them came in and asked to see -the landlord.</p> - -<p>Harry came out to him, and I followed.</p> - -<p>“Have you had a young gentleman and lady staying here lately?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” I said, beginning to tremble, for I expected something -dreadful was coming. “Yes, sir; they came yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Are they here now?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, they left this afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The gentleman said something—it was only one word, but it meant a good -deal. He said “D——!”</p> - -<p>“If you please, sir, is there anything wrong about them?” I asked, -feeling that I must know the truth.</p> - -<p>“Wrong? I should think there was!” the gentleman yelled out—he really -did yell it. “I’m that young lady’s guardian, and she’s a ward in -Chancery, and that young scoundrel’s married her without my -consent—without the Lord Chancellor’s consent—and he’ll spend his -honeymoon in Holloway. That’s what’s wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Oh dear!” I said. “Poor young gentleman!”</p> - -<p>“Poor young gentleman;” the old gentleman yelled. “D——d young -scoundrel! The girl’s got ten thousand a year, and he’s the beggarly -youngest son of a beggarly baronet, who has to work for his living. Did -they say where they were going?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” I said.</p> - -<p>It was a little white story, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to say -“To London,” for fear it might be true. I wasn’t going to help to send a -handsome young gentleman to prison for marrying his sweetheart and -taking her away from that horrid Court of Chancery, which, judging by -the outside, must be a dreadful place for a young girl to be brought up -in.</p> - -<p>The old gentleman swore a little more, then he jumped into the fly -again, said something to the other old gentleman, and drove off again -back to the station.</p> - -<p>“I hope they won’t be caught,” I said to Harry. “Poor young things! How -dreadful to be hunted about on their honeymoon, and the poor young lady -to be always dreaming that her husband is being seized and dragged away -from her and put into prison.”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>About a week after that Harry was reading the paper, when suddenly he -shouted out, “They’re caught!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry, no!” I said. I knew what he meant.</p> - -<p>“Yes, they are!”</p> - -<p>Then he read me the account. The young gentleman, Mr. Thomas C. Kenyon, -was brought before the Lord Chancellor. He was arrested at Dover just as -they were going on board the steamer for France. Our hotel was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> -mentioned as one of the places they’d been traced to, but, though it was -another advertisement, we didn’t want it at that price—we’d had enough -of newspaper advertisement of that sort; and the young gentleman was -ordered to be imprisoned.</p> - -<p>Oh, how my heart ached for that dear young lady when I read that! Harry -said it was an infernal shame, and I said so too, only I didn’t say the -word Harry did.</p> - -<p>There was a lot of talk at our bar about it, and it made the bar trade -brisk for some time—lots of people coming in from the village to have a -glass and ask about the case who didn’t use our house as a rule; but I -could have thrown something at that Mrs. Goose, who came in, of course, -and said right out before everybody, “My dear, you ought to keep a -policeman on the premises to take up the people who come to stay with -you.”</p> - -<p>But some time afterwards we heard that the young gentleman had been -released, having apologized, and having got his friends and the young -lady’s friends to try and melt the Lord Chancellor’s heart, or whatever -a Lord Chancellor has in the place of one; and that evening Harry opened -three bottles of champagne, and invited all our regular customers to -join him in drinking long life and happiness to the first young couple -who had stayed at our hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Kenyon—or, as they were -always called at the ‘Stretford Arms,’ “Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>They came to see us soon after the young gentleman was released. They -came and stayed with us, and had their old rooms; but they weren’t shy -or bashful this time, but, oh, so nice!—and they said they would do all -they could to recommend us, and they did. In fact, we owe a great deal -to them, and they were very lucky customers to us after all. This time -they brought a beautiful victoria with them, and a pair of lovely horses -and a coachman and a groom. Our stabling was just ready, so we were able -to take them in, and they drove about the place, and were the admiration -of the village, and it’s wonderful how Harry and I went up in the -estimation of the inhabitants of the place through our having carriage -company staying at our hotel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></p> - -<p>When “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” left they shook hands heartily with Harry and -with me, and they told us——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Met our pony galloping down the lane? Why, he’s in the stable! The -door’s open? Oh, that boy! I’ve told him twenty times what would happen. -Harry, put on your hat and go after him at once. The pony’s got loose, -and he’s galloping down the lane as hard as he can go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /><br /> -<i>MR. SAXON’S GHOST.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I think</span> I have mentioned how, soon after we had got our house straight -and ready to be an hotel, I sent a nice, respectful letter to those of -my old masters and mistresses that I thought I should like to know where -I was, so that we might perhaps have their patronage.</p> - -<p>Of course I did not expect them all to pack up at once, and leave their -homes and come and stay with us, but I thought at some time or other one -or two of them might want to go somewhere, say, from Saturday to Monday, -and they might say, “Oh, let us go down and see how Mary Jane is getting -on!”</p> - -<p>But the one I was most anxious to get down was Mr. Saxon—the author I -told you such a lot about in my “Memoirs”—because I knew he wrote in -the papers about the places he visited, and I thought if we made him -comfortable, and the place suited him, and the air did his liver good, -he might write about our hotel, and give it what Harry calls “a leg up,” -though, of course, it isn’t right, because an hotel doesn’t have legs.</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon wrote a line of congratulation to us. I think it was to say he -was glad we were settled so comfortably, and he’d come and see us one -day, but we only guessed it was that, after reading over the letter for -about two hours, because he wrote so dreadfully that you had to get as -near what he meant as a word that was readable here and there would let -you.</p> - -<p>After the letter we heard no more, and as months went by we’d quite -given up expecting him, when one morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> we had a telegram from him, -and that not being in his handwriting (thank goodness!), we could read -it. It was this: “Keep me sitting-room and bedroom. Arrive this -evening.—<span class="smcap">Saxon</span>.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m so glad!” I said. “I hope he’ll like the place. We must make -him comfortable and humour him, and he’ll give us a nice advertisement.”</p> - -<p>“I hope he will,” said Harry; “but, I say, my dear, you don’t think -he’ll go on like he does in your ‘Memoirs,’ do you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s a little odd, and he’s sure to be a bit fidgety, but you’ll -soon get used to him,” I said; and then I went upstairs and got the best -rooms ready, and put the furniture just how I knew he liked it. Two -tables in the sitting-room—one for him to eat on, and the other for him -to write on—and I put a great big linen-basket in the room for a -waste-paper basket, and I put the big inkstand on the table, and I sent -out for a dozen pens and a new blotting-pad; and I put an easy-chair for -him to sit in, because I remembered how particular he was about his -chairs, always declaring that he never could get one that was fit to sit -in, and I made the place look so nice and comfortable that I said to -Harry, “There now, I don’t believe even he can grumble at it.”</p> - -<p>We wished he had said whether he was coming to dinner or not, because we -could have had the table all laid ready for him; but as he only said -“this evening,” we made up our minds he would arrive by the train which -got in at 8.15; and that was the one he did come by.</p> - -<p>When the fly drove up we went outside to welcome him, and we saw there -was another gentleman with him—a big gentleman, with a large round face -and a fair moustache and blue eyes, who looked like a German, but we -found out afterwards he wasn’t—through Mr. Saxon, who, when we asked -what nation the gentleman was, said, “Oh, I don’t think he knows -himself, but his father was a Russian and his mother was a German, and -so I suppose he’s a Swede.”</p> - -<p>When Mr. Saxon got out he was going on at the other gentleman about -something dreadfully, and I said to myself, “Oh dear, he’s come down in -a bad temper! We must look out for squalls.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The other gentleman said, “Well, Mr. Saxon, it was not my fault; didn’t -you tell me you would pack the manuscript yourself?”</p> - -<p>“No, I didn’t. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. I’m -getting used to everything. I’ve come down here on purpose to finish -that story, and you’ve left the manuscript behind, and it’s wanted in a -hurry. I’m working against time. Don’t say anything. It’s my -punishment—it’s my doom. Heaven doesn’t want me to prosper. I’m to be -ruined, and you are only the humble instrument sent by Providence to -accomplish my ruin.”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, hadn’t I better telegraph?”</p> - -<p>“Telegraph! To whom? Who knows which manuscript I want? Besides, it -couldn’t get here in time. I wanted to finish that story to-night. Now -it’s impossible. If my greatest enemy had employed you to play me a -trick, you couldn’t have played me one that would have caused me more -inconvenience.”</p> - -<p>The Swedish gentleman looked very miserable, and all this time there was -me and Harry and the fly-driver standing with the door of the fly open, -and Mr. Saxon was going on at the Swedish gentleman, taking no notice of -anybody.</p> - -<p>So I thought I’d interrupt, and I said, “I hope you’re well, Mr. Saxon?”</p> - -<p>He turned on me in a minute, and said, “No, Mary Jane, I am <i>not</i> well. -I’m half dead.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very sorry, sir. What’s the matter with you?”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with me!” he said. Then he gave a withering glance at -the Swedish gentleman, and said, “Idiots, Mary Jane—that’s the disease -I’m suffering from! Idiots!”</p> - -<p>Then he nodded to Harry, and walked into the house, and Harry showed him -upstairs to his sitting-room.</p> - -<p>I helped the flyman to get the rugs and the small things out of the fly -and carried them in, and the Swedish gentleman paid the man.</p> - -<p>I noticed all he did, because I said to myself, “This is somebody new. I -suppose he’s Mr. Saxon’s new secretary.” And so he was, as he told me -afterwards, when he came down and had a pipe in the bar-parlour, Mr. -Saxon being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> busy upstairs writing, having found the manuscript after -all in the portmanteau, where he’d put it himself.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Saxon seemed a little put out just now,” I said to him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s nothing,” he said. “His liver’s bad. He can’t help it. He -must go on at somebody when he’s like that, and I’m getting used to it.”</p> - -<p>Presently I went upstairs and knocked at the sitting-room door. When I -went in Mr. Saxon was groaning, but writing away for his life.</p> - -<p>“If you please, sir,” I said, “I only want to know if you would like any -supper.”</p> - -<p>“What!” he yelled—really he used to yell sometimes, and that’s the only -word for it. “Supper! Good heavens, Mary Jane, do you want me to wake -the house up in the middle of the night screaming murder? Look at me -now. Do you see how yellow I am? Can’t you see the agony I’m suffering? -Supper! Yes, bring me some bread and beetlepaste and a pint of laudanum -in a pewter. That’s the supper I want!”</p> - -<p>“Lor’, sir,” I said, beginning to be used to him again through old times -coming back, “I shouldn’t like you to have that in my house. I hope -we’re going to do you good and make you better here. I’m sure we shall -do our best.”</p> - -<p>He looked up at that, and said, “Thank you, I know you will. You mustn’t -mind me if I grumble and growl a bit. I can’t help it. I’m ill, and the -least thing makes me irritable.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we sha’n’t take any notice, sir. We hope you’ll do just as you like -here, and if there’s anything you want, tell us, so that we can get it -for you.”</p> - -<p>He turned quite nice after that, and began chatting with me so -pleasantly, you’d think he was the most agreeable gentleman in the world -if you didn’t know him. He asked about the house and the customers, and -all about the people who lived in the neighbourhood, and, thinking to -amuse him, I told him a lot of queer things about the people who came to -the house, and were characters, being quite taken off my guard, till I -saw him jotting down something on the blotting-pad, and then I saw what -a stupid girl I’d been. He was taking notes, and I knew he’d go<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> and use -up all my characters and make stories of them. So I stopped short all at -once, and pretended I’d left somebody downstairs waiting for me.</p> - -<p>It was a narrow escape, and I only just remembered his old tricks in -time, and what a dreadful man he was for putting everybody into his -stories. I knew he’d put his own pa and ma and all his brothers and -sisters and all his relations in stories, and nobody ever told their -experience about anything, or an adventure that had happened to them, -but he’d have it all in his note-book before you could say Jack -Robinson.</p> - -<p>I remember what he did once, when I was in his service. He went down to -stay with his ma at Cheltenham at a boarding-house for a day or two, and -his ma told him a lot of things about the people in the house, and the -queer characters they were, and what they said and did, never dreaming -of any harm; and the very next week if he didn’t write a paper about -“Life in a boarding-house,” and put all these people in, only making -them a good deal worse than they were, because he couldn’t help -exaggerating if he was to be killed the next minute for it.</p> - -<p>His pa, it seems, who came down to the boarding-house too, had let out -to several people that it was his son who was the Mr. Saxon who wrote -for the newspapers, and had persuaded a lot of the people to read what -he wrote; and the Monday after, when the paper on boarding-houses came -out, a lot of the people staying at the same boarding-house as his ma -bought it, and saw themselves in it, and things that only the landlady -could know—it was the landlady who had told his ma—and they were so -indignant they all gave notice and left, except some that didn’t care -and stopped, and were so nasty his ma had to leave. I heard him tell the -story, and that’s how I knew, and it was remembering that that made me -drop the conversation before I put my foot in it in the same way.</p> - -<p>When I got downstairs, the Swedish gentleman was talking to Harry, and -telling him some of the wonderful adventures he and Mr. Saxon had had -abroad, and we sat talking till it was closing time. Then the Swedish -gentleman said, “I must go upstairs to the governor and get all his -medicines out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“All his medicines!” I said. “Why, how many does he take?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s awful!” said the Swedish gentleman. “We have to carry a whole -portmanteau full everywhere. There’s the medicine for his dyspepsia, and -the medicine for his liver, and the embrocation for his rheumatics, and -the wash for his hair, and three different sorts of pills, and a tonic, -and now he takes powdered charcoal, and we have to carry a great bottle -full of that—and I have to put them all out, so that he can find them -directly he wants them—and then there are his clothes to unpack and his -books. I tell you we shall want a furniture-van to take us about soon.”</p> - -<p>The Swedish gentleman went upstairs, and presently he came down again -looking as white as death.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “whatever shall I do? Look here.” He held -up a lot of underclothing all smothered with black patches.</p> - -<p>“Why, whatever is it?” I said.</p> - -<p>“It’s the bottles broken in the portmanteau,” he said. “The governor -kept worrying me so while I was packing I didn’t know if I was on my -head or my heels, and I’ve put the bottle of powdered charcoal and the -bottle of cod liver oil too close together, and they’ve broken each -other in the jolting, and mixed and run about all over the clothes.”</p> - -<p>It was a nice mess, and no mistake. The cod liver oil and the charcoal -had made a nasty, sticky blacking, and smothered everything.</p> - -<p>“Whatever shall I do?” said the Swedish gentleman. “If the governor -finds it out he’ll go on at me for a month.”</p> - -<p>I thought a minute, and then I said, “Well, sir, the best thing will be -for me to have them all washed to-morrow. I’ll get them done at once and -sent home. Perhaps he won’t want them before they’re ready.”</p> - -<p>He left the things with me and went upstairs again to put the medicines -out, and then we went upstairs to bed. Passing Mr. Saxon’s door I -knocked just to ask him about breakfast in the morning, and when I -opened the door he was dancing about in an awful rage, and the Swedish<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> -gentleman was standing in the middle of the room looking the picture of -misery.</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon was shouting out, “I can’t sleep without it—you know I can’t! -Not one wink shall I have this blessed night. It’s murder, downright -cold-blooded, brutal murder, and you’re my murderer!”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said the Swedish gentleman, “you didn’t tell me the bottle -was empty. It’s in a wooden case for travelling, and I couldn’t see it -was empty.”</p> - -<p>“What is it you want, sir?” I said. “If it’s anything I can get you——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I dare say you can get it me!” exclaimed Mr. Saxon, “I’ve no doubt -you keep it on draught! Do you draw bromide of potassium in people’s own -jugs?”</p> - -<p>“Bro—— what, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Bromide of potassium. I have to take it every night. I must. My nerves -are in such a state, I can’t sleep without it; and this gentleman, -knowing that, has let me come away without it. I sha’n’t go to bed. I’ll -sit up all night. If I go to bed I shall go mad, because I sha’n’t be -able to go to sleep. Go to bed, all of you. I’ll go out for a walk. -There’s a forest near here; I can roam about that all night. I must do -something, for I can’t go to sleep without my bromide of potassium.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” I said, “perhaps the country air will make you sleep.”</p> - -<p>“No, it won’t,” he said; and he began to put on his hat and coat. “I -must go and walk about the forest all night. If I get tired I can hang -myself to the branch of a tree.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, please don’t do that,” I said, for I knew I shouldn’t sleep a wink -thinking of him roaming about the forest in his excited state.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well,” he said, taking off his hat and coat and flinging them -down on the floor, “then perhaps you’ll tell me what I am to do. I won’t -go to bed and lie awake all night. It’s too awful.”</p> - -<p>The Swedish gentleman, who was looking awfully worried, let him go on, -and, when he’d done, he said quietly—</p> - -<p>“Don’t put yourself out like that, sir; you’ll only be ill all day -to-morrow. Let me go to a chemist’s.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>I was just going to say that there wasn’t a chemist’s in the village, -and the doctor lived a mile and a half away, when I saw that the Swedish -gentleman was trying to make signs to me not to say anything, so I held -my tongue.</p> - -<p>At first Mr. Saxon refused. He said he wasn’t going to have a -respectable chemist dragged out of his warm bed at that time of night -because he was surrounded with idiots; but the Swedish gentleman quieted -him a bit, and then beckoned me to come outside.</p> - -<p>When the door was shut he said, “Come downstairs with me, Mrs. Beckett, -and show me a light, please.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” I said; “but you’ll have to go a mile and a half to get what -you want.”</p> - -<p>“No, I sha’n’t,” he said. “Come downstairs to the parlour.”</p> - -<p>When we got there he pulled the empty medicine bottle out of his pocket, -and said, “Get me some cold water.”</p> - -<p>I got him some cold water, and he put it in a tumbler. Then he said, -“Give me a little salt.”</p> - -<p>I gave him the salt, and he put it in the water. Then he mixed it up -well with a spoon, and then he tasted it. “That’ll do,” he said. Then he -poured it into the medicine-bottle, and corked it up.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he said, “I’ll put on my hat and coat, and you let me out and -bang the door loud.”</p> - -<p>I did, and waited five minutes; and then he knocked, and I let him in.</p> - -<p>He was quite out of breath.</p> - -<p>“Why, you’ve been running!” I said.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I’ve been running up and down outside to make me look as if I’d -been a long way. Now, I’ll go upstairs and give the governor his bromide -of potassium.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s salt and water.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind; he’ll <i>think</i> it’s the bromide, and that’s all that’s -necessary. I know Mr. Saxon, and I know how to manage him.”</p> - -<p>And he did certainly, for the next morning, when I went to take -breakfast up to the sitting-room, there was Mr. Saxon looking quite -jolly, and he said he’d had the best night’s rest he’d had for a year.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span></p> - -<p>“And if I hadn’t had the bromide,” he said, “I shouldn’t have closed my -eyes all night.”</p> - -<p>The Swedish gentleman never let a muscle of his face move, but I caught -him looking at me, and there was a twinkle in his light blue eyes that -said a good deal.</p> - -<p>There was no doubt about his understanding Mr. Saxon, and knowing how to -manage him.</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The next evening Mr. Saxon hadn’t any work to do, and so after dinner he -and the Swedish gentleman came and sat in the bar-parlour along with Mr. -Wilkins and the company, and he and the Swedish gentleman joined in the -conversation, and they both told such wonderful stories that it made our -village people open their eyes. Mr. Wilkins generally had all the talk, -but he had to sit still because Mr. Saxon didn’t let him get a word in -edgeways when he was once fairly started.</p> - -<p>Of course he must talk about awful things—things to make your blood -curdle—it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t do that; and the stories he told -made what hair Mr. Wilkins had on his head stand upright, he being a -very nervous man, and believing in ghosts and supernatural things.</p> - -<p>“Do you believe in ghosts?” said Mr. Saxon.</p> - -<p>“Well, I do to a certain extent,” said Mr. Wilkins; “but I’ve never seen -one.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve never had a conversation with a dead man?”</p> - -<p>“Lor’, no,” said Mr. Wilkins, “nor nobody else, I should think.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Saxon, “I have.”</p> - -<p>We were all silent directly, and I began to feel creepy, and as if -somebody was breathing on the back of my neck, which is a feeling I -always have when people begin to tell ghost stories.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you about it,” said Mr. Saxon; and then he began. Of course I -can’t tell it in his own words, because I had to write it down from -memory afterwards, but this is something like it.</p> - -<p>“When I was a young fellow,” said Mr. Saxon, “and a clerk in my father’s -office in the City, I used to knock about a good deal of an evening and -see life, and as my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> father and mother wouldn’t let me have a latchkey, -and didn’t like me coming in at all hours, I left home, and went to live -by myself in lodgings in a street running off the Camden-road. There -were a lot of other young fellows living in the house—all of them lads -studying for veterinary surgeons at the Royal Veterinary College in -Great College-street. Lots of the houses in this neighbourhood were -filled with these young fellows, as many of them came up from the -country for the ‘term,’ and, of course, wanted to live near the College.</p> - -<p>“One of the nicest of them, and my particular friend, was Charley -Ransom. He was a good-looking lad about eighteen, but very reckless, and -a good deal fonder of billiard-rooms, and betting, and music-halls, than -he was of work. He’d been up for an examination and failed, and he told -me that his old dad down in the country was very wild with him, and that -if he didn’t pass this term he would have to go back home and go into an -office as a clerk.</p> - -<p>“He made up his mind to try, but he was in with a bad set, and they got -him out of an evening when he ought to be studying, and unfortunately he -was a fellow that a very little drink made excited, and then he lost his -head, and no freak was too mad for him.</p> - -<p>“At this time I had just begun to get things that I wrote put into the -newspapers, and as I had to be at the City all day, I used to go -straight home and shut myself up in my room, and work till very late, -sometimes till one in the morning; but I always went out for a walk -before going to bed, no matter what time it was when I left off.</p> - -<p>“Once or twice when I was going out I met Ransom coming in, looking very -queer, and walking very unsteady, and from that, and what the landlord -told me, I knew he was ‘going wrong.’</p> - -<p>“One Sunday morning I met him in Park-street, and we walked into the -Park together, and I ventured to say I thought it was a pity he didn’t -try and settle down and be steady, as I was sure he’d never pass his -exam. the way he was going on, and he might be wrecking all his future -life.</p> - -<p>“He took my advice in good part, and said I was quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> right, but he -couldn’t help it. He’d got a lot of trouble, and he was up a tree.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>What is it?’ I said. ‘Tell me; I may be able to help you.’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>No; you can’t, old fellow,’ and then he told me his trouble, and a -very dreadful one it was. It seems he’d been squandering money and -gambling, and had got into debt, and, not wanting his father to know, -he’d raised money. He wouldn’t tell me how, because he said it would -incriminate another fellow; but I knew it was in some way that might -land him in a police-court.</p> - -<p>“He had hoped to have got the money again, poor lad; he’d been betting -to get it back again, but he’d only got deeper into the mire, and now -every day might bring exposure, disgrace, and ruin.</p> - -<p>“I was very sorry, but I couldn’t help him. I hadn’t any money to spare. -All I could do was to beg him to write to his father, tell him -everything, and get assistance there.</p> - -<p>“This he refused to do. I found out afterwards that his father had -sustained heavy losses, and was himself in straitened circumstances.</p> - -<p>“Two nights afterwards, while I was at work, there came a knock at my -door, and one of the young fellows came in. ‘Oh, Mr. Saxon,’ he said, -‘such a terrible thing’s happened! Charley Ransom’s poisoned himself -accidentally.’ As soon as I had recovered from the shock Ransom’s friend -told me all about it. Charley, who had been suffering with a troublesome -cough, carried a bottle of ‘drops’ in his pocket, which he took when the -cough was bad. That afternoon he had had a small bottle filled with -poison which he was going to use in a chemical experiment. It was -supposed that, the cough coming on, he had by mischance taken the poison -instead of the drops. He had been found lying in an insensible state in -the lavatory of a billiard-room in Park-street, and had been taken to -the hospital.</p> - -<p>“I guessed the truth at once. In a moment of despair and desperation -Ransom had committed suicide.</p> - -<p>“I went to the hospital that evening to make inquiries. I was told that -the case was almost hopeless, and that death might be expected at any -moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span></p> - -<p>“The landlord telegraphed to Charley’s father, and the next day the poor -old gentleman came up. He was allowed to see his son, but the lad was -unconscious, and, being able to do nothing, the father came away.</p> - -<p>“That night a message came to the house from the hospital.</p> - -<p>“Ransom was dead!</p> - -<p>“The next morning, when I got to the city, I found my father there -before me. He called me into his office and told me I must pack up at -once and go to the South of France. My mother was there with my two -sisters, and both of them had been attacked with scarlet fever. My -mother wanted me to go out to her at once, as she did not like to be -there alone with this anxiety on her mind.</p> - -<p>“I returned to my lodgings, and, as I should probably be away some time, -I paid my rent and a week in lieu of notice, and left. I was not at all -sorry to turn my back upon the place, for Ransom’s terrible fate had -made me very miserable.</p> - -<p>“I went to Nice, and when I got there soon found something to distract -my thoughts from Ransom. My sisters were seriously ill. For a month it -was a battle between life and death, and it was two months before they -could be moved. In this fresh trouble I forgot all about poor Charley. -Under any other circumstances, I should have tried to get the English -newspapers, and have watched for the inquest.</p> - -<p>“When my sisters were well enough to travel we returned to London, but -only for a day, as they were to go at once to the seaside. I went down -with them to Eastbourne, which was the place recommended by the doctors.</p> - -<p>“The first evening that we were there, after dinner I strolled out. It -was just twilight, and, lighting my pipe, I turned away from the sea, -and walked along the road leading to the Links. The quietness of the -country, and the stillness of the night, set me meditating, and I began -to think of Charley Ransom. I was tired with my walk, and I sat down on -a seat under one of the big trees, and was soon lost in reverie.</p> - -<p>“How long I sat there I don’t know, but presently I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> became conscious -that somebody was sitting beside me. I struck a match to relight my -pipe, which had gone out, and the light of the vesta fell full on the -face of the man who was my companion.</p> - -<p>“I could not speak—for a second I could not move. It was no human being -that sat beside me. The face I saw was the white face of death—the face -of the man who had poisoned himself and died in a London hospital—the -face of Charley Ransom!</p> - -<p>“I rose with an effort, and walked—almost ran—away. I am not ashamed -to confess that in that moment of horror I was an absolute, abject -coward. I walked on at full speed until I got to the town and saw the -lights of the shops, and mixed with the crowd, and then only I began to -recover myself.</p> - -<p>“I said to myself that I had been deceived by my imagination—that there -was nobody by me on that seat. I had been thinking of Ransom, and had -imagined that I saw him. Such things, I knew, had often occurred to -imaginative people.</p> - -<p>“By the time I reached home I was convinced that I had been the victim -of an hallucination.</p> - -<p>“I determined to conquer my folly, and the next evening I went to the -same place and sat down. There was no one there. The road was lonely and -deserted. I sat on till it was dark, and no one came. I rose to go. I -walked a little distance away, and then I turned round.</p> - -<p>“There <i>was</i> a man on the seat now. I walked back again—trembling, but -determined to know the truth. When I came within a few yards I could see -the man’s face.</p> - -<p>“It was that white, dead face again—it was the face of Charley Ransom!</p> - -<p>“With a supreme effort I went right up to the ghost. Its head was bent a -little, its eyes were on the ground.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Ransom!’ I said.</p> - -<p>“The face was slowly lifted. The strange lack-lustre eyes looked into -mine.</p> - -<p>“It <i>was</i> the dead man’s ghost!</p> - -<p>“One look was sufficient to convince me, and then I took to my heels and -fairly bolted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Laugh at me, if you will—call me a coward—but put yourself in my -place, and say what you would have done. One doesn’t stop to reason—one -doesn’t think of what a ghost can do, and what it can’t. The sight of a -man you know to be dead and buried sitting within arm’s-length of you is -enough to shock the nervous system of a brave man—and a brave man I am -not, and never was.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t go that walk again. No power on earth would have tempted me to -pass, after the sun had gone down, that haunted seat. That, Mr. Wilkins, -is the ghost I saw and spoke to—the ghost of the man who took poison -and died in the hospital—the ghost of my fellow-lodger, Charley -Ransom.”</p> - -<p>“Awful!” said Mr. Wilkins, as Mr. Saxon finished.</p> - -<p>I didn’t say anything, but that ghostly blowing on the back of my neck -was worse than ever, and I made up my mind that we’d burn a nightlight -that night. I couldn’t sleep in the dark with Mr. Saxon’s ghost in my -head, I was sure of that.</p> - -<p>Harry was the first to speak. “I suppose you did see it, sir?” he said. -“But why should Mr. Ransom’s ghost come all the way to Eastbourne after -you?”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Mr. Saxon; “I’ll tell you why. It had been ordered there for -change of air.”</p> - -<p>“A ghost ordered to Eastbourne for change of air?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; it seems that the man who had died in the hospital that night was -a man named Lansom. By one of those mischances which will sometimes -happen, there was a confusion through the similarity of the names, and a -messenger was sent to Ransom’s friends and Ransom’s address to give -information of his death.”</p> - -<p>“The mistake wasn’t rectified till after I had left the next day. It was -nobody’s business to write to me, and nobody knew where I was, so I -didn’t hear of it. Ransom got better, and, when he was well enough to be -moved, was sent to Eastbourne. It was Ransom, and not his ghost, that I -had seen on the seat. The deathly look of the face was due to the effect -of the poison he had taken.”</p> - -<p>“And he wasn’t punished?” I said.</p> - -<p>“No; the poison was supposed to have been taken acci<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span>dentally, for -nothing came out about his trouble. The young fellow who had got him -into it made a clean breast of it to the other fellows, and the students -at the College, like the good-hearted fellows they are, in spite of -their little failings, made a subscription and paid the man who could -have prosecuted all that was due to him.”</p> - -<p>“Three cheers for the vets.!” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Quite so,” said Mr. Saxon; “I’ve known a good many in my time, and, -take them altogether, a better set of fellows, though a bit noisy now -and again, doesn’t exist.”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>I’ve been able to finish Mr. Saxon’s story without being interrupted, -for a wonder. I shouldn’t have used it here, only it’s a little triumph -for me to have got something out of him for my book. He’s got plenty out -of other people. I don’t suppose he thought when he was telling it to -make Mr. Wilkins’s hair stand up that I was taking it all in to use for -my book. He can’t say anything, because it’s the way he’s served other -people all his life. Tit for tat, Mr. Saxon—and one to Mary Jane.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /><br /> -<i>MRS. CROKER’S “No. 2.”</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was pretty late when we went to bed the night that Mr. Saxon got -telling stories, because after everybody had gone he sat on with Harry, -and he and the Swedish gentleman didn’t seem to be inclined to go to bed -at all, till at last I had to say it was long past twelve o’clock, and -we should all lose our beauty sleep, and at last I got them to take -their candles and go up to bed.</p> - -<p>There weren’t any letters for Mr. Saxon next morning, so they both went -out for a walk, asking me the nicest walk to go.</p> - -<p>They were quite jolly, Mr. Saxon being full of jokes, and insisting upon -going behind the bar before they started and pretending to serve the -customers, and asking questions about everything he saw; and when I told -him anything, the Swedish gentleman had to put it down in the little -black book he carried in his pocket, and I noticed he was always making -notes in it—whenever Mr. Saxon thought of anything the other having to -put it down for him. If a customer came in with a curious manner, Mr. -Saxon would say, “Put that down;” and out came the book. If Harry told -about something that had happened to him on a voyage, it was, “Put that -down;” and I noticed the Swedish gentleman always pulled out about a -dozen papers before he found the book. It seems Mr. Saxon picked up -handbills, and cut things out of the paper, and wrote things on bits of -paper, and everything had to go into the Swedish gentleman’s pocket, -till he looked quite bulged out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon, when he came in, wrote till dinner-time, and the Swedish -gentleman had to copy all he wrote, and when he couldn’t read the words -Mr. Saxon went on at him and said his common sense ought to tell him -what they were, but there wasn’t anything to attract attention till they -had their dinner. They had a very good dinner, and the air had evidently -given them an appetite; but Mr. Saxon kept chaffing all the time, and -saying the Swedish gentleman would have to be lifted out of his chair by -a steam-crane if he ate any more, and begging him not to make us -bankrupt, because we were young beginners.</p> - -<p>And he told me while they were travelling abroad they had gone to an -hotel where the meals were fixed price, and after staying two days the -landlord came and offered them a pound to go somewhere else because the -Swedish gentleman was ruining him. But I noticed that Mr. Saxon ate -quite as much as the other; perhaps not so much meat, but he ate nearly -all the apple-pie and three-quarters of a cold jam tart, and the Swedish -gentleman didn’t touch the pastry at all.</p> - -<p>And after Mr. Saxon had eaten all the pastry, if he didn’t tell me never -to put such things on the table again for him, as they were poison; so -the next day I only made a milky pudding, and then, if he didn’t say, -“What, no pastry! Oh dear me! Here, Mrs. Beckett, go and make us -half-a-dozen pancakes.”</p> - -<p>What <i>are</i> you to do with a man like that?</p> - -<p>The second day, in the morning, I saw that Mr. Saxon had got out of bed -the wrong side.</p> - -<p>He was groaning when I went to lay the breakfast, and he said his liver -was bad, and his life was a burden to him; and certainly he did look -green and yellow. And he was looking at himself in the glass, and going -on because his hair wouldn’t lie down; and he kept banging it and saying -he looked like a death’s-head, and he should be glad when he was in his -grave.</p> - -<p>I had put his letters—a dozen, I should say—on the table; but just as -he was going to open them the Swedish gentleman came in and snatched -them away.</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” he said; “you have your breakfast first. I see how you are -this morning; and there’s sure to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> something in the letters to annoy -you, so have your breakfast first. I know you won’t eat any if you open -them.”</p> - -<p>He was right, for when I went to clear the things away Mr. Saxon was -walking up and down the room in a dreadful rage, and the perspiration -was streaming down his face.</p> - -<p>“The wretches, the fiends!” he said, “to dare to say this to me! The -scoundrels! but I’ll teach them a lesson; I’ll tell them what I think of -them.”</p> - -<p>And directly the cloth was off he seized the pen and ink and began -writing page after page on letter-paper, and then tearing it up and -groaning, and then beginning again.</p> - -<p>“There!” he said, “that’s the sort of thing to say to wretches like -that. Take that to the post at once.”</p> - -<p>The Swedish gentleman took it and put it in his pocket, and went outside -the door.</p> - -<p>I followed him with the crumb-brush, and I said, “Shall I send the boy -to the post with it, sir?”</p> - -<p>He said, “Oh no; it’s all right. I sha’n’t post it at all.”</p> - -<p>“What!” I said; “not post it?”</p> - -<p>“No, bless you; if I were to post all the letters he writes to people -when he’s in a rage he wouldn’t have a friend left in the world. I burn -them instead. Why, when he’s put out like he is now he writes the most -awful things to people. They don’t understand him, and might think he -meant it; but I do understand him, and I don’t post the letters.”</p> - -<p>“But don’t you tell him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes; when he’s cooled down a bit, and had time to think; and then -he’s very glad. He’s made no end of enemies through writing in a rage -when I haven’t been by to stop the letters going; but he sha’n’t make -any more if I can help it.”</p> - -<p>“What a pity it is he has such a hasty temper,” I said.</p> - -<p>“It is, because it gives people a wrong impression of him. But he can’t -help it; it’s nervous irritability, and rages and furious letter-writing -are only the symptoms.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” I said, “I know. He used to be like that when I was with him; but -he’s all right when you know him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “he’s like the gentleman in the song—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘He’s all right when you know him;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">But you’ve got to know him fust.’<span class="lftspc">”</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>When I told Harry about the bromide and about the letters that weren’t -posted, he said—</p> - -<p>“I say, missis, do you think he’s all right?”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Harry, by ‘all right’?”</p> - -<p>“Why, all right <i>here</i>,” and he touched his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Why, of course he is. It’s only his curious way.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Harry, “if you say so, I suppose it’s right. You know more -about him than I do; but if I’d met him without being introduced I -should have said that he was a lunatic, and the big foreigner was his -keeper.”</p> - -<p>That was a nice idea, wasn’t it? But, of course, a character like Mr. -Saxon isn’t met with every day; and perhaps it’s a good job it isn’t. -Too many of them would make things uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>All that day Mr. Saxon was very excited, and I could see it was his -liver by the look of him; and he kept groaning and saying his head -ached, and he felt as if he’d been beaten black and blue.</p> - -<p>He said he couldn’t write and he couldn’t read, and he couldn’t sit -still, and so he came downstairs into our parlour and made Harry come -and sit and talk with him. But he talked so much himself, Harry never -had a chance. Harry did manage to say once what a fine thing it must be -to be able to make money, and have your name stuck about the hoardings; -and that was enough—that started him.</p> - -<p>“A fine thing!” he said; “why, I’m the most miserable wretch that ever -trod the earth! For twenty years I haven’t known what it is to be well -for a single day. I’m always doubled up, I’m always in pain, I can’t go -anywhere, I shun society, and I can’t eat anything without being ill for -a week.”</p> - -<p>“But you manage to write a good deal,” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Ah! I used to, but that faculty’s gone now. I’m too ill. I shall have -to give up soon. Then I shall be ruined, and die in the workhouse. It’s -an awful thing, Beckett, after working hard all your life, to die in the -workhouse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say, sir,” said Harry jokingly; “I never tried it.”</p> - -<p>But Mr. Saxon wouldn’t joke. He kept on talking in such a melancholy way -that at last we all began to feel miserable. He said that life was all a -mistake—that it was no good trying to be anything in the world, because -death was sure to come, and that misery and trouble were our portions -from the cradle to the grave. Then he began to tell the most dreadful -stories about people he’d known, and the awful things that had happened -to them; and Harry, who wasn’t used to that sort of thing, got up and -said, “Excuse me, Mr. Saxon, I’ll go and get a little fresh air. If I -listen to you much longer I shall begin to believe that I’d better take -the missis and the baby and tie them round my neck and jump into the -canal, before anything worse happens to us.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Mr. Saxon; “I’m always like that when I’ve got -dyspepsia—and I’ve got it awfully this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Harry, “the best thing for that is exercise. Come and have -a good walk.”</p> - -<p>They went out, Harry and Mr. Saxon and the Swedish gentleman, and when -they came back they were all roaring with laughter. Mr. Saxon had -forgotten all about his ailments, and Harry told me Mr. Saxon and the -Swedish gentleman had been pretending that they were two agents from -London, who were down to look for the next heir to a John Smith, who had -died in Australia worth a hundred thousand pounds, and they’d been into -all the cottages making inquiries and questioning the people about their -great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, and Harry said that they’d -set the whole village agog, and that half the people in it had tried to -make out that they once had a relative named Smith. Harry laughed when -he told me, because it was so droll, the way all the people began to -tell Mr. Saxon their family histories, the Swedish gentleman taking it -all down, as grave as a judge, in his note-book.</p> - -<p>He said it was as good as a play. But it was an awful nuisance when -people kept coming in and wanting to see the two gentlemen, and leaving -bits of paper with the names of their ancestors written on, and old -samplers, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> I don’t know what. And one old gentleman from the -almshouses, who hadn’t been out of his room for three months, was -brought down in a wheelbarrow, with his family Bible to show his -mother’s maiden name was Smith; and he was so disappointed not to find -the hundred thousand pounds waiting for him, that Harry had to give him -a shilling and a bit of tobacco to comfort him.</p> - -<p>It really was too bad of Mr. Saxon to have played a joke like that, -because people in a country place always have an idea that they are -“next of kin,” or whatever you call it, to rich people, and that there -is unclaimed money waiting for them.</p> - -<p>You have only to mention that somebody of their name is advertised for -or inquired for, and they are certain that they are coming into a -fortune. Almost every old lady in a country place believes that there is -a fortune left to her somewhere, if she only knew where to look for it.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Saxon got nicely paid out for his joke. There was an old lady -who lived in the village, a regular character, called Mrs. Croker, -though her real name was Mrs. Smith—Croker having been the name of her -first husband and Smith of her second; but she went back to her first -husband’s name when her second ran away. She was an awful tartar if all -they say of her was true, and no wonder the first one died and the -second ran away. She was married from the village, her family living -there for centuries, and that’s how her history was so well known.</p> - -<p>She married a very quiet, middle-aged man first, and went to live in -London with him, where he worked at his trade; but she was the master, -it seems, from the first. They had a little house over Lambeth way. She -made him scrub the stairs and clean the steps, and do all the house-work -that a woman generally does, before he went to his work and after he -came home from it; and he had to give her all his money, and she allowed -him so much a day, just enough for his fare and his dinner that he had -to get out. And woe betide him if he didn’t come home to his tea to the -minute he ought to be home!</p> - -<p>He was due home at half-past five from his work, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> at five-and-twenty -minutes to six the tea was all cleared away, and he had to go without -for being late. Then she used to set him to do cleaning or whatever had -to be done, and she always found him a job, because she said it wasn’t -good for a man to be idle.</p> - -<p>Once a friend called to see poor Mr. Croker, I was told, but she -answered the door and gave the friend a bit of her mind. She said when a -man came home he belonged to his wife, and she wasn’t going to have any -dissolute companions coming there after him luring him into bad ways.</p> - -<p>You can guess what a nice sort of woman she was; perhaps being over -forty when she married had something to do with it.</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Croker was a very mild little man who daren’t say his soul was -his own, and he obeyed like a lamb, and was very kind to her with it -all, and I dare say loved her very much—for I’ve heard, and I dare say -it’s true, that men do love women like that sometimes much better than -women who let themselves be trodden on.</p> - -<p>On Sunday Mr. Croker had to work harder than ever, because his wife went -to church in the morning, and left him at home to do the cooking and get -the dinner ready, and when she came home she sat down and let him dish -it up, and a nice to-do there was if everything wasn’t quite right.</p> - -<p>On Sunday afternoon she used to have a nap, and to keep Croker out of -mischief she used to give him the Sunday-school books that she had had -when a little girl to read, and, to make sure he didn’t go to sleep or -get lazy, she used to make him learn the collect for the day and a hymn -while she was asleep, and he had to say them when she woke up.</p> - -<p>It seems hardly possible that a man would lead such a life, but poor -Croker did, and I know that it is true, for I can judge by her goings-on -now, when I see her very often; and all the people who knew about her -married life tell the same story, and poor Croker’s “mates” in his -workshop told what they had heard from him when he died, and there was -an inquest on him.</p> - -<p>But I must not anticipate.</p> - -<p>To show how she treated her husband, it was a fact<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span>—and she confessed -it herself—that she didn’t even let him have what she had in the way of -crockery. She had nicer things, china and that sort of thing, which she -used for herself, but poor Croker had his tea in a big yellow mug, and -had a common cracked old plate to have his dinner on, and had his beer -in the same old yellow mug, while she had hers in a glass; and even the -beer was different, he having to fetch her a pint of the best, while he -was only allowed half a pint of the common.</p> - -<p>It was one Sunday afternoon that Mr. Croker came to his end, and it was -really through his being so afraid of his wife.</p> - -<p>It seems she never allowed him to smoke, because she said it was a -wasteful habit; but he used to keep a pipe at the shop, and smoke it -secretly till he got near his home, and then call at a friend’s house -and leave it for fear she should search his pockets and find it on him.</p> - -<p>He had some way of not smelling of tobacco by having a chronic cough, -which made him always take a coughdrop that hid the smell of tobacco; -and that was enough, because I shouldn’t suppose that Mrs. Croker ever -so far unbent her dignity as to kiss the poor man.</p> - -<p>Sunday was his great trial, because he was never allowed out till -evening, and then she always went with him for a short stroll. Not being -able to get a smoke that day made him want it all the more—which is -only human nature, and always has been.</p> - -<p>At last, noticing that she used to sleep very soundly of an afternoon, -he got artful, and would learn his collect beforehand in his dinner-hour -at the shop, and, when she was asleep and snoring, creep out of the room -with his hymn-book, and learn that over a pipe down in the shed that was -at the bottom of the yard, where the coals were always kept, they having -no underground coal-cellar in the little house they lived in. He was -afraid to smoke in the garden, for fear the neighbours should see him -and by chance let her know he had been smoking. So he used to crawl into -the shed, and had made himself a comfortable corner there, and a seat on -an old basket turned upside down, and he had a candle, which he stuck up -to read by; and that was his most enjoyable half-hour on Sunday.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span></p> - -<p>He always managed to go in with some coals, so that, if she woke up and -missed him, he could say, when he came in, he had been to the coal-shed. -He had to work the kitchen fire in the summer very carefully, so as to -make it always want coals just at that time.</p> - -<p>His end was very awful. It seems that Mrs. Croker, who was always one to -drive a bargain, and had bought no end of things cheap, which she -hoarded away, being a miser, as you may guess, had been offered a big -can of oil, that is burned in lamps, cheap by a neighbour who had the -brokers in, and been sold up or something of the sort, and she had -bought it and had it taken into this shed.</p> - -<p>One dark Sunday afternoon, poor Croker, knowing nothing about the oil, -went into the coal-shed and lit his candle, and sat down to learn his -hymn and have his pipe, when, in settling himself down, he knocked over -the can that he didn’t know was there, and it made him jump, and in his -fright down he came and the candle too, and he and the candle fell into -a pool of the oil, and everything was in a blaze in a minute.</p> - -<p>His screams brought assistance, and he was got out, but not before he -was so burned that he never got over it, but died a little while after.</p> - -<p>It was at the inquest that it came out why he was there smoking, one of -his mates volunteering and giving off a bit of his mind before the -coroner could stop him.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Croker, after she got over the shock, said it was a judgment, and -it all happened through men deceiving their wives; but other people who -knew all about her put it differently.</p> - -<p>Two years after Mr. Croker’s quiet Sunday pipe had caused his end, Mrs. -Croker, who must have had a tidy bit of money, because she had saved a -good deal out of Croker’s wages, and was always thrifty, and had his -club and insurance money, married again. This time she married a younger -man, a man in good work, named Dan Smith. I suppose Mr. Smith thought -she had a bit of money, and didn’t know what a character she was.</p> - -<p>At any rate, Mrs. Croker became Mrs. Smith, and she tried the same game -on with Daniel as she had with the other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span></p> - -<p>But Daniel didn’t take it quite in the same way. He humoured her at -first, and cleaned the steps and cooked the dinner; but they say it was -over the collect and the hymn on Sunday afternoon that they fell out.</p> - -<p>He said if she went out Sunday mornings he should go out Sunday -afternoons, and he should smoke his pipe out of doors and in the house, -too. He wouldn’t give up his baccy for the best woman breathing.</p> - -<p>They had awful quarrels about it, and neither would give way; and, -what’s more, Mr. Smith wouldn’t hand over all his wages every week as -Mr. Croker had done.</p> - -<p>She must have led him a pretty life in consequence, for one Saturday -morning Mr. Smith went out, and he didn’t come home to dinner, and he -didn’t come home to tea. Mrs. Smith worked herself up into an awful -rage, and was getting ready to make it warm for him when he did come -in—but he didn’t come in to supper, and he didn’t come in all night.</p> - -<p>Then she got awfully frightened, and the next morning, Sunday, she went -down to the works and found out where the foreman lived, and went to see -if he could tell her anything. The foreman told her that Dan had left -his employment, having given a week’s notice the Saturday before, and -had wished them all good-bye; and then she knew that her husband hadn’t -meant to come home—in fact, that he had run away from her.</p> - -<p>She went on anyhow about him then, and called him dreadful names, and -said he was a villain, and vowed she would find him, if she went to the -end of the world after him, and have him up for deserting her.</p> - -<p>She didn’t get much sympathy from anybody, because people knew how she’d -treated her first husband, and they said she didn’t deserve to have -another; but some of the mischievous people played jokes on her. One -would come to her and say, “Oh, Mrs. Smith, your husband was seen last -night with a young woman in a public-house at Bow.”</p> - -<p>Off she would go to the place, and insist on seeing the landlord, and -make a fine to-do, accusing him of harbouring her husband. Wherever -people told her her husband had been seen she would go, till she had -been half over<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> London, and she began to be known as “the old gal who -was looking for her husband.”</p> - -<p>But at last she gave up the search and sold up her home, and came back -to live in her native village near where our house is; and then she -pretended to be very poor, and used to ask herself out to tea to -different people’s houses as often as she could, and would come in and -talk about her wrongs, till people used to have to make all sorts of -excuses to get rid of her.</p> - -<p>She was said to wear all her clothes one set on top of the other, and -she certainly looked very bulky always; and whenever she called and -people were at tea, she’d have a cup, and manage to take a lump or two -of sugar extra and put in her pocket, and was always asking to be -obliged with a stamp, which she didn’t pay for, and all that sort of -thing.</p> - -<p>She managed to make friends with us somehow soon after we came, and when -we weren’t at tea or dinner when she came in, she would have an awful -attack of the spasms, and, of course, at first I used to say, “Have a -little brandy, or a little gin,” and she never said “No.”</p> - -<p>I had managed to stop her calling so often when Mr. Saxon started that -story about the Mr. Smith who had died in Australia. She heard of it, -and she was certain it was her husband, and down she came to our place -and insisted on seeing the agents.</p> - -<p>We tried to get rid of her, saying they weren’t in, but she said she’d -stay till they did come in, and at last Mr. Saxon had to see her to try -and get rid of her.</p> - -<p>But once she got in his room, there she stuck. It was no good his saying -the man Smith had been in Australia fifty years—she knew better. For -everything he said she had an argument ready, and she demanded the name -of his employers, and I don’t know what; and as he had some writing to -do he got out of temper, and then she slanged him, and said he was in -the conspiracy, and at last he put her out of his room and locked the -door.</p> - -<p>We got her away after she’d shouted at him outside his door for a -quarter of an hour; but when he went out the next morning for a walk she -was waiting for him, and she followed him and the Swedish gentleman -through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> village, shouting at them, till everybody came out of their -doors, and Mr. Saxon had to run fast to get away from her, because she -couldn’t run far with three or four complete sets of clothes on.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Saxon returned he came in the back way and sat down in a chair.</p> - -<p>“Good heavens, Mary Jane,” he said, “that old woman will drive me mad! -Can’t she be put in the pound?”</p> - -<p>I said it was a pity he had put that story about, because it would never -do to say there was no Mr. Smith—all the other people would be so -indignant. He must think of something to persuade Mrs. Smith it wasn’t -her husband.</p> - -<p>“I know,” said the Swedish gentleman; “we must show her a photograph of -the real Mr. Smith, and say that’s the man. Then she can’t say it’s her -husband.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t carry photographs about with me,” said Mr. Saxon. Then he -asked me if I had one.</p> - -<p>“No,” I said, “not that she wouldn’t recognize, because she’s looked -through my album over and over again, and I can’t borrow one of anybody -in the village, because she’d recognize that too. She knows everybody’s -business.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, leave it to me, sir,” said the Swedish gentleman; “I’ll manage to -get one.”</p> - -<p>So he went out and got a photograph, and I heard afterwards how he got -it. He certainly was very clever at scheming and planning, seeming to -like it.</p> - -<p>He went to the photographers in the nearest town to us and asked if they -had any photographs of celebrities, and they said, “No; there was no -demand for them.” Then he asked if they had any photographs of anybody -who didn’t live in the place or near the place. The photographer thought -a minute, and then said, “Yes; he thought he had.” He went to a drawer, -and brought out a photograph of a man.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure that is a stranger,” he said; “you can have this.” The Swedish -gentleman had said he wanted an old photograph to do a conjuring trick -with, but didn’t want anybody who was an inhabitant.</p> - -<p>He paid a shilling for the photo, and brought it back. When he got near -our house he met Mr. Saxon, who had gone out for a stroll, and that -blessed Mrs. Croker<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> was watching for him, and was on to him again -demanding particulars of her husband’s death in Australia and of her -fortune. She wasn’t going to let a lot of people that had no claim on -him get it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon asked the Swedish gentleman in German if he’d got a photo. -“Yes,” he said.</p> - -<p>Then Mr. Saxon turned to Mrs. Croker and said, “Madam, I suppose you -would know your husband’s photograph?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I should,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Then, madam, my friend will show you the photograph of our Mr. Smith, -and you will see it is not your husband.”</p> - -<p>The Swedish gentleman took out his pocket-book and took the photograph -he had bought from it.</p> - -<p>“There, madam,” he said, “that is the Mr. Smith.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” shouted the woman; “I knew it. <i>That is my husband!</i>”</p> - -<p>And it was. The photographer had given the Swedish gentleman a copy of -the photograph of Daniel Smith. When Mrs. Croker came to the village she -had had a dozen taken to send about, in case she ever heard of any clue -in distant parts. The photographer had taken more than had been -ordered—she wouldn’t pay for them, and he had to keep them. He had -given one to the Swedish gentleman.</p> - -<p>That evening Mr. Saxon packed up and fled. He went away in a close -carriage, and drove to a station four miles off, to elude the vigilance -of Mrs. Croker.</p> - -<p>She used to go to London about once a week regularly to look for him, -and she was quite convinced that some day she would receive the hundred -thousand pounds that her husband left in Australia. She was convinced -that she had been hoaxed at last by receiving news of the death of the -real Daniel Smith. He had died at——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>What’s that smell of burning? It’s from the kitchen. Why, cook, what are -you thinking of? You know how particular No. 7 is, and these cutlets are -burned to a cinder. You—— Why, good heavens, the woman’s drunk!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /><br /> -<i>OLD GAFFER GABBITAS.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It’s</span> got about. I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world; but Mr. -Wilkins has got to know that I write stories. He told me the other -evening that he was going to buy my book, and he hoped I’d write my name -in it.</p> - -<p>“What book?” I said, going very red.</p> - -<p>“Why, your ‘Memoirs,’ ma’am,” he said. “My daughter up in London, that I -went to see last week—she’s a great reader, and I do believe that she -has read everything, ancient and modern—and we were having a lot of -conversation about you, and I was saying what a nice lady you were, and -about your husband being a sailor, and one or two things I dropped made -her prick up her ears, and she asked me a lot of questions, and -presently she said, ‘Father, what’s Mrs. Beckett’s christian name?’ -Well, of course I knew what it was, through your having written it in -the visitors’ book, as you remember, when you asked me to write mine -too, when it was new, and you wanted to take it up for ‘Mr. and Mrs. -Smith’ to put their names in. So I said, ‘Mrs. Beckett’s christian name, -my dear, is Mary Jane.’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I thought so,’ said my daughter.</p> - -<p>“Of course I asked her why she should think your name was Mary Jane, -ma’am, and then she said, ‘She’s a celebrated authoress. She’s written a -book all about us (my daughter is in domestic service), and it’s the -truest book I ever read about servants. It’s her “Memoirs” and all about -the places she lived in, and the people she lived with. She said in the -book she was going to marry Harry and have a country inn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Harry’s the landlord’s name, right enough,’ I said; and from one or -two things my daughter told me were in that book, ma’am, I’m sure I have -the honour of addressing the talented authoress.”</p> - -<p>I blushed more than ever when Mr. Wilkins said that, and I felt very -uncomfortable. I never thought it would get about that I wrote books, -and I felt that if it was known it might injure our business, as folks -wouldn’t like to come and stay at an hotel, if they thought the landlady -was studying their characters to make stories about them for print. I -saw it was no good denying it, so I put a bold face on the matter, and I -said, “Mr. Wilkins, it is quite true; but I want you to give me your -promise you won’t say a word of what you have found out to anybody -else.”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious, ma’am!” said Mr. Wilkins. “Why should you hide your -candle under a bushel? It’s a great thing to be a writing lady -nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“Yes: but I’m not a lady, Mr. Wilkins,” I said, “and I’ve my husband’s -business to attend to, and I don’t want the people about here to know me -as anything else but the landlady of the ‘Stretford Arms.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>I explained to him as well as I could why it wasn’t advisable for me to -be known as an authoress, especially an authoress who wrote about what -she saw, and put real live people in her books; and, after a little -talk, Mr. Wilkins said he saw what I meant, and he thought I was right, -and he gave me his word of honour he wouldn’t breathe my secret to a -soul.</p> - -<p>After that, of course, I was obliged to take him a good deal into my -confidence, and as once or twice he had seen me writing, it was no good -my denying that I was at work on more “Memoirs,” and he very soon jumped -to the conclusion that it was our inn and its customers, and the people -in the place, that I was writing about. Then he asked me point-blank if -he was in, and I said, “Yes, Mr. Wilkins; you are.”</p> - -<p>Bless the little man, you should have seen him when he heard that. He -positively glowed all over his face, and begged and prayed of me to let -him see what I’d written about him. I said he should one day, that I’d -only just<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> put down some notes at present, and that they weren’t in -shape yet.</p> - -<p>After that, he was on at me whenever he got a chance about my new -“Memoirs.” “I can give you a lot of things to put in,” he said, “because -I’ve lived here man and boy, and there isn’t a soul whose history I -don’t know. When are you going to publish ’em, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” I said, “not yet. It wouldn’t do while we’re here. A nice time I -should have of it, if the people here got hold of the book, and came and -asked me how I dared put them in!”</p> - -<p>“But you aren’t going to leave here?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet, of course; but I hope we shall have a better house some day. -If we make this a good business we shall sell it, and buy another—a -real hotel, perhaps, with waiters in evening dress, and all that sort of -thing; but there’s plenty of time to think about that.”</p> - -<p>Poor little Mr. Wilkins! certainly he couldn’t have taken more interest -in my new work if he’d been writing it himself; and I really believe he -did think he was what they call collaborating; for, after a time, -whenever he brought me a bit of information, he would say, “Won’t that -do for our ‘Memoirs’?”</p> - -<p><i>Our</i> “Memoirs!” It made me a little cold to him at first, because I -have an authoress’s feelings; but I saw he didn’t mean any harm, and I -soon forgave him, and we were the best of friends. I will acknowledge -here that he was of very great service to me; and having been the parish -clerk so many years, and his father before him, and having an -old-established little business in the place, he had many opportunities -of knowing things which I couldn’t have found out. I can say what I like -of him now, because the old gentleman, at the time I am writing, is -far, far away, and isn’t likely to see or hear of my book. But I must -not anticipate. I shall tell you his story by-and-by in its proper -place, as it happened long after this.</p> - -<p>He certainly kept his word, and never told anybody of what he’d found -out, and nobody here ever said anything to me about my “Memoirs,” except -one person, and when that one person said it, it took my breath away -more than Mr. Wilkins did.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span></p> - -<p>I must tell you about that now, or else I shall forget it. It shows the -danger of expressing your opinions too freely in a book.</p> - -<p>We were always changing our cooks—in fact, cooks were our great -difficulty; and female cooks in hotels generally are a difficulty, and -even harder to manage than cooks in private families.</p> - -<p>The one I had the most trouble with was a middle-aged woman, who came -from London, very highly recommended from her last place. She was -capital at first—punctual, clean, and as good with her vegetables as -she was with the joints and pastry, and that was a great thing, for some -English cooks think vegetables are beneath their notice and ought to be -left to the kitchenmaid; but I am very strong on vegetables in plain -English cooking—especially in an hotel. I know from our customers, who -have travelled about, that the vegetables are <i>the</i> weak points in most -hotels, and potatoes and cabbage will be served with an expensive dinner -that would be a disgrace to a cookshop.</p> - -<p>A gentleman told me one day, after he’d had his dinner, when I’d cooked -the vegetables myself, that he’d been travelling about the country, and -it was the first time he’d eaten a well-cooked potato since he’d left -home. He said vegetables were murdered as a rule, and were so badly -served, that the waiter didn’t even give them their names, but called -them “veg” (pronounced vedge). I’ve heard that said myself at a -restaurant in London where Harry took me to dinner, so I know it’s true. -“Veg on five,” said our waiter. That was for the boy to put vegetables -on table No. 5. Then another waiter put his head into the lift and -shouted, “Now, then, look sharp with the veg, there!”</p> - -<p>Yes, and “veg” was the word for what we got. Three nasty, half-boiled, -diseased-looking potatoes, that had been out of the saucepan half an -hour if they had been a minute, and a dab of cabbage—“dab” is the only -word—and the cabbage was tasteless, sodden stuff, floating in water; -and not a particle of salt had that cabbage or potato seen.</p> - -<p>That was a lesson to me, because I felt what I didn’t like I couldn’t -expect our customers to like. So I said to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> myself, “No veg at the -‘Stretford Arms,’ Mary Jane; you’ll give your customers good sound, -honest vegetables, cooked well, with as much care as the meat or the -pastry or the pudding.”</p> - -<p>I’ve wandered a little bit, I know, but I can’t help it. I do feel so -strongly on the shameful treatment of vegetables by the ordinary English -cook. Now, to come back to the cook I was telling you about. She went on -beautifully for a month, and I thought I’d got a treasure; and then she -went and fell in love with a young fellow in the village—a very decent -young fellow, but a bit too fond of gallivanting. He was a good-looking -chap, and the girls encouraged him, as they will do, for I’ve noticed -that if a man’s at all decent-looking there are always plenty of girls -ready to encourage him to be a flirt. He fell in love with our cook—at -any rate, he walked out with her once or twice, and then she told me -they were engaged.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, he left off his work at seven every evening, and when our -cook couldn’t go out with him, I dare say he wasn’t particular if he -laughed and joked with the other young women of the place, who <i>could</i> -get out.</p> - -<p>Cook got to hear of something of the sort, and it made her dreadfully -jealous, and she was always coming to me and saying, “Oh, please, ma’am, -we aren’t very busy this evening; can I just run out and get a piece of -ribbon?” or, “Oh, if you please, ma’am, could you spare me for ten -minutes this evening?” And if I couldn’t let her go she’d be careless -and ill-tempered, and work herself up into quite a rage—of course, -fancying that her young man was “up to his larks,” as the kitchenmaid -used to call it, when she chaffed poor cook about it.</p> - -<p>I let her go out as often as I could when we were slack; but when we -were busy, and there were late dinners to cook, and meat teas and early -suppers, it wasn’t possible, and I had to be firm, and say no.</p> - -<p>One evening, when we’d let the best sitting-room to a London lady and -gentleman, and they’d ordered dinner at seven, cook came to me about ten -minutes to, and said, “Please, ma’am, everything’s all ready, and Mary -can dish up and see to the rest, if you’ll let me go out. I won’t be -long.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No,” I said; “I really can’t, cook. I’m expecting people by the next -train, and they’ll very likely want something cooked at once.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, ma’am, do, please; it’s <i>very</i> particular.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, cook,” I said; “you’ve been out twice this week. You only -want to see your young man, and I can’t have it. You’re making yourself -ridiculous over him, and neglecting your work. Go back to the kitchen at -once.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, then, you won’t let me go?” she said, turning fiery red.</p> - -<p>“No. I’ve told you so.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s it, is it?” she said. “That’s your fellow-feeling for -servants, is it? But it ain’t the sort of stuff you put in your -‘Memoirs.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“My what?” I gasped.</p> - -<p>“Your ‘Memoirs’! Oh, you know what I mean, Miss Mary Jane Buffham. -You’re a nice one to stick up for the poor servants, you are! Why don’t -you practise what you preach?”</p> - -<p>I never was so insulted in my life. It was all my work to prevent myself -taking that woman by the shoulders and shaking her—the idea of her -daring to throw my “Memoirs” in my face—my <i>own</i> servant, too!</p> - -<p>But I kept my temper, and I said quietly, “Cook, you forget yourself.”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t,” she said, with an exasperating leer. “It’s you that -forget yourself. You’re a missus now, but you weren’t always, and when -you weren’t, you could reckon missuses up as well as anybody.”</p> - -<p>“Go out of the room directly,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m a-going! You can give me notice if you like. I’m sick of your -twopenny-halfpenny public-house. I’ve always lived with gentlefolk -before, and been treated as such.”</p> - -<p>“Go out of the room!” I shouted, stamping my foot; “and go out of the -house.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will. I’ll go now, this very minute; but I want a month’s -money.”</p> - -<p>“You sha’n’t have a penny more than’s due to you, you impudent hussy!” I -said. “There!” and I banged<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> her wages up to date down on the table; -“there’s your money. Now go and pack your box and be off, or I shall -have you turned out.”</p> - -<p>She took the money, counted it, and then threw it on the table.</p> - -<p>“I want a month’s money or a month’s notice,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Then you’ll have to get it,” I said. “Be off, or I’ll send for a -policeman.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!—hadn’t you better send for the one who used to cuddle you in the -kitchen, while your other chap was away at sea?”</p> - -<p>I did lose my temper at that. It was more than human flesh and blood -could bear. I gave a little scream, and then I ran at her, took her by -the shoulders, and ran her right out of the room, and banged the door in -her face and locked it. And then I fell back into a chair; and if I -hadn’t cried I should have had hysterics.</p> - -<p>Harry was just outside when I turned cook out, and she began at him. He -saw how the land lay, and he made short work of her, though she kept -going on about me all the time. He made her pack and be off within a -quarter of an hour; and I had to go into the kitchen, hot and crying and -excited as I was, and the kitchenmaid and I had to dish up the dinner, -and do all the rest of the cooking that evening.</p> - -<p>When I had five minutes I went upstairs and bathed my face and put -myself tidy; but I had such a dreadful splitting headache, I could -hardly see out of my eyes.</p> - -<p>When I came down again, Harry was in the parlour smoking his pipe and -staring at the ceiling, and he didn’t look very good-tempered.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that wretched woman,” I said; “she’s upset everything.”</p> - -<p>Harry didn’t speak.</p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said, “haven’t you anything to say? Aren’t you sorry for me -to have been so upset?”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes,” he said, “I’m sorry; but I wish that d——d policeman was at -Jericho!”</p> - -<p>That cat!—that ever I should call her so—to go and drag that policeman -off the cover of my book and throw him at Harry, and all because I -wouldn’t let her go and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> see her young man before she’d cooked the best -sitting-room’s dinner!</p> - -<p>It was a blow to me to have what I’d said in my book thrown in my face -by my own servant. After that I felt inclined to ask a girl before I -engaged her if she’d read my “Memoirs,” and if she said she had, to say, -“Then you won’t suit me,” because that book puts wrong notions into -girls’ heads. If ever there’s a second edition, there’s one or two -things about servants in it that I shall certainly alter. And every bit -about that policeman will come out. I made up my mind to <i>that</i> long -ago.</p> - -<p>Writing about the cook who threw my “Memoirs” in my face, and the rage -she put me in, has quite put poor Mr. Wilkins’s nose out of joint. I -told you how he was always bringing me things to put in my “Memoirs” of -the village and our inn. Lots of the things he came to me full of were -no use at all, and I had to tell him so. He seemed to think a book was a -sort of dust-bin, into which you shot any rubbish you picked up. But, of -course, people who are not authors don’t understand these things—they -don’t know that everybody isn’t interested in just what interests them.</p> - -<p>But one evening, he came in looking very important, and he had a very, -very old gentleman with him—a white-haired, apple-faced old fellow, all -wrinkles, who looked like a picture I’ve seen somewhere of a very old -man. The gentleman who painted it was a foreigner, I think. I know it -was in an illustrated paper, and said, “An Old Man’s Head,” by some name -I couldn’t pronounce, and I’m sure I couldn’t spell from memory.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Wilkins brought him in he walked with a stick, being a bit bent -and feeble; and Mr. Wilkins took his hand, and led him to the fire, and -everybody made way for him.</p> - -<p>“I’ve brought you a new customer, Mrs. Beckett,” said Mr. Wilkins, with -a look which was as much as to say, “Here’s something for our -‘Memoirs.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>I nodded to the new old gentleman, and said I hoped he was well, and -what would he take.</p> - -<p>He said he’d take a hot rum-and-water, and I had it brought, and he -settled down comfortably in the arm-chair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Are you all right, Gaffer?” said Mr. Wilkins.</p> - -<p>“Yes, thank’e,” said the old man, in a piping sort of voice. “I’m all -right, Muster Wilkins. It’s the fust time I’ve been here for many a -year, though; old place be altered surely.”</p> - -<p>“My old friend is a very celebrated man, Mrs. Beckett,” said Mr. -Wilkins. “He doesn’t live here now, but he’s come to stay with his -daughter who does, and I’ve brought him out along with me this evening, -and I’ve promised to see him safe home again, haven’t I, Gaffer?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you have, Muster Wilkins.”</p> - -<p>“This is old Gaffer Gabbitas, ma’am, as you may have heard of. He was -pretty well known about these parts once, weren’t you, Gaffer?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; a long time ago. There wasn’t many betterer known than Tom -Gabbitas, as I was called afore I got old and folks took to callin’ me -Gaffer. Dear me, how it do bring back old times to be sitting here! But -it’s all changed, all changed. It’s ten year since I left the village, -Muster Wilkins, and went to live in London along o’ my son.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, and you were an old man then, Gaffer. Why, you must be a hundred -nearly!”</p> - -<p>“No, no, Muster Wilkins, though I hope to be, for—thank the Lord!—I’ve -all my faculties still; but I ain’t so old as that. I’m only ninety, -come next Michaelmas Day.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Only</i> ninety.” It almost made me smile to hear the old gentleman talk -like that; but he certainly was a wonderful old fellow for his age, for -he could see and hear, and he seemed to be pretty strong generally, only -a bit feeble when he walked.</p> - -<p>“And how many years is it since the murder, Gaffer?” said Mr. Wilkins.</p> - -<p>I pricked up my ears at that. Murder! So this old gentleman had -something to do with a murder. I understood why Mr. Wilkins had brought -him, and why he kept looking across at me, as much as to say, “I’ve got -something for you this time, ma’am, and no mistake.”</p> - -<p>“Fifty year since the murder,” said the Gaffer. “Quite fifty year; and -twenty since they found poor Muster Crunock’s body.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Fancy that, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Wilkins. “A murder was committed -here—two murders—fifty years ago, and one body wasn’t found till -thirty years after.”</p> - -<p>“Here!” I exclaimed, “not here in this house. You don’t mean to say -there was a murder at the ‘Stretford Arms’?”</p> - -<p>“No—here—in this village! The murder was at Curnock’s farm, two miles -from here—the second murder—but Gaffer’ll tell you all about it; he -was in it, weren’t you, Gaffer?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; I was in it—I was in it.”</p> - -<p>I couldn’t help shuddering. It made me creepy to look at that venerable -old man and think that he’d been in a murder.</p> - -<p>It took Mr. Wilkins a long time to get the story out of the old -gentleman, and it took the old gentleman longer to tell it, for he kept -wandering, and he would leave off and go into a lot of outside matters -to make himself remember whether a day was a Monday or a Tuesday, when -it didn’t matter which it was. You know the sort of thing; but when he -had finished his story I was bound to confess it was a very wonderful -thing, and it was all true, for Mr. Wilkins borrowed the old newspaper -that the Gaffer had kept, and showed it me there.</p> - -<p>Fifty years ago, it seemed, in the village next ours—the village where -Curnock’s farm was—there was a terrible trouble about the tithes. The -parson was disliked by the people, especially the farmers, and some of -the farmers wouldn’t pay the tithes at all, and stirred the people up -against him, and as far as I could make out, Ned Curnock, a young farmer -in the neighbourhood, was the ringleader; so the parson got the law of -him, and had a lot of his goods seized and taken away to pay the tithes.</p> - -<p>He was fearfully mad about that, and swore he’d be revenged. At that -time Tom Gabbitas was a labourer on the farm, and an old servant, for he -was forty then.</p> - -<p>Ned Curnock and another man—a young fellow, the son of a farmer—went -out one night to waylay the parson, who had been to the Squire’s house -to a party, and had to ride home through a dark lane. They said they’d -give him a jolly good hiding, and that was all they meant to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> do. The -only man who knew they’d gone, and what their errand was, was Tom -Gabbitas, for he heard them talking it over, they not knowing he was -near them, it being dark at the time.</p> - -<p>About ten o’clock they went out, with two big sticks, and about eleven -o’clock they came back. Ned Curnock was as white as death, and his -clothes were all over blood. Tom met them, and they confided in him and -told him what had happened, making him take an awful oath he’d never -reveal a word to any living soul that could harm either of them.</p> - -<p>It seems they’d met the parson, and pulled him off his horse, and begun -to thrash him, when he had pulled out a pistol to shoot them. They got -it from him, and somehow or other it went off and shot the parson, and -they ran away; but they said they were sure he was killed, and it was a -murder job.</p> - -<p>Tom Gabbitas ran off to the place to get help, and when he got there he -found other people there too. The parson was just dead; but he’d had -time to say that he’d been murdered by two men, and he’d recognized one -of them as Ned Curnock.</p> - -<p>Tom only stopped to hear that, and bolted back and told his master, who -was terribly frightened, and said he should be hanged, and how was he to -escape? The young fellow who was with him said, “You must hide till the -coast’s clear. Where can you hide? They’ll think you’ve run away.”</p> - -<p>So they thought it out, and Curnock remembered that in his barn there -was a trapdoor which opened on to a kind of cellar in the ground. So he -went to the barn, and opened the trap, and got in, and they strewed -things about over the top, so that the trap would be hidden. It was -agreed that Tom Gabbitas was to take him food and drink there twice a -day, which he could do, because he could go into the barn about his work -without suspicion.</p> - -<p>The other young man went home quietly, saying he was safe, as nobody but -Gabbitas and Curnock knew he was in it, and they wouldn’t blab.</p> - -<p>The people and the police came to the farm that night, but Tom said his -master had gone out and hadn’t come in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> The farm was searched and -watched all night and all the next day, and then everybody said that Ned -Curnock had got clear away. Rewards were offered, and the description of -Curnock was sent all over England; but, of course, he was never found, -and at last he was forgotten.</p> - -<p>But something awful had happened in the meantime. Tom took his master -food all right the first day, going cautiously into the barn, and, when -nobody was about, lifting the trap. His master would put his head up -then, and take the food, and ask, “What news?” The third night, when -everybody was sure Curnock had gone, the other young fellow came to see -about some things of his Curnock had bought, he said, and hadn’t settled -for; but, of course, it was to get into the barn and see Curnock.</p> - -<p>He went, and Tom took the dark lantern and went first, and when they -were in they lifted the trap. Curnock was tired of being there, and he -said escape was hopeless, and he should go and give himself up and make -a clean breast of it.</p> - -<p>“No,” said the other fellow, “don’t do that; you shall escape, and get -clean away this very night. I’ll come to you at midnight and tell you -how.”</p> - -<p>Then Tom and this young fellow went back into the house, where there was -only an old female servant—Curnock being a bachelor—and the young -fellow gave Tom money, and told him he’d better rise early in the -morning and walk to the nearest town, and take the stage-coach and go to -London, and wait for his master at a place he was told of.</p> - -<p>Tom went, and three days after, instead of his master, the young fellow -came. “It’s all right, Tom,” he said; “Mr Curnock’s got clear away and -gone to America. I’m going to buy his farm and send the money out to -him.”</p> - -<p>“What am I going to do?” said Tom.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you can come back, and work on my farm. There’s always a job for -you there, and I’ll give you and your wife a cottage on my place.”</p> - -<p>Tom wondered then why he had been sent to London; but he supposed they -had altered their plans afterwards, as he was to have met his master in -London and helped him in some way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span></p> - -<p>When he got back, all his things had been moved to the cottage at the -other farm, which was three miles away, and he worked on that farm for -thirty years. And his new master carried on both; but he never went to -the old farm again.</p> - -<p>All these years, whenever anybody spoke of Ned Curnock, it was always -said he’d got away to America, and was living there.</p> - -<p>After thirty years, the other farmer, who had lived a bachelor all his -life, died, and then the farm was sold again. A stranger took it, and -when he came he began a lot of alteration. Among other places altered -was the barn, which was pulled down for a new building to be put up in -its place. And when they cleared it out, and began pulling it down, they -came on the trapdoor.</p> - -<p>The flooring was taken up, of course, and underneath—in the cellar—was -found the skeleton of a man.</p> - -<p>It was the skeleton of Ned Curnock.</p> - -<p>For thirty years the dead man had been there, and it was proved that he -had been murdered. He was identified by many things—among others by a -peculiar ring, which was on the bony finger still, the hands having been -clutched together in death. How they proved he had been murdered was by -the skull. The doctor proved he had been struck on the head with a -chopper, which had split the skull open.</p> - -<p>Tom Gabbitas came forward then, and told all he knew; and there is no -doubt Ned Curnock was murdered the night Tom went away. His accomplice -went to the trap, and, instead of helping his friend to escape, killed -him as he put his head out, fearing that he would be caught if he went -away, and would tell the truth, and so get his accomplice hanged as -well.</p> - -<p>Tom Gabbitas was charged with being an accessory after the fact of the -parson’s murder—that’s how Mr. Wilkins puts it, I think—but it was so -long ago, and Tom was so respected by everybody, and it was proved that -he’d thought the parson was accidentally killed in a struggle and no -murder was meant, and after he’d been remanded a lot of times he was -sentenced to a short imprisonment, which was to date from the time he -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> locked up; so he was set free and came back to the village, where -he was quite a hero and had to tell the story to everybody, and to lots -of people who weren’t born when it all happened.</p> - -<p>When the story was done I looked at old Gaffer Gabbitas, aged -eighty-nine, sitting there, and it seemed so strange to be looking at a -man who’d been mixed up in two murders and could talk of them now as -calmly and as quietly as if they were nothing at all.</p> - -<p>When you get very old you are like that, I’m told. I asked the Gaffer a -lot of questions, and he answered me quite nicely, and was as clear -about everything as if it was yesterday.</p> - -<p>But fancy him living in the village for thirty years, and never -suspecting that the master he thought was in America was lying in his -own barn, murdered, all that time, and him being servant to the man who -was his murderer!</p> - -<p>And the man who did the murder! Fancy him living in the place, too, and -growing old there, with the body of his victim on his premises, and -going about his business quietly, and living his life like everybody -else! I wonder if he ever passed that barn at night! I wonder if he -didn’t often start out of his sleep and think that all was going to be -found out. The more you think of these things, the more wonderful they -are. What awful secrets some of the easy-going, comfortable-looking -people we meet every day must be carrying about locked up in their -breasts, hidden from everybody, just as Ned Curnock’s dead body lay -hidden away for thirty years in his own barn.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins, when it was time to go, took the Gaffer’s arm, and said -he’d see him to his door, and the old gentleman shook hands with me, and -said he should come and see us again. He’d had many a glass in the old -place when it was only a little inn, he said; and as he was going out he -said, “Wonderful changes—wonderful changes in the old place, surely.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins came back a minute, and he whispered to me, “Well, are you -glad I brought old Gaffer Gabbitas to see you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said; “certainly. His story is part of the story of the place. -But it’s very dreadful. I shall dream of skeletons in a barn all night -long.”</p> - -<p>And so I did, and I woke up with a scream, lying on my back, and Harry -said, “Good heavens! what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s the skeleton in the barn!” I said. I knew I should dream of -it, and I didn’t go to sleep again for an hour, but kept thinking of old -Gaffer Gabbitas and the two murders he’d been mixed up in and seemed -none the worse for.</p> - -<p>Two murders, and both in our village! Thank goodness they were such a -long time ago. Murders aren’t the sort of things you care to be too -common in a place you’ve got to live in. Harry said he should go and -have a look at Curnock’s farm, as it was still called, in the morning, -and he asked me if I’d come with him.</p> - -<p>I said, “Oh, please talk of something else, or not a wink shall I have -this night.” I couldn’t get to sleep. I counted sheep, but there was a -skeleton among them. I watched the waving corn, and a skeleton looked at -me out of the middle of it. I looked at the sea-waves rolling along, but -a skeleton floated——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry, let me send for a doctor!”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t nonsense. Why, your hands are cut dreadfully—it’s most -dangerous—it turns to lock-jaw sometimes! ‘Only a scratch?’ It’s a -cut—a deep, deep, deep cut. Oh, how could you be so careless? I told -you you’d burst a bottle some day—driving the corks in like that. You -should always look to see they’re not too full. It’s a mercy you weren’t -killed on the spot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /><br /> -<i>DASHING DICK.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> first year that we had the ‘Stretford Arms’ was one of great anxiety -to us, as you may be sure. All our capital was invested in the business, -and not only all our capital, but a good deal of money that Harry’s -friends had lent him to help us to take it. If things had gone wrong -with us it would have been dreadful, and I don’t know what we should -have done.</p> - -<p>It was a great relief to both our minds when, from the first, we found -that we had a property which, with care and good management, could be -improved. Some properties, especially in our trade, go all the other -way, and nothing will save them. There are so many things that will take -the business from an hotel, and when they happen no power on earth can -stop your going down. You may spend your money, you may advertise, you -may work yourself to the bone, but down, down, down you go, and the -longer you cling to the hope of things taking a turn, the more money you -lose.</p> - -<p>Of course, we couldn’t tell what would happen when we took the -‘Stretford Arms,’ and my want of experience in the business made me very -nervous. But from the first we began to get confidence, and that is a -wonderful thing. When you can see things are going right, you can do a -lot that you can’t do when things are wavering or going wrong.</p> - -<p>But, though we very soon got confidence, and felt comfortable in our -minds, we were just as careful as ever, and we determined not to leave -anything to chance. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> were very economical ourselves, and we only laid -out money on the place a little at the time, knowing how true the old -proverb is which says, “Learn to walk before you try to run.”</p> - -<p>We didn’t have more servants than we could help, and Harry and I worked -like niggers, as the saying is; though Harry, who had seen niggers at -work, says it isn’t a good one, for some niggers do just as much as you -make them do, and not a bit more.</p> - -<p>But after the first year in the ‘Stretford Arms,’ I couldn’t do so much -as I had done, because I had my dear little baby boy to think about, and -I wasn’t quite so well and strong for a little time after that as I had -been before, and Harry wouldn’t let me even do what I might have done.</p> - -<p>He said my health was far more precious to him than anything else in the -world, and that we’d much better pay a few pounds a year extra in wages -than a lot of money in doctor’s bills. So after baby was born we had a -nurse for him, and another housemaid, and a few months after that, when -business kept on improving, and we found that we were getting a nice -little hotel connection, we took on an odd man. His duties were to clean -the boots, to carry the luggage up and down, to look after the pony, -and, when we weren’t busy, he filled up his time with odd jobs and in -the garden.</p> - -<p>We were very glad we had him, for a nicer, civiller, more obliging -fellow I never met with. It was quite a pleasure to ask him to do -anything, because you saw at once that you had pleased him by giving him -a chance of showing how useful he could be. There aren’t many of that -sort about, so that we were lucky to get him.</p> - -<p>He came to us in this way. We had been talking about having an odd man, -and getting rid of the boy who looked after the pony and did the boots, -etc., because the boy was the plague of our lives, and we never knew -what he was going to be up to next. He was a boy named Dick, that we -took on to oblige Mr. Wilkins, who recommended him as a smart boy; and -there was another reason, which was that his grandmother, a very decent -old woman, who lived in the village, couldn’t afford to keep him at -home, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> wanted him out somewhere where he could sleep on the -premises.</p> - -<p>We took him, and he certainly was smart. He had been educated at a good -charity school (as I was myself, so I’ve nothing to say against that), -but, unfortunately, he’d learnt to read and write and nothing very much -else. He couldn’t cipher, and his writing was very bad, and his spelling -not over grand. So he couldn’t be got into an office, and his poor old -grandmother was worrying herself into the grave about what to do for -him, when Mr. Wilkins mentioned him to Harry, and Harry, who’d just -bought our pony, took him.</p> - -<p>He was a nice-looking lad, and always very respectful, and spoke nicely, -though using words above his station and in the wrong place; but there -was no reliance to be placed upon him, and he forgot things he was told -to do over and over again.</p> - -<p>For a long time we couldn’t make out what made him so slow over his -work, and so careless; but we found it out at last. He was a great -reader, and took in a lot of trash, written for boys, about pirates and -highwaymen, and all that sort of thing, and his head was filled with -romantic nonsense instead of thinking about his work.</p> - -<p>Harry found it out first one day going into the stables, when nobody had -seen the boy for an hour, and finding him sitting down comfortably in -one of the stalls smoking the end of a cigar, and reading “The Boy -Highwayman.”</p> - -<p>Harry boxed his ears for smoking in the stables, and was so mad with him -he told him to go; but the boy began to cry, and Harry said he would -give him another chance, but read him an awful lecture, saying he might -burn us all down in our beds, and telling him if he read such rubbish he -would come to be hanged.</p> - -<p>He went on all right for a little while after that, though his work was -not done properly; but one day our nursemaid, Lucy Jones, a nice, -well-behaved girl of eighteen, came to me and asked me if she could -speak to me about a private matter.</p> - -<p>I said “Yes,” and then she said she wanted to show me a letter which she -had found inside one of her boots when she went to put it on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span></p> - -<p>I took the letter and read it, and it made my blood run cold. This is -the letter, which I kept as a curiosity:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"> -<span class="smcap">My darling Miss Jones</span>, -</p> - -<p>“This comes hoping that you will dain to smile on my suit. I have -long love you from a fur. Will you elope with me to forring climbs, -where we may live happy. You shall have silks and sattings and -jewls, and be the envy of all my dashing companons. I shall be -verry proud of you at the hed of my bord, when it is spred with the -feest, and all my brave, dare-devill fellowes shall tost you as -their cheifs inamerato. This is French, but it means a bride. If -you will fly with me name your own time. It must be nite, and I -will have the hosses redy. Bring all your jewls and money. If we -are follered I am prepaired to die in your defense; but have no -fere. The man does not brethe the God’s air that is to take his -pray from</p> - -<p class="r"> -“<span class="smcap">Dashing Dick</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>“If you accep my hoffer, deer Miss Jones, put your answer in your -boots when you put them out to be clened. I will make you a Quene. -Don’t delay, as my brave Band is waiting for their horders.”</p></div> - -<p>At first the letter made me so indignant I couldn’t laugh, though it was -so ridiculous. I guessed at once who it was had sent it to her by the -writing, and its coming in her boots, and the answer to be put back in -her boots.</p> - -<p>The girl was quite indignant. “I never heard such impudence in my life, -ma’am!” she said. “And a bit of a boy like that, too!”</p> - -<p>“You’ve never given him any encouragement, I suppose!” I said.</p> - -<p>“Never, ma’am. The only time he ever spoke to me on such a subject was -when he asked me to walk out with him on Sunday, and then I said he’d -better go home and read to his grandmother. Encouragement! I hope I know -myself better, ma’am, than to keep company with the likes of him. Why, -he’s ever so much younger than me, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“I only asked, Lucy,” I said. “I didn’t suppose you <i>had</i> encouraged -him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>I didn’t, because I knew Lucy had set her cap, so to speak, at a young -fellow in the village—a handsome young fellow, too—with a little black -moustache, that was quite unique in the neighbourhood; but I asked her, -because, having been in service, I know how girls will sometimes -encourage forward lads—pages, for instance—being fond of larking, and -saying, “Oh, there’s no harm; he’s only a boy.” So I thought I’d just -ask Lucy the question.</p> - -<p>I saw by her style she was quite innocent in the matter; so I told her -to leave the letter with me, and I would speak to my husband about it, -and he would decide what should be done.</p> - -<p>When I showed the letter to Harry he couldn’t help laughing, though he -was very cross. “The young varmint!” he said.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” I said. “You must get rid of the boy. He -isn’t safe to be about the place with notions like that in his head. I’m -very sorry for his poor old grandmother; but he’ll come to a bad end -soon, and I don’t want him to come to it here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I shall give him the sack,” said Harry; “but I’m sorry for him, -because it’s the trash he’s been reading that has put this stuff into -his head.”</p> - -<p>After dinner, Harry sent for Master Dick, and, when the young gentleman -came in, showed him the letter, and asked him what he meant by writing -such wickedness to our nursemaid.</p> - -<p>The boy never changed colour a moment. He looked straight at Harry, and -said, “Did she show it to you, sir?”</p> - -<p>“She showed it to Mrs. Beckett,” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Then it was very unladylike of her,” said the boy, “and she’s a mean -sneak. No man likes his love-letters to be shown about.”</p> - -<p>“Love-letters, you young rascal!” cried Harry; “what business have you -putting your love-letters in a respectable young woman’s boots? And, -besides, this isn’t a love-letter, it’s asking the girl to elope, and -it’s full of wickedness about jewels, and a band of daring fellows. What -do you mean by it, sir?”</p> - -<p>Master Dick looked at Harry a minute. Then he struck an attitude.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span></p> - -<p>“What I do after I’ve left your service, sir, is my own business, isn’t -it?”</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t,” said Harry; “it’s mine, because you’re placed with me by -your grandmother, and it’s my duty to see that you don’t do anything to -disgrace yourself if I can help it. Whose horses are you going to have -ready, pray? And where are you going to get the silks and satins and -jewels from? A nice idea, indeed! I’ve a good mind to send for a -policeman.”</p> - -<p>The boy turned very red at that, and his manner made Harry think he was -frightened that something might be found out.</p> - -<p>So, instead of dismissing the boy there and then, he gave him a good -talking to, and said he should decide what was to be done with him -afterwards.</p> - -<p>Then Harry came to me, and said, “Mary Jane, there’s something wrong -with that boy. I’m afraid he’s been up to no good.”</p> - -<p>“Of course he hasn’t,” I said. “He certainly wasn’t up to any good when -he wrote that wicked letter to Lucy.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t that only I’m thinking of. I’m afraid, putting two and two -together, that he’s been making ready to run away, and that perhaps he’s -got what doesn’t belong to him.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean you think he’s been stealing?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do,” said Harry; “but the thing is, how am I to make sure? I’ll -go and make inquiries.”</p> - -<p>Harry went and asked the other servants, and the people about the place, -a few questions, and at last he found out that Master Dick had been seen -going pretty often into a shed where we kept some empty cases and -lumber. So Harry went to it quietly, and turned it thoroughly over, and -then he came on a box hidden away that aroused his suspicions. He broke -the box open, and inside it he found an old pistol and a belt, and a -pair of his old sea-boots, that must have been taken from our spare room -upstairs, and an old red flannel shirt, and a lot of penny numbers about -boy pirates and highwaymen, and right at the bottom of the box two pairs -of my best stockings and some old bows of ribbons, and one or two<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> -trifles like that, which the young rascal had evidently taken at -different times when he had been at work about the house.</p> - -<p>Harry came and told me, and said he supposed the pistol and the belt, -and the red shirt, and the boots were for the young gentleman to dress -himself up in when he took to the road or to the sea, whichever it was -to be, and my stockings and the bits of ribbons were the satins and -jewels, etc., which he was going to present to Lucy, if she consented to -elope with him, and be the bride of the chief of the “band of daring -fellows,” which was himself, viz. Dashing Dick.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry!” I said, “how shocking! Who would believe that a boy, -decently brought up, could be so wicked!”</p> - -<p>Of course, after we found he had taken things, we couldn’t keep him, -even if we had looked over that letter to our nursemaid, and so Harry -went to his grandmother and told her that our place didn’t suit her boy, -as he had too much liberty, and then he told her that the boy had taken -one or two little things, and he must be punished. We shouldn’t, of -course, give him into custody and ruin him for life for my stockings and -Harry’s boots, but that sort of thing, if not checked in time, would go -on till it became wholesale robbery.</p> - -<p>The old lady was very much upset, and said, what could she do, as the -boy was quite beyond her control. So Harry said he would try and think, -but he should give the boy notice, and send him home, as he couldn’t -have him about the place. If he overlooked it, it would be an -encouragement to the boy to go on in his evil courses.</p> - -<p>That evening, after his work was done, my young gentleman was told he -wouldn’t be wanted any more, and Harry made him come into the kitchen -and unpack his box before all the servants to try and make him ashamed -of himself. The other servants laughed at the pistol and the red shirt, -but Harry told them it was no laughing matter, as the young lad would -come to ruin the way he was going on; and then he discharged him and -gave him a most severe lecture, telling him to think himself lucky he -wasn’t given into custody.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span></p> - -<p>But the boy was very sullen and defiant, and though he didn’t say -anything to Harry, as he was going he turned to Lucy, who was in the -kitchen, and he said, “This is your doing, and you shall pay for it.” -And he gave her such a glance with his eyes as he went out of the door -that the girl came to me and said she was quite frightened.</p> - -<p>“What nonsense, Lucy!” I said; “it’s only his brag. It’s something he’s -picked up out of one of the wretched tales he has been reading.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, ma’am,” answered Lucy; “it’s my belief that he’s off his -head; and I’ve heard of boys doing dreadful things when they’re like -that. I sha’n’t feel safe till he’s out of the place.”</p> - -<p>I talked to the girl, and told her not to be a goose; but she quite made -up her mind that the young imp meant to do her a mischief, for showing -his letter to me and Harry.</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>That night, just as we were shutting up, a man from the village came -with a message from Dick’s grandmother to say her boy had been home, put -on his Sunday clothes, done all his things up in a bundle and started -off, saying she would never see him again, and please what was she to -do. Had we any idea where he was likely to be gone to?</p> - -<p>Harry sent word back that he couldn’t say anything; but the best thing -was to send up to the police-station, and they might hear something.</p> - -<p>The next day, Lucy came to me as pale as death, and said, “Oh, ma’am, -look at this,” and showed me a letter which had come for her that -morning, and it was this—“You have betrade our captin; deth to -informars!” and underneath it was a skull and two cross-bones and a -coffin.</p> - -<p>“I daren’t go out, ma’am,” she said; “I daren’t, indeed. He might be -lurking about and jump out on me with a pistol. He used to be always -telling stories in the kitchen about highwaymen and their stopping -people on the road, and you may depend upon it, ma’am, that’s what he’s -going to be now he’s run away. I shouldn’t be afraid of him, but if he’s -got hold of a pistol there’s no knowing what might happen. And suppose, -ma’am, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> was to meet me in the lane while I was out with baby, -whatever should I do?”</p> - -<p>This was a nice idea, and it made me nervous, too; for I had visions of -Lucy fainting, or dropping my baby; or, perhaps, the pistol, if the -young rascal had one, going off accidentally, and hitting my baby. So I -made up my mind she shouldn’t take baby out, except into the garden, and -just in front of the house.</p> - -<p>I said to Harry, “It’s a nice thing if we are all to be kept in terror -by a bit of a boy, who has read penny numbers, and wants to play at -being a highwayman; and something must be done.” Harry said it was all -nonsense—the boy was gone, and if he <i>was</i> hanging about the -neighbourhood, where was he to get a pistol from? The one Harry had -taken out of his box was an old worn-out thing, and wasn’t loaded, and -he wouldn’t have the money to get another.</p> - -<p>I said, “Oh, I don’t know; he might steal one. I’ve read in the papers -about errand boys getting revolvers; and I shall never know a moment’s -peace till I know where that wretched boy is. A nice thing, if my nurse -goes out one day with baby, and gets shot by the young fiend.”</p> - -<p>So Harry went up to the police-station, and they laid a trap to catch my -lord. From something one of the policemen had heard, he believed that -one of the boys of the village was in league with Dick, and knew where -he was hiding. So Lucy was told to get hold of this boy, and tell him -that she had thought it over and altered her mind, and she wanted to -send a letter to Dick.</p> - -<p>The boy was sharp. He said, “I don’t know where Dick is; but, if I see -him, I’ll give it to him;” and he took the letter. The letter asked Dick -to meet Lucy at nine o’clock the next night up by Giles’s farm, which is -up at the top of a lonely road, about half a mile away from the village.</p> - -<p>When the time came, instead of Lucy going, one of the policemen in plain -clothes went up to the place, and hid behind a hedge. We heard all about -it afterwards. After he had waited a little, he saw Master Dick come -cautiously along, it being a nice light night, and when he was quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> -close, the policeman jumped out on him; but, before he could get hold of -him, the young fiend had a revolver pointed at his head.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s a trick, is it?” he said. “I thought it was, so I’ve come -prepared.”</p> - -<p>“Put that down, you young varmint!” yelled the policeman. “Do you hear? -Put that down.”</p> - -<p>He told us afterwards he felt very nervous; for that horrid boy pointed -the revolver at him, with his finger on the trigger, and he was afraid -every minute it might go off.</p> - -<p>“Not me,” said the little wretch; “you’re at my mercy now.”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t put that pistol down,” said the policeman, beginning to be -all of a perspiration, “I’ll give you such a thrashing as you never had -in your life.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no, you won’t,” said the boy; “you come a step nearer to me, and -I’ll blow your brains out.”</p> - -<p>With that the policeman began to shout, because he saw he could do -nothing. Being a married man, and the father of a family, he didn’t care -to have a bullet in him.</p> - -<p>But directly he began to shout, the boy called out, “You shout again, -and I’ll shoot you dead,” and he put his finger on the trigger again, -ready to pull it.</p> - -<p>It was a terrible position for our policeman, and he didn’t know what to -do. There was nobody about, and he was helpless. Of course he might have -made a dash for the revolver; but, as he said, before he could get it, -it might have gone off, and then, where would he have been?</p> - -<p>The little wretch saw his advantage, and if he didn’t say, as cool as -you please, “Now then, Jones” (it was the same policeman who woke us up -about our door being open, the night of the burglary at The Hall),—“now -then, Jones, take off your watch and chain, and throw them on the -ground.”</p> - -<p>“I sha’n’t,” said the policeman.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well; then I shall have to make you. I’ll count three, and if -you haven’t put them down I’ll pull the trigger.”</p> - -<p>“One!”</p> - -<p>“Two!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Poor Jones hesitated. It was ridiculous; but he was in mortal terror of -that deadly weapon in a boy’s hands. So he took off his watch and chain -and put them down.</p> - -<p>“Now, all the money you’ve got in your pockets.”</p> - -<p>Jones had drawn his week’s pay, and had a sovereign; but he wouldn’t say -so.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t got any money,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you have.”</p> - -<p>“No, I haven’t. Come, my boy, don’t make a fool of yourself. Put that -pistol down and come with me.”</p> - -<p>“Not likely! What do you take me for? Come, your money or your life!”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t got any money, I tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Take off your coat, then!”</p> - -<p>“I sha’n’t!”</p> - -<p>“Take off your coat, and throw it on the ground.”</p> - -<p>“One!”</p> - -<p>“Two!”</p> - -<p>Again the pistol was pointed straight at Jones’s head. He looked round. -It was a lonely place. The farm lay right back across the fields, and he -daren’t shout, so he didn’t know what to do. He wished he had brought -somebody with him; but it had been agreed he should go alone; because, -if several people had gone, the boy’s suspicions would have been -aroused, and he wouldn’t have come near enough to be caught perhaps.</p> - -<p>“If I say ‘Three,’ I’ll shoot,” said the boy.</p> - -<p>The policeman saw it was no use, so he took off his coat.</p> - -<p>“Now, your waistcoat!”</p> - -<p>Jones had to take off his waistcoat.</p> - -<p>“Turn out the pockets!”</p> - -<p>Jones turned out the pockets. There was only his pipe and his -handkerchief in them.</p> - -<p>“Now, turn out the trousers pockets.”</p> - -<p>Poor Jones! The sovereign was in one trousers pocket. He turned them -out; but kept the sovereign in his hand.</p> - -<p>But Master Dick saw the trick.</p> - -<p>“Drop what you’ve got in your hand!”</p> - -<p>“One!”</p> - -<p>“Two!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Down went the sovereign on the road.</p> - -<p>“Now! Right about turn. Quick march!”</p> - -<p>“I sha’n’t.”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be hanged.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care. I’ll die game.”</p> - -<p>Wasn’t it awful? But it was the stuff he had read.</p> - -<p>Poor Jones, who certainly is not a brave man, perhaps through having a -wife and family, had to give it up as a bad job, turned round, and began -to move slowly away.</p> - -<p>As soon as he had got a little distance, he turned round, and saw Master -Dick pick up the sovereign and the coat and waistcoat, and run away with -them.</p> - -<p>Jones turned round then, and shouted, and ran after him.</p> - -<p>But directly he came close, Master Dick turned round with the revolver.</p> - -<p>Jones hesitated.</p> - -<p>“If you come a step nearer, I’ll fire,” shouted the boy.</p> - -<p>Jones was just turning round to go away again, wondering whatever people -would say if he came back into the village in his shirt-sleeves, when, -suddenly, a man came along the road in the opposite direction, and -before the boy knew what was up, his arms were seized from behind, and -the pistol was forced out of his hand. It was Harry, who had gone up to -the place to see if anything had happened, and who had seen the last -part of the performance at a distance.</p> - -<p>And when they had collared the boy, and Jones had put on his coat and -waistcoat and got his sovereign back, and was walking Master Dick off to -the police-station, Harry picked up the revolver, and looked at it.</p> - -<p><i>It was empty!</i></p> - -<p>Poor Jones went hot and cold, and begged Harry not to say anything about -it, because it would make him look so small; and Harry, who would have -burst out laughing if the boy hadn’t been there, promised not to tell; -and he didn’t tell anybody except me. It must have looked ridiculous. I -couldn’t help laughing at the idea myself, the policeman having to take -off his clothes, frightened by a boy with an empty revolver.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span></p> - -<p>Master Dick was taken before the magistrates, and tried for sending a -threatening letter, and being in possession of a pistol, which, it was -presumed, he had stolen from a farmer’s house in the neighbourhood, but -nothing was said by Jones about the robbery from him, and the boy was -wise enough to hold his tongue.</p> - -<p>We all begged hard that he mightn’t be sent to prison, because of the -evil company and the stain for life, so the magistrate sent him to a -reformatory; and I suppose he is there now.</p> - -<p>After that, our nursemaid felt relieved in her mind, poor girl, and so -did I. It was not a nice idea to think that Dashing Dick, the boy -highwayman, was waiting about for her with a pistol, every time she took -baby out for a walk.</p> - -<p>That was our first boy, and we didn’t have another. They’re more trouble -than they’re worth, especially boys that can read, and get bitten with -the romantic idea. It was all very well when they only ran away to sea; -but now that they want to be burglars and pirates and highwaymen, it’s -awful. You never know what dreadful things they’ll be up to. I knew a -boy once that stole a hundred pounds, and bought six revolvers with the -money, and stuck them all in his belt, loaded, and rode about the -country on a horse, stopping old ladies coming home from market, and -making them stand and deliver their purses, and all they had in their -baskets, and was only caught through robbing an old lady who had a -bottle of gin in her basket, which he drank, and got so drunk that he -fell off his horse, and was found lying in the road, with his head cut -open, and taken to the station.</p> - -<p>I’m sure the trash that’s sold to boys and girls has a lot to answer -for, for they read it at a time when their minds are influenced by it, -and they haven’t the sense to see the wickedness of it and what it leads -to. Lots of girls in service are ruined through the vile stuff they read -making them discontented, and wanting to be I don’t know what.</p> - -<p>It was after this awful boy of ours had turned out so badly that we -determined to have a man, and it was then that Tom Dexter came to us. He -is the odd man I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> going to speak about, when I left off to tell you -the story of Dashing Dick, who wanted our nursemaid to elope with him, -and who put his love-letters in her boots when he cleaned them. Tom -Dexter was——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Oh, Harry, dear, <i>do</i> you really think it? Money going out of the till! -Whoever can it be?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /><br /> -<i>OUR ODD MAN.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I told</span> you our odd man, Tom Dexter, came to us after that awful young -scamp of a boy, who was going to be a highwayman, left.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins wanted to recommend a man he knew, who had been ostler up in -London, but Harry said, “No, thank you, Wilkins, I’ll look out for one -myself.” It was Mr. Wilkins who recommended us the boy highwayman, so we -hadn’t much faith in his recommendations after that; though, of course, -he meant well, and only wanted to do the boy’s grandmother a good turn.</p> - -<p>I often think what a lot of bad turns you do sometimes to many people -through trying to do one person a good turn. I’ve heard it said over and -over again, “This comes of trying to do a man a good turn;” and it has -always been about something unpleasant having happened.</p> - -<p>It isn’t only that the person you try to do a good turn to brings -trouble about, but the person himself or herself—for women are as bad -as men in that respect—is generally ungrateful to you for what you’ve -done, and very often “rounds” on you, as the common expression is, and -tries to make out that you’ve done them, or I suppose I ought to say, to -be grammatical, done him or her an injury.</p> - -<p>“One good turn deserves another,” the proverb says; but my experience of -doing anybody a good turn is, that it very seldom gets what it deserves; -but generally the other thing.</p> - -<p>I recollect one place, when I was in service, where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> master was a -most kind-hearted man, and a friend came to him one day, and told him a -tale about an old lady of very superior education, whose husband had -died, and left her in such reduced circumstances that if she did not -soon get something to do, she would have to go in the workhouse. The -friend told my master that this old lady was a most excellent -housekeeper, and used to looking after servants, because she had had her -own, and she spoke and wrote French, and would be very useful that way, -when there were children learning the language, to talk to them, and -give them an accent.</p> - -<p>“I knew her husband in business,” said the friend to master, “and you’d -be doing a deserving woman a good turn, if you could find her a -situation where her talents would be appreciated.”</p> - -<p>It happened just at that time that my mistress had been saying to master -that, her health being so delicate, and they having to travel about a -good deal through it, the awful London winter being too much for her, -they ought really to have a housekeeper—a person they could leave at -home, to look after the house and the servants while they were away.</p> - -<p>Master came home and told missus about the old lady (Mrs. Le Jeune, her -name was), and missus said that that was just the very sort of person -they wanted. Why not give her a trial?</p> - -<p>“Just what I was thinking myself,” said master; “only, my dear, I -thought I would consult you first.”</p> - -<p>He knew by experience that if he <i>did’nt</i> consult missus first about -everything, the fat would be in the fire; for she was one of those -ladies who don’t believe that a man can do anything right, and master -used to say sometimes he wondered she let him manage his own business. -Of course he didn’t say that to us servants; but we used to hear when -they were having arguments at dinner, which was pretty often.</p> - -<p>It happened that just at the time master’s friend told him about Mrs. Le -Jeune, we were going to have a grand ball, and missus, who had nervous -headaches, was grumbling a good deal, and saying she couldn’t attend to -everything because of her health; so master said it would be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> good -thing to have the old lady engaged at once, and then she could take a -lot of trouble off missus’s shoulders.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Le Jeune, it seems, couldn’t come for some reason just then. -What it was I don’t know, but at any rate she didn’t arrive until the -afternoon of the day that the ball was to come off, and then she drove -up in a four-wheeled cab, with a big box outside, about five o’clock.</p> - -<p>Of course we were all sixes and sevens in the kitchen, because it was -rather a small house, and we’d had to turn the best bedroom into a -supper-room, and we’d had the upholsterer’s men about all day fitting it -up, and draping and decorating the other rooms, and we were all -topsy-turvy.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Le Jeune, when I let her in, told me she was the new housekeeper, -and asked to see missus. Missus had gone to lie down, so as to be right -for the evening, and had given orders that she wasn’t to be disturbed -for anybody till six o’clock, and I knew it would be bad for me if I -went and woke her up; so I said to the old lady that missus was asleep; -but I would show her to the room that was to be hers.</p> - -<p>She was a queer-looking old lady, certainly. She was very short, and had -a big bonnet on, and a long, black, foreign-looking cloak, and the -longest nose I think I ever saw on a woman in my life, but she spoke -like a lady certainly, but when she walked it almost made me laugh. It -wasn’t a walk—it was a little skip, and when she moved about, it was -for all the world as if she was dancing.</p> - -<p>When I told her missus could not see her, she said, “Oh, it is very -strange. Madam knew that I was coming, she should have arranged for my -reception; but these City people have no manners. What’s your name, -girl?”</p> - -<p>“Mary Jane.”</p> - -<p>“Mary Jane what?”</p> - -<p>“Mary Jane Buffham.”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Mary Jane, madam,’ you mean. Be good enough never to address me -without calling me ‘madam.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, I didn’t know——”</p> - -<p>“Did you hear what I said to you? I can’t allow you to speak to me as if -I were your equal. I am a lady by birth and education. I have consented -to take charge of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> this establishment in order that it may be properly -conducted. I shall have to begin by teaching the servants how to behave -themselves, evidently. Now, send some one to carry my box and conduct me -to my apartment.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> - -<p>I thought to myself, “Well, this is a nice old lady the master’s got -hold of. She and missus won’t hit it off together long;” but, of course, -it was no business of mine, so I asked one of the upholsterer’s men to -give me a hand, and we carried her box upstairs, and I showed the old -lady her room.</p> - -<p>It was at the top of the house, next the servants’ bedrooms. Before she -got up she was out of breath.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she said, “the attics! This is an insult to which I cannot submit. -I am a lady; your master does not seem to be aware of the fact.”</p> - -<p>I said I didn’t know anything about that. This was the room. So I got -her box in, and gave her a candle, and left her muttering to herself, -and taking off her bonnet in front of the looking-glass, and putting on -a most wonderful cap, which she took out of the blue bonnet-box she had -carried in her hand.</p> - -<p>It was a big black cap, with cherries and red-currants and grapes -sticking up all over it, and she looked so odd with it on, I had to go -away, for fear I should burst out laughing, and hurt her feelings.</p> - -<p>In about half an hour the old lady came downstairs into the kitchen, and -everybody stared at her. It was most uncomfortable for us all to have a -strange housekeeper, and such an eccentric one, walking in right in the -middle of the preparations for a party, and beginning to missus it over -us at once, and to talk like a duchess to us.</p> - -<p>There were a lot of men about the kitchen, which made it worse, the -upholsterer’s men, and the confectioner’s men, who were finishing off -the things for supper, and the florist’s man with the plants and the -flowers; and when that extraordinary old lady walked in, with her -wonderful cap, and began to go on at us at once, and order us to do this -and to do that, and to say we were a common lot, and not one of us knew -how things ought to be done, I wondered what would be the end of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span></p> - -<p>Before the company came, master went to have a look at the ball-room to -see if everything was right, while missus was dressing, and there he -found the old lady, who had gone upstairs, and was talking to the -upholsterer’s men, who were finishing off, and telling them about how -different things were when she was young, and the men were what is -called “getting at her,” and encouraging her to talk.</p> - -<p>When master went in, he was quite flabbergasted to see that old lady, in -her wonderful cap, talking away, and saying this ought to be altered and -that ought to be altered, and he didn’t know who she was at first, not -recognizing her, till she came up and said—</p> - -<p>“Good evening, sir; I’m just looking round to see if things are as they -should be.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you,” said the master, hardly knowing what to say. “But I -won’t trouble you to do that.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s no trouble,” she said; “I’m used to these affairs. If you’ll -allow me to say it, sir, I don’t care for these artificial flowers about -the place. They should be real.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so,” said master; “but if you’ll kindly stay below and look -after the servants, that is all you need do at present.”</p> - -<p>He was anxious to get her out of the way before missus came down, -because he guessed there would be trouble if missus found that old lady -interfering and giving orders.</p> - -<p>Missus was like that. She wouldn’t allow anybody to interfere with her, -and she was very touchy on the point. Once she wanted to leave the house -they were living in, and master put it in the agent’s hands and -advertised it, and a gentleman and his wife came and looked at it -several times, and everything was settled, and the deed or agreement, or -whatever you call it, was to be signed, when, the day before, the lady -who was going to take the house came to look over it again, and, going -over the drawing-room with missus, she said, “I don’t think the colour -of your curtains harmonizes with the paper. When I have the house, I -shall have the curtains such and such a colour.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span></p><p>That was enough for missus. She fired up directly, and said, “Oh, I’m -sorry I didn’t consult you when I was putting my curtains up, but the -colour suits me well enough, and you won’t alter it, because you won’t -have the house!”</p> - -<p>And then there were a few words, and the lady thought it best to retire.</p> - -<p>That night, when the master came home, missus told him that she’d -changed her mind, and she wouldn’t leave the house, and the agreement -wasn’t to be signed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but, my dear,” said master, “everything is in the lawyer’s hands, -and the place is as good as let. We can’t back out of it now.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to back out of it,” said missus, “for I’m not going to let -that woman have my house. She’s had the impudence to find fault with my -taste, and to tell me what she’s going to do, and so she sha’n’t come in -at all—so there now!”</p> - -<p>And all master could say was no good. Missus declared she’d never go -into another house alive, and, for the sake of peace and quietness, -master had to refuse to sign the agreement at the last moment.</p> - -<p>There was an awful row about it, I heard, and the other gentleman was -very indignant, but it was no use. It was more than master dared do to -sign the agreement, knowing what his wife was, and he couldn’t be made -to, legally, so the other people had to give way after lawyer’s letters -had passed.</p> - -<p>And one day, when missus met the other lady in an omnibus going to -Regent Street, she said to her, “My curtains are still blue, madam;” and -the other lady called to the conductor to stop the omnibus, and she paid -her fare, and got out.</p> - -<p>Knowing how missus was, you may be sure the master was in a fright about -the new housekeeper interfering. There would have been a nice scene, -and, with the company beginning to arrive, he didn’t want that.</p> - -<p>So he said to the waiter who was had in—the man we always had for -dinner-parties and balls—“Waters,” he said, “for Heaven’s sake, keep -that old woman downstairs. Do anything you like, only keep her -downstairs.”</p> - -<p>“All right; sir,” said Waters. And he got the old lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> to sit down in -the breakfast-room, and keep guard over the provisions and the wine that -were put out for the musicians’ supper, and made out it was very -important she should be there, as she was to see that nobody came in and -helped themselves.</p> - -<p>She saw that nobody did, but <i>she</i> helped <i>herself</i>, and by the time the -ball was in full swing the poor old lady had drunk so much wine, she was -quite silly, and presently began to get lively, and, feeling lonely, I -suppose, she went upstairs to stand in the hall and see the fun, though -she had to lean up against the wall a good deal, the wine having got in -her head.</p> - -<p>I can’t tell you the trouble we had with her; but the end of it was she -suddenly made her appearance in the ball-room with her cap very much on -one side, and her face very flushed, and said, “Where’s Mr. —— [naming -the master]? I have a communication to make to him.”</p> - -<p>Master was horrified, and missus said, “Good gracious, who is this -person?”</p> - -<p>“Person, madam?” said the new housekeeper, “I’d have you to know I’m a -real lady, which is more than you are.”</p> - -<p>She made as if she would come across to missus, but she staggered, and -fell into the arms of a very stout old gentleman, and put her arms round -his neck, and began to have hysterics, and the waiter and master had to -get her away by main force between them, the company almost bursting -with laughter.</p> - -<p>Master was in an awful rage, and said he’d turn her out there and then, -but he couldn’t in her condition, and so two of us girls got her -upstairs and put her to bed, and we thought she’d go off to sleep; but -just as the company had sat down to supper in the bedroom, which had -been turned into a supper-room, she appeared with a candle in her hand, -like Lady Macbeth, and no cap on, only her bald head, looking the most -extraordinary figure you ever saw in your life, and asked if there was a -doctor present, as she felt very ill, and was liable to heart attacks if -not taken in time.</p> - -<p>Master and the waiter had to get her out again; but missus was in a -terrible rage about it, and went on at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> master before all the company, -saying he ought to be ashamed of himself, bringing such a creature into -the house. And the rest of the party was quite spoilt, missus going off -to bed herself in a temper, saying she had a bad headache, and master -was so worried that he took a little more champagne than was good for -him, and slipped up dancing, and hit his eye against a rout seat, and -made it so bad he was disfigured for the rest of the evening, and went -and hid himself down in the breakfast-room till the company were gone, -which they soon were, as everything was upset, and it got awkward.</p> - -<p>The next day when the old lady got up, about ten o’clock, she came down -and ordered her breakfast, and was beginning to missus it again, and say -what she was going to do, and how she was going to keep missus in her -place, when master came and told her to be off. He gave her ten -shillings, and ordered her box to be brought down and put on a cab, and -told her she was a wicked old woman, and she ought to be ashamed of -herself.</p> - -<p>She refused to go at first, saying she was engaged for three months, and -she wanted three months’ money. But she was got into the cab at last, -and we were all very thankful to see the last of her.</p> - -<p>But she sent master a County Court summons for three months’ wages, and -he had no end of trouble with her. And through going and giving his -friend, who had recommended her, a bit of his mind, they quarrelled, and -never spoke again; and missus, having put herself in such a rage the -night before, and gone to bed, got up cross the next morning, wild with -herself and everybody else, and had an awful quarrel with her mother, -who was very rich, and who reprimanded her for being so passionate, and -it caused such a coldness between them that, when a year after the -mother died, it was found she had altered her will, and left all her -money to charitable institutions, and master reckoned that he was twenty -thousand pounds out through doing a friend a good turn in giving that -old lady a job, besides all the worry and annoyance and the -unpleasantness that had come of it.</p> - -<p>It was writing about Mr. Wilkins and his doing the boy-highwayman’s -grandmother a good turn that put this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span> story into my head; but, of -course, it happened while I was in service, and has nothing to do with -the ‘Stretford Arms.’</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins was very sorry, I know, and we didn’t blame him; but we -weren’t going to let him do anybody else a good turn at our expense. So -Harry looked out for man, and having heard of one who was in want of a -job, named Tom Dexter, and liking his manner, and what he had heard -about him, he took him on, and a better servant we never had.</p> - -<p>Tom was about fifty, a fine, burly fellow; but his hair was quite grey, -and his face wrinkled. It was trouble, as we found out afterwards, that -had given him such an old look.</p> - -<p>Tom was soon a great favourite with us all, and it was quite a pleasure -to ask him to do anything; he was so willing. The customers liked him, -too; and he soon began to do very well, because, being so civil and -obliging, he got good tips. And one great thing about him was, he was a -strict teetotaller.</p> - -<p>I dare say you’ll laugh at a licensed victualler’s wife praising a man -for being a teetotaller, because if everybody were teetotallers our -trade wouldn’t have been what it was; but I must say with servants it is -a great thing when they are teetotallers, especially servants about a -place where drink is easy to get.</p> - -<p>Tom was quite a character in his way, being full of odd sayings, and -very sharp at reckoning people up in a minute. Harry used to say that -directly Tom had cleaned a man’s boots he knew his character, but I do -not go so far as that, though certainly he was able to tell what people -would be like, almost directly he saw them.</p> - -<p>When anybody new came, Tom would carry their luggage upstairs, and, for -fun, Harry would say sometimes, “Well, Tom, what’s this lot’s -character?” Tom would say, “Grumblers, sir,” or “troublesome,” or -“mean,” or “jolly,” or something else, as the case might be, and he -wasn’t often wrong. Sometimes he would say, “Wait till I’ve had their -boots through my hands, sir.” And it was very rarely after that that he -hesitated. He used to declare that a man’s boots told a lot about him, -and once he tried to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> explain to me how it was with the boots he was -cleaning, for an example. It wasn’t only the shape, but it was the way -they were worn at the heels, and the condition of them, and the way he -found them put outside the door, and all that. It was a curious idea, -but I dare say living among boots, so to speak, and seeing the different -varieties, makes you notice little things that other people wouldn’t.</p> - -<p>Tom had been with us six months before I knew what his story was, for -about himself he never had very much to say. Harry was chaffing him -about making a fortune. He was doing so well in tips, and not spending -anything, and, having nobody, so far as we knew, to keep, Harry said he -would be taking a public-house and setting up in opposition to us.</p> - -<p>Tom smiled, and said, “Not likely, sir.” And one thing led to another, -till he told us why he was a teetotaller, and what he was saving his -money up for.</p> - -<p>It seems he had had a wife, who had been a great trouble to him—not at -first, because they were very happy, and married for love. Tom was in a -good situation in London when they married, and he got a comfortable -home together, having always been a hard-working, saving fellow.</p> - -<p>He was about thirty when he married, and his wife was ten years younger, -so they were a very good match. After they had been married about ten -years, and had got two nice children—a boy and a girl—a great trouble -came. The little boy was the mother’s favourite, and she doted on him, -as mothers will. But when the boy was a nice age, and growing into a -sturdy little fellow, he caught the scarlet fever of some other -children, and, in spite of everything that could be done for him, he -died.</p> - -<p>It nearly turned the poor mother’s brain, and I can quite understand it, -for, oh! what should I do, if anything happened to my little one? Tom -was nearly broken-hearted too; but, as he said, he had his work to go to -every day, and that took his mind off his trouble. But it is so -different for the woman, who has to be alone with her grief in the -house, where everything reminds her of her lost one, and where she -misses him every minute.</p> - -<p>Tom came home always, directly his work was over, and he put on a -cheerful face, and tried to get his wife to talk<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> of something else, but -she always came back to the one subject that was on her mind—her boy. -Then Tom tried to do her good by taking her out to places of amusement -now and then, and on Saturday evening they would go to a play, or a -music-hall; but it was all no good. He would see his wife’s face change -all of a sudden, and he would know that her thoughts were far away from -the noise and the glare, and the smoke and the smiling faces round her; -far away in the great cemetery, where her little boy lay buried.</p> - -<p>Tom putting his big, rough hand across his eyes as he told me this, it -brought the tears into mine. Poor woman! it must be so dreadful, when -your life ought to be at its best, to be haunted like that.</p> - -<p>Well, at last she got so melancholy and absent-minded that Tom saw it -was no good taking her out, and he was quite unhappy about it. She loved -him, and she loved her little girl, but she was one of those people who, -when sorrow comes, haven’t the strength of mind to battle with it, but -nurse it, and pamper it, and encourage it, giving themselves over body -and soul to it, and brooding night and day, instead of making an effort -to throw it off.</p> - -<p>The home, which had once been so spick and span, now began to look dirty -and untidy; the little girl was neglected, and when Tom came home if was -a very different place that he came to from what it used to be.</p> - -<p>He didn’t like to say much to the poor, broken-hearted woman; but he was -only a man, and at last began to grumble a little, because things were -going from bad to worse, and his home was really going to rack and ruin.</p> - -<p>She didn’t say anything when he grumbled. She only cried, and that upset -Tom awfully, so he said, “Come, come, missus, I didn’t mean to be -unkind. Kiss me, and make it up. I know your poor heart’s broke, my -lass, but life’s got to be lived, you know, my dear, and sorrows will -come. Let’s make the best of it, instead of the worst. We’ve got each -other, and we’ve got our little girl, God bless her, and we must be -thankful for the blessings we’ve got, instead of grieving over those -we’ve lost.”</p> - -<p>Tom’s wife sighed, and said, in a weary sort of a way, she’d try; and -she did try for a week or two, and To<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span>m’s home was a little better; but -after that she dropped back again into her old listless state, and -nothing seemed to rouse her.</p> - -<p>And then Tom made an awful discovery. The poor woman was doing what -hundreds have done before—drinking to drown her sorrow, drinking -quietly, never getting drunk, but only dazed and helpless.</p> - -<p>He was nearly broken-hearted when he found it out, and he went down on -his knees and prayed to her for God’s sake to give it up, or it would be -ruin for all of them. But she didn’t seem to care now even for him, and -his reproaches and prayers and entreaties only made her more miserable, -and then she took more drink than ever.</p> - -<p>He didn’t tell me all he went through for two or three years after that, -but it must have been awful for him to do what he did. She ruined him, -brought him down till his home was sold up. It’s a common enough -story—the drinking wife or the drinking husband that ruins the home, -and you can read about it in the police cases almost every day. -Sometimes it comes to murder, for a man who is a decent, hard-working -fellow goes mad when he gets together home after home, only to see each -go to pieces, wrecked by the dreadful drink, and his children, that he -is proud of and loves, running the streets ragged and neglected.</p> - -<p>But it was doubly sad in our odd man’s case, poor fellow, because the -thing that brought it about was the mother’s love for her little one. He -had lost his child, and through that he lost his wife and his home.</p> - -<p>He found at last that all his trying was no good. If he didn’t give his -wife money to get the drink she pawned his things, and what she couldn’t -pawn she sold. She ran him into debt and got him into difficulties -everywhere, and he was driven mad when he saw his life and her life -being wrecked in such a dreadful way.</p> - -<p>It was too much for him at last, and then he grew desperate. One night, -when he came home and found the place stripped and his wife in a drunken -sleep, he went out himself, and, meeting a friend, they went to the -public-house together, and Tom had a glass of brandy to steady his -nerves, and then he had another, and then—well, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> then he took to -drink too—drank hard himself to drown <i>his</i> trouble, and then the end -came quickly. He was dismissed from his place for drunkenness, a place -he had had for twenty years, and that week he was homeless—homeless, -with a drunken wife and a delicate child, and, as he said, it might have -been so different.</p> - -<p>Oh, that “might have been!” What a lot it means in our lives!</p> - -<p>When Tom got to this part of his story, he broke down at last. “You -mustn’t mind me, ma’am,” he said; “but I can’t think of that awful time -even now without a shudder. The first night that I slept in the casual -ward, and lay awake and thought the past over, I thought I should have -gone mad. I made up my mind that the next day I’d go to one of the -bridges and drown myself.</p> - -<p>“And then I thought, What would become of my poor little girl and that -poor misguided woman if I was dead?</p> - -<p>“I was the only hope they had in the world. Then I said to myself, -‘Perhaps, now things are at the worst, they will mend. There may be a -chance of my poor lass coming to her senses now she sees what she’s -brought us all to. At any rate, she can’t get any drink now, and the -break may be the means of curing her.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“And was it, Tom?” I said, for I was getting interested in his story, -and I knew something must have happened to change his luck, as they call -it, or he wouldn’t be our odd man now, so cheerful, and so contented and -respectable.</p> - -<p>“Well, ma’am, it didn’t all come right at once. We’d a good deal to go -through before things began to mend. My wife——”</p> - -<p>“Is your wife alive, Tom?” I said, interrupting him.</p> - -<p>“I hope so, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“You hope so! Don’t you know?”</p> - -<p>“No, ma’am—that’s the sad part of the story. That’s what I’m coming to. -When we left the casual ward the next day——”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>No. 17 going—given you a cheque for his bill. Let me see it. That’s a -good bank, but I don’t think I ought to take a cheque. But if I say I -won’t, it’s like suspecting the gentleman of being a swindler. His -luggage is very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> respectable. Dear me, I wish Harry was here. -Something’s sure to crop up just because he’s gone down for two days to -see his mother. It’s only ten pounds odd. I suppose I’d better take it. -All right; receipt the bill. Oh, dear, I hope it’s all right. Harry will -think me so stupid if it isn’t. I shall have that cheque on my mind, -night and day, till it’s paid. I don’t think I’ll take it. Susan, Susan, -bring that bill back. What! you’ve given it to the gentleman? He’s got -his bill receipted? Dear, dear, I don’t think I can refuse now. Well, I -hope it will be all right.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /><br /> -<i>TOM DEXTER’S WIFE.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> worst of anybody who is not a regular author or authoress trying to -write out incidents of their life, or things that they know about which -they think will be interesting, is that there is always some -interruption or other just as one is getting to the point.</p> - -<p>When I was writing my “Memoirs” as a servant, of course, it was -dreadful, for anybody who knows anything about it knows how little time -a servant gets to herself, and when she does have a quiet half-hour to -sit still in the kitchen, writing is out of the question, because there -is no quiet if you are with other servants; and if you are by yourself -there is sure to be plenty for you to do.</p> - -<p>How I ever managed to get those “Memoirs” done at all will always be a -mystery to me; and the more I look back on the difficulties I had to -encounter, the more wonderful it seems.</p> - -<p>When I began to put down things about our life and adventures in the -‘Stretford Arms,’ I thought to myself, “Now I am my own mistress, I -shall be able to have a quiet hour now and then, and to take more -trouble with my composition;” but, bless you, I am not sure that I am -not worse off, so far as authorship is concerned, now than when I was a -servant.</p> - -<p>I declare I never get a real quiet hour, for there is always something -to be seen to, or somebody wanting to see me; and if it isn’t that, it’s -baby or Harry.</p> - -<p>To tell you the truth, I sometimes think Harry is a little jealous of my -writing. I don’t mean jealous in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> bad sense; but, from one or two -remarks he has let drop, he doesn’t like my going and shutting myself -away and writing. He says when we have half an hour to spare we might as -well spend it together.</p> - -<p>Of course I am always glad to have a quiet hour with my husband, but -it’s no good my trying to write while he’s in the room. He will keep on -talking to me, and nothing will stop him; and if he doesn’t speak, I -think every minute that he is going to, and that’s worse, for it makes -me nervous and fidgety, and the ideas all get mixed up in my head -together, and I can’t tell my story straightforward, as I always like to -do.</p> - -<p>Sometimes it is a whole fortnight before I get a chance of writing -anything in my book that I keep, and it has been even longer than that.</p> - -<p>This is what a real author or authoress never has to put up with. I -believe, from what I’ve heard, that they have a beautiful room full of -dictionaries for the hard words and the foreign words, and maps hung all -round the room, and they sit in it all day long quite quiet, and nobody -is allowed to come in and interrupt.</p> - -<p>I should think anybody could write like that. It must be very easy, if -you’ve got anything in you at all. But it’s very different when you’ve -got a house, and an hotel, and servants, and a baby, and a husband to -look after, and if you take your eyes off for a minute, something is -bound to go wrong.</p> - -<p>Once or twice while I have been sitting in my own room writing, having -given orders that I was not to be disturbed, something has gone wrong, -and Harry has said, “You were writing your book, I suppose;” and I’ve -said, “Yes”; and then he’s said, “It’s my opinion, my dear, that if you -don’t make haste and finish that book, that book will finish us.”</p> - -<p>Of course to anybody who hates what they call “pens and ink”—and some -people do, like poison—writing seems dreadfully silly and a waste of -time; and I’m afraid that Harry, with all his good qualities, hasn’t -much respect for literature. He certainly hasn’t the slightest idea how -difficult it is to write. I once said to him that I believed he thought -I could make out a bill with one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> hand and write my “Memoirs” with the -other, and talk to a customer at the same time, and all he said was, -“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Why not!” It really made me so cross I could have cried with vexation; -for it was just when I had got in rather a muddle with my book about the -‘Stretford Arms,’ finding that the housemaid had taken a lot of pages -that I had written notes on and lighted the fire with them, and I -couldn’t for the life of me remember what the notes were.</p> - -<p>All I remembered that was on them was some things I had taken down about -Tom Dexter, our odd man, the one whose story I began to tell you when I -was interrupted; but what the others were it was weeks before I -remembered, and I quite wore myself out trying to think.</p> - -<p>If there is one thing that annoys me more than another, it is trying to -think of something I particularly want to think of and can’t.</p> - -<p>Sometimes Harry will say, “What was the name of that man, or that woman, -or that gentleman, or that lady,” as the case may be; and if I can’t -think of it, it worries me all day, and I keep saying, perhaps, dozens -of names, and not the right one; and after the house is closed and we’re -gone to bed, it keeps me awake, and I keep on saying names over and over -till Harry gets quite wild, and says, “Oh, bother the name! Do go to -sleep, my dear. I want to be up at six to-morrow morning.”</p> - -<p>Then I leave off trying to think the name out loud, and I think it to -myself, and perhaps, after about an hour’s agony, I suddenly recollect -it, and then I’m obliged to get it off my mind by waking Harry up and -telling it him before I forget it.</p> - -<p>It’s bad enough with a name, but it’s worse with a thing. I remember -once in service tying a piece of cotton round my finger to remind me to -do something that I particularly didn’t want to forget, and I went to -bed with the cotton on my finger, and never thought any more about it -until the next afternoon, and then I was a whole day trying to remember -what I’d tied the cotton round my finger for; and go mad over it I -really thought I should, it kept me on such tenter-hooks all the time.</p> - -<p>What was in the notes that stupid girl destroyed I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> don’t suppose I -shall ever remember: that is, not anything worth remembering.</p> - -<p>The notes about our odd man, of course, I recollected, because they -didn’t matter, he being in our service still at the time, and I could -get all I wanted about him by talking to him.</p> - -<p>When I was interrupted I had told you as far as where he went into the -casual ward, with his wife and little girl, and how he came out.</p> - -<p>It must have been a dreadful experience for him, poor fellow, seeing -that it was not his own fault that the misery and ruin had come to him, -after years of hard work.</p> - -<p>When he got out of the casual ward, he and his wife and child walked -along the streets, and his wife began to cry and to say it was all her -fault, and she had brought him to it, and if she was dead he would be a -happier man.</p> - -<p>He tried to comfort her, and said it was no use talking about being -dead. She could make him much happier by living, if she’d only give up -the dreadful drink. He said they couldn’t go much lower than they’d got; -now was the time to begin to go up again. If he tried and got work, -would she keep straight, so that they could get a home together again?</p> - -<p>“No; she knew she couldn’t,” she said. “It was no use. If she ever got -any money again, she knew the temptation would be too strong for -her—she’d tried over and over again to stop herself, and it was no use. -She’d go away and leave Tom free, and then he might have a chance, and -perhaps, some day, it might all come right; but she was sure, if she -stopped with him, she would only keep him down as low as he was now, and -perhaps bring him to worse, for she might bring him to crime.”</p> - -<p>Tom didn’t argue any more with her, because it was no use: she was in -that weak, low, dreadful state that people are in who have drunk a great -deal and then can’t get it. Sometimes, in cases I have known of the -sort, I’ve thought it would be a mercy, if people with that awful curse -upon them, settled themselves quickly, for the sake of their friends and -relations and those about them. If they are treated very skilfully when -force is used to make them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> leave off, or if they are kept where they -can’t get anything, and taken very great care of, they may, and do -sometimes, get cured; but, as a rule, all the trouble and anxiety are of -no use, and the dreadful end comes.</p> - -<p>I have known such sad cases—most people in our line do know of -them—that my heart has bled to think about them. It is such an awful -thing—that slow, deliberate suicide by drink, those awful living -wrecks, hardly human in their horribleness, that the poor victims of the -disease—for it must be a disease—become.</p> - -<p>I thought of what I knew while Tom Dexter was telling me his story, and -I quite understood what an awful position it was for a man to be placed -in: loving his wife as he did, and she loving him, and it all having -come about through her grief at the loss of her boy, made it doubly -terrible.</p> - -<p>Really, it makes you shudder sometimes when you think what awful -tragedies there are in some people’s lives; and oh, how thankful we -ought to be who live peacefully and happily, and never know the dark and -awful side that there is to life!</p> - -<p>Tom told me that he himself almost gave up when he heard his wife talk -like that, and the thought came into his head that it would be much -better if they all three went to some nice quiet part of the canal, that -was near where they were, and dropped in, and then there would be no -more trouble for any of them.</p> - -<p>He was thinking that when, as they were walking along, he met an old -friend of his that he hadn’t seen for a long time—a man that had worked -with him, but had married a widow who kept a public-house, and was now -well off.</p> - -<p>He saw that things were bad with Tom at a glance—he saw it by his face -and his clothes, and the clothes of his wife and child; but he was a -good fellow, and instead of passing by on the other side, as many would -have done, he came up to Tom, and took his hand, and said, “Hullo, old -fellow! I’m sorry to see you under water. What does it mean?”</p> - -<p>Tom stopped a minute and talked to him, and told him as well as he could -without “rounding on his missus,” as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> he called it, and then his friend -said, “Well, Tom, I’m awfully sorry, old fellow. Look here! let me lend -you a couple of sovereigns, and you can pay me back as soon as you get a -bit straight.”</p> - -<p>The tears came into Tom’s eyes, and his throat swelled up; but, before -he could say anything, his friend had turned off sharp and gone away.</p> - -<p>Tom showed the sovereigns to his wife, and said, “There, my lass, look -at that! there’s a chance for us to make another start. It’s a bit of -good luck, and it’s a good omen; it means what the old proverb says, -that when things are at the worst they will mend. Let us both try; we’ve -had a rough lesson, and if we’ve learnt it, perhaps it will be all the -better for us for the rest of our lives.”</p> - -<p>Tom’s wife didn’t say anything, but only turned her head away.</p> - -<p>That night he got a bit of a lodging for himself and his wife and his -child, and he went to bed full of hope and faith in the future, and he -determined the first thing in the morning to get out and look for work.</p> - -<p>But when he woke up in the morning his wife was gone. She had got up -quietly, while he was fast asleep, and had gone away, and left a bit of -a note saying she was sure she should bring him to ruin again, and she -didn’t want to do it now he had another chance. For his own sake and the -sake of the child it was better he should be rid of her, for she was -only a burden and a curse to him. If ever she cured herself, and felt -that she could trust herself, she would come back to him; but if she -didn’t, it was just as well he should never know what had become of her.</p> - -<p>It was an awful letter for poor Tom to find just as everything looked so -promising, and it dashed his hopes to the ground and made him very -miserable.</p> - -<p>He told me that when he read that letter he felt so low that the -temptation came to him to go out and drink to drown his trouble and -black thoughts that came into his mind. Then he thought of the little -girl—the poor little girl, that had suffered so much already—and he -made up his mind that he would do his duty by her, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> be father and -mother to her both, now her mother had gone away and left her; and he -knelt down by her bed-side where she was fast asleep, and made a vow -that he would never touch a drop of drink again as long as he lived.</p> - -<p>He spent the whole of the first day trying to find some trace of his -wife, but it was no good. Nobody knew them where they had taken the -lodging, and no one had noticed the woman go away. He had a dreadful -idea that she would kill herself, and he went to the police-station, and -everywhere he could think of for days after that, to find out if anybody -had been found in the water; or anything of the sort.</p> - -<p>But while he was doing this he looked for work too, and after two days -he got taken on for a short time at some works, and, when that job was -over, he got another to help in a mews; and then, through somebody that -knew him, he got a better place offered him down in the country at a -little hotel, but it was one where he would have to sleep on the -premises.</p> - -<p>By this time he had given up all hope of tracing his wife, for he had -been unable to find out anything concerning her, and now he was worried -what to do about his little girl. He couldn’t take her into the country, -because there would be no home for her, and, besides, there would be -nobody to look after her.</p> - -<p>But his good luck, which had never failed since those two sovereigns got -him out of the difficulty, came to his aid now. He was able to get his -little girl into a capital school, where she would be educated and -trained for domestic service, and he felt it was the best thing for her -to grow up like that under proper control, and with good people; and, -though he felt parting with her very much, he was glad to think she -would be so well cared for, and get such a good start in life.</p> - -<p>When he had said good-bye to his little girl, and taken her to the -school, which was a little way out of London, he felt that he was really -making a fresh start. He went to his place, and was there till the house -was given up as an hotel and turned into something else, and then, with -a good character, he went to another place as outdoor man,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> and it was -from this place that Harry, who had heard of him when he was inquiring -for a trustworthy man, took him, and he came to us.</p> - -<p>I didn’t know all his story at first, because he didn’t know it himself -then. The most wonderful part of it happened after he was with us.</p> - -<p>I knew he must make a good bit of money, because most of the visitors -gave him something when they left, as he put their luggage on to the fly -if they had one, and if they didn’t he wheeled it up to the station; and -as he never drank, and was very careful, and hardly seemed to spend -anything, I wondered what he was doing with his money.</p> - -<p>But one day he told me that he was putting it all in the bank, and -saving it, so that he might have a good home for his little girl when -she was old enough to come home; and if she went into service, then it -would be for her when he died or when she married.</p> - -<p>“And you know, sometimes, ma’am,” he said, “I think that I may hear of -my wife again. I often lie awake at night and wonder what’s become of -her, and then the thought will come into my head that we may come -together again. God’s mercy is very wonderful, and He brings strange -things to pass. Oh, if I could only find her, and have my home again, as -it used to be!”</p> - -<p>“Poor fellow!” I said to myself; “he will go on thinking that all his -life, and it will never happen.”</p> - -<p>I thought so much of poor Tom Dexter and his story that I told Harry all -about it, and while I was telling him, Mr. Wilkins was in the parlour. -Somehow or other Mr. Wilkins had never taken to Tom—he was the only -person about the place that hadn’t; but, after all, it was only human -nature, because we had taken Tom on instead of somebody Mr. Wilkins -wanted to recommend after Dashing Dick had turned out so dreadfully.</p> - -<p>Harry said it was a very sad story, and he felt very sorry for Tom, and -was glad he had got hold of him; but Mr. Wilkins was nasty, and said, he -dare say that it was six of one and half-a-dozen of the other, for it -was generally the husband’s fault if the wife turned out badly.</p> - -<p>I defended Tom heartily, and Mr. Wilkins and me had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> a few words, -because he presumes a little sometimes. What put me out was his saying -that he thought I’d better not put Tom’s story in my book, as very -likely it was all a pack of lies. That made me say I knew very well what -to put in my book without Mr. Wilkins’s advice, and one thing led to -another, till Mr. Wilkins put on his hat and coat and went off in a -huff; but not before he had been very objectionable about the Scotch -whiskey, trying to make out it was not as good as usual, and talking -about his having noticed that the spirits were of an inferior quality -lately.</p> - -<p>That put my back up, and I said I was very sorry that our spirits were -not good enough for Mr. Wilkins; but, of course, if we lost his -patronage we should try and bear up with Christian resignation under the -loss.</p> - -<p>I know it was very wrong of me to say that, because in our business you -must always keep your temper, and try to please customers and not offend -them. And Mr. Wilkins is really an important local man in his way, and -might, if he left us and went to the other house, take a few of the -local people with him, though I may say without pride, and not wishing -to run my neighbours down, that as the other house is quite a common -sort of place, and more used by waggoners and labourers, and with only a -very common tap-room, that there wouldn’t be any grave danger of Mr. -Wilkins stopping away long, if he did go.</p> - -<p>Still, it was not my place to be rude to him, and I never should have -been, but for his presuming so much about my “Memoirs.” It wasn’t the -first time he had done it, as I have told you before; though, of course, -in his heart he meant no harm. Poor old gentleman, it was only his -ignorance!</p> - -<p>Why I have mentioned about my little difference with Mr. Wilkins is to -explain how Tom Dexter and his story got impressed on his mind. It was -through this that one day Mr. Wilkins came to me with the <i>Morning -Advertiser</i>, which he had borrowed from our coffee-room, in his hand, -and he said, “I say, Mrs. Beckett, just look at this advertisement.”</p> - -<p>I took it and read it, and I said, “Dear me, I wonder if it’s the -same?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The advertisement was this:—</p> - -<p>“Thomas Dexter, formerly of —— Street, London, if alive, is requested -to communicate with Mrs. Lyons, such and such an address, London.”</p> - -<p>Of course Mr. Wilkins must have his joke, and say what nonsense to say -“if alive,” as if Thomas Dexter could communicate with anybody if he was -dead; but I didn’t take any notice of him, but went straight out to the -stables, where Tom was at work, and showed him the advertisement.</p> - -<p>He stared at it, and said, “That’s me, right enough, ma’am, for that’s -the street we used to live in before things went wrong.”</p> - -<p>“What does it mean, Tom?” I said.</p> - -<p>“What does it mean, ma’am?” he said, his face quite bright with -happiness; “why, it means that my prayer’s been answered, and that I’m -going to hear of my wife again, after all these years.”</p> - -<p>“Tom, my good fellow,” I said, “I’m sure I hope it is so, and I don’t -want to dispirit you, but don’t build on it too much, for fear it should -be something else. It might be—well, it might be to tell you——”</p> - -<p>I hesitated to say what was in my mind.</p> - -<p>“To tell me she’s dead! No, ma’am, it ain’t that, I’m sure of it. It’s -to tell me she’s alive and cured, and ready for the home as I’ve been -saving up to give her all these years.”</p> - -<p>He was so sure, that I didn’t argue with him any more, but I asked him -what he was going to do, and he said, “Write to the address at once.”</p> - -<p>I got him a sheet of paper and an envelope, and I helped him to compose -the letter, for I was quite anxious to know the result. It was only to -say that Tom Dexter was at the ‘Stretford Arms’ Hotel.</p> - -<p>I told Tom to go and post the letter himself, and he did; and all that -evening and the next day we were quite excited. I don’t know which was -the worst, Tom or me. I could see what a state of mind he was in, though -he didn’t show it so much outwardly. For the first time he made a -mistake with the luggage, and in the morning he got wrong with the -boots, having actually taken them from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> the doors without chalking the -numbers on, and a nice state of confusion it was, for our hotel happened -to be quite full at the time, there being a grand ball at a mansion in -the neighbourhood the night before, and we having had to put up some of -the guests, and that, with our other visitors had filled us quite up.</p> - -<p>But I forgave him, though mixing the boots is a dreadful thing in an -hotel, and has been done sometimes as a trick in a big hotel by young -fellows for a lark, and all the bells have been ringing in the morning, -and gentlemen swearing, wanting to catch trains, and everybody having -the wrong boots.</p> - -<p>Tom was awfully sorry, and couldn’t think how he could have been so -foolish, but I knew; and between us we got the boots right, being able -to guess fairly well, some being patents and some lace-ups and heavies, -and you can generally tell the patent-leather customers from the others -by their general appearance.</p> - -<p>All that day I was on tenter-hooks, and I wasn’t right till the next -morning, and when the post came in there was a letter for “Mr. Dexter.” -I took it to Tom myself, and my heart almost stood still while he opened -it.</p> - -<p>“Tain’t her writing, ma’am, on the envelope,” he said; and his lip -trembled as he tore the envelope open clumsily, as people do who don’t -often have letters.</p> - -<p>He opened it at last and got the letter out, a bit torn in opening the -envelope. He looked at it hard a minute; then he dropped it, and his -face went blood-red, then deadly white. Then he put his hands up over -his face, and cried like a child.</p> - -<p>“Tom,” I said, “my poor Tom! Tell me, is she——”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve expected it; but it took me a -bit aback. She’s alive and well, and she’s waiting for me—waiting to -show me that she’s the good, loving little woman of the dear old -days—waiting for her husband and her daughter, and the home that she’s -going to be the light of and the joy of, please God, for all the rest of -her life!”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Tom Dexter and his wife and their little girl—not very little now—are -in a happy home. Tom left us, and sorry<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> were we to part with him, and -he with us; but it was his wife’s wish that they should be together, and -she was housekeeper to the lady who had saved her from ruin, and made a -new woman of her, and wanted her always to live near her.</p> - -<p>After she left Tom, she had gone away to drown herself, and had been -taken by the police for trying to do so, but had given a false name to -the magistrate, and Tom had heard nothing about it. A lady was in court, -and had promised to look after the poor woman, if she was given up to -her, and, after a week’s remand, this was done. Tom’s wife didn’t tell -the lady she was married, but said she was a widow; and the lady took -her to be her servant, and tried to wean her from the drink. She had -lost a sister from it, and devoted her life to good work, as some people -do who have a great sorrow.</p> - -<p>It was hard work, for Mrs. Dexter fretted about her husband and her lost -home now, and the temptation would come, and then, somehow or other, she -would get the drink.</p> - -<p>But the lady would not turn her away; she was grieved, but she -determined to try and try again, and at last a whole year went by and -Tom’s wife had kept the pledge she had made.</p> - -<p>But she then felt, if she was to go back to her husband, and have her -liberty, she might break down again.</p> - -<p>She was afraid of herself.</p> - -<p>She said she would try another year, and she did, and then she felt -safe; and one day she told her mistress all her story, and how strong -the yearning had come upon her for her husband and her home again.</p> - -<p>And then the lady put that advertisement in the paper, and Tom and his -wife came together again, as he always believed they would, and now -there isn’t a happier home in all England.</p> - -<p>Tom works on the lady’s estate, and is a great favourite with her, and -he has a cottage all his own, with roses and a big garden, and only the -other day he sent me the loveliest pumpkin of his own growing, and with -it was a letter from his wife thanking me for——</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span></p><p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The beer sour! Who says so? Mr. Wilkins? Let me taste it. So it is; it’s -the thunderstorm. I suppose the whole lot’s gone wrong. Harry! Harry! -Where’s your master? Up in the billiard-room? Good gracious! isn’t that -billiard-table fitted up yet? The men have been at it all day!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /><br /> -<i>A LOVE STORY.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">If</span> there is one thing that is unpleasant in a small hotel, it is to have -anybody very ill in it. I dare say it is unpleasant in a big hotel; but -there it isn’t noticed so much, as, of course, nothing is noticed much -in a large place, which makes up hundreds of beds every night.</p> - -<p>A gentleman, who used to stay with us now and then—an artist, who had -been all over the world nearly, and every year went away abroad—was -very fond of gossiping with us of an evening, and he told me a lot about -these big hotels, which was very interesting, and especially so to Harry -and myself, we being in the hotel business, though, of course, only in a -small way, compared with the huge concerns that call themselves Grand -Hotel Something or other, and are small towns.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stuart—that was the artist’s name who stayed with us—said that he -hated these huge hotels, because you were only a number; that you ceased -to be a human being, and became No. 367 or No. 56 or No. 111, as the -case might be, and if you were ill, or if you died, it was all the same -to the management. He said he always had visions of lying ill in one of -these places, and hearing somebody call down the speaking-tube outside -in the corridor, “Doctor wanted, No. 360,” and perhaps after that, -“Coffin wanted, No. 360.” And if ever he felt the least bit ill he -always got out of a big hotel as quickly as possible, and went to a -small one, so as to leave off being a number, and become a human being -again.</p> - -<p>He said it was bad enough in the big hotels in our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> country, but abroad -it was something awful to be ill in them. He had a friend of his taken -very ill in Italy, in a Grand Hotel, and he used to go and sit with him -and try to cheer him up, and he said directly he began to be ill and it -was thought he was going to die, the hotel tariff went up about two -hundred per cent. for everything. The poor gentleman died in the hotel, -and the friends had to be telegraphed for to come and settle up, and a -nice settle up it was. Not only was the bill something terrible—such a -thing as a cup of beef-tea being about five shillings, and double and -treble charged for every little thing in the way of refreshment for the -invalid, brought up into the room—but, after the poor gentleman was -dead, the manager of the hotel sent the friends in a bill, charging them -for the bed, the bed-linen, the curtains, the carpets, and the -furniture, and even the wall-paper.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Stuart told me that, I said, “Good gracious! whatever for?” And -then he explained to me that it is the custom in some of the countries -in the South of Europe to be awfully afraid of death—especially in -Naples, where the poor gentleman died—and everybody shrinks away from -death; the friends leaving the poor invalid to die alone, with only a -priest in the room, even though the dying person has all his senses -about him; and after there has been death in a room no one will touch -anything that has been in it, and so everything is given away or sold -cheap to the poor, and everything is had in new, even the walls being -stripped and all new paper put on them.</p> - -<p>You may be sure in a Grand Hotel in these places the refurnishing is -made as expensive as possible, because it is all put down in the -corpse’s friends’ bill.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stuart—or, as we got to call him, after he’d stayed at the -‘Stretford Arms’ Hotel several times, “The Traveller”—when he found -that Harry and I were interested in these things about hotels abroad, -and the ways of the people, told us a lot of things, and I put them down -in my book, thinking perhaps they would be useful to me some day.</p> - -<p>What brought it up about people dying in hotels, was our having a young -lady very, very ill indeed, in our house at the time, and we were really -afraid that she was going<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> to die, for the doctor shook his head over -her; and it was talking about the case, and the worry it was to us -having it in the hotel, that led Mr. Stuart to tell us what he did.</p> - -<p>Fancy everybody going away and leaving their own relations directly the -doctor says that their last moments are coming! It must be awful to the -dying people to look round and find all the faces that they love gone -from the bedside. Mr. Stuart told us that this custom is so well known -among the Naples people, that one day a little girl, who was dying of -consumption and had come to her last hour, opened her eyes and saw her -father, who was her only relation, stealing out of the room. She looked -at him a moment, and then, in a feeble voice and with tears in her eyes, -she whispered, “Ah, papa, I see it is all over with me now, for you are -going away.”</p> - -<p>That made her father feel so sorry that he came back, and sat down, and -held his little girl’s hand till she died. But everybody in Naples, when -they heard of it, said, “How awful! and how could he do such a thing?” -and for a long time afterwards people seemed to shrink from him.</p> - -<p>I shouldn’t like to live in a country like that, especially as you are -put under ground in twenty-four hours, and the men who put you in your -coffin, and go to your funeral, are covered with a long white sack from -head to foot, with two holes cut in it for their eyes. So Mr. Stuart -said, and he showed us some photographs of them, and made me feel ill -for a week.</p> - -<p>I said to Harry, when Mr. Stuart had gone to his room and left us -thinking over what he had told us, that I hoped the young lady wasn’t -going to die in our hotel. To have anybody die in the place—especially -a small place like ours—is most unfortunate, and makes everybody -uncomfortable, besides interfering with business.</p> - -<p>I don’t say this in a hard-hearted way; but I am sure everybody who -knows anything about our business will understand what I mean. The other -people staying in the house don’t like it, and they generally leave, -and, if it gets about, people avoid the hotel for a time, for fear they -should be put in the same room directly after. I dare say they are in -big hotels, because I know that when anybody<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> dies in them they are -fetched away at once, and nothing is said about it. Harry told me about -an hotel a friend of his was manager of in the City, where the -undertaker in the same street kept a special room for hotel customers. I -said, “Oh, Harry, don’t talk like that!” And Harry said, “It’s quite -true, and the undertaker’s man calls round the last thing of a night and -asks if there are any orders.”</p> - -<p>I knew that couldn’t be true, so I told Harry it was very dreadful of -him to make light of such awful things. It always seems strange to me, -but how many people there are who will make jokes about death and tell -comic stories about it! I think there is some reason for it in human -nature, but I am not clever enough to say what it is. I always notice, -in our parlour, if one of the customers tells a very awful story, and -the conversation gets on things to freeze your blood, there’s always -somebody ready with another, and they go on until, when it’s closing -time, I’m sure that some of them are half afraid to go home in the dark.</p> - -<p>Writing about people dying in hotels reminds me of what I heard one of -my masters tell one of my missuses, while I was in service. He had been -down to Brighton, staying at an hotel, and one Sunday afternoon, in the -smoking-room, he met a nice, middle-aged gentleman, and they got into -conversation. The middle-aged gentleman told my master that he had been -very ill, and had been travelling about for six months in search of -health, but that he was quite well now, and that the day after to-morrow -he was going to his house in the country. He seemed so pleased, for he -said he had not seen his wife and children for six months, and they -would be so delighted to see him well and strong again.</p> - -<p>That evening, my master and the gentleman dined together in the -coffee-room, and over their dinner it was arranged that they would go -for a long walk together in the morning to the Devil’s Dyke. They would -have breakfast early and start directly after, so as to take their time -for the excursion.</p> - -<p>The next morning my master was down early to his breakfast; but the -other gentleman hadn’t come down at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> nine o’clock, so my master asked -the number of his room, and thought he would go and hurry him up.</p> - -<p>He went upstairs, and knocked at the bedroom door, but got no answer. -Then he knocked louder, and said, “What about our walk to the Dyke? It’s -nine o’clock now.”</p> - -<p>Still no answer.</p> - -<p>“He must be very fast asleep,” said master to himself; and then he -banged quite hard.</p> - -<p>Still no answer.</p> - -<p>It was so strange, that my master got frightened, and called the waiter -up; and when they had both banged and could hear nothing, they sent for -the landlord, and he ordered the door to be burst open.</p> - -<p>The gentleman was there. He was sitting fully dressed at the table in -the room. In front of him was a letter which he had been writing; but -his head was down on the table, as if he had fallen asleep writing it.</p> - -<p>The landlord went up to him and touched him on the shoulder. Then he -started back, with an exclamation of horror.</p> - -<p>The poor gentleman was dead.</p> - -<p>He had evidently died as he was writing the letter; but he looked for -all the world as if he was sleeping peacefully.</p> - -<p>My master saw the letter, and read it.</p> - -<p>It was this:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"> -“<span class="smcap">My dear Mary</span>,<br /> -</p> - -<p>This will, I think, reach you only just before I arrive. I am -counting the hours, my darling, till I see you and the children -again. You will be so pleased to see how well and strong I look. -Oh, how I long to be home once more! It is the longest parting we -have had, dear, since God gave you to me for my wife; but it will -soon be over now. I shall post this letter to-morrow early. I find -that the train I shall come by arrives at 4.30 in the afternoon. So -at five, my darling, all being well, you may expect to see me. I -should like——”</p></div> - -<p>And there the letter ended. The last three words were written -differently to the others. There must have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> a sudden trembling of -the hand, a mist before the eyes, perhaps, and then the pen dropped -where it was found—on the floor. And the poor gentleman fell forward -and died—died just as he was thinking of the happy meeting with his -wife and little ones, and bidding them be ready to welcome him.</p> - -<p>Of course, the doctor was sent for, and there had to be an inquest. The -doctor said that it was heart disease, and that the gentleman had died -in a moment.</p> - -<p>It was very awful, and most painful to my master and the landlord, or, -rather, the landlord’s brother, who managed the hotel.</p> - -<p>Of course the poor wife had to be told what had happened. At first they -were going to send her a telegram to the address they found on a letter -in the gentleman’s pocket, but they decided it would be such a terrible -shock, and so the landlord’s brother, “Mr. Arthur,” as he was called, -and quite a character, so master said, decided that he would go himself -and break the terrible news to the poor lady as gently as possible.</p> - -<p>He couldn’t go till the next day. And so it happened that he arrived by -the very train that the poor gentleman was to have gone by himself. He -took a fly from the station to the house—a lovely little villa, -standing in its own grounds—and when he drove up, two sweet little -girls came rushing down the garden-path, crying out, “Papa, dear papa! -Mamma, mamma, papa’s come home—papa’s come home!”</p> - -<p>And then their mamma, her face flushed with joy, came quickly out, and -ran down after the children to the gate to welcome her husband.</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Arthur! Master said that when he told him about it his eyes -filled with tears, and he could hardly speak.</p> - -<p>He said it was a minute before he could open his lips; but the poor lady -had read bad news in his face, and she gasped out,</p> - -<p>“My husband! he is ill! he is worse! Oh, tell me; tell me. For God’s -sake, tell me!”</p> - -<p>And the little girls looked up with terrified faces, and ran to their -mamma, and clung to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span></p> - -<p>And then Mr. Arthur begged the lady to come into the house; and then, as -gently as he could, he told her the terrible news.</p> - -<p>Wasn’t it dreadful?</p> - -<p>Oh, dear me! if anything of that sort had happened in our house it would -almost have broken my heart.</p> - -<p>Harry would have had to go; and all the time he was away I should have -been picturing that poor lady——</p> - -<p>But I won’t write any more about it. It makes me feel so unhappy. Oh -dear, oh dear! what terrible sorrows there are in the world! When one -thinks of them, and contrasts one’s own happy lot with them, how -thankful one ought to be! Fancy, if my Harry were ever away, and—— No! -no! no! I will <i>not</i> think of such things. I’m a little low to-day and -out of sorts, and when I am like that I get the most melancholy ideas, -and find myself crying before I know what I’m doing.</p> - -<p>Harry says I want a change; that I’ve been working too hard, and been -too anxious—and that’s quite true, for our business has got almost -beyond us, and the trouble of servants and one thing and another has -upset me.</p> - -<p>But I must get this Memoir done while I have a few minutes to spare. I -call them Memoirs from the old habit; but, of course, they are hardly -that, though I suppose an hotel could have memoirs.</p> - -<p>It was about the young lady who was taken so seriously ill in our house, -and that we were afraid was going to die.</p> - -<p>She came down with her mamma early in the spring, having been -recommended for change of air; but not wanting to be too far away, -because she was under a great London doctor—a specialist I think he was -called—and she had to go up and see him once a week.</p> - -<p>Her mamma was about fifty—a very grave, I might say “hard,” lady. I -didn’t like her much when she first came; there was something about her -that seemed to keep you at your distance—“stand-offish” Harry called -it—and she never unbent an atom, no matter how civil you tried to be.</p> - -<p>But the daughter, who was about two-and-twenty, was the sweetest young -lady, so pale and delicate-looking; but with a sweet, sad smile that -Harry said was heavenly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> And certainly it was, though I couldn’t say -myself what is the difference between a heavenly smile and an earthly -one: but there must be, or people wouldn’t use the word.</p> - -<p>Miss Elmore—that was the young lady’s name—always had a kind word for -me when I went into her room; but she talked very little, only thanking -me for any little attention I showed her, and saying she was afraid she -was giving a great deal of trouble.</p> - -<p>Of course I said, “Oh dear no,” and it was a pleasure to wait on her. -And so it was, for she was so patient, and I could see that she was a -great sufferer, and it seemed to me that she was very unhappy.</p> - -<p>Her mother was generally sitting by her when she didn’t get up, and used -to read to her; but whenever I heard her reading, it was a religious -book, and full of things about death—solemn and sad things, not at all -fit to be continually dinned into the ears of an invalid.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was the lady herself being so stern, and having such a hard, -rasping voice, that made the things I heard her read seem so -unsympathetic. Of course, I don’t want to say that people who are very -ill oughtn’t to have religious books read to them—we ought all to be -prepared, and to think of our future; but I never could see that sick -people, who, of course, are low and cast down, ought to be continually -preached at and reminded of their sins. When I told Harry the things I’d -heard Mrs. Elmore reading to her daughter, he said it wasn’t right. He -said it was like giving an invalid “a religious whacking,” when what was -wanted for a person in such delicate health was religious coddling. I -think the way he put it was quite right. It seemed to me that if a -person’s body is too weak for anything but beef-tea their mind couldn’t -be able to digest a beef-steak. Not that I think a sick person wants -feeding on religious slops, but certainly they want whatever they take -in that way to be nourishing and comforting. There was too much Cayenne -pepper for an invalid in Mrs. Elmore’s religious beef-tea. I couldn’t -help hearing a lot of it when I was tidying up the room, which I always -did myself, and some of the passages out of the books might be part of a -bad-tempered gaol chaplain’s sermon to convicted murderers. I could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span>n’t -believe that a sweet, quiet girl, like Miss Elmore, could have done -anything bad enough to be read at in such a scarifying fashion.</p> - -<p>But the poor girl used to lie and listen—only sometimes I thought her -face would flush a little, as though she felt she didn’t deserve such a -lecture. Her mother had a way of reading passages <i>at her</i>, if you know -what I mean, as much as to say, “There, you wicked girl, that’s what you -deserve!”</p> - -<p>I never heard them talk about anything. When the mother wasn’t reading -to the young lady, she would sit and knit, looking as hard and cold as a -stone statue.</p> - -<p>After they had been with us a fortnight, and the day came round for the -young lady to go to London to see the doctor, she wasn’t well enough; -but had to keep her bed all day.</p> - -<p>After that she grew rapidly worse, and our nearest doctor was called in. -He looked very grave, and asked a lot of questions, and said he should -like a consultation with the London specialist.</p> - -<p>The mother said it would be very expensive to have him down, so our -doctor said he was going to town, and he would go up and see him, as he -wanted particulars of her case from him, and to know what the treatment -had been.</p> - -<p>After he came back from London he appeared graver still, and I could see -that he was getting nervous about the case.</p> - -<p>The young lady didn’t get any better; and I could see myself she was -getting weaker and weaker. So one day I said to the doctor, “Doctor, I -should be obliged if you will tell me what you think. Is there any -danger?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mrs. Beckett,” he said; “there is danger; but I haven’t given up -hope yet.”</p> - -<p>“What is it, sir?” I said. “I mean, what is the young lady suffering -from?”</p> - -<p>He looked at me a minute, and then he said in a quiet way, “A broken -heart. That’s not the professional term, but that’s the plain English -for it.”</p> - -<p>And then he put his hat on, and went out before I could ask him any -more.</p> - -<p>What he’d told me made me more interested in the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> lady than ever, -and I felt as sorry for her as though she had been my own sister.</p> - -<p>The next day, when the doctor had been, I caught him before he got to -the front door, and asked him to come into our parlour. And then I -tackled him straight.</p> - -<p>“Did he think the young lady was going to die in our house?”</p> - -<p>“Do you want her moved?” he said, in his quiet way, looking at me over -his spectacles.</p> - -<p>“No, sir; I don’t want anything unfeeling, I hope; but I should like to -know.”</p> - -<p>“My dear lady,” he said, “I can’t tell you what I don’t know myself. -Doctors are no good in these cases. I won’t say that the young lady will -not get strength enough to be taken to her home; but I see no signs of -any improvement at present.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know her story, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t you tell me?”</p> - -<p>He hesitated.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why I shouldn’t,” he said. “It was told me by the London -doctor, who knows her family, and he didn’t bind me to secrecy.”</p> - -<p>Then he told me all about the poor young lady, and what had made her so -ill.</p> - -<p>It seems she had fallen in love with a handsome young gentleman, who had -been staying for a long time at a boarding-house, where she and her -mother were living.</p> - -<p>He was quite a gentleman in every way, and as soon as he found they were -falling in love with each other—as young people will do, in spite of -all rules and regulations and etiquette, or whatever you call it—he -asked the young lady if he might pay his addresses to her.</p> - -<p>I think that’s the Society name for what we call “walking out and -keeping company;” but I only go by what I’ve read in novels.</p> - -<p>Well, Miss Elmore, who was an honest, straightforward, pure-minded young -lady, with no fashionable nonsense about her, told the young gentleman -that she loved him—of course, not straight out like that, but in a -modest, ladylike way, and said that he must ask her mamma.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span></p> - -<p>The young fellow did, and the mamma, who hadn’t taken the slightest -notice of her daughter—being wrapped up in the local Methodist -clergyman and the chapel people in the place—was very much astonished. -She said she had never thought of such a thing; but if the young -gentleman wished to marry her daughter, he had better tell her what his -position was, etc.</p> - -<p>The young gentleman told her about his family, which was a very good -one—almost county people, in fact—and then, after a lot of stammering, -he let out that he was only a younger son, and that he was by profession -an actor.</p> - -<p>An actor!</p> - -<p>The doctor told me that the London doctor told him that, when Mrs. -Elmore heard this, she dropped her knitting, and nearly had a fit.</p> - -<p>It seems that she was one of the sort that look upon the theatre, and -everything connected with it, as awful.</p> - -<p>As soon as she had recovered from her horror, she told the young -gentleman that, rather than allow her daughter to marry a man who was -such a lost sinner, she would see her in her coffin.</p> - -<p>The young fellow tried to argue the point a little, but it was no use. -Mrs. Elmore forbade him ever to speak to her daughter again, and she -went at once and packed up, and took her daughter away to another -boarding-house, telling the landlady that she was surprised that she -received such people as the young gentleman.</p> - -<p>She gave the poor young lady a terrible lecture, and forbade her ever to -mention the young man’s name. And then she called in her favourite -clergyman, the Methodist parson, and the two of them went at the poor -girl hammer and tongs, just as if she had committed some awful crime.</p> - -<p>After that the young people didn’t meet. The young lady wouldn’t disobey -her mother, and so the young fellow, who had been taking a long rest -during the summer, went back to London; and in the autumn, when his -theatre reopened—the one he belonged to—he began to play again, and -made quite a hit. Poor fellow, it was natural he should; for the part he -played was that of a young man, who loves a girl and is told he shall -never have her, and isn’t able to see her. I wonder how many of the -people who applauded him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> for that knew that he wasn’t acting at all, -but just being himself?</p> - -<p>After he was gone, and the young lady couldn’t even see him, she began -to get ill, and went home, and the doctor said it was debility, and care -must be taken of her or she might go into a decline.</p> - -<p>Then her mother, to get the young man out of her head, began to read her -those unkind books about sinners, and tried in that manner to show her -the error of her ways.</p> - -<p>The treatment didn’t answer, for the young lady got slowly worse, until -she came to our place, and then you know what happened.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry,” I said, after the doctor had told me the story; “isn’t it -dreadful? Fancy that sweet young lady dying of a broken heart, and at -the ‘Stretford Arms,’ too!”</p> - -<p>It quite upset me, and I was so miserable that I began to feel ill -myself.</p> - -<p>Harry was grieved too; but men don’t show grief the same way we do. -Harry swore. He said Mrs. Elmore was a wicked old woman, and she ought -to be ashamed of herself. What did it matter how a gentleman earned his -living, if he earned it honestly, and as a gentleman should?</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins, who got hold of the story—I never knew anything to go on -in our house that that little man didn’t get hold of—must, of course, -take a different view of the matter. It was just his contrariness.</p> - -<p>He said that, after all, perhaps the mother wasn’t so much to blame. He -knew the time when actors weren’t thought much of—in fact, in the -history of our parish there was a record of actors having been put in -the stocks; and in the eyes of the law, not so very long ago, they were -rogues and vagabonds, and the parish beadle could order them off, and do -all manner of things to them.</p> - -<p>I said, “If it came to what was done once, people had their noses cut -off for speaking their opinions.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Mr. Wilkins, “that hasn’t gone out yet. I know a place where -a man has his nose taken off still, if he ventures to have an opinion of -his own.”</p> - -<p>And then the horrid little man looked straight at me, and nodded his -head and said, “Ahem!”</p> - -<p>“If you mean me, Mr. Wilkins,” I said, “I think you’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> made a mistake. -I’m not in the habit of snapping people’s noses off, as you call it. And -I think you must have a good many noses, for I’m sure you’ve got an -opinion of your own about everything that is said, whether it concerns -you or not.”</p> - -<p>With that I took my work, and went into our little inner room to get -away from him, for I wasn’t in the humour for an argument. And I wasn’t -going to sit still and listen to that poor young lady’s lover being -abused by an ignorant parish clerk, who had never lived in London and -seen the world, as I had, with her perhaps dying upstairs.</p> - -<p>I shut my door, but I could hear Wilkins keeping on the conversation, -and talking loud, for me to hear, just for aggravation, and running down -actors, just as if he knew anything at all about them. I don’t suppose -he ever saw one in his life, except at a country fair, and, of course, -that was not at all the sort of person that the young gentleman was.</p> - -<p>Of course I knew what had made Mr. Wilkins so disagreeable of late. I -had had to keep him in his place about my “Memoirs.” After he found out -that I was going to use old Gaffer Gabbitas’s story in my book, he came -to me one day, with a lot of scrawl in a penny copy-book, and said he’d -begun to collect things for his own “Memoirs,” and would I look over -them and help him to do them? I said, “Your ‘Memoirs’! What do you mean, -Mr. Wilkins?”</p> - -<p>He said, “I’ve been thinking that we might do ‘The Memoirs of a Parish -Clerk’ together. I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time, and -they’d be very nice reading. If you like to help me, we’ll go halves in -the money.”</p> - -<p>I said, “Let me look at what you’ve written.”</p> - -<p>You never saw such stuff in your life. It is really ridiculous what an -idea some people have of writing books. Mr. Wilkins had begun about his -being born, and everybody saying what a fine baby he was, as if he could -possibly have heard the remark; and then he had put in a lot of -nonsense, which I suppose he thought very funny, about his father and -mother quarrelling what name he was to have, and going through the Bible -to find one, and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> father wanting to call him Genesis, which made his -mother go to the other extreme, and insist on Revelations.</p> - -<p>That’s the sort of stuff you’d expect a parish clerk to write; but the -impudence of the thing amused me. As if anybody would care two pins -about the christening of Mr. Wilkins.</p> - -<p>I looked at some of the other notes, and I saw quite enough. He’d put a -lot about his being sent to the national school, and had made out that -he was quite a scholar directly, and then there was something about his -learning a trade, and his falling in love with the young woman at -Jones’s farm; and if he hadn’t gone and written out some poetry that he -sent the girl, which was nothing more than some valentine words as old -as the hills.</p> - -<p>When I gave him the book back I was obliged to tell him that that sort -of stuff wasn’t writing—not writing for books—and that I didn’t think -his “Memoirs” would be of much interest to anybody but himself.</p> - -<p>The little man was disappointed. I could see that. I dare say he put it -down to me being jealous of him; but he never mentioned the subject -again. Only, after that, he was always making some nasty remark or -other, and if ever I had an opinion about anything, he always started -arguing the other way. I knew I had offended him; but you can’t help -offending somebody now and then, if you’ve got any spirit of your own. -I’m sorry I ever let him give me any information at all. I dare say -he’ll go to his grave believing that he’s as much the author of these -tales about the ‘Stretford Arms’ as I am myself.</p> - -<p>It was through this having happened that made Mr. Wilkins so nasty about -the young lady’s lover. At another time he would have sided with me. He -didn’t drop it even the next day, for in the evening, when the room was -full, he pulled out a newspaper, and asked me if I’d seen the case in -the police-court, of an actor having pawned the sheets from his -lodgings.</p> - -<p>I saw he was going to begin again, so I said “Mr. Wilkins, will you let -me have a word with you, please?” and I beckoned him outside the door.</p> - -<p>Then I said to him, “Mr. Wilkins, what you heard yesterday about that -young lady’s affairs was a private<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> conversation between me and my -husband. You’ll oblige me by not referring to it again. I can’t have -ladies and gentlemen who stay at this hotel talked over in the -bar-parlour—at least, not their private affairs, which you have only -learned through being considered a friend of ours.”</p> - -<p>He winced a little. But he said, “Mrs. Beckett, ma’am, I hope I know -myself better than to do anything that is not right and gentlemanly.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mr. Wilkins,” I said; and then we went in, and if that -horrid Graves the farrier didn’t say, “All right, Wilkins, I’ll tell Mr. -Beckett.” And then they all roared, and that wretched little Wilkins -giggled, and said, “They’re only jealous, aren’t they, Mrs. Beckett?”</p> - -<p>I declare I could have boxed his ears. I went quite red, and then they -all roared again. And that Graves said, “All right, we won’t tell this -time; but, Wilkins, old man, you must be careful. Beckett’s got a -pistol.”</p> - -<p>I gave Graves a look, and went into the bar. I’m glad he doesn’t come -often; he ought to go to the tap-room at the other house. It’s more in -his line.</p> - -<p>But about the poor young lady, whose lover was an actor——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Oh, Harry, how you frightened me, coming behind me like that! Supper -been ready half an hour! Has it? All right, dear, I’m coming.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /><br /> -<i>THE YOUNG PLAY-ACTOR.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I was</span> telling you about the young lady, who was so ill in our house, -when I was interrupted through Harry insisting on my coming to supper. -No matter whether I want any supper or not, Harry won’t let me stop -away. He always makes the excuse, that he hates to have his meals alone. -Certainly it is not very nice, but often and often I could get a quiet -half-hour at my writing but for supper. After supper I can never do -anything, for, somehow or other, I settle down in my easy chair and get -sleepy directly.</p> - -<p>Harry smokes one pipe—his quiet pipe, he calls it—looks at the paper, -and then we go to bed. Sometimes, if there is a very exciting or very -amusing case in the Law Courts, he reads it out loud to me. If we have -friends staying with us, or come to spend the evening, sometimes after -supper we have a hand at cards, but it is not often. We are generally -very glad indeed to get to bed, as most people are who have done a hard -day’s work, especially as we are always up very early in the morning, -which is necessary in an hotel, where everybody wants looking after -personally, or else it very soon goes wrong.</p> - -<p>After the doctor had told me the story of the young lady, who was so ill -in our house, you may be sure that I took more interest in her than I -had ever done before. There is nothing which touches a woman’s heart so -much as an unhappy love affair, and poor Miss Elmore’s was unhappy -enough in all conscience, for it had brought her to what looked like -being her death-bed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span></p> - -<p>One day the doctor told me he had had a very serious talk with Mrs. -Elmore—I told you about her being so hard—and had as good as said to -her that there was only one thing could save the young lady, and that -was to let her see her sweetheart again.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Elmore sniffed and tossed her head, and said, “And what about my -daughter’s soul? Was it a fit preparation for the other world, if she -was dying, to have a play-actor standing by her bed-side? The only -persons who had a right there were the doctor and the clergyman.” It was -no good to argue—all Mrs. Elmore would say was that never, with her -consent, should her daughter see that lost young man again. “What was -the good?” she said. She would never consent to the marriage, and if -what the doctor said was true, that she was breaking her heart about the -young fellow, what was the good of seeing him if she couldn’t marry him? -Besides, she was sure her daughter wasn’t so bad as the doctors tried to -make out. She would be better again if she would only make an effort, -and allow herself to rally, and fix her thoughts upon respectable things -instead of play-actors.</p> - -<p>You wouldn’t think a mother would talk like it, but Mrs. Elmore did. The -human nature in her seemed to have dried up—if I may use the -expression.</p> - -<p>The doctor said it was no good talking to the mother any more, so he -went and saw our local Methodist clergyman, that Mrs. Elmore sat under -every Sunday, and that came sometimes to visit the sick young lady.</p> - -<p>He put the case straight to him, and told him he believed that the poor -girl’s life might be saved if her mother could be induced to consent to -the match, and perhaps he, the clergyman, might be able to persuade her.</p> - -<p>Now, our Methodist clergyman was a very nice gentleman indeed, and he -was quite affected by the way the doctor told the story. He said, “I -don’t know that I could induce Mrs. Elmore to let her daughter marry -this young play-actor, while he is still acting in what we, rightly or -wrongly, consider to be a sinful place, and a place full of devilish -wiles and temptations; but if he would give up his present life, and -take to another calling, perhaps it might be different.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the doctor, “there is no time to lose. He ought to come -down at once, but it’s no good his coming down while he is a play-actor, -because the mother wouldn’t allow him to see his sweetheart. I can’t go -to London, because I have a lot of people ill here, and a case I can’t -leave. Would you go to London and see the young fellow?”</p> - -<p>“Why not write to him?” said the clergyman.</p> - -<p>“That’s no use,” said the doctor; “it couldn’t be explained in a letter. -Come, it is a life that hangs on your decision. Won’t you go?”</p> - -<p>The clergyman hesitated. He said he didn’t know the young fellow, and he -wasn’t authorized by the young lady or her mamma, and it seemed such a -queer thing for him to do.</p> - -<p>But at last he consented, and the doctor so worked him up, that he -promised to go that very evening. They didn’t know the young fellow’s -private address; but the doctor knew the theatre he was playing at, -because, of course, he was advertised among the company.</p> - -<p>The clergyman said it was a dreadful thing for him to have to go to a -theatre. He had never been inside one in his life, and he didn’t feel -quite sure what would happen to him. He told the doctor that he looked -upon it that perhaps he might be going to rescue a young man from -perdition, and to do that, of course, a clergyman might go into a worse -place than a theatre.</p> - -<p>Our doctor—a very jolly sort of man, and fond of his joke, and not -above coming into our parlour and having a little something warm when he -is out on his rounds late on a cold night—told us all about what the -clergyman said afterwards, and he told us that he couldn’t for the life -of him help telling the dear old parson to be very careful in the -theatre, as there were beautiful sirens there, and he told him to -remember about St. Anthony. I didn’t know what he meant about St. -Anthony, no more did Harry, because I asked him who St. Anthony was -afterwards; but I didn’t tell the doctor I didn’t know, because I never -like to show ignorance, if I can help it.</p> - -<p>I suppose St. Anthony went to a theatre and fell in love with one of the -lovely ladies. Perhaps it was that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span></p> - -<p>But our clergyman—the Methodist one—went. I call him ours, though we -are Church of England, and our clergyman I told you about, is the Rev. -Tommy Lloyd, who carries stones and roots in his pocket—Harry, in his -exaggerating way, says he carries rocks and trunks of trees there. He -went up to London, and, as we learnt afterwards, he got to the theatre -about half-past eight in the evening. He saw the place all lit up, and -he wondered how he was to find the young fellow—Mr. Frank Leighton his -name was.</p> - -<p>He went into the place where they take the money, and said, “Please can -I have a few moments’ conversation with Mr. Leighton, on a private -matter?”</p> - -<p>The people in the pay-box stared at him, and said, “Stage door.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said the clergyman. And, seeing a door, he went through it, -and up a flight of stairs.</p> - -<p>“Your check, sir,” said the man at the top of the stairs.</p> - -<p>“What?” said the clergyman.</p> - -<p>“Your check,” said the man; “you’ve got a check, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I have a cheque-book,” said the clergyman, “but not with me. What, my -good friend, do you want with a cheque from me?”</p> - -<p>The man looked at him as if he was something curious, and said, “A -voucher; you have a voucher, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>The clergyman thought perhaps they were very particular whom they -admitted behind the scenes, and he thought that was very proper, so he -said, “I have not a personal voucher with me, but there is my card. I am -a clergyman, and well known in the district.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t pass your card, sir,” said the man politely; “you’d better see -the manager.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said the clergyman; “where shall I find him?”</p> - -<p>“Here he comes, sir.”</p> - -<p>At that moment a gentleman came up the stairs in full evening dress, and -with very handsome diamond studs. The clergyman told the doctor that he -noticed everything, all being so new and strange to him.</p> - -<p>The man took the clergyman’s card, and showed it to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> the gentleman in -full dress, and said, “Gentleman wants to be passed in.”</p> - -<p>“Very sorry,” said the manager; “but we’ve no free list.”</p> - -<p>“I think there is some mistake,” replied the clergyman. “I have no -desire to see the performance. I want a few moments’ private -conversation with Mr. Frank Leighton.”</p> - -<p>The manager stared. “Oh!” he said. “But, my dear sir, how do you propose -to converse with him privately this way? You can’t shout at him from the -dress circle.”</p> - -<p>“I know nothing of theatres. Is not this the stage door?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you thought this was the stage door. I see. Simmons!”</p> - -<p>A commissionaire in uniform stepped forward.</p> - -<p>“Show this gentleman the stage door.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>And with that our clergyman was taken outside by the commissionaire, and -they went along the street and then down a dirty narrow court; and when -they got to the end of the court there was a dirty old door, and the -commissionaire pushed that open and said, “This is the stage-door, sir,” -and left our clergyman there.</p> - -<p>He told the doctor that it was a narrow passage, with a little room just -off it; and in this little room, which was very dingy, was an old -gentleman with grey hair, who said, “What do you want, sir?”</p> - -<p>“I want a few minutes’ conversation with Mr. Frank Leighton, on a -private matter. There is my card.”</p> - -<p>The man took the card, and said, “Wait a minute, sir.”</p> - -<p>Then he pushed another door open and went through.</p> - -<p>Presently he came back again, and said, “Will you take a seat a minute, -sir?” And the clergyman went into the dingy little room and sat down.</p> - -<p>There was a young lady who had come through from downstairs, and she had -evidently just come off the stage, for the doorkeeper said, “Is Mr. -Leighton on yet?” “Yes,” she said; “he’s on to the end of the act now.”</p> - -<p>Presently there was the report of a pistol, and the clergyman jumped up.</p> - -<p>“Good gracious! what’s that?” he exclaimed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh,” said the young lady, “that’s Mr. Leighton; he’s just tried to -commit suicide!”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” exclaimed the clergyman, horrified. “How terrible—let -me go to him.” And before anybody could stop him he had rushed through -the door.</p> - -<p>At first he could not see where he was for things sticking out here and -there; but presently, through some scenery, he saw a young fellow lying -on the floor, with a pistol beside him. A gentleman was leaning over him -and feeling his heart.</p> - -<p>“He is not dead,” said the gentleman; “thank God! thank God!”</p> - -<p>Our clergyman said, “Thank God!” too, and rushed to where the young -gentleman was lying, and said, “Oh, my unhappy young friend, how could -you do such a terrible thing! I am a clergyman; let me——”</p> - -<p>Before he could say another word there was a wild roar of voices, and -the suicide sat up and said, “What the——”</p> - -<p>And the people at the sides yelled, “Mind your head.” And the curtain -came down with a bang.</p> - -<p>And then the clergyman knew he had made a dreadful mistake, and that it -was all in the play, because the suicide jumped up and said, “What in -heaven’s name do you mean, sir?” And the manager came on and was -furious, and the people in front of the house were yelling and hooting, -and there was a nice commotion.</p> - -<p>The poor clergyman, who was quite bewildered and covered with -perspiration, tried to explain that he had never been in a theatre -before in his life, and knew nothing about it; that, hearing Mr. -Leighton had committed suicide, he thought it was because of his love -affair, and having come from where the young lady he loved was lying -very ill, he thought it his duty as a minister to rush on and say a word -or two to the poor sinner before he died.</p> - -<p>There was quite a buzz of astonishment among the people on the stage -when the clergyman told his simple story, and they saw at once that it -was true.</p> - -<p>Mr. Leighton, who had been awfully wild at having his scene spoiled, -when he heard the clergyman’s story,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> was very much affected, and said -he would see the clergyman after the performance, if he would wait. They -asked him if he would like to go into a box; but the clergyman said, -“No; he did not want to see anything in a theatre. He would wait -outside.”</p> - -<p>The manager said perhaps it was as well, for if he went anywhere in the -house where he could be seen it would start the people off, and be -unpleasant; because, of course, as playgoers, what with the clergyman’s -words and manners, and the curtain coming down bang, they knew something -had happened that wasn’t in the play.</p> - -<p>When the clergyman told the doctor the story, the doctor laughed till -the tears came into his eyes; and he chaffed the poor man finely about -making his first appearance, and having acted a part.</p> - -<p>He was in a very good humour, because, though the clergyman, through his -ignorance, had made such a mess of it at the beginning, he had finished -by doing what he wanted. He told the young gentleman, after the play was -over, all about the young lady, and what the doctor said, and the young -fellow told him that he had never known a happy moment since they were -parted, and he would make any sacrifice in the world to save his -sweetheart’s life.</p> - -<p>He quite won our clergyman’s heart by his nice manner and the way he -talked. And before they parted he gave the clergyman his word that, if -he was allowed to see his sweetheart again, dearly as he loved his -profession, he would give it up for ever.</p> - -<p>That made the clergyman take his part at once, and feel that he had done -a wonderful thing; so he came back and saw Mrs. Elmore the next day, and -told her it would be wicked to keep the young people apart, as, if she -allowed them to see each other and be engaged, she would not only save -her daughter’s life, but she would rescue a young fellow from -play-acting.</p> - -<p>It took a long time to convince the woman—she was so hard; but at last -she consented, and first the young fellow was told to send his -sweetheart a letter. And the clergyman gave it to her, telling her -gently to hope that the happiness she thought lost for ever might yet be -hers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span></p> - -<p>And then the young lady read the letter, and it made her cry. But from -that day she began to mend slowly, and in a fortnight she was sitting up -again on the sofa in the sitting-room.</p> - -<p>And one day the doctor came to me, quite beaming, and said, “Now, Mrs. -Beckett, who do you think’s coming to your hotel to-morrow?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Why, Frank Leighton, the young play-actor.”</p> - -<p>And then he told me that Mrs. Elmore had agreed that the young couple -should have an interview in her presence, and that the whole matter -should be discussed. I was delighted, and I could talk of nothing else. -Harry at last got a bit tired of it, I think, and he said if I talked -about the young play-actor any more he should have to go and put some -brickdust on his face, and chalk his nose, or else he would be quite cut -out.</p> - -<p>Harry does say ridiculous things sometimes, and there is no romance -about him. Perhaps it is quite as well, because an hotel-keeper, or, in -fact, any man in business, doesn’t want to be too romantic. It isn’t the -way to get rich.</p> - -<p>Harry said it was lucky we didn’t have many love affairs in our house, -or my brain would be turned; and he should be very glad when the young -lady had got well enough to go away. He didn’t want a lot of play-actors -coming and upsetting all the women in the house, from the missus to the -kitchenmaid.</p> - -<p>I don’t like to confess it; but there is no doubt that Harry is a little -jealous. I have told you how disagreeable he was about that dreadful -policeman. Of course you know what I mean by jealous. He isn’t absurd or -ridiculous, but he turns nasty, and says sharp things, if I take too -much interest in anything or anybody but himself. He’s jealous of my -“Memoirs,” and I do believe sometimes he is jealous of baby. That’s the -sort of jealousy I mean.</p> - -<p>The next morning Mrs. Elmore called me upstairs, and said that they -expected a visitor (of course she didn’t know that I knew everything), -and that dinner was to be laid in the sitting-room for five people. I -said to myself, “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span> know who the five will be—Mrs. Elmore, Miss Elmore, -the doctor, the clergyman, and Mr. Frank Leighton.”</p> - -<p>When I told Harry, he said, “Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, I’d sooner him -than me.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Harry?” I said.</p> - -<p>“What do I mean? Why, if that young fellow can make love to the young -lady before her mother, her doctor, and her clergyman, he’s got more -pluck than I give him credit for.”</p> - -<p>“He needn’t make love at the dinner table,” I said. “Besides, they don’t -want to make love—they’ve made it already—long ago. This is more of a -family reconciliation.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “I’m sorry for the girl. It can’t be pleasant to have a -doctor and a clergyman standing like sentries on guard all the time your -lover, that you haven’t seen for ever so long, is in the room with you.”</p> - -<p>“How did you think they were going to meet, pray?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Well, seeing he’s a play-actor, I expected that he’d come outside our -house when it was moonlight, and whistle, and that the young lady would -open the windows and go out on the balcony, and that they’d talk low, -like that.”</p> - -<p>I saw what was in Harry’s head at once. It was that beautiful play about -Romeo and Juliet. So I said, “A very likely thing. As if a young lady, -brought up like Miss Elmore, and in her delicate state of health, would -go talking to a man in the road, standing outside the balcony of a -public-house. A nice scandal there would be!”</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “I’ve seen it done on the stage.”</p> - -<p>“I dare say; but there’s lots of things that are all right on the stage, -but would get parties into trouble if they tried them in real life.”</p> - -<p>What an idea, wasn’t it, that we were to have “Romeo and Juliet” played -outside the ‘Stretford Arms’? Of course it would have been much more -romantic. “Romeo and Juliet” wouldn’t be half so interesting if Juliet -was only allowed to see her lover at dinner, with her mother and the -doctor and the clergyman sitting down at the same table. Poor girl, if -she had, perhaps it would have been much better for her in the long-run. -She might have been a happy wife and mother, instead of coming to that -creepy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> end in the family vault, and leading to such a lot of bloodshed.</p> - -<p>I was on tiptoe all day, as the saying is, till the young lover arrived. -I arranged a very nice little dinner and made up some flowers for the -table, and saw to everything myself, being determined that nothing -should be wanting on my part in bringing matters to a happy termination, -and I know how much a good dinner has to do with the turn that things -take.</p> - -<p>The only time I can remember Harry to have spoken really unkindly to me -was when we had a badly-made steak-and-kidney pie for dinner, and he -wasn’t very well after it, and that made him tetchy and irritable, a -most unusual thing for him, and he was quite nasty with me and lost his -temper over a trifle that, if the steak-and-kidney pie had been all -right, he would only have laughed at.</p> - -<p>About two o’clock a fly drove up to the door, and a young gentleman got -out and came in, and said, “This is the ‘Stretford Arms,’ is it not?”</p> - -<p>I knew it was the young actor at once. There is something about an actor -that you can always tell, even if you have not seen very many.</p> - -<p>He really was handsome. He had lovely wavy hair, and beautiful -sympathetic eyes, and his face was just like what you see in some of the -statues in the British Museum—it was so nicely cut, if I may use the -expression.</p> - -<p>He spoke in a most eloquent voice, and it was quite a pleasure to listen -to him. He was beautifully dressed, and I thought I never saw a young -fellow’s clothes fit so elegantly.</p> - -<p>Our barmaid (a flighty sort of girl, I am sorry to say) stared at him, -almost with her mouth open, in admiration, till at last I was obliged to -say, “Miss Bowles, will you please fetch me my keys from the parlour?” I -couldn’t say out loud, “Don’t stare at the gentleman,” so I did it that -way.</p> - -<p>As soon as he had said who he was—of course, it wasn’t for me to tell -him that I knew—I showed him into the sitting-room, that I had got -ready for him, and had a fire lighted in it, so that he might be -comfortable, while I went upstairs to announce to the ladies that he had -arrived.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span></p> - -<p>Poor Miss Elmore was sitting up in the arm-chair when I went into the -room, and her mamma was in the other room.</p> - -<p>The young lady knew before I opened my mouth what I had to say. She read -it in my face, for I’m sure I was crimson with excitement and pleasure.</p> - -<p>The sight of her turned me so that I could only gasp out, “He’s come, -miss; he’s come.” And then I saw her cheeks flush burning red, and then -go very pale again, and the tears came swimming up into her beautiful, -loving blue eyes.</p> - -<p>I felt that I would have given the world to have put my arms round her -and given her a sisterly hug, and have a good cry with her; but, of -course, it would have been forgetting my place.</p> - -<p>“Tell mamma, please,” she said, as soon as she could speak.</p> - -<p>So I went across to the bedroom door and rapped, and told Mrs. Elmore -that Mr. Leighton had arrived.</p> - -<p>“Very good,” she said. “As soon as Dr. —— and the Rev. —— have -arrived, you can show him up.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am,” I said; and I went downstairs. And then, oh, such a wicked -idea came into my head! It came, and it wouldn’t go away, and I wouldn’t -give myself time to think how wrong it was. I knew that Mrs. Elmore was -dressing herself, and wouldn’t be ready for ten minutes, and so I went -straight down to the young gentleman, and I said, “This way, if you -please, sir.” And I took him upstairs to the sitting-room, where the -young lady was all alone, and I opened the door wide, and said, “Mr. -Leighton, miss.”</p> - -<p>I heard a little cry from the dear young lady. I saw her rise up and -stagger forwards. I saw the young fellow catch her in his arms, and I -pulled the door to with a bang, and ran downstairs as if an earthquake -was behind me; and when I got to the parlour I went flop into a chair -and laughed and cried till Harry came running in and slapped my hands, -and the barmaid brought vinegar. And right in the middle of it, in -walked the doctor and the clergyman.</p> - -<p>I couldn’t help it. My nerves were overstrung, I suppose, and the -excitement had been too much for me.</p> - -<p>But I soon pulled myself together, as Harry calls it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> and went into the -kitchen to see the dinner served up properly. And once I made an excuse, -when the dinner was on, to go into the room just to help the waitress.</p> - -<p>Everything seemed all right, though at first I thought everybody looked -a little uncomfortable, including the young play-actor.</p> - -<p>It must have been a little awkward for him at first, for the old lady -was awfully stiff and stony when she came in, and discovered her -daughter with the young man, and no doctor or clergyman present.</p> - -<p>But she didn’t say anything to them, only I caught her eye when I went -in, and it was evident she’d something pleasant to say to me about it -when the company was gone. But I didn’t care what she had to say, so -long as I’d made two young hearts happy. And I know I did the very best -thing possible in letting them meet like that.</p> - -<p>The doctor told me all that happened when I saw him that evening; for, -you may be sure, I was very anxious to know how matters had been -arranged.</p> - -<p>The young fellow had to leave at six o’clock, as he had to get to the -theatre at eight; but after dinner he had a long private talk with the -clergyman, who, it seems, had Mrs. Elmore’s instructions in the matter.</p> - -<p>The young fellow agreed to give up his profession at once, for the young -lady’s sake. Of course it was a blow to him, as he was getting on very -nicely; and I’ve heard that a man or a woman who has once had a success -on the stage is always hankering after the footlights and applause, and -it makes them very unhappy to be away from them.</p> - -<p>However, Mr. Leighton gave up acting for Miss Elmore’s sake. He got the -manager to release him from his engagement, and he began to look about -for some appointment that would bring him in five hundred pounds a year; -as, of course, he didn’t want to live on the young lady’s mother, or the -young lady, who, it seems, had three hundred pounds a year in her own -right.</p> - -<p>The young lady got quite well and left our hotel, and six months -afterwards I read of her marriage in the papers, and the next day a -three-cornered box arrived by post, and when I opened it there was a -lovely piece of wedding-cake for me, with Mr. and Mrs. Frank Leighton’s -compliments.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span></p> - -<p>And some time afterwards I heard that, through the death of a relative, -the young gentleman had come into a large fortune and a <i>title</i>—yes, a -title!—and that dear Miss Elmore, that we thought would die in our -house of a broken heart, lived to be a happy wife and mother, and to be -called “my lady.”</p> - -<p>I am pretty sure that Mrs. Elmore wouldn’t have given her daughter those -“religious whackings,” as Harry called them, if she had known that the -play-actor the poor young lady was in love with was going to have a -title. What I know of the world has taught me that.</p> - -<p>When I read the news I said to Mr Wilkins, “Well, Mr. Wilkins, what -about play-actors being rogues and vagabonds now?—here is one that is a -person of rank.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes,” he said, “I dare say; but rank isn’t what it was in the good -old times. I have been told there is a baronet working as a labourer in -the docks, and his wife, who is ‘my lady,’ goes out charing.”</p> - -<p>Wilkins is certainly not so nice as he used to be. Perhaps it is age -that is souring him; but we have never been such good friends since that -business about the “Memoirs.” And he has the gout, too. I will be -charitable, and put his nasty remarks down to his gout. I have heard it -does make people very disagreeable. I once lived in a family where the -master had the gout, and——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Six people arrived by the train! Oh, dear! and we have only four -rooms—whatever shall we do? Wait a minute; I’ll come and see. We -mustn’t turn custom away if we can help it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /><br /> -<i>THE BILLIARD-MARKER.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I think</span> I mentioned in a former “Memoir” that we had had a -billiard-table put up. It was Harry’s idea. He is very fond of a game of -billiards himself, and is not at all a bad player, so I have heard from -the gentlemen who play with him. Of course, he didn’t go to the expense -for himself, you may be sure of that, but as an improvement to the -house.</p> - -<p>The way it came about was this. There was an old fellow who used our -house named Jim Marshall. He was quite a character in his way. He was -very stout, and walked lame with one leg, and was full of queer sayings. -Not a bad fellow; but he had to be kept in his place, or else he would -presume. He was hand-and-glove, as the saying is, with almost everybody -in the neighbourhood, rich and poor alike. He was a capital -whist-player, knew all about horses and dogs, and could sing a good -song. He was a bachelor, and lived all by himself in a tumbledown old -house, where he had hundreds of pounds’ worth of curiosities, old -pictures, old furniture, and old books, the place being so crammed from -kitchen to attic that sometimes when he went home a little the worse for -his evening’s amusement, he wasn’t able to steer himself, as Harry -called it, across the things to get to bed, and would go to sleep in an -old steel fender, with his head on a brass coal-scuttle for a pillow.</p> - -<p>Jim Marshall was a broker—that is to say, he went all about the -neighbourhood to sales and bought things for gentlemen, and sometimes -for himself. All round our village there are old-fashioned houses and -farms full of old-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span>fashioned furniture and china, and things of that -sort, that nowadays are very much run after, and fetch a good price. Old -Jim knew everybody’s business and what everybody had got, because he -used to do their business for them. These people, if they wanted -anything, would tell Jim to look out for it for them, and if they wanted -to sell anything they always sent for Jim, and he would find a purchaser -for them on the quiet.</p> - -<p>The neighbourhood round our place is full of people who have gone down -since railways came in, because we are too near to London, and London -has taken all the local trade. A lot of people lived and kept up -appearances on what their fathers made before them—business people I -mean—and when that was gone they had to give up their style and go into -smaller houses, which, of course, they moved away to do, nobody who has -been grand and looked up to for years in a place caring to look small -there.</p> - -<p>This gradual decay of the neighbourhood (not where we live—the railway -has <i>made</i> us—but little towns and places round about) was a good thing -for Jim, as there were lots of good old houses selling off their -furniture and things, and he had lots of customers in London who wanted -Chippendale and Sheraton and Adam’s furniture, and old books, and old -clocks, and old china, and old silver ornaments; and these houses being -in the country, there weren’t many brokers at the sales, so Jim was able -to pick up plenty of bargains for his customers, and make a good thing -for himself as well.</p> - -<p>Plenty of ladies and gentlemen who came to our house, and got to know of -Marshall being always at sales, would give him their address, and tell -him always to send them a catalogue, if there was anything good going. -Mr. Saxon, the author, I know, got a bookcase through Jim, a real old -Chippendale for eleven pounds that was worth sixty pounds if it was -worth a penny, and we have some fine old-fashioned things at the -‘Stretford Arms’ that Jim Marshall got us at sales.</p> - -<p>You had only to say to Jim Marshall that you wanted a thing, and he -would never rest till he got it for you. He would go into the grandest -house in the neighbourhood and ask to see the gentleman, and say, “I -say, sir, what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> will you take for your sideboard? I’ve a customer that -wants one.”</p> - -<p>“Hang your impudence, Marshall!” the gentleman would say. “Do you think -I keep a furniture shop?”</p> - -<p>“No offence, sir,” Jim would say. “Only remember, when you do want to -part with it, I’m in the market.” That was how he would begin. Presently -he would call on the gentleman again, and say he knew of a magnificent -sideboard, two hundred years old, in an old farmhouse, that could be got -cheap. And he would go on about it until, perhaps, he would work the -gentleman up to buy the other sideboard and let him have the one he had -a customer for, and he would make a nice thing out of the two bargains -for himself.</p> - -<p>He was very clever at it, because he knew the fancies of different -people, and how to work on them. But the most impudent thing he ever did -was with an old lady, who had a lovely pair of chestnut horses. A -gentleman who was staying at our hotel one day saw them go by, and he -said, “By Jove, that’s a fine pair of horses!—that’s just the pair I -want.”</p> - -<p>Jim Marshall was standing by at the time, and he said, “I’ll try and get -’em for you.” And he shouted, and waved his stick, and yelled at the -coachman, who thought something was wrong, and pulled up.</p> - -<p>Jim hobbled off till he came to the carriage, then raised his hat to the -old lady, and said, “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but if you want to sell -your horses, I’ve a customer for them.”</p> - -<p>“What!” shrieked the old lady. And she shouted to the coachman to drive -on, and pulled the window up with a bang.</p> - -<p>Jim came back, not looking a bit ashamed of himself; and he said, “I’ve -broken the ice. Now, sir, how much am I to go to for them horses?”</p> - -<p>“The idea!” I said, for I had seen and heard everything; “as if old -Mrs. —— would be likely to part with them! I do believe Jim you’d go up -to a clergyman in church, and ask him what he’d take for his surplice!”</p> - -<p>Jim smiled at that. It flattered his vanity, because<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> nothing pleased -him so much as being made out a smart fellow before London gentlemen.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have them horses, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “if the gentleman’ll go -to a price.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the gentleman, “I’m not in a hurry. I’ve got a very good -pair now; but if they could be got for one hundred and twenty pounds, I -wouldn’t mind.”</p> - -<p>“Is that an order?” said Jim.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I’ll give one hundred and twenty pounds.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll get a bargain if you get them at that,” said Jim, “for I know -from the coachman as the lady paid over two hundred pounds for ’em, and -they weren’t dear at that. But I’ll see what I can do.”</p> - -<p>The gentleman got those horses through Jim, and he got them for the one -hundred and twenty pounds. And it was only through a third party letting -out the secret that I heard afterwards how it was done, and I’m not -going to tell because it was told me in confidence; but I may say the -old lady’s coachman was always being treated by Jim in a very generous -manner. And soon after that, one of the horses took to showing temper in -a way he had never done before, and the coachman told the old lady that -sometimes after a certain age horses that had been very quiet developed -a vice.</p> - -<p>Jim Marshall had a great “pal,” as he called him, in our local -veterinary surgeon—rather a fast young fellow, who was the great -sporting authority, and was supposed to know more about horses and dogs -than anybody in the county. I believe he was very clever—he certainly -did wonders for our pony when it was ill—but he was too fond of -betting, and going to London for a day or two, and coming back looking -very seedy, so that he was generally hard up. Soon after the old lady’s -horses had changed their ways so suddenly, the veterinary and old Jim -were standing outside our house, when they saw old Mr. Jenkins, the old -lady’s gardener, who had been with her for thirty years, come in. He was -coming to see me about some fruit, which we wanted to buy of him for -preserving, and about supplying us with vegetables from the kitchen -garden.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Jenkins was, of course, asked into our parlour, and while he was -there, in walks the veterinary, and they began to talk, till the -conversation got on the horses. “Ah!” said the veterinary, “they’re a -nice pair, but they aren’t quite the sort for your lady. I watched the -mare go by the other day, and there was something about her I didn’t -like. I dare say she’s all right in double harness, but I wouldn’t care -to drive her myself in single.”</p> - -<p>Then he began to tell stories about carriage accidents and runaway -horses, till Mr. Jenkins turned quite pale, and said he should never -know another minute’s peace while his mistress was out with “them -animals.”</p> - -<p>He went back, and you may be sure he told the lady all he had heard, and -made the most of it. And the old lady was made quite nervous, and sent -for the coachman, and the coachman said of course it wasn’t his place to -say anything; but, if he was asked his honest opinion, he couldn’t say -that he always felt quite safe with the horses himself. However, he -should always be careful and do his best to prevent an accident.</p> - -<p>A week after that, Jim Marshall got the horses for a hundred pounds. The -old lady sent to him to come and take them, and he found her a nice -quiet pair, that somebody else wanted to sell. I expect he did very well -out of the transaction, and so did the old lady’s coachman.</p> - -<p>This will show you what sort of a man Jim Marshall was, and how useful -he could be to anybody who wanted anything. He got us our -billiard-table, and it was in this way. Harry was saying one night that, -as soon as he could afford it, he would have a billiard-room; but he -couldn’t yet, as the table would cost such a lot of money, if it was by -a good maker.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” said Marshall; “do you want a good billiard-table?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Harry, “I do want one, but I can’t afford——”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t a question of affording. If I can get you one as good as new, -with all the fittings complete—balls, cues, and everything—will you go -to fifty pounds?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” said Harry.</p> - -<p>“Then get your billiard-room ready.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Harry knew Marshall would keep his word. So we made a room at the back, -with a little alteration, into a billiard-room. And as soon as it was -ready Marshall said, “All right. The table is coming down from London -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>And it did come, and a beautiful table it was, and as good as new. Harry -said it couldn’t have been played on many times, and must have cost a -lot of money when it was new. Marshall, it seems, knew of a young -gentleman in London, who had come into some money, and fitted up a -billiard-room in his house, and then taken a fit into his head to -travel. And when he came back he didn’t want to live in a house any -more, but was going to have chambers, and he wanted to get rid of a lot -of his things. How Marshall did it, I don’t know; but, at any rate, we -got our table and everything complete for fifty pounds.</p> - -<p>Having a billiard-table was very nice for some things. Gentlemen who -stayed at the hotel—artists, and such like—found it a great comfort on -wet days and long evenings, and several of the young gentlemen from the -houses round about would come in, and get up a game at pool, and it -certainly did the house good in that way, though it brought one or two -customers that I didn’t care about at all—young fellows who were too -clever by half, as Harry said, and who came to make money at the game, -and I don’t think were very particular how they made it.</p> - -<p>Harry said, when we put the table up, that we should have to be careful, -and keep the place select, as, if a billiard-room wasn’t well looked -after, it soon got to be a meeting-place for the wrong class of -customers.</p> - -<p>When the table was first put up, Mr. Wilkins and Graves, the farrier, -and one or two more of that sort, thought it was being put up for them.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins said he thought it was a better game than bagatelle, and he -should have to practise, and then he would soon give Harry a beating.</p> - -<p>Harry said, “You can practise as much as you like, Wilkins; but it’ll be -sixpence a game if you play anybody, two shillings an hour if you -practise, and a guinea if you cut the cloth.”</p> - -<p>You should have seen Wilkins’s face at that!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Two shillings an hour!” he said; “I thought you were putting it up for -the good of the house.”</p> - -<p>A nice idea, wasn’t it, that we had gone to the expense of a -billiard-room and a table, and were going to engage a boy to mark, and -all for the amusement of Mr. Wilkins and his friends! That is the worst -of old customers. They don’t advance with the business, and they seem to -think that they are to have their own way in everything.</p> - -<p>The day after the table was up Harry asked Mr. Wilkins to come and look -at it. The balls were put on the table, Harry having been knocking them -about to try the cushions.</p> - -<p>Of course, Wilkins must take up a cue, and show how clever he was. “See -me put the white in the pocket off the red,” he said. He hit the white -ball so hard, that it jumped off the cushion and went smash through the -window.</p> - -<p>“Wilkins, old man,” said Harry, “I think you’d better practice billiards -out on the common. This place isn’t big enough for you.”</p> - -<p>I shall always remember our opening the billiard-room, from the young -fellow who came to us to be our first marker.</p> - -<p>We were going to have a boy—one who could fill up his time about the -house—at first; but, as a matter of fact, our first billiard-marker, -though he didn’t stay long, was a young fellow named Bright—“Charley -Bright,” everybody about the place called him.</p> - -<p>Poor Charley! His was a sad story. When we first knew him, he was living -in one room over Mrs. Megwith’s shop. Mrs. Megwith has a little drapery -and stationery shop, and sells nearly everything. He was quite the -gentleman. You could tell that by the way he spoke, and by his clothes, -which, though they were shabby, were well cut and well made, and you -could see that he had once been what is called a “swell.”</p> - -<p>He was very tall and very good-looking. He had dark, sparkling eyes, and -always a high colour, and very pretty curly, dark hair. But, oh, he was -so dreadfully thin! One day I said to Mrs. Megwith, “How thin your young -man lodger is!” “Yes,” she said; “and it isn’t to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> wondered at. I -don’t believe he has anything to eat of a day but a few slices of bread -and butter.”</p> - -<p>“Is he so very poor?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Poor! He owes me eight weeks’ rent, and I know that he’s pawned -everything except what he stands upright in. I can’t find it in my heart -to turn him out, he’s such a good-hearted fellow, and a perfect -gentleman; but I can’t afford to lose the rent of the room much longer. -He’s welcome to the tea and bread-and-butter; but the five shillings a -week rent means something to a struggling widow woman with a family.”</p> - -<p>How we got to know Charley Bright was through one or two of the young -gentlemen bringing him, now and then, to have a drink. They had made his -acquaintance, and he knew a lot about racing, and was a capital talker, -and so they used to talk to him. I noticed once or twice when they stood -him a drink he would ask for a glass of wine, and say, “Just give me a -biscuit with it, please.” A biscuit, poor fellow!—it was a leg of -mutton with it that he wanted—but nobody knew how terribly poor he was.</p> - -<p>On the day after our billiard-room was opened Charley Bright came in by -himself. Harry had gone up to London, to see about some business. “Mrs. -Beckett,” he said, almost blushing; “I hear you want a billiard-marker. -I wish you’d try me.”</p> - -<p>“What!” I said, “you a billiard-marker?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I can play a very good game, and I wouldn’t mind what I did that I -could do. I don’t want much. My meals in the house and a few shillings a -week—just enough to pay my rent over the road.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said, “we shall want a marker; but, of course, there will be -money to take and one thing and the other, and we shall want a -reference. Can you give us a reference?”</p> - -<p>His face fell at that. “I—I—can’t refer to my people,” he said, “I -shouldn’t like them to know what I was doing.”</p> - -<p>I saw a little tear come into his eye as he spoke, and, knowing what I -did, that nearly set me off. So I said, “Won’t you have a glass of -wine?” And I poured out a big glass of port, and I put the bread and -cheese before him on the bar.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was the only way I could do it.</p> - -<p>He knew what I meant, and the tears trickled right down his nose. “Thank -you,” he said, and his voice was so husky he could scarcely speak.</p> - -<p>It upset me so terribly that I had to go into the parlour, so that he -shouldn’t see me cry. I am an awful goose in that way—anything that is -pathetic or miserable brings a gulp into my throat and the tears into my -eyes in a minute.</p> - -<p>I left him alone with the bread and cheese for a good ten minutes, and -then I went back. He was evidently all the better for the meal, for he -had got back the old spirits and began to smile and chatter away quite -pleasantly.</p> - -<p>“I’ll speak to my husband when he comes back, Mr. Bright,” I said. “I’m -sure, if he can, he will let you have the place.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mrs. Beckett,” he said; and then he told me his story. He -was a young fellow, the son of a professional gentleman with a large -family—gentlefolks, but not very well off. When he was eighteen he went -into an office in the City, and after a time, being quick at figures and -clever, he got two hundred pounds a year. Unfortunately, he spent his -evenings in a billiard-room at the West-end, where there were a very -fast set of men, and among them a lot of betting men. Charley Bright -took to betting, but only in small sums, and he used to play billiards -for money; and what with one thing and another, and stopping out late at -night, he got to neglect his business, to be late in the morning, and to -make mistakes, and all that sort of thing.</p> - -<p>But what ruined him was winning a thousand pounds. There was a horse -running for the Derby that had been a favourite at one time and had gone -back to fifty to one, I think, or something like that. At any rate, Mr. -Bright, who had won twenty pounds over a race, put it all on this horse -at one thousand pounds to twenty pounds. This was long before the race -was run, and after a time everybody thought this horse had gone wrong, -and Bright thought he had lost his money.</p> - -<p>He had settled down again to business, and was getting more careful and -not going to the billiard-room so much, when Derby Day came and the -horse won!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span></p> - -<p>That was the turning-point in his career.</p> - -<p>He had a thousand pounds.</p> - -<p>He was always very excitable, he told me, and the good luck drove him -nearly mad with joy.</p> - -<p>He was going to take to the turf, and make a fortune in backing horses.</p> - -<p>No more drudgery in the City, no more gloomy offices. He would be out -all day long in the country, watching the horses run, and pocketing -handfuls of sovereigns over the winners.</p> - -<p>He resigned his situation in the City, he left his home and took -lodgings in the West-end, dressed himself up as a great racing swell, -and for about six months lived his life at express railway speed.</p> - -<p>His eyes quite flashed, and his cheeks glowed, as he told of those days. -It was one wild round of pleasure, it carried the poor lad away body and -soul—and then the end came.</p> - -<p>Good fortune followed him at first; then came a change, and his “luck -was dead out,” as he put it.</p> - -<p>Presently he had lost all his money backing horses, and got into debt, -and had to part with his things. His people would not help him. His -father was very severe, and never forgave him for throwing up his -situation, and the young fellow was proud, and so he kept his poverty to -himself as much as he could.</p> - -<p>Some of the fellows he had known when he was well off were kind to him -in his misfortune for a bit; but as he got seedier and seedier they -dropped away from him. And at last he was so ashamed of the dreadful -position he had got in, that he didn’t care to go anywhere where people -who had known him in his swell days were likely to be.</p> - -<p>There was a billiard-room he used to go to for a long time, where he had -first met the company that had been his ruin; but, though he had spent -plenty of money there once, the landlord came to him one day and said, -“Look here, Bright, I don’t want to hurt your feelings; but a lot of the -gentlemen that come here don’t like to see you always hanging about the -room. It annoys them. I’ll give you a sovereign to stop away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The landlord meant it kindly, perhaps; but the young fellow told me that -it hurt him dreadfully. Of course it wasn’t nice for these people to see -a seedy fellow, who had lost all his money through their bad example, -hanging about the place. He didn’t take the sovereign, but he never went -near the place again, and the people who knew him lost sight of him -altogether.</p> - -<p>He came down to our village and took a room, and tried to make a little -money in a very curious way. He still thought that he was a good judge -of racing, and knew a good deal about the turf. So, being desperate, he -hit on a scheme.</p> - -<p>He put an advertisement in a sporting paper, and called himself by a -false name, and said that he was in a great stable secret, and for -thirteen stamps he would send the absolute winner of a certain race. He -told me that he had the letters sent to the post office, and he got over -sixty answers, with thirteen stamps in them, and he sent in reply the -name of the horse he thought was sure to win. Unfortunately, the very -day after he had sent his horse off it was scratched, which he told me -meant being struck out of the list of runners, so that while his -customers were reading his letter, which gave them the certain winner, -they would see in the paper that the horse would not even run.</p> - -<p>He said that settled him for giving tips from that address, and he -didn’t know where else to go, for he had paid his landlady nearly all -his money, and bought a pair of boots, which he wanted badly, and so he -hadn’t even the money to pay his railway fare anywhere else, and he -didn’t know whatever he should do, for he was now absolutely starving.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you write to your father?” I said. “Surely he wouldn’t let -you starve.”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, “I will starve; but I won’t ask him for help again, after -what he said to me. I will go back home when I am earning my own living -and am independent, and not before.”</p> - -<p>When Harry came back, I told him about Charley Bright, and Harry was as -sorry as I was. He said that it was a very sad tale, and no doubt the -young fellow had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> had a lesson, and if he could give him a helping hand -he would.</p> - -<p>So it was settled that Charley Bright was to come and be our first -billiard-marker. We couldn’t afford to give him much salary, of course, -because really it was more for the convenience of the gentlemen staying -in the house and visitors than anything, and we couldn’t hope to do very -much at first. But he was quite satisfied, and, I think, what he looked -forward to were the regular meals. You may be sure that when I sent up -his dinner, I cut him as much meat as I could put on his plate, and I -let him know if he wanted any more he was to send down for it.</p> - -<p>I don’t think I had enjoyed my own dinner so much for many a long day, -as I did the day that I knew that poor fellow was enjoying his upstairs. -Oh, he was so dreadfully thin and delicate-looking! He wore a light grey -overcoat—a relic of his old racing days, he said—and it hung on him -like a sack. He had no undercoat on; he had parted with that weeks -before, he told me.</p> - -<p>After he had been with us a week he was quite a changed man. He was the -life and soul of the place, always merry, and always in high spirits. -The customers liked him very much, and he really brought a lot of custom -to the room, some of the young gentlemen from the houses round about -coming to see him, and liking to talk to him, and hear his stories of -what he had seen and done.</p> - -<p>After he had been with us a fortnight he told us he was doing very well, -as most of the gentlemen gave him something for himself. He said it made -him feel queer at first to take a tip, like a servant, but after all he -would be able to pay his landlady what he owed her, and so that helped -him to swallow his pride.</p> - -<p>We all got to like him very much indeed. He said Harry and I were as -good as a brother and sister to him—better than his own brothers and -sisters had been—and he was so grateful to us, there was nothing he -would not have done to show it.</p> - -<p>Of course, that Graves, the farrier, had something to say about it, in -his nasty vulgar way. One day we were talking about Charley, and Graves -said to Harry, “Yes, h<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span>e’s a handsome young fellow. If he’d a lame leg -and a squint eye and red hair, I don’t suppose the missus would have -taken him up so kindly.” Harry gave Graves a look and curled his lip. -“Graves,” he said, “I know you don’t mean to be objectionable, but -shoeing horses is more in your line than people’s feelings. Talk about -what you understand!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins had something to say too, only he wasn’t as coarse as -Graves. There is a little more refinement about a parish clerk than -there is about a farrier. Mr. Wilkins only said that, of course, we knew -our own business best; but he didn’t think a broken down betting-man was -the nicest kind of person to keep on a well-conducted establishment.</p> - -<p>I said, “Mr. Wilkins, when you have an hotel, you can manage it yourself -and choose your own people; while the ‘Stretford Arms’ is ours, we’ll do -the same thing.”</p> - -<p>Charley—Mr. Bright I suppose I ought to call him now—stayed with us -for two months, and then one day he came to me, and he said, “Mrs. -Beckett, I hope you won’t think me ungrateful, but I’m going to leave -you.”</p> - -<p>Of course I said I was very sorry, and I asked him why.</p> - -<p>Then he told me that a young fellow who had known him in his good days -had gone into business for himself, and had offered him a situation as -clerk in his office if he would come.</p> - -<p>Of course I saw that was a more suitable situation for a young man of -his position, and I said so. A few days afterwards he left us, and there -wasn’t a soul but was sorry when he left; our housemaid, silly -girl!—who, I do believe, had fallen in love with him—crying her eyes -out.</p> - -<p>I heard about him several times after that, because he wrote to Harry, -and said he was doing well, and was reconciled to his father again. And -some weeks afterwards he came down to see us, and his handsome face was -handsomer than ever. He was beautifully dressed, and looked what he -was—a gentleman to the backbone.</p> - -<p>He stayed and had tea with us, and told us that he had fallen in love -with his friend’s sister, and they were going to be married, and he was -to be taken into partnership.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span></p> - -<p>Something like a friend that, was it not?</p> - -<p>He told us that he was in business in the Baltic.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Harry, “that’s in Russia!”</p> - -<p>But he explained it was the Baltic—an exchange or something of the -sort—in London, where business is done in grain, I think, and tallow, -that comes from Russia. At any rate, he was doing very well, and since -then I have seen his marriage in the paper.</p> - -<p>Some day he has promised to bring his young wife down with him to stay -at our hotel.</p> - -<p>I am sure that we shall make them heartily welcome, and take care not to -mention before her about his once having been our billiard-marker.</p> - -<p>After he left, we had to look out for another marker, and we engaged a -lad about fifteen. He was a wonderful player; but of all the forward, -artful young demons that ever lived, I know there never was his equal. -He was that crafty, you’d have thought he was fifty instead of fifteen. -Talk about old heads on young shoulders! I’ll just give you a specimen -of what he could be up to. One day——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>O, baby, whatever have you been doing? Nurse, look at the child’s face! -What does it mean? Been at the coal-scuttle! Why, I declare he’s sucking -a piece of coal now! O, oo dirty, dirty boy—and oo nice tlene pinny -only just put on! Go and wash him, nurse, for goodness’ sake, before his -father sees him, or I sha’n’t hear the last of it for a week.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /><br /> -<i>THE SILENT POOL.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> of the things that used to make me the most nervous when we first -took to hotel-keeping was not knowing what sort of people you’d got -sleeping under your roof. Anybody that’s got a portmanteau can come and -stay at an hotel or an inn, and how are you to know who and what they -are? They may be murderers, hiding from justice; they may be thieves or -burglars; and they may be very respectable people; but, unless they’re -old customers, you must take them on trust. It’s not a bit of good -saying you can judge by appearances, because you can’t. The most -gentlemanly and good-natured-looking man that ever stopped at our house -gave us a cheque for his bill, and the cheque was never paid, and turned -out to be one he’d helped himself to out of somebody else’s cheque-book; -and, worse than that, when he left he took a good deal more away in his -portmanteau than he brought with him, and one thing was a beautiful new -suit belonging to a young gentleman staying in the house, which we had -to make good. It worried me terribly when we found out that we’d had a -regular hotel thief stopping with us, I can tell you; and, after we -found it out, I was all of a tremble for days, expecting every minute -something more to be found missing.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, the suit, and a scarf-pin of Harry’s, and a silver-mounted -walking-stick were all he went off with, so far as we ever discovered. -Perhaps he didn’t have a chance of getting anything else, and was -satisfied with what he did get, and letting us in for £7 15s. He wanted -to draw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span> the cheque for ten pounds and have the change, I remember; but -I said “No” to that, and very glad I was afterwards that I did. It was a -lesson to us, not getting the cheque paid. And after that we had a -notice printed across all our billheads, “No cheques taken,” like most -hotel-keepers do now. Some of them have a very nice collection of unpaid -cheques, which they keep as curiosities.</p> - -<p>Having been “done,” as Harry calls it, once or twice, made us more -careful, and so young fellows without much luggage that we didn’t know -anything about, when they began to live extravagantly, having champagne, -and all that sort of thing, and staying for more than a day, we -generally kept an eye on.</p> - -<p>When they were out, we used to go up to their rooms and just have a look -round and see if they’d got much clothes with them, because the -portmanteau is nothing to go by. It may be stuffed full of old books and -newspapers.</p> - -<p>It was just while we were extra suspicious through having been swindled -and robbed by the man I’ve just told you about, that two gentlemen with -two small portmanteaus came in one evening by the last train, and wanted -two bedrooms and a sitting-room.</p> - -<p>They were about thirty-five years old, I should say, by the look of -them. One was tall and thin, and the other was short and stout. They -certainly looked respectable, and were well dressed; but they talked in -rather a curious way to each other, using words that neither Harry nor I -could understand, and that made us a little suspicious, and so we kept a -sort of watch on them, and kept our ears open, too, as, of course, we -had a right to do, seeing we had not only the reputation of the house to -look after, but also the comfort and the property of the other -customers.</p> - -<p>I showed them their bedrooms, and, as it was late, I said, “I suppose, -gentlemen, you won’t want a fire lighted in the sitting-room this -evening?”</p> - -<p>What made me say that was, it was past eleven, and, of course, I -expected they would take their candles and go to bed.</p> - -<p>The tall one said, “Oh yes, we do; we’re rather late birds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“That’s a nice thing,” I said to myself. “They’ll want the gas on half -the night, and somebody will have to sit up and turn it off.”</p> - -<p>However, I said nothing to them, but rang the bell, and had the fire -lighted, and the gas lighted, and their portmanteaus carried upstairs.</p> - -<p>They both pulled their chairs up to the fire, and the short gentleman -lit a pipe.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going to smoke?” he said to the tall gentleman.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said the tall gentleman; “a cigar always makes me -queer.” Then he turned to me, and said, “Have you got any very mild -cigars?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” I said; “I think so. Is there anything else you want?”</p> - -<p>“What shall I have?” said the stout gentleman. “Can I have a cup of -tea?”</p> - -<p>I looked at him. It was past eleven o’clock, and we were just on closing -up everything, and the fire was out in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” I said; “if you particularly wish it—but——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t trouble,” he said. “Of course, we’re in the country. I -forgot. Bring me a whiskey-and-seltzer.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; and what will you have, sir?” I said, turning to the long -gentleman.</p> - -<p>The long gentleman, if he was a minute making up his mind he was ten. -First he thought he’d have whiskey, and then he said whiskey made him -bilious; then he thought he’d have a brandy-and-soda; and then he -thought he’d have a plain lemonade.</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t make my friend a basin of gruel, could you?” said the -stout gentleman; “he’s very delicate.”</p> - -<p>Of course I took him seriously, so I said, “Well, sir, the cook’s gone -to bed; but——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t pay any attention to what he says,” says the tall gentleman; -“he’s a lunatic. Bring me—let’s see—lemonade’s such cold stuff this -weather—I think I’ll have a port-wine negus.”</p> - -<p>I was very glad to get the order and get out of the room, for I thought -they were going to keep me there half an hour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span></p> - -<p>When I got downstairs, I said to Harry, “I can’t make those two men out -quite, and I’m not sure I like them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Harry, “I dare say they’re all right. I’ll take their measure -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>I took up the cigar, and the whiskey-and-seltzer, and the port-wine -negus, and put them down, and was just saying good night when the tall -gentleman called me back.</p> - -<p>“You’ve put nutmeg in this wine?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, it’s usual to put nutmeg in negus.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very sorry, but I can’t take nutmeg—it makes me bilious. I think -I’ll have a bottle of lemonade, after all.”</p> - -<p>“Bring him six of cod-liver oil hot, and a mustard-plaster,” said the -stout gentleman.</p> - -<p>The tall gentleman certainly looked rather delicate. He had a very fair -face, and a lot of very fair hair, and there was a generally languid -appearance about him.</p> - -<p>“I can make you a mustard-plaster, sir,” I said, “if you would really -like one.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you mind him,” said the tall gentleman; “he’s only trying to be -funny.”</p> - -<p>All this time he was pinching the cigar, and looking at it as though it -were some nasty medicine.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid this is too strong for me,” he said. “Haven’t you anything -milder?”</p> - -<p>“Bring him a halfpenny sweetstuff one,” said the stout gentleman.</p> - -<p>I took the negus and the cigar downstairs, and I said to Harry, “I -shan’t go up again. Those two men are lunatics, I believe. They want -lemonade and a halfpenny sweetstuff cigar now.”</p> - -<p>Harry laughed, and said, “Go on—they’re chaffing you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m not going to be chaffed,” I said. So I called Jane, the -waitress, who was just going to bed, poor girl, having to be up at six -in the morning, and I said, “Jane, you must wait on No. 16, please.” And -I gave her the lemonade.</p> - -<p>She went up, and she was gone quite ten minutes. When she came down, I -said, “Jane, whatever made you so long?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, ma’am,” she said, “they’ve been asking me such things!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What have they been asking you, Jane?” I said, getting alarmed; for I -was more than ever convinced the two men weren’t quite right.</p> - -<p>“They’ve been asking me if ever there was a murder here, ma’am, and if -there isn’t a silent pool in the wood where a body’s been found. And the -stout gentleman says that the tall gentleman is mad, and he’s his -keeper.”</p> - -<p>“I knew it,” I screamed. And then I said, “Harry, I’m not going to bed -to-night with a lunatic in the house. You must go upstairs and tell them -to go. We are not licensed to receive lunatics, and I won’t have it.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” said Harry. “It’s only their nonsense. They’ve been chaffing -Jane, that’s all. Don’t be a goose.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said, “I shall ask them to-morrow to go somewhere else.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s wait till to-morrow, then,” said Harry. “We’ve no reasonable -excuse for turning them out at this hour of the night. Let’s go to bed.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” I said. “Jane, take the candles into No. 16, and turn out -the gas.”</p> - -<p>Jane took the candles, and presently she came down and said, “Please, -ma’am, the gentlemen say they’ll turn out the gas themselves.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” I said. “Then, Harry, you’ll have to sit up, for I’m not -going to leave the house at the mercy of these two fellows. They’ll go -to bed and leave the gas full on, or turn it off and turn it on again, -and there’ll be an escape, and we shall all be blown up, or some fine -thing.”</p> - -<p>“All right, my dear; anything to please you. I don’t mind sitting up,” -said Harry; “only don’t fidget yourself so, for goodness’ sake, or -you’ll be ill.”</p> - -<p>I said I shouldn’t fidget if he sat up, and I went to bed; but I was -awfully wild, because we didn’t want that sort of people at our quiet -little place. It was very good of Harry to sit up, and he certainly is -very kind and considerate, and I dare say I was fidgety and nervous; but -I hadn’t been very well, and the least thing upset me. The doctor said -it was “nerves,” and I suppose that was what it was. I had had a bad -illness, and that had left me low, and the least thing upset me. I think -I told you at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> time Harry wanted me to go away to the seaside and -get better; but I wouldn’t do that, for I should have been fidgeting all -day and all night, lest something should go wrong while I was away.</p> - -<p>I went to bed, leaving Harry in the bar-parlour smoking his pipe, and -reading the newspaper; and after a bit, I fell fast asleep.</p> - -<p>When I woke up it was just getting light. I turned to look for Harry. -<i>He wasn’t in bed.</i></p> - -<p>I went hot and cold all over.</p> - -<p>“Harry!” I called out.</p> - -<p>There was no answer.</p> - -<p>I jumped out of bed and looked at my watch by the window. It was five -o’clock in the morning.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” I said, “this is wicked—this is infamous. The idea of those -fellows sitting burning the gas till this time in the morning in a -respectable house, and my great gaby of a husband not going up and -telling them of it.”</p> - -<p>I hurried on some of my things, and went down the stairs.</p> - -<p>I had to pass No. 16. The door was wide open and the gas was out.</p> - -<p>Whatever could it mean?</p> - -<p>A terrible thought flashed through my brain.</p> - -<p>They had murdered Harry, robbed the house, and decamped.</p> - -<p>How I got down to the bar-parlour I don’t know. Terror gave me strength.</p> - -<p>Directly I got to the door I saw the gas was still on there. I pushed -the door open and ran in, and there was Harry fast asleep in the -arm-chair, with the newspaper in his lap and his pipe dropped out of his -mouth and lying on the hearthrug.</p> - -<p>“Harry!” I said, seizing him by the arm—“Harry!”</p> - -<p>He started and opened his eyes. “Hullo,” he said, “what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter!” I said. “Why, it’s five o’clock in the morning, and -you’ve given me my death of fright.”</p> - -<p>He was flabbergasted when he found out what time it was, and he said he -supposed he must have dropped off sound asleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span></p> - -<p>There wasn’t much suppose about it!</p> - -<p>A nice thing, wasn’t it, to leave him to look after those two fellows, -and put the gas out for safety? and then for them to put <i>their</i> gas out -themselves, and him to go to sleep with his burning, and drop his -lighted pipe on the hearthrug.</p> - -<p>It’s a mercy we weren’t all burned alive in our beds.</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>What with the fright and the broken rest, I wasn’t at all well next day, -and I dare say I was a little disagreeable. I know I began at Harry -about those two gentlemen, and what we were going to do.</p> - -<p>They didn’t get up till nearly ten, and it was past eleven before they’d -done breakfast. I went into the sitting-room to ask about dinner; but -really to have another look at them.</p> - -<p>They didn’t look anything very dreadful in the daylight, and they were -certainly very pleasant with me, though a bit more jokey than I felt -inclined for.</p> - -<p>They said they’d have dinner at five o’clock; and then they asked me all -about the village and the neighbourhood, and they were on again about -that silent pool. There had been a murder committed there years and -years ago, and they must have heard about it somehow, for they asked me -all about it, and I told them the story as well as I could remember it.</p> - -<p>There was a young woman, the daughter of a farmer, who lived near the -wood, and she was engaged to be married to a young fellow who was a -farmer’s son. But it seems that she had been carrying on with a young -gentleman of quality, who lived in a fine mansion some miles away. The -young farmer had his suspicions, and watched her, and one moonlight -night he saw her go out, and meet her gentleman lover in the wood near -this pool. The lovers parted at the pool, after a very stormy scene, the -poor girl saying that he had broken her heart, and that she would drown -herself. An old man, a farm labourer, who was going through the wood, -heard the girl say that she would drown herself. He didn’t see her, he -only heard those words.</p> - -<p>The next morning the poor girl was found lying drowned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> in the pool, and -it was supposed to be suicide. The old man’s evidence of what he had -heard, and something that the doctor said at the inquest, made it quite -clear why the poor thing should have done so. But after the inquest was -over and it had been brought in suicide, the rumour got about that it -wasn’t a suicide after all, but a murder. Some people said that the -young farmer had pushed her in, in a mad fit of jealousy and revenge, -and others that the young gentleman had done it, because the poor girl -had threatened to tell everything, and make a scandal; and it seems he -was dreadfully in debt, and engaged to be married to a very rich young -lady.</p> - -<p>The rumour got so strong, and such a lot of evidence kept being found -out by the girl’s father, that the young gentleman was -arrested—arrested on the very morning that he was to have been -married—and was charged with the murder. The pool had been dragged, and -at the bottom of the pool was found, among other things, a piece of -linen, with a small diamond pin still in it. It was in the days when -gentlemen wore frill shirts, with a diamond pin in them—sometimes one -pin and a little chain, and a smaller pin attached to that. I dare say -you remember them, because it is not so long ago that some old-fashioned -gentlemen wore them still. It was said that this belonged to the man who -had pushed the poor girl in—that there had been a struggle, and she had -clung to him, and the shirt-front had been torn away, and the girl had -gone into the pool with it in her hand, and opening her hands struggling -in the water, it had gone to the bottom.</p> - -<p>At the trial, when the gentleman’s servants were examined, it was proved -that he had come home that night very excited, and one of them had -noticed that he wore his coat buttoned over his chest, and it was found -out that a pin, which he was known to have had, had not been seen -since—that he could not produce it, though he swore he was innocent.</p> - -<p>He was committed for trial, I think—at any rate, after the examination -before the magistrates there was another grand trial at the assizes, and -everybody thought he would be found guilty, when suddenly the young -farmer came into the court, and made a tremendous sensation by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> saying -that he had murdered the girl himself, in a fit of passion.</p> - -<p>He had overheard the conversation between the lovers, and he had sprung -out on them, and attacked the young gentleman. The poor girl had clung -to him to protect him, badly as he had used her, and that was how the -piece of shirt and the diamond pin came away in her hand. The young -gentleman, who was a coward, or he could never have treated a trusting -girl as he did, slunk away, for the farmer threatened he would kill him -like a dog if he did not. And as soon as he was gone, leaving the girl -half-fainting, the young farmer turned on her, and she answered him, and -said she hated him, and upbraided him for attacking the man she loved; -and this made him so mad that he pushed her into the pool, and she was -drowned.</p> - -<p>I couldn’t tell the gentlemen all the details, because I didn’t know -them, but that was the story as I had heard it. The young farmer was put -in the dock in the place of the young gentleman, and was found guilty, -and sentenced to be hanged; but he managed to hang himself in his cell -before the day of execution. The young gentleman lost his rich bride, -and went away abroad, and they say that he was stabbed soon afterwards -in a row in a low gambling-house, which was a terrible tragedy, and -three young lives lost because a man was wicked and a woman was weak; -but I suppose there will be tragedies of that sort as long as the world -lasts.</p> - -<p>The gentlemen seemed very interested in what I told them, and I began to -think better of them, because it is always nice to tell a story to -intelligent people, and to see that you have made an impression.</p> - -<p>After breakfast, they asked me to direct them to the pool in the wood, -and they went off there, and didn’t come back till dinner-time.</p> - -<p>When they came in I asked them if they had seen the pool.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the tall gentleman; “it is a lovely place for a murder.”</p> - -<p>“A <i>lovely</i> place for a murder,” I thought to myself. “That’s a nice way -to talk certainly;” but I was wanted in the bar, and we didn’t have any -more conversation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span></p> - -<p>That evening Harry had gone upstairs into one of the rooms that was -being repapered, and when he came down he looked very serious.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “I was passing No. 16, and, hearing them talking rather -loud, I stopped for a minute, not exactly to listen; but I couldn’t help -hearing what they said, and I heard something that’s rather worried me.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” I said. “You’d better tell me, or I shall think all manner -of things.”</p> - -<p>I had to press him; but he told me at last.</p> - -<p>“I heard one say to the other,” he said, “that he thought they couldn’t -do better than get the girl to that pool, and then have her pushed in.”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Yes,’ said the other; ‘but who is to do it?’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Why, James Maitland,’ said the other.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>But suppose she screamed—wouldn’t her screams be heard? And if her -screams were heard, everybody would know it wasn’t suicide.’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>No,’ said the other, ‘there are no houses near. This other girl was -murdered there, and everybody thought it was suicide.’</p> - -<p>“There was silence for a minute, and then the other (the short one, I -think, by his voice) said, ‘Let’s do it.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Harry!” I said, “how awful!”</p> - -<p>“We must keep our heads,” said Harry, “and not let them think we’ve -heard anything.”</p> - -<p>“Did you hear any more?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I heard the long one say that they’d better go up to the pool -to-night, so as to see how it looked in the dark, and then they would be -able to arrange all the details.”</p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said, “not another moment do I rest in this house, with two -men plotting murder in it. Go and tell them that we know all, and order -them off the premises.”</p> - -<p>Harry thought a minute, and then he said—</p> - -<p>“No; we’ve got no proof yet. I’d better go and put the matter in the -hands of the police.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; go at once,” I said.</p> - -<p>Harry went up to the station and told his story to the inspector, and -the inspector said we had better not say<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> anything to the two men, but -have them watched. He said they wouldn’t know him, so he’d put on plain -clothes and do the job himself; he didn’t care to trust it to Jones, as -Jones was a bit of a fool. You remember Jones—he was the policeman that -Dashing Dick had such a game with, with the empty revolver.</p> - -<p>I said to Harry, “Well, if he doesn’t arrest them to-night, they don’t -come back here. I’ve made up my mind to that.”</p> - -<p>The inspector came down to our house soon afterwards in plain clothes, -and sat in our bar-parlour. Harry persuaded him to let him go with him -to the wood, and he promised he should, if he’d be careful.</p> - -<p>About seven o’clock, the two fellows went out, and as soon as they’d -gone the inspector and Harry went off, and took a short cut, so as to -get to the pool first and conceal themselves.</p> - -<p>Harry told me all about what happened afterwards.</p> - -<p>They concealed themselves behind a clump of trees near the pool, and -presently those two fellows came along talking earnestly together.</p> - -<p>When they got to the pool they were silent for a bit, and walked all -round it, looking at the ground.</p> - -<p>“This’ll be the place,” said the tall one presently; “this mound gives a -man a good foothold, and he can throw the girl in instead of pushing -her.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the other. “James Maitland mustn’t make the appointment with -the girl here, but in the wood, and then they can walk this way. He’ll -start quarrelling with her here, and then he can throw her in.”</p> - -<p>“Where’s he to go to when he’s done it? Run away?”</p> - -<p>“No; stop and brazen it out. Nobody will see him or the girl together. -We can arrange that, and the suspicion is sure to fall on the other -fellow, because of what’s already passed between him and Norah. -Besides,” said the short fellow, “who’s going to accuse Maitland? Nobody -knows that he’s mixed up with the girl.”</p> - -<p>The tall fellow thought a bit.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “I think that’ll be the best. I don’t see how we can get -rid of the girl in any better way than that. If she was shot or stabbed, -nobody could set up the theory<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> of suicide; but if she’s found drowned, -of course there’ll be nothing to prove that she didn’t go in of her own -accord.”</p> - -<p>When Harry got to that, I said, “Oh, Harry, it makes one’s blood run -cold to think of the villains coolly plotting to murder a young girl -like that!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “it made me feel creepy, and the inspector said, ‘I -think I’ll collar them now. We’ve heard enough. If we let it go on they -may make up their minds to have this poor girl murdered somewhere else, -and then we may be too late.’</p> - -<p>“He was just about to spring out and collar them, when the short fellow -said to the long fellow, ‘One minute, my boy. I’ve got a magnificent -idea. There’ll be an inquest. Can’t we make the comic man foreman of the -jury? I can see a splendid scene—the comic man rubbing it into the -villain and getting roars of laughter.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“What!” I exclaimed. “A comic man on a jury!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see, little woman,” said Harry, “what it all meant? The -inspector did in a minute. These gentlemen aren’t murderers. They’ve -come down here to write a play, and they’re going to make the Silent -Pool their big sensation scene.”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>I didn’t take it all in for a minute; but when I did I laughed till I -cried. Everything was explained at once. But how on earth were we to -know that those two eccentric gentlemen were play-writers, and that they -had come down to our inn so as to study the Silent Pool as a sensation -scene for a drama.</p> - -<p>I wasn’t a bit afraid of them after that, and I let them turn their own -gas out at all hours of the night, for they generally sat and wrote till -the small hours, and a nice noise they made sometimes, shouting at each -other—“trying the dialogue,” they called it. They stayed with us nearly -a fortnight, and we got to like them very much. Harry called them Mr. -Lampost and Mr. Waterbutt; but, of course, not to their faces. They used -to come into our parlour and tell us funny stories, and we were quite -sorry when they went. They told us what they were doing at last, when -they found we could be trusted, and they had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> gentleman down from -London, who was going to paint the scene.</p> - -<p>When the play was brought out, Harry and I had two beautiful seats sent -us to go and see it, and we enjoyed it tremendously. The Silent Pool was -as real as though it had come from our wood; and there was the murder -and everything. And fancy our thinking that two play-writers were two -murderers! How they would have laughed if they had known! I noticed two -or three little things in the play that they had picked up in our place; -and one room in one of the acts was our bar-parlour exactly.</p> - -<p>When I saw it, I said, “Oh, Harry, I do believe they’ve put us in -it!”—and it was quite a relief when the landlady came on and wasn’t me -at all, but a comic old lady who made everybody scream every time she -opened her mouth.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lampost and Mr. Waterbutt promised us that when they were writing -another play they would come and stay with us again, and I hope they -will. Whenever I hear their play spoken about I always say, “Ah, that -play was written in our house.” But I never say that we thought they -were murderers, and had them watched by the police.</p> - -<p>One thing I was very thankful for, and that is that Mr. Wilkins didn’t -get hold of them to tell them about the murder in the Silent Pool. If he -had, he’d have gone about and told everybody that he’d collaborated in -the drama.</p> - -<p>As it is, if anybody could claim the credit of having had a hand in it, -it was not Mr. Wilkins, but me.</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Good gracious me! Isn’t supper ready? Hasn’t cook got a fit? Doesn’t -Harry want the key of the cash-box? Has nothing gone wrong downstairs or -upstairs? Wonders will never cease! I’ve actually been able to finish my -“Memoir” of Mr. Lampost and Mr. Waterbutt, and their visit to the -‘Stretford Arms,’ without anybody knocking at the door, and saying, -“Please, ma’am, you’re wanted.” Thank goodness!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /><br /> -<i>THE OWEN WALESES.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> had the sitting-rooms, No. 6 and No. 7.</p> - -<p>“Sixes and Sevens” we called them, and certainly that’s what they were -always at. They stayed three weeks, while their house in London was -being painted and done up inside and out; and if they had stayed much -longer, I think mad I should have gone. When they came I had picked up -my strength again wonderfully, and was quite well; but when they went -away I was reduced to such a state of nervousness that if a door banged -I jumped out of my chair and burst into a perspiration.</p> - -<p>One day we had a letter from a lady in London, asking if we had two -sitting-rooms and four bedrooms to spare, and giving a list of the -family she wanted to bring with her, if we could accommodate them for a -fortnight. Mrs. Owen Wales was the name on the lady’s card, and it was a -very good address. So we wrote back to say that we had the bedrooms to -spare, and also two nice sitting-rooms—No. 6 and No. 7. She had asked -us to give her an idea of our terms for such a party for three weeks; -but Harry said it was no good making a reduction, as large families were -sometimes more trouble than small ones, and our terms were quite -moderate enough. So I wrote a nice polite letter, and said what our -regular charges were, and that as we had only limited accommodation, and -were generally full, we couldn’t make any reduction, but they might rely -upon every attention being paid to their comfort.</p> - -<p>One or two letters passed before the thing was settled, and then one day -we had a telegram ordering fires to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> lighted in both sitting-rooms -and dinner to be ready at 6.30 for six people, in the largest -sitting-room.</p> - -<p>They arrived about half-past five—Mr. and Mrs. Owen Wales and two young -gentlemen and two young ladies and a maidservant.</p> - -<p>Mr. Owen Wales was a very short and very stout gentleman of about -fifty-five, with the reddest hair and whiskers I ever saw in my life. -Mrs. Owen Wales was about fifty, I should say, but she was six feet, if -she was an inch, and a fine women in every way; in fact, I may say a -magnificent woman. The two sons, Mr. Robert and Mr. David, were fine, -tall young men, taking after the mother. One was twenty-two and the -other nineteen, and the daughters, Miss Rhoda and Miss Maggie, were both -tall, too, and neither of them, I should say, would see twenty again. -Pryce, the lady’s-maid, was the queerest lady’s-maid I ever saw in my -life. She said she was forty to one of our girls, who asked the question -delicately; but she was sixty if she was a day. She was one of those -hard-faced, straight-up-and-down, hawk-eyed, eagle-nosed old women that -never laugh and never smile, and seem to have been turned out of a mould -hard set, and never to have melted.</p> - -<p>I soon saw what I had to deal with in Mrs. Pryce (she was a Miss, but -was always called Mrs. by her own request,) directly she got out of the -fly, that came on first with the luggage.</p> - -<p>She began to order me about, if you please, before she had been inside -the door a second, and to give me directions what was to be done, as if -I had never had a respectable person stay at my hotel before.</p> - -<p>I listened to what she had to say quietly, and I said, “Very good; I -will call the chambermaid, and she will attend to you.”</p> - -<p>She looked at me in a supercilious sort of way, and said, “Humph!” out -loud, and growled something to herself, which I know as well as -possible, though I didn’t hear it, was that she supposed I was above my -business.</p> - -<p>Now, that is a thing nobody can say of me with truth; but I never could -submit to be sat upon; and nothing puts my back up quicker than for -anybody to try it on,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span> especially people who are always giving -themselves airs and showing off.</p> - -<p>After she’d gone upstairs with the chambermaid and the man who carried -the luggage up, to see it put in the proper rooms, I said to my husband, -“Harry, there’ll be trouble with that person before we’ve done with -her—you mark my words.” Harry said, “Well, my dear, don’t you begin -making it,” which made me turn on him rather spitefully. One would have -thought, to hear him say that, that I was inclined to quarrel with -people and to make words, which I never was, and I hope I never shall -be; though, of course, a great deal depends upon the health you are in -and the condition of your nerves. You have a baby who is teething, and -keeps you awake night after night for a fortnight, and I think Job -himself would have lost his patience and turned snappy. And that was -what had happened to me with my second—a dear little girl, with the -loveliest dark eyes you ever saw in your life, and more like me than -Harry, with the prettiest ways a baby ever had, till the teething began, -and then the poor mite, I am bound to say, she didn’t show her mother’s -amiability of temper. (Ahem! Harry.)</p> - -<p>Well, of all the impudent things I ever saw! I left my papers on my -desk while I ran downstairs to go to the stores cupboard with cook, and -that impudent husband of mine has been reading my manuscript, and has -put in that nasty remark. I shan’t scratch it out—it shall stand there -as a lasting disgrace to him. It will show young women what they have to -expect when they get married, and how little men appreciate a woman who -lets them have their own way, and doesn’t make herself a tyrant.</p> - -<p>And talking about tyrants, if ever there was one in this world it was -that Mr. Owen Wales. That little bit of a fellow, who, as Harry said, -was only a pair of red whiskers on two stumps, made his big wife and his -big family tremble before him. But I shall come to that presently.</p> - -<p>It was as much as I could do to keep from saying, “Oh!” and giggling -right out when they all got out of the fly, and the little man walked in -like a small turkey-cock surrounded by his giant family. They really -looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> giants and giantesses by the side of him; but not one of them -spoke a word or offered a remark, leaving everything to “Pa.”</p> - -<p>Harry said afterwards it reminded him of a little bantam cock when Mr. -Owen Wales first strutted in; but there wasn’t much of the bantam when -he began to crow—I mean when he began to speak. It was more like a -bassoon. He had the deepest and gruffest voice I ever heard. Really, you -would wonder how such sounds could come out of a little man’s throat.</p> - -<p>He spoke in his gruff voice in a short, jumpy way, as if he was ordering -a regiment of soldiers about. “Rooms ready?” “Yes, sir; quite ready.” -“Fires alight?” “Yes, sir; they have been alight all day.” He grunted, -and then he turned to his family, who all stood meek and mute behind -him, and said, “Go on!” Well, he didn’t say it—he growled it, and they -all turned and went upstairs after the waitress, like school-children, -leaving Mr. Owen Wales to settle with the flyman. Our flyman is a very -civil flyman, but Mr. Owen Wales bullied him about some trifle till, the -poor man told me afterwards, he felt inclined to jump off the box and -give the “little beggar” a good shaking. And that’s how I often felt -with him afterwards—that I should like to take him up, put him under my -arm, and drop him quietly out of the window, to teach him a lesson.</p> - -<p>But his family stood in absolute terror of him, especially his wife, who -was the dullest, meekest, quietest creature for her size that you ever -saw. She could have taken that little man and given him a good shaking -at any moment if she had chosen to put out her strength; and instead of -that she obeyed him like a dog and trembled if he spoke cross to her or -swore.</p> - -<p>And he did swear. Not very bad swearing, but still swearing all the -same. It was only one word he used, beginning with D; but he would say -it as if he was thinking it out loud. This was the sort of thing. “Where -did I put my glasses? D——!” “Hasn’t anybody seen them? D——!” “Oh, -there they are on the sofa. D——!” “What time is it—half-past ten? -D——!” “Which way is the wind this morning—east? D——!” And so on. It -was such a habit with him that I think he didn’t know<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> what he did it -for. One Sunday I heard him, coming out of church, before the people -were out of the doors, say quite out loud, “I have left my Church -Service in the pew. D——!” And, turning round to go back, he pushed up -against the clergyman’s wife, and apologized, “Beg pardon, ma’am, I’m -sure. D——!”</p> - -<p>He used to say that word between every sentence he spoke aloud, just -like some people grunt between every sentence when they talk; and being -such a pompous little man, and so conspicuous with his red hair and -whiskers and his stoutness, it made it seem odder than ever, and -attracted everybody’s attention.</p> - -<p>I believe he was a very clever little man, which perhaps accounted for -his queer ways. I was told that he was a very wonderful man at figures; -and I think he was under Government, in some great office—at least, -I’ve heard so; and this perhaps accounted for his muttering, and -thinking, and swearing so much to himself. He really forgot that anybody -was in the room, his head being on something else. Sometimes at dinner, -when the joint was in front of him, he would help himself and begin to -eat, forgetting his wife and family altogether, until one of them would -venture to say “Pa.” And then he would look up suddenly, and say quite -sharply, “Eh? What? Oh, d——!” and then serve them.</p> - -<p>When he was in our hotel he always had one of the sitting-rooms to -himself, and he would sit there for hours with a lot of papers, which he -had in a big dispatch-box he carried about with him. I suppose he was -ciphering, but I couldn’t tell, because he always locked the door, and -nobody was allowed to go near when he was there. The only person he was -really civil to, and was really afraid of, was Mrs. Pryce, the -lady’s-maid. I’m sure that old woman knew something; for he never tried -any of his bullying on with her. Sometimes, when dinner was ready, and -he was locked in his room, there wasn’t one of them—not his wife, and -not his children—who dared go and knock and tell him. They used to send -for Pryce to go; and she would march up to the door as bold as brass and -knock, and say, quite short, “Dinner, sir.”</p> - -<p>If Pryce did that he would come out in a minute; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> once, when Pryce -was out, his eldest daughter went and gave a feeble little tap after -dinner had been ready three-quarters of an hour, and he came out foaming -at the mouth, and dancing about in a rage, and roaring and bellowing, -like a wild animal that had been stirred up in its cage with a long -pole.</p> - -<p>The least thing would put him out. I remember when they first came I had -to tell him one day that his wife had gone for a walk with the young -ladies.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Wales has gone out, sir,” I said.</p> - -<p>“That’s not her name,” he said. “D——! Don’t you think you ought to -call people who stay with you by their proper name? D——! My name is -Owen Wales, D——! not Wales. My wife’s Mrs. Owen Wales; my daughters -are Miss Owen Waleses. Don’t chop half our name off, please. D——!”</p> - -<p>And with that he went growling and muttering up the stairs, as though -he’d been having a fight with another animal over a bone.</p> - -<p>I’ve told you that when he was about, the rest of the family were like -lambs. Even the sons, grown-up young men as they were, didn’t dare to -open their mouths hardly before him; but when he went up to London and -left them in the hotel by themselves, oh dear me! you wouldn’t have -believed what a wonderful change took place.</p> - -<p>Their mamma was just the same quiet, meek, long-suffering creature; but -the young ladies and gentlemen were like wild animals, when the keeper’s -gone away and has taken the horsewhip with him. All the pa that was in -them came out, and they quarrelled and went on at each other awfully; -and their poor ma was no more use than a baby to manage them. She used -to lie in bed generally when Mr. Owen Wales was away till eleven o’clock -in the morning, and the family used to come down at all hours, one after -the other, and quarrel over their breakfast.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Owen Wales was with us everybody used to be at breakfast at -nine sharp, all looking as if butter wouldn’t melt; and woe betide any -of them that was a minute late at a meal except himself.</p> - -<p>But, oh, the meals when he wasn’t there! It was dread<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span>ful. It was the -same with dinner as with breakfast. They’d come in one after the other, -and quarrel all the time. And one day at dinner Miss Rhoda slapped Mr. -Robert’s face, and Mr. Robert threw a glass of water over her, and they -all jumped up, and I thought they’d have a free fight. I was so -terrified that I dropped the vegetable-dish I was handing round out of -my hand on the table, and, as it was cauliflower and melted-butter, and -it all fell over into Mrs. Owen Wales’s lap and ruined her dress, I -didn’t know which way to look or what to do. I thought perhaps they’d -all turn on to me, and begin to tear my hair or something; but they went -on calling each other beasts and cats and crocodiles, and other pet -names without taking any notice, and their ma just wiped up the -melted-butter out of her lap with her napkin, and said gently, “It -doesn’t matter, Mrs. Beckett; it’ll come out.” And then she looked up at -the young people and said, “Children, children, do, pray, be quiet.”</p> - -<p>But the brothers went on at each other furiously; one brother taking one -sister’s side and one the other; and the young ladies began scratching -their brothers’ faces. And I don’t know how it would have ended, only -Pryce walked into the room as calm as a judge, and they all sat down as -if by magic.</p> - -<p>I found out afterwards they were afraid she would tell their father; -they knew their mother wouldn’t. Pryce was the master when the master -was away—there was no mistake about that; and I’ve heard her go into -Mrs. Owen Wales’s room, and order her to get up—not exactly order her, -but you know what I mean—tell her it was late in a way that was as good -as an order to get up.</p> - -<p>The constant scenes when their pa was away quite wore me out, and I said -to Harry that my nerves wouldn’t stand it. They always used to quarrel -at the top of their voices, and the young ladies used to scream and rush -out bathed in tears, and bang the doors and run upstairs into their -bed-room; and I said we might as well keep a lunatic asylum at -once—better, for we should have keepers and strait-jackets then, and -padded rooms.</p> - -<p>Harry said they were a queer family, certainly. But he supposed it was -their being kept under so awfully by their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> pa made them burst out when -he wasn’t there—and perhaps that <i>was</i> it; but whatever it was, it was -very unpleasant in an hotel, which had always had quiet, steady-going -people.</p> - -<p>And it was not only quarrelling, but they were all over the place. The -young gentlemen would come into the bar, and into the bar-parlour, and -go on anyhow; and one day I found Mr. David sitting on the table in the -kitchen, and making the servants roar with laughter at a figure which he -had got, which was an old man on a donkey, that worked with strings; and -Harry came in one day and told me that he had seen Mr. Robert walking -with our nursemaid, while she was out with baby in the perambulator.</p> - -<p>I said to Harry that the sooner their pa came back again the better it -would be for us, for the place was being turned into a bear garden, and -their ma was a poor, helpless creature to be left with such a lot.</p> - -<p>But the worst that happened was one afternoon. Mr. Robert and Mr. David -came down and said to Harry, “Mr. Beckett, we want you to do us a -favour.” “What is it?” said Harry. “We’re going up to London, and we -can’t get back till the last train, which gets into ——” (a station four -miles from us) “at one in the morning. Will you let some one sit up for -us, and not say anything about it to Pryce or pa?”</p> - -<p>Harry, in his good-natured way, said, “All right,” and off my lords -went. I was very cross when I heard about it; but Harry said they were -grown-up young men, and perhaps they wanted to go to the theatre.</p> - -<p>I wouldn’t let Harry sit up alone, so I sat up too. And, if you please, -it was past two in the morning when a cab stopped at the door. And, when -Harry let them in, if these two young gentlemen were not in a nice -condition! Their hats were stuck on the backs of their heads, and they -could hardly stand upright—they were so much the worse for what they -had had.</p> - -<p>They grinned a most idiotic grin when they saw me, and tried to say -something polite; but they couldn’t get a distinct sentence out.</p> - -<p>While I was lighting their candles they sat on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> stairs and talked a -lot of gibberish, and looked like idiots. It was really quite painful.</p> - -<p>I said to Harry, “Get them up to bed, for goodness’ sake, and carry -their candles, or they’ll set the place on fire.”</p> - -<p>Harry tried to get them up, and by propping one against the wall and -holding him up with one hand, while with the other he helped the other -to get on his legs, he managed it at last. Then they both took hold of -his arms, and they tried to go upstairs three abreast, but before they -got half-way they both tumbled down, and pulled Harry on top of them, -and the candlestick fell out of his hand and came clattering downstairs.</p> - -<p>Harry laughed, but I was awfully wild. It wasn’t the sort of thing for a -respectable house like ours; and I was so afraid some of the other -customers would hear the noise and be disturbed by it.</p> - -<p>I had to help Harry to get them up again, and I said, “Do please try and -go to bed quietly, there’s good young gentlemen. You’re disturbing the -whole house!”</p> - -<p>They said, “All right, Mrs. Beckett. You’re goo’short, you are.” And -they did try to steady themselves, and we managed to get them all right -to the first landing, I going up in front with the candles. I wasn’t -going behind, for fear they should all fall down on top of me.</p> - -<p>But when we got to the top of the landing I thought I heard a slight -noise. I looked up, and there, with a candle in her hand leaning over -the banister, was that Mrs. Pryce.</p> - -<p>She was fully dressed, and had evidently had an idea what was going to -happen, and the cat—that ever I should call her so!—had sat up and -listened for the young gentlemen to come in and go to bed.</p> - -<p>When they looked up, too, and saw her it seemed to sober them for a -minute. “It’s all right, Pryce,” said Mr. Robert. “We’ve been to the -misshurry meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, and losh lash train.”</p> - -<p>If a glance could have withered them that old woman’s would have done -it. “Very good,” she said; “your father shall be informed of this.” -Then, looking at me, she said, “As to you, ma’am, you ought to be -ashamed of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> yourself—encouraging young men in vice and drunkenness.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” I said, almost with a shriek; “oh, you wicked creature! How dare -you say such a thing?”</p> - -<p>Harry had heard what she said, too. He left go of the two young men, and -they both went down bang on the landing; and he jumped up the stairs, -two at a time, till he reached Mrs. Pryce, and then, his eyes glaring -(he looked splendid like that), he almost shouted, “Apologize to my wife -for your insolence, this minute!”</p> - -<p>“I shall not,” she said, never flinching an inch. “It’s disgraceful, and -you ought to lose your licence.”</p> - -<p>“Do you suppose they got drunk with us?” yelled Harry.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said that female; “but they <i>are</i> -drunk, and you and your wife are up with them at two o’clock in the -morning. I shall inform my master at once. This is not a fit house for -respectable people.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it?” shouted Harry; “it’s a d—— sight too respectable for you -and your lot! You and your master can go to the——”</p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said, running up, and catching hold of him; “Harry, be calm; -think of the other customers.”</p> - -<p>It was too late. People hearing the row had got up, and I could see -white figures peeping through the half-open doors, and one old lady -rushed out in her nightgown shrieking, “What is it? The house is on -fire—I know it is. Fire! fire! fire!—--”</p> - -<p>“Hush, hush!” I cried, “don’t, don’t!”—and, in my horror, I put my -hands over her mouth to stop her. “It’s nothing; it’s only two gentlemen -drunk.” The old lady caught sight of the two young Mr. Owen Waleses -sitting on the landing, and remembering how she was dressed, and that -she hadn’t got her wig on, bolted into her room and banged the door to -after her, and I went to the other doors and told the people it was -nothing, that they weren’t to be frightened; it was only two of our -gentlemen had been overcome by something which had disagreed with them.</p> - -<p>Oh, it was dreadful! I didn’t know where the scandal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span> would end, or what -would be the consequences of it. How we got those two young fellows to -bed—how I quieted Harry down, and left that wretched woman Pryce -triumphant on the staircase, with a wicked, fiendish glare in her eye—I -only remember in a confused sort of way; but I know, when it was all -over and I got to bed, I had to have a good cry to prevent myself having -hysterics. And Harry, as soon as he’d got me round a bit, worked himself -up into a temper again, and, instead of going to sleep, kept on turning -from side to side in his indignation, and saying, if it hadn’t been for -me, he’d “have wrung that old cat’s neck for her.”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The next morning the two young gentlemen came into our private room -after breakfast, and apologized, like gentlemen. They said they were -very sorry for what had occurred, and they hoped we shouldn’t think too -badly of them. I said I should think no more of it, though, of course, -it had made a terrible scandal in the house, and would probably injure -our business; but I should not forget the impertinence of the woman -Pryce, who was only a servant, and had no business to dare to interfere -or to speak to me in such a way.</p> - -<p>They said that I was quite right; but they daren’t say anything to -Pryce, as their only chance of getting her not to tell their father was -by being very humble to her and smoothing her down.</p> - -<p>I don’t know how they tried to smooth her down; but they didn’t do it, -for their pa came down the next day, and that Pryce told him everything, -and a nice row there was. The way that little man went on at those two -great six-foot fellows was awful. They shook like aspen-leaves before -him—I expected to see him set to and thrash them every minute, though -he would have had to stand on a chair to box their ears. Of course, they -deserved all they got; the cruel part was that he bullied his wife as -well, and told her it was all her fault, and she was ruining her -children, and she wasn’t fit to be a mother, and I don’t know what. -Really one would have thought she was a little girl herself. I wondered -if he was going to stand her in the corner, or send her to bed. The poor -woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> trembled and sobbed before the little bantam, till I quite lost -patience with her. Why, if she had given him a push, she could have sent -him over into the fender, for he stood on the hearthrug, and foamed and -swore till he was nearly black in the face.</p> - -<p>The door was wide open—the sitting-room door—and we heard all he said, -and he rang the bell, and sent for me and Harry, and demanded to know -“the rights of it.”</p> - -<p>It was very awkward; but I got out of it. I said, “If you’ve anything to -say, sir, you can say it to my husband;” and with that I vanished out of -the room. He didn’t frighten Harry, though he tried to; but the end of -it was, he said he shouldn’t stay in the house any longer, and Harry -said he was glad to hear it, as it saved him the pain of having to -present him with the bill, and ask him to take his custom and his family -somewhere else.</p> - -<p>When Harry said that, he told me, the little man swelled out to such a -size Harry thought he was going to burst; but he only swore, and ordered -Harry to leave the room instantly, which, to avoid a disturbance, he -did.</p> - -<p>And, thank goodness, the next day they all departed; but not without a -good many d——s from Mr. Owen Wales over the bill. The young gentlemen -looked very sheepish, as well they might, and the whole family were -tamed again, and hadn’t a word to say among them. Their tamer was there, -and they quailed before him. Pryce was the first to go; she went in a -fly by herself with the luggage. Harry was at the door as she drove -away, and he raised his hat, with mock politeness, to my lady.</p> - -<p>She gave him a look, and turned her head, and sniffed, and said, “Good -afternoon, sir; it’s the first time I’ve stayed at a pothouse, and I -hope it will be the last!”</p> - -<p>A pothouse! Oh, when I think of it even now it makes the blood rush to -the roots of my hair. I do believe if I had been at the door when that -creature said that I should have——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Miss Measom not in yet? Why, it’s past eleven<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span>!—what does she mean by -such conduct? She’ll have to go. I will not have a barmaid who cannot -come in at a decent and proper time. When she does come in I shall give -her a piece of my mind. She’s much too flighty for her place; I thought -so when you engaged her. You go to bed, Harry; I’ll sit up for <i>her</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /><br /> -<i>MR. WILKINS.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Looking</span> over what I have written about Mr. Wilkins, who was for such a -long time one of our most regular customers of an evening at the -‘Stretford Arms,’ I feel inclined now to cross some of it out; but, of -course, it would be difficult to do that, because at the time I wrote of -him things were different to what they are now, and I only made the -remarks about him which I thought at the time he deserved. Even that -which was written after he had left the neighbourhood referred to the -part he took in things which happened at the time he was with us, and so -of course it wouldn’t have done to anticipate.</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Wilkins!</p> - -<p>He offended me very often, and at times he was rather a nuisance, poor -old gentleman, because he was one who would have a finger in everybody’s -pie, and was fond of giving off his opinions, whether he was asked for -them or not. But that is all forgiven and forgotten now, and I only -think of the old gentleman at his best. We all have our peculiarities—I -dare say I have mine—and certainly Wilkins had his; but it would be a -very queer world if nobody had any crotchets, and everybody was exactly -alike. There wouldn’t be any novels, and there wouldn’t be any plays—at -least, I suppose not—though, of course, if we had been all alike in our -ways and in our dispositions, authors would have had to get over the -difficulty somehow.</p> - -<p>You remember that Mr. Wilkins had a daughter in service in London, and -it was through her that he found out that I was the Mary Jane who had -written her “Memoirs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span>” when she was in service. He was very proud of his -daughter, and he had every reason to be so, for she was a very good -girl, and had only lived in good families. He had also a daughter who -had married, and had gone out with her husband to Australia. She used to -write to her father now and then, and when he had a letter he was very -proud of it, and he would bring it round to our house, and read bits of -it that were about the life there out loud to the company, and he used -to say, “My girl writes a good letter, doesn’t she, Mrs. Beckett? She -could write a good book if she liked, and it would be very interesting.”</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Wilkins, I’m quite sure he had an idea that his daughter could -write a book on Australia because she had been there a year or two and -could write a very fair letter. Some people think that you’ve only to -write what you have seen, and it will be as interesting to the public as -it is to you and your friends. I believe much cleverer people than Mr. -Wilkins think that, because I’ve seen books advertised in the -newspapers, such as “A Month in America, by a Lady,” or “Six Weeks in -Russia, by a Gentleman,” and all that sort of thing, and one of the -gentlemen who stayed at our hotel left a book behind him from Mudie’s, -and I read it before sending it after him, and it was nothing but a lot -of letters, which a lady, who had gone abroad for her health, had -written home to her children. Very interesting to her children and her -friends, I dare say; but I thought a lot of it quite silly, and I -thought to myself that she must be pretty conceited to fancy everybody -wanted to read her letters that she wrote home. But I must not say any -more on the subject, because people who live in glass houses shouldn’t -throw stones, and perhaps somebody will say that I’m a nice one to talk, -seeing that I am always writing down everything that happens to me, and -having the impudence to try and get it published.</p> - -<p>What brought it up was Mr. Wilkins being so absurd about his daughter in -Australia.</p> - -<p>In most of these letters there was a glowing account of how well she was -getting on, and how her husband had been very lucky out there, and was -making money and getting property. It seems he had bought some land, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> -something, “up country,” which meant a very long way off, and it had -turned out so well that he had bought some more, and, according to the -young woman, they were on the high road to fortune.</p> - -<p>Then, her letters began to ask her father to come out to them and settle -down with them. She was sure he would like it, and he could be a great -help to them as well, as her husband wanted somebody he could trust very -much.</p> - -<p>At first Mr. Wilkins shook his head, and said he was too old, that he -couldn’t go across the seas, and he thought he should feel more -comfortable if he died in his native place and was buried in the old -parish churchyard.</p> - -<p>But by-and-by something happened which made him hesitate. His daughter -up in London was engaged to a young man, and they were to be married in -a short time. He was a young man in a very fair position, being head -barman in a public-house in the City, and a good deal of the management -was left to him, the proprietor having a taste for sport and going away -racing a good deal, and the wife not knowing much about the trade, and -not being a good business woman.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins’s daughter in London was very fond of her young man, who was -very sober and steady, and getting on well and putting money by.</p> - -<p>All went very well until the landlord of the public-house went one day -to the races at Epsom—the City and Suburban day, I think it was—and he -drove down with some friends in a trap. What happened afterwards came -out at the inquest. They may have had too much to drink; but, at any -rate, driving back home in the evening they ran into a lamp-post, and -the landlord was thrown out on his head, and when he was picked up it -was found that he was seriously injured, and he never regained -consciousness, but died the next day.</p> - -<p>After that Miss Wilkins didn’t see so much of her lover. He said that, -the governor being dead, he had to be always looking after the business, -and that prevented him getting out so often as he used to do. The poor -girl didn’t suspect anything at first; but, at last, she would have been -blind not to see that something was wrong. After a bit the young man -tried to get up a quarrel with her; but she,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span> being a sweet temper, -wouldn’t quarrel, and then he told her that he had changed his mind, -that he didn’t think they were suited to each other, and asked her to -break it off.</p> - -<p>It upset her terribly, and made her quite ill. It wasn’t only a blow to -her pride; but she really loved the fellow. She found out what it all -meant when, six months after the landlord met with that fatal accident, -her young man married the widow and stepped into an old-established City -public-house doing a big trade.</p> - -<p>That was the worst blow of all to poor Miss Wilkins. It showed her how -unworthy her young man had been of her, having thrown her over to marry -a woman old enough to be his mother, and all for money.</p> - -<p>She fretted so much that she became quite ill, and wasn’t able to stop -in a situation, and so she came home to her father. But that didn’t do -her any good, for she moped terribly, and was always brooding, and -couldn’t be roused, or persuaded to go out.</p> - -<p>I felt very sorry for the poor girl, and I asked her to tea several -times; but she only came once, and then she was so miserable that it was -more like a funeral feast than a friendly tea-party.</p> - -<p>She began to get paler and thinner every day, and Mr. Wilkins grew quite -alarmed about her, and the doctor said the only thing for her was to go -right away and be among fresh faces and fresh scenes, and then, perhaps, -in time she would make an effort and forget her trouble.</p> - -<p>I don’t believe myself that a woman ever forgets a trouble of that sort. -They may seem to before the world; but it is only put away for a time. -It comes back again. But there is no doubt that it comes back less in a -new place than in an old one, where there is nothing to take your -attention off it.</p> - -<p>It was just after the doctor had told Wilkins this that another letter -came from Australia, from the daughter there, almost begging her father -to come out to them. The doctor said, when he heard of it, “Why not go, -Wilkins, and take your daughter with you?” And at last the poor old -gentleman made up his mind that he would. Miss Wilkins was eager to go -too. She said she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> should be glad to get away from everything that -reminded her of the past. I think Wilkins would still have hesitated, -but for the fact that just at the time our clergyman was changed, the -Rev. Tommy going away to a seaside place, and a new clergyman -coming—quite a young fellow, who looked almost like a boy, and had a -lot of new notions that poor Wilkins said were dreadful. He and Wilkins -didn’t get on at all from the very first, the old fellow rather -resenting what he called the young clergyman’s “new-fangled ways.” And -the young clergyman got wild with Wilkins, who, he said, was “an old -fossil,” and “behind the age,” and they had words. And then Wilkins in a -pet said he should resign, and the young clergyman said he was very glad -of it, and he thought it was about time, as Mr. Wilkins had been -spoiled, by his predecessor allowing him to have his own way, and was -too old now to learn different.</p> - -<p>The end of it was that one evening Mr. Wilkins came into our bar-parlour -very excited, and said he had given that whipper-snapper a bit of his -mind, and resigned his place, and he was going to accept his married -daughter’s offer, and go to Australia.</p> - -<p>At first, when he said it, his old friends who were present said, “Go -on!” But he soon let them know that he was serious. And the next day he -went up to London to make arrangements about a passage for himself and -his daughter.</p> - -<p>It made quite a sensation in the village, as soon as it was known that -our old parish clerk was going to Australia. A committee met at our -house, and it was determined, in recognition of his long connection with -the parish, and the esteem in which he was held by everybody, to give -him what Graves, the farrier, called “a good send-off.” There was a lot -of talk about how it was to be done, and at last it was determined to -get up “a Wilkins Testimonial and Banquet.” It was settled that the -banquet was to be at our house, and Harry entered into it heart and -soul, because he liked Wilkins very much. There was a lot of dispute as -to what the testimonial was to be, and at last it was decided that -something that an inscription could be put on was best—something that -he could keep and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> show to everybody and leave behind him as a family -heirloom.</p> - -<p>Harry suggested a piece of plate, and that was agreed to after some -absurd remarks by Graves, who wanted to know what a piece of plate was -like; and when it was agreed to be a silver tankard, with an inscription -on it, Graves said he thought a plate was something to eat off, and he -couldn’t see how anything that you drank out of could be a plate.</p> - -<p>I dare say he thought it was very funny, but nobody laughed at the joke -except himself; but, as he laughed loud enough for twenty people, -perhaps he was satisfied.</p> - -<p>As soon as the preliminaries were settled, Harry and Mr. Jarvis, the -miller, the one that was nearly run over on the night of the burglary at -the Hall, were appointed to collect the subscriptions, and a day was -fixed for the banquet, which was to be the night before Mr. Wilkins left -the village to go to London, where he was going to stop for a day and a -night before he sailed from the docks for Melbourne.</p> - -<p>The Rev. Tommy was written to, and he headed the subscription with a -pound, and the doctor gave a pound, and several of the gentry people -gave the same, and the rest was made up in ten shillings and five -shillings from the little tradespeople, and smaller sums from the -working folks. It was a success from the first, for Mr. Wilkins was very -much respected, and everybody was sorry he was going to leave. The new -clergyman—the “whipper-snapper”—wasn’t asked; but when he heard what -was going on, he came into our place one day and gave Harry a pound, and -Harry said he wasn’t such a bad sort after all.</p> - -<p>We got so much money that it was more than enough to buy the tankard, -and Harry suggested that we should put the rest into a purse and present -it to Mr. Wilkins, as it would be very useful for the journey. Mr. -Wilkins had been a saving man, and he had a nice little sum in the bank; -but, of course, money is always welcome, especially when there are two -fares to Australia to pay.</p> - -<p>The banquet was left to us, and, after we had thought it well over and -consulted the committee, it was agreed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> that it was to be five shillings -a head, and that everybody was to pay for what they drank extra. This -was better, because, of course, the company would be rather mixed, -several of the better people, such as the doctor and some of the young -gentlemen from the private houses, having promised to come, to show -their respect for Mr. Wilkins, and they would drink wine, while the -ordinary people would drink beer.</p> - -<p>Harry said to me, “We’ll show them what the ‘Stretford Arms’ can do, my -dear.” And we arranged a banquet that I am sure would be no disgrace to -a West End London hotel. Knowing our company, we arranged accordingly; -having dishes to suit the gentlefolks, and hot joints and things to suit -the others. The banquet was to be in the coffee-room, and that would -hold a lot of people, by making one long set of tables run all round it. -The doctor promised to take the chair, and Mr. Wilkins, of course, was -to be on his right hand, and Harry was to take the vice-chair. There -were to be no ladies, which I opposed at first; but it was thought -better, as it might have led to quarrelling.</p> - -<p>Of course Wilkins knew what was going on, and he was very proud, though -it touched him deeply. And when he shook hands with us, the night that -the deputation waited on him and invited him to the banquet, the poor -old fellow’s voice was quite husky, and his hand trembled.</p> - -<p>It was very funny the way he tried to pretend he wasn’t listening, when -any of the arrangements were discussed in the bar-parlour. And sometimes -we used to be talking about what the inscription was to be, and that -sort of thing, and in would walk Wilkins himself; and then we all left -off and whispered, and first one would be called out of the room, and -then the other, to settle a point, Mr. Wilkins all the time smoking his -long clay pipe and looking up at the ceiling, as though he hadn’t the -slightest idea that he was in any way concerned in what was going on.</p> - -<p>One day, just before the banquet, Harry came to me and said, “Missus, -you know all about these things—how do you invite the Press?”</p> - -<p>“What Press?” I said, wondering what he was driving at.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span></p> - -<p>“The newspapers,” he said. “I’ve had a hint that Mr. Wilkins would like -the Press to be present. He’s going to make a speech.”</p> - -<p>I thought for a minute, and then said that I supposed it would be better -to write to the editor of our county paper and send him a ticket.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Harry, “but I fancy Wilkins would like the <i>Times</i> and the -<i>Morning Advertiser</i> to be present.”</p> - -<p>I couldn’t help laughing at that. Of course it was absurd; as if the -editor of the <i>Times</i> and the <i>Morning Advertiser</i> would take the -trouble to come down to our place to hear Mr. Wilkins speak!</p> - -<p>I told Harry that it was ridiculous, as it was only a local affair, and -I wasn’t even sure if it was big enough for our county paper to come to.</p> - -<p>Harry seemed a little disappointed. He said that it would have been such -a good thing for us, if it could have been got into the London papers; -because in all the accounts of banquets that he had read it always said -at the end something about the hotel or the restaurant, and the way in -which the banquet was served.</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said, “I’m sure the London papers would laugh at us if we -invited them; but there’ll be no harm in asking the local paper.”</p> - -<p>The committee met and talked it over, and a nice invitation was sent to -our editor, and we got a letter back in a couple of days, saying that he -feared he could not send a reporter, as the affair was not of sufficient -general interest; but if we sent a short account of the proceedings it -should be inserted.</p> - -<p>Somehow or other, Mr. Wilkins got to hear of it, and, though he was -disappointed about the <i>Times</i> and the <i>Morning Advertiser</i>, he paid me -a very pretty little compliment. He came to me, and said, “Mrs. Beckett, -ma’am, I have heard that our county journal is anxious for a report of -the farewell banquet which is to be given in my honour. I am sure that -there will be no one so fitted in every way to draw up that report as -yourself. You are an authoress, and well known in literature, and can do -the subject justice.”</p> - -<p>I blushed at that, and went quite hot. “I’m not used<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> to writing in -newspapers, Mr. Wilkins,” I said, “which is quite different to writing -books.” But the old gentleman was so anxious that I should write the -report that I promised I would. After that I read all the reports of -banquets I could find in the newspapers, so as to get used to the style, -and the only thing that bothered me was how I should be able to write -out all the speeches, and I told Mr. Wilkins so. He relieved me on this -point by saying he should have his speech written out beforehand, and he -would have a copy made specially for me.</p> - -<p>For two or three days before the banquet we were very busy getting -everything ready, and I was very anxious, as it was the first public -dinner on a big scale that we had done. But, thank goodness, nothing -went wrong, except that the woman we had in to help our cook turned out -a very violent temper, and in a rage pulled our cook’s cap off and threw -it on the fire, and she, trying to snatch it off again, upset a big -saucepan of custard that was boiling, and it all ran over into her -boots, and made her dance about, and shriek and yell that she was -scalded to death—(she really was hurt, poor woman)—and that made the -kitchen-maid, who was subject to epilepsy, fall down and have a fit. And -as we sacked the assistant cook for her behaviour, and cook and the -kitchen-maid were too ill to do anything all the next day, we had to -send out right and left to get help. And we got a woman who was an -excellent cook and very handy; but had a baby that she couldn’t leave, -and so brought it with her. It was the peevishest baby that I ever came -across, and shrieked itself into convulsions from morning till night, -until at last the people staying in the hotel sent down and said, if -that child didn’t leave off they should have to go. Except for these -little things everything went on as well as could be expected, seeing -what a strain it was on the resources of the establishment. That last -line is a line out of my report, which I wrote for our county paper. It -isn’t in the report which they had printed, but I wrote it, having seen -it in a report of a banquet I had read, and I think “strain on the -resources of the establishment” a very good expression under the -circumstances.</p> - -<p>But all’s well that ends well, and when the eventful<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span> evening arrived -everything was right, and the coffee-room looked beautiful with the -flags which we had put up, and evergreens, and coloured paper, and a big -device over Mr. Wilkins’s head, on which was written—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">England’s loss is Australia’s gain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God speed Mr. Wilkins across the main.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>When the company had all assembled there were fifty-one altogether who -sat down, and it was a very pretty sight. We had extra waitresses in to -help, and I remained in the room and superintended them, keeping near -the door, of course. Harry behaved beautifully as the vicechairman, -taking care never to be the landlord, or to interfere with anything, -only once, when Graves—who, of course, couldn’t behave himself even on -such an occasion—said, “I say, Mr. Vice, don’t you think this beer is a -bit off?” Harry replied, “I don’t know, Mr. Graves; I’m drinking -champagne,” which made everybody laugh.</p> - -<p>There was plenty of champagne drunk, too, at the head of the table, Mr. -Wilkins tasting it, as he said afterwards, for the first time in his -life, and everything went off capitally, and not too noisy at first, -though the way some of them ate, at the lower end, showed that they -meant to have their money’s worth, as well as to show their respect for -Wilkins.</p> - -<p>After the cheese and celery the doctor rapped the table, and then Harry -rapped the table too, and said, “Order for the chair.” And Mr. Wilkins, -who knew, of course, what was coming, looked at the pattern of his -cheese-plate as though it was a very beautiful picture, and made little -pills with the bread by his side, and twisted the tablecloth, and did -everything except look at the company.</p> - -<p>The doctor made a very nice, kind little speech about Wilkins, referring -to the many, many years he had been parish clerk, and how he was looked -upon by everybody in the place as a friend, and how sorry they all were -to lose him, and how they hoped that a long and happy life with his -family awaited him in the new country.</p> - -<p>Everybody cheered, and said “Hear, hear,” to the sentiments, the only -person interrupting in the wrong place being Graves, who said, “Hear, -hear,” when the doctor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span> said, “and now Mr. Wilkins is about to leave us, -perhaps for ever.”</p> - -<p>At the end of the doctor’s speech everybody got up and raised their -glasses, and shouted, “Three cheers for Wilkins!” And then they sang, -“For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and kept on till I thought they would -never leave off.</p> - -<p>After that, Mr. Jarvis, the miller, sang a song, to give Mr. Wilkins -time to pull himself together for his reply, and then Mr. Wilkins rose, -and the company banged the table till the glasses jumped again, and I -thought the whole arrangement would come down with a crash, the tables -being only on tressels.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins rose and said, “Ladies and gentlemen”—(there were no -ladies, so he looked hard at the door where I was trying to keep out of -sight)—“this is the proudest moment of my life. I thank you, gentlemen, -one and all. I—I had prepared a speech, but every word has gone out of -my head. (‘Hear, hear,’ from Graves.) I cannot say what I feel. I have -known the company here for many, many years; I have lived among you man -and boy, and at one time I thought I should die among you. (‘Hear, -hear,’ from Graves again.) But I am going away to a foreign country. I -shall find, I hope, new friends there; but I shall never forget the old -ones. I thank you one and all, high and low, rich and poor, for your -great kindness to me this day. It’s more than I deserve. (‘Hear, hear,’ -from Graves again.) This beautiful mug”—(I forgot to tell you that the -doctor wound up his speech by presenting the piece of plate and the -purse of gold)—“will be treasured by me to the last hour of my life. I -shall hand it down to my children untarnished. For that, and the -generous gift which you have also given me, I thank you from the bottom -of my heart, and, ladies and gentlemen, I can’t say any more, except to -say, ‘Good-bye, and God bless you all.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Wilkins, when he came to that, broke down a little, and then -everybody cheered, and he sat down. It wasn’t a bad speech—much better -than what he had written out to say, which was nearly all taken from an -old book of speeches, published at a shilling, as I found out -afterwards,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span> and which was what the Prince of Wales might have said at a -State banquet, but was all nonsense for a parish clerk.</p> - -<p>After Mr. Wilkins’s speech the doctor said, “You may all smoke.” And -they did smoke! In five minutes you couldn’t see across the room. And -then they had spirits and water, and there were more speeches, and the -doctor’s health was proposed, and then Harry’s health coupled with mine, -and they would make me come in and stand by Harry while he replied, and -I tried to look as dignified as I could, though I felt awfully hot and -flustered, till Harry gave me a dreadful slap on the back, which he -meant to emphasize what he was saying about me, but which made me feel -quite ill for a minute or two. And then they all began to talk at once, -and sing songs; and when the banquet broke up, everybody insisted upon -seeing Mr. Wilkins home. And it was just as well, for, what with the -heat, and the excitement, and the smoke, and the champagne, and hot -spirits on the top of that, poor dear Mr. Wilkins was glad of somebody’s -arm to lean on.</p> - -<p>But it all ended well, and was a great success, though the cleaning-up -to get the coffee-room straight for the next morning was awful, -especially as the strange people we had in to help, emptied all the -bottles and all the glasses, and, the contents being rather mixed, some -of them were a little excited, and made more noise about their work than -they ought to have done.</p> - -<p>The next day I sat down to write my report. Mr. Wilkins, who came round -to say good-bye privately to me, as I couldn’t go up to the station with -the others to see him off, asked me to put in the speech he had written -out, instead of the one he delivered; but I couldn’t do that. I wrote a -nice account, giving a few details of Mr. Wilkins’s life, and the names -of the principal guests, and, of course, I said what I could about the -banquet, and how much everybody enjoyed it, and I put in a nice little -line about Harry, though it seemed so funny for me to have to call him -“mine host of the ‘Stretford Arms’;” but I knew that was the right way -to do it.</p> - -<p>It took me nearly all day to write out the report; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> then I made a -nice clean copy of it, and sent it to our county paper.</p> - -<p>And when the paper came out, we couldn’t find it for a long time, till -right down in a corner we found three lines: “Mr. Wilkins, for many -years parish clerk of ——, was entertained at a banquet by his -fellow-parishioners on Thursday last, on the occasion of his departure -for Australia.”</p> - -<p>I could have cried my eyes out with vexation. The nasty, mean editor had -not even said <i>where</i> the banquet was held.</p> - -<p>Harry was in an awful rage. He had ordered and paid for a hundred -copies—to send away. Thank goodness, poor Mr. Wilkins had sailed for -Australia before the paper came out, and so he knew nothing of the cruel -treatment which my first attempt at writing for the Press had met with.</p> - -<p>That is how Mr. Wilkins left us. It was a pleasant way certainly; but I -know he felt going very much indeed. He was an old man to begin life -again in a new world. But he has his daughters with him, and if his -eldest daughter is as well off as he says she is, perhaps in time he -will get reconciled to the change.</p> - -<p>We have had one letter from him since he arrived in Australia. The -invalid daughter was better, and he gave a wonderful account of the -place where he is living. It is a long way “up country,” and he says it -is all so new and strange, that sometimes he expects to wake up in his -easy-chair in the ‘Stretford Arms’ and find out that he has dropped off -for forty winks, and has been dreaming.</p> - -<p>He wrote a lot about the wonderful things he had seen and the wonderful -adventures he had had. He says that he has to ride on horseback to get -about, and it was very awkward at first; but his son-in-law gave him -lessons, and now he is all right. He says he is going to learn how to -throw the lasso and catch cattle. I think he has learnt to throw the -hatchet. The idea is too absurd of our old parish clerk, the respectable -Mr. Wilkins, galloping about the country and catching animals, like -those wild fellows you read about on the great American plains.</p> - -<p>Still, he is there in the midst of it all, and I don’t sup<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span>pose we shall -ever see him again. It is a strange end to the career of a quiet, -old-fashioned old fellow like Wilkins—a man who all his life had hardly -spent a week away from the quiet little country place in which he was -the parish clerk. I often say to Harry, when we speak of him, “Who ever -would have believed such a thing could happen?” And Harry says that in -this world there never is any knowing <i>what</i> may happen; but one thing -he knows will never happen again, and that is that I shall spend a whole -day writing an article for our county paper.</p> - -<p>And Harry is perfectly right. But never mind, we have had our revenge. -We always took the local paper every week before, and now we have given -it up. “That’s the best way to make newspapers feel that you——”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon arrived! And he never sent word that he was coming! Oh dear, -dear! I must come at once. Nothing will be right, and there’ll be a nice -to-do if his liver happens to be wrong.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /><br /> -<i>ONE OF OUR BARMAIDS.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Good</span> barmaids are as difficult to get as good servants. It is, perhaps, -even harder to get just what you want in a barmaid, because so many -different qualities are required, and the work has to be done under such -different circumstances.</p> - -<p>Some girls are very quiet and nice in business, and very ladylike, and a -credit to the house out of it; but are still not good barmaids, because -they are not able to suit their manner to the class of customer they -happen to be serving. Some of the best barmaids for work and smartness -aren’t nice in other ways, giving themselves airs and showing off before -the customers, and being fond of talking with the young fellows who come -in and loll across the counter; and some of them dye their hair gold, -and make themselves up, and look fast, which is a thing I have always -had a horror of; but some of these girls are, as far as doing the trade -is concerned, among the best barmaids going, and often there is a good -deal less harm in them than in your quiet girls, who seem as if they -couldn’t say boh to a goose, and look down on the floor, if a young -fellow pays them a compliment.</p> - -<p>A good, smart, showy barmaid has generally learnt her trade and knows -her customers. The compliments paid to her run off her like water off a -duck’s back, and she knows how to take care of herself. But her very -independence makes her a trial to put up with, and if she’s a favourite -with the customers she soon lets you know it.</p> - -<p>Your quiet barmaid, who doesn’t dress up a bit, and only<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span> says “yes” and -“no” when the customers talk to her, is generally slow and makes a lot -of silly mistakes, and is afraid of a bit of hard work. She is the sort -of girl who can’t take more than one order at once, and draws stout for -the people who ask for whiskey, and opens lemonade and puts it into the -brandy for gentlemen who have ordered a B. and S. We had one of these -extra quiet girls once, and she nearly drove me mad. On Saturday nights, -and at busy times, if I hadn’t been in the bar half the people would -have gone away without being served. But it was while she was with us -that we began to feel uncomfortable about the state of the till, and, -after we’d sent her off, it was found out that she’d been giving too -much change every night to a scamp of a fellow that had made her believe -he was desperately in love with her.</p> - -<p>Miss Measom was one of the best barmaids we ever had, <i>as a barmaid</i>; -but she was much too flighty for me. I didn’t like her the first day I -saw her in the bar. She was what Harry called “larky,” and in a quiet -place like ours that sort of thing attracts more attention than it would -in London.</p> - -<p>But when I knew her better, I really began to like her, and thought that -there wasn’t any harm in the girl. It was just her animal spirits. She -was full of mischief, and had the merriest laugh I ever heard, and used -to say the oddest things. What annoyed me at first was that some of the -young fellows who used our house for the billiard room gave her a -nickname. They called her “Tommy,” and she liked it. I didn’t. One -evening I was in the bar and one of them said, “Tommy, give me another -whiskey cold,” and I thought it wasn’t respectful to me, so I said, -“That’s not Miss Measom’s name, Mr. Smith, and if you don’t mind I’d -rather you didn’t call her by it.”</p> - -<p>He was an impudent fellow, and he said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. -Beckett,” and then he said, “May I have the honour of asking you for -another whiskey cold, if you please, <i>Miss Measom</i>?” And then a lot of -the young monkeys that were with him began “Miss Measom-ing” all over -the place, and the grown-up men, who ought to have known better, did it -too, and I was so indignant, I went out of the bar and left them at it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was Saturday evening, after the football, and that was always what -Miss Measom used to call “a warm time,” because the young fellows in the -club got excited, and they brought in the club that had come down to -play them, and I was generally rather glad when it was time to shut up.</p> - -<p>The night that this happened in the bar that I have told you about, -after we’d shut, Miss Measom came to me and she said, “I hope you’re not -cross with me, Mrs. Beckett. I can’t help them calling me Tommy, and -they don’t mean any harm.” “I am cross, Miss Measom,” I said. “It -doesn’t sound nice, and it isn’t the sort of thing for a place like -ours. If you didn’t encourage them they wouldn’t do it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t encourage them—indeed I don’t!” said the girl; “but it’s no -good my being nasty about it.”</p> - -<p>I don’t know what I should have said; but Harry came in at the moment, -and, hearing the conversation, he joined in and said he was sure Miss -Measom couldn’t help it, and, after all, it was nothing, because young -fellows would be young fellows, and you couldn’t expect them to behave -in a bar as if they were in a chapel.</p> - -<p>That put my back up, and I turned on Harry quite indignantly, for I -didn’t like his taking the girl’s side against me.</p> - -<p>I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I said, “Oh, I know Miss -Measom is a great favourite of yours; wouldn’t you like me to beg her -pardon?”</p> - -<p>It was a very foolish thing to say. I felt so directly I’d said it; but -I was in a temper, and wouldn’t draw it back.</p> - -<p>Harry bit his lip; and Miss Measom flushed scarlet, and went out of the -room.</p> - -<p>“You’re very unwise to say a thing like that,” said Harry. “I can’t -think what’s come to you lately.”</p> - -<p>“I will say it,” I said; “and I am not the only person who says it. You -are always sticking up for that girl against me. Both of her last -Sundays out she has been home half an hour late, and you told me not to -be cross with her about it.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a foolish little woman,” Harry said. “Let’s talk about something -else.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; I dare say it’s not an agreeable subject.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t; get on with your supper.”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t; I don’t want any supper,” I said, pushing my plate away.</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well,” said Harry; “perhaps you’re better without it. I should -think you’ve got indigestion now, and that’s what makes you so -disagreeable.”</p> - -<p>With that he got up from the table, and went and sat down in the -armchair and lit his pipe, and took up the paper.</p> - -<p>And we didn’t speak another word to each other that evening.</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The next morning was Sunday, and, after breakfast, Miss Measom came to -me and said, “Mrs. Beckett, can I say a word to you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said quite sharply. “What is it?”</p> - -<p>“I think I’d better leave.”</p> - -<p>“As you please, Miss Measom.”</p> - -<p>“Then, as soon as you’re suited.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly!” and with that I turned on my heel and went upstairs to -dress for church.</p> - -<p>I didn’t say anything to Harry about Miss Measom having given notice. To -tell the truth, I was beginning to be a little bit ashamed of myself, -and to think that I had been too hasty.</p> - -<p>After that Miss Measom’s manner quite changed in the bar. She hadn’t a -smile for anybody, and the customers asked me what was the matter with -the girl. The next Saturday when the young fellows came in one of them -called her “Tommy.” She looked up quietly, and said, “Mr. So-and-so, I -should be much obliged if you wouldn’t call me that. There are reasons -why I ask you, which I can’t tell you.”</p> - -<p>The young fellow, who was a gentleman, raised his hat, and after that -nobody called our barmaid “Tommy” again.</p> - -<p>The night before it was Miss Measom’s day to leave, after business she -went straight up to her room. When I went up, I had to pass her door, -and I thought I heard a strange noise. I stopped and listened, and then -I knew it was some one sobbing. I went to Miss Measom’s door and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span> -knocked. It was a minute or two before she opened it, and when she did I -saw that her eyes were quite red.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Jenny?” I said, calling her by her Christian name, -feeling rather sorry for her.</p> - -<p>She didn’t answer for a second, and then she began to cry right out. So -I pushed the door to and made her sit down, and then I said, “Jenny, I -don’t want to part bad friends with you. You’re in trouble. Won’t you -tell me what it is?”</p> - -<p>She looked at me through her tears a moment, and then she said, “Oh, -Mrs. Beckett, I’m so sorry I’m going away like this.”</p> - -<p>“So am I, Jenny,” I said; “but you gave me notice; you know I didn’t -give it to you.”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t bear to cause trouble between you and your husband,” she -answered. “You’ve been the nicest, kindest people I ever lived with, and -I’ve been very happy here—till—till—till you said what you did; but -you didn’t mean it, did you? Tell me you didn’t mean it.”</p> - -<p>I hesitated for a moment. But the girl looked so heart-broken that I -said, “No, Jenny, I didn’t; and I’m very sorry I ever said it.”</p> - -<p>That broke the poor girl down altogether. So I put my arm round her -waist, and drew her to me, and kissed her.</p> - -<p>“There,” I said, “all is forgiven and forgotten, and if you like to stay -on I’ll pay the new girl that’s coming a month’s wages, and tell her she -isn’t wanted.”</p> - -<p>“No; you are good and kind, as you have always been; but I can’t stay -with you now—it wouldn’t be right—unless—unless you know all, and -forgive me.”</p> - -<p>When she said this it gave me quite a start. A hundred things came into -my head. What had I to know, and to forgive when I knew it?</p> - -<p>Without meaning it my manner changed, and I said, almost coldly, “What -is it that I ought to know?”</p> - -<p>“What I am,” she said, looking straight before her at the wall.” If my -story were ever to come to you from some one else, after what you said -that night, you might think worse of me than perhaps you will when you -hear it from my own lips.”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” I said hoarsely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Beckett, you’ve been very cross with me once or twice, when I’ve -been late in on my nights out. Shall I tell you where I’d been, and what -made me late?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—if—if you think you ought to.”</p> - -<p>“I had been to London to see my baby.”</p> - -<p>“What—are you—are you—a married woman, then?”</p> - -<p>“No! God help me, no!”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>I can’t recollect what happened, or what I said or did for a few minutes -after that. It was such a shock to me—so unexpected—that it almost -took my breath away.</p> - -<p>All I know is that presently I found Jenny on her knees by my side, -pouring her story into my ears, telling it quickly and excitedly, as -though she feared that I should refuse to hear her, if she didn’t get it -out before I could stop her.</p> - -<p>It was a very sad story.</p> - -<p>Jenny Measom had been well brought up by her father and mother until she -was fifteen, and then her father, who held a good position in a big -brewery, had a paralytic stroke. The most unfortunate thing about it was -that it happened a week after he had left his old firm of his own -accord, and gone to take a better position in another, so that he had -not the slightest claim on either firm for much consideration, and the -stroke meant ruin. He got a little better, but not well enough to get -about or to do anything, and so Jenny’s mother had to take needlework, -and Jenny was, by the kindness of the old firm, got into a public-house -as a barmaid, and her earnings and her mother’s were all that kept them -from the workhouse.</p> - -<p>Jenny, with her bright merry ways and her smartness at her work, soon -got on as a barmaid, and left the first public-house, and went to a big -West End house, where the trade was of a higher character.</p> - -<p>It was when she was eighteen, and in this swell West End house, that the -great misfortune of her life happened to her. Among the young fellows -who came to the bar was one named Sidney Draycott. He was a handsome -young fellow, the son of an English doctor who had at that time a -practice in Paris. Sidney Draycott was studying for his father’s -profession, and, like most young fellows of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> class, he spent a good -many of his evenings in bars and billiard-rooms.</p> - -<p>He fell awfully in love with Jenny, and the poor girl fell in love with -him, and they walked out together. It never entered the head of the -young girl that the difference in their stations made the acquaintance a -dangerous one, for “Sid,” as she called him, had asked her to be his -wife. She spoke well, and played the piano, and had learnt quite enough -before she left her good school to hold her own in conversation, and to -appear a lady.</p> - -<p>But the young fellow begged her to keep the engagement secret for the -present, as he didn’t want anybody to know until he had passed his -examination and become qualified to set up for himself, which would be -very soon.</p> - -<p>Jenny was in the seventh heaven of delight. She was going to be married -to the man she loved, and he was a gentleman. The only person she told -was her mother, and she was one of those simple-minded women who know -very little of the world, and thought her dear, good, clever Jenny was -fit to be a nobleman’s wife.</p> - -<p>So things went on, and the young fellow passed his examination, and then -he proposed that they should be married quietly before the registrar, -and the day was fixed.</p> - -<p>The Sunday before the wedding, which was to be on the following -Wednesday, was Jenny’s Sunday out. She went with her lover into the -country to look at a place where he thought of asking his father to buy -a practice. They missed the last train, and they stayed at a little -hotel something like ours in that country place.</p> - -<p>The landlady took them for a man and wife, and—well, need I tell you -any more?</p> - -<p>On Monday morning Jenny went back to her business with an excuse about -her mother having been ill, and having had to stop with her all night, -and in the afternoon Mr. Draycott came in looking very worried, and told -her he had just had a telegram calling him to Paris, as his father had -been taken suddenly ill, and it was feared that he was dying. The -marriage would have to be postponed; but he would hurry back as soon as -things turned either one way or the other with his father.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span></p> - -<p>He crossed to Paris by the night mail. What happened nobody ever knew. -He was seen at Calais to get into a carriage where there were two other -men—Frenchmen—and when the train stopped at Amiens, where there is a -buffet, and it waited for a short time, a passenger from Amiens to Paris -going to get into the carriage, which was empty, noticed something -wrong. There were signs of a struggle, and there was blood here and -there.</p> - -<p>The guard was called, and a search was made. The two men who had been -seen at Calais, the guard then remembered not to have seen get out at -Amiens, nor the young Englishman either. No trace of the men was ever -found; but the young Englishman was discovered lying on the line half -way between Calais and Amiens, with his pockets empty, his watch and his -diamond pin gone, and with a terrible injury to his head.</p> - -<p>He was instantly attended to by medical men, and removed to a proper -place; but though the wound in time got better, and his life was saved, -his brain was affected. The doctors differed about him—some thought -that in time he would gradually recover his reason, others that he would -never do so. Poor Jenny couldn’t quite explain what it was; but it was -supposed to be a clot of blood, or something of the sort, pressing on -the brain, which might become absorbed in time, and then he would be all -right, but which might not.</p> - -<p>The young man’s father recovered from his illness, and had his son -brought to Paris, and had the best advice, and it was recommended that -he should be sent to an asylum—and there, said poor Jenny, as she -finished her story, “the man, who was my affianced husband, now is; and -my baby is with my mother, God bless her, for she has never given me one -reproach. And so, you see, I have three to keep, Mrs. Beckett, and if I -get out of a situation, and there is anything against my character, they -must suffer as well as I.”</p> - -<p>Poor Jenny—it was a sad story. As soon as she was a little calmer I -asked her if she had not let her lover’s father know.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said proudly, “I would sooner starve. My poor Sid would have -married me, I know; everything was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span> arranged; but how could I go to his -father in his great trouble, and tell him that which might perhaps add -to his grief and despair?”</p> - -<p>“Jenny,” I said, when she had finished, “you have trusted me, and you -shall never repent it. I think you are a brave girl, and you may stop -with us as long as you like. No living soul shall ever hear your story -from me.”</p> - -<p>She flung her arms around my neck and kissed me, and cried a little -again. And then she said, “Don’t tell Mr. Beckett, will you? I should -die of shame if I thought he knew. It’s only a woman who could -understand my story and respect me still.”</p> - -<p>I gave her the promise, and I kept it until—— But I must not -anticipate. I understood now why she was so merry and so gay, and what I -called flighty. She was doing as hundreds of poor women do—hiding her -heart’s sorrow under a mask of gaiety; forcing herself to appear bright -and cheerful, lest the world should suspect her secret. I told Harry the -next day that I was very sorry for what I had said about Miss Measom, -and that I had determined to keep her on, as she was such a good -barmaid; and he said, “As you will, little woman; I leave it entirely to -you. I’m sure you’ll do what your heart tells you is right.”</p> - -<p>Miss Measom soon recovered her gaiety; it was only when we were alone -together that she was quiet and thoughtful, and when she went for her -holiday I never grumbled again at her being a little late. I thought of -her in the little home, cheering her poor mother and father, and loving -her little baby, and thinking of the man who would have been her -husband, and of the happy home she might have had but for that terrible -tragedy.</p> - -<p>Jenny stayed with us for about six months, and then she left us.</p> - -<p>How she left us was in this way. One night after we had closed up we -were sitting at supper—Harry and I and Jenny, and she picked up the -London paper and began to read for a few minutes before going to bed.</p> - -<p>Harry was smoking his pipe in his easy chair, and I was looking over -some pages of manuscript that I had written in a hurry and wanted to see -how they read.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span></p> - -<p>All of a sudden Harry called out, “Look at Miss Measom!”</p> - -<p>I looked up and there was Jenny just going down off her chair in a dead -swoon. I ran to her and caught her, and told Harry to go out of the -room. Then I loosened her dress, and bathed her forehead with some -vinegar, and got her to.</p> - -<p>“Jenny, dear Jenny,” I said; “what is it? What’s the matter? Are you -ill, dear?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she whispered, opening her eyes slowly, “look—look at the paper!”</p> - -<p>I kept my arm around her and stooped and picked up the London paper, -which had fallen from her hands on to the floor.</p> - -<p>I looked at it for a minute and couldn’t see anything—then a name -caught my eye, and I read this——</p> - -<p>“It is reported from Paris that the young Englishman who was robbed and -thrown out of a train some time ago between Calais and Amiens has at -last recovered from the injury to the brain, which at one time -threatened to be permanent. The case has aroused much interest in the -medical profession in Paris, where, it may be remembered, his father, -Dr. Draycott, has been for many years a resident.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Jenny!” I said; and that was all I could say. But we had a long -talk up in her room afterwards, and she decided that she would write the -next day to Sidney, under cover to his father—only a line with her -address, nothing to worry him, nothing to distress him, only these -words:—“The present address of J. Measom is ‘The Stretford Arms,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> and -then she added the name of our village and the county.</p> - -<p>She put “J.,” not to put “Jenny,” for fear the father might open it. Of -course “J.” might be a John, and she wrote it in a big, round hand that -might be a man’s.</p> - -<p>Three days afterwards a telegram came. She showed it me. It was only -this: “My poor darling,—I am coming back as soon as I can travel. Have -written. God bless you!”</p> - -<p>And then came a letter—a letter written in a shaky hand; but one that -poor Jenny kissed and hugged and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span> cried and sobbed over till I really -was afraid she would make herself quite ill.</p> - -<p>I had an idea that it would be all right for poor Jenny now; but I was a -little afraid how the young fellow would take what had happened after he -left England. Some men, under the circumstances, would have been -heartless enough to—but what is the use of troubling about what some -men would have done. Sidney Draycott behaved like a noble and honourable -young Englishman. He came back to London a month later, and took Jenny -to the church one fine morning, and he brought her out again Mrs. Sidney -Draycott.</p> - -<p>I went up to town for the day, and was at the church, and I was the only -one invited except a great friend of Mr. Draycott’s, who had come up -from the country on purpose. Jenny cried, and I cried, and nearly spoilt -my beautiful new bonnet strings letting the tears run down them, and -after it was all over and Jenny had kissed her husband, she came up and -put her arms round my neck and kissed me, and then we both had just one -little moment’s cry together, and then they both went off quietly in a -four-wheel cab to see the baby.</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Ever since Jenny Measom left us she has written to me and I have written -to her. Some time ago, when I was not very well, the doctor said that I -wanted a change, and so I wrote to Jenny, and said that perhaps I was -going to the seaside, and she might not hear from me till I came home -again. Two days afterwards I got such a nice letter back saying that she -and her husband would be very angry if I didn’t come and stay with them. -It would do me quite as much good as the seaside and more, and her -husband, being a doctor, if I was out of sorts could make me up all -manner of nice things to take. Of course this was a joke, but the -invitation wasn’t, and I went. And I was very glad that I did, for they -made quite a fuss with me, and I couldn’t have been treated better if I -had been a duchess.</p> - -<p>They have the loveliest little place, in a nice country town, where Mr. -Draycott is established as a doctor, and is doing wonderfully well. -Quite a lovely home it is, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> they are so happy. And Jenny has her -baby and her mother with her to help her, and to keep her company when -the doctor is out on his rounds.</p> - -<p>The people about the place of course, don’t know when they were married, -as it has been kept quite secret. Even Mr. Draycott’s father thinks they -were married secretly before he left London for Paris and met with that -terrible adventure. Old Mr. Draycott has been over once from Paris, and -Jenny says that he fell quite in love with her before he left, and said -that his son was a lucky dog. Wasn’t it nice of him? Poor old Mr. Measom -died very soon after the wedding; but he died very happy, knowing his -daughter was comfortably settled. Poor old gentleman! it was the best -thing perhaps, for he had become quite childish.</p> - -<p>When I left to come back again to the ‘Stretford Arms,’ I was quite -another woman. My cheeks were quite fat and rosy again, and Harry, when -he met me at the station, pretended not to know me, but came up and -said, “I beg your pardon, miss, but have you seen a pale young woman -named Mary Jane anywhere about?”</p> - -<p>The big goose! I gave him a kiss before all the railway porters, who -<i>wouldn’t</i> look the other way, and I said, “No, I haven’t, and I hope -she won’t see me or she mightn’t like me kissing her husband.”</p> - -<p>Before I left I told Jenny and her husband that I should insist on their -coming and staying for a week at our hotel as our guests, and they have -promised that they will. When I asked them, Jenny looked up, with a -twinkle in her eye, and the old saucy look on her face, and she said, -“I’ll come; but you must promise not to be cross with Mr. Beckett if -anybody calls me ‘Tommy,’ won’t you?”</p> - -<p>Dear old “Tommy!” Oh, how glad I am that I didn’t let her go away -through my nasty jealous temper! Who knows if things would have turned -out so happily as they did if I hadn’t made it up with her and asked her -to stay on at the ‘Stretford Arms.’</p> - -<p>After Jenny left we had a barmaid, who——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Nurse, will you stop those children? Whatever are they making such a -noise about? Master Harry and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span> baby fighting for the kitten! Then, -take the kitten away from them! That poor kitten! I’m sure I expect to -see it pulled in two sometimes. Can anybody tell me why cats and kittens -and dogs let little babies pull them about and hardly ever scratch or -bite? It is always a mystery to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /><br /> -<i>MR. SAXON AGAIN.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">If</span> you look back at one of the chapters of these reminiscences of the -‘Stretford Arms,’ I forget which, you will find at the end that I was -interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Saxon. He came without having sent a -letter or a telegram to say that he was coming, and, of course, knowing -what a dreadful fidget he was, that made me a little nervous, and I had -to throw down my pen, and rush downstairs to see him myself, and make -things as pleasant as possible.</p> - -<p>I was very glad that he had come again, because that showed he was -pleased with our place, and had appreciated the attention shown to him; -and that is one thing I will say for him, with all his odd ways, and his -violent tempers, and his rages and fads, he was always deeply sensible -of any little kindness shown to him. Poor man, he suffered dreadfully -from his infirmity of temper; but I quite believe what he always told -me—that it was nervous irritability, and that it was caused by his -constant ill-health, and that awful liver of his.</p> - -<p>“Mary Jane,” he has said to me often, when we’ve been talking, “if I’d -only had decent health and a pennyworth of digestion I should have been -an angel upon earth. I should have been too good for this world, and -died young.”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” I said, “then, under these circumstances, your liver has -been a blessing to you instead of a curse, because it has prolonged your -life.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! Mrs. Beckett,” he almost shrieked. “Is it possible that -you, you who have witnessed my awful sufferings, you who have seen me -tear my hair and bite the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span> chair backs and kick the wall and hurl the -coals out of the coal-scuttle at my own grinning demoniacal image in the -looking-glass, can say such a thing as that? A blessing to prolong my -life! Why, if the doctor had taken me away when I was born and drowned -me in a pail of warm water, like they do the kittens, he would have been -the best friend I ever had.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Saxon,” I said, “how <i>can</i> you say such dreadful things? I’m -sure you have much to be thankful for. Many people envy you.”</p> - -<p>“Do they?” he said. “Then more fools they. Look at me, Mrs. Beckett. Do -you see how yellow I am? Do you know I go to bed at night half dead, and -get up the next morning three-quarters dead, having spent the night in -dreaming that I’m being hanged, or pursued by a mad bull, or having my -chest jumped on by a demon? Do you know that I can’t open a letter -without trembling, lest it should tell me of some awful disaster? That -I’m so nervous, that if I see anybody coming that I know, I bolt round a -corner to get away from them, and that I’m so restless that I can never -stay in one place more than a week together, and that I’ve had the same -headache for ten years straight off?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” I said; “I know that you do get like that sometimes, and it -must be very unpleasant; but if you’d take more care of yourself, and -not work so hard, and take more exercise, perhaps you’d be better.”</p> - -<p>He laughed a contemptuous sort of laugh.</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course, it’s all my own fault. Everybody tells me that. When I -was a boy, the doctors said I should outgrow it; when I was a young man, -they said after thirty I should be better. When I was thirty, they said -it was a trying age; but by the time I was forty I should be all right. -Well, I’m forty now, and look at me. I’m a wreck—a perfect wreck.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, come, sir,” I said; “I don’t see where the wreck comes in. You’re -broad and upright, and you look as strong as a prize-fighter. Everybody -who sees you says, ‘Is that Mr. Saxon? Why, I expected to see a -cadaverous skeleton, by what I’ve heard about his being such an -invalid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span>’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Oh yes, I know,” he said; “people say the same thing to me. I never get -any sympathy. I dare say when I’m in my coffin people will come and look -at me and say, ‘What a humbug that fellow is! Why, he looks as jolly as -possible.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>I tried to turn the conversation, because when Mr. Saxon begins to talk -about himself and his wrongs and his ailments he will go on for hours if -you’ll let him, so I asked him if he was writing anything new.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said; “I’m writing my will. I’ve come down here to be able to -work at it quietly, without anybody coming and putting me in a rage, and -making me say something in that important document, in my temper, that I -may be sorry for afterwards. Mrs. Beckett, I’ve left instructions that -I’m to be cremated. If you’d like to be present at the ceremony I’ll -drop in a line to say that you are to be invited. It is a very curious -spectacle, and well worth seeing.”</p> - -<p>It was a nice thing, wasn’t it, for him to ask me to come and see him -cremated? But it was no good taking him seriously when he was like that, -so I said, “Thank you, sir; you are very kind; but I’d very much sooner -see you eat a good dinner. What shall I order for you?”</p> - -<p>He thought a minute, and then he said, “Let me see, I have four hours -before dinner. I can get my will finished in three, so you can order me -for dinner some salmon and cucumber, some roast pork and apple sauce, -and a nice rich plum-pudding, and, I think, if I have a bottle of -champagne with it, and after that some apples and some Brazil nuts, and -a bottle of old port, the chances are that I shan’t linger long.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Saxon,” I said, “the idea of your eating such a dinner as that, -and you complaining of indigestion! Why, it’s suicide!”</p> - -<p>“Of course it is,” he said, with an awful grin. “That’s what I mean it -to be. It’s the only way I can do it without letting the blessed -insurance companies have the laugh of me.”</p> - -<p>I only give you this conversation just to show you the sort of mood he -was in when he came on his second visit. He hadn’t brought the Swedish -gentleman with him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span> get into a temper with, and as he could not well -go on at me and Harry, he went on the other tack, and turned melancholy.</p> - -<p>I felt as if I should like to give him a good shaking; but, of course, I -was obliged to be polite, so I said, “If you are dull when you’ve done -your work, sir, I hope you will come downstairs and sit with us; my -husband will be very pleased, I’m sure.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” he said; and then he went upstairs, and presently when I -passed his door I heard him giggling to himself, and presently he -laughed right out loud.</p> - -<p>I thought to myself, “I wonder what he’s so merry about all by himself,” -so I knocked at the door, and made an excuse to go in.</p> - -<p>He had several sheets of paper in front of him, and he was chuckling and -writing, and grinning all over his face.</p> - -<p>“Here, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “what do you think of this for a will?”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious, sir!” I said, “you’re not laughing over your will, are -you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am. I can’t help it. It’s so jolly funny. Ha, ha, ha!”</p> - -<p>He began to read his will to me, and presently, I couldn’t help it, I -was obliged to laugh too. It was so utterly ridiculous. He had actually -gone and made a comic will leaving the oddest things to people, and -cracking jokes about everything, just as if it was the funniest thing in -the world to say what’s to be done with your property when you’re dead.</p> - -<p>“I say, Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “won’t it be a lark when the old lawyer -reads this out? I hope he’ll be a good reader, and make the points. I’d -give something to see the people when they hear it read. I hope they’ll -be a good audience.”</p> - -<p>When he saw that it amused me, he was as pleased as Punch, and quite -jolly. All his melancholy had gone. He read that will over and over -again to himself, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy it; and I’m quite sure -that he felt awfully sorry that he couldn’t get all the people called -together and have it read to them without his being dead,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span> so that he -could hear them laugh at what he called his “wheezes.”</p> - -<p>He said that he was sure his will would be a great success, and it put -him in a good humour for the rest of the day, and he quite enjoyed his -dinner, which, you may be sure, wasn’t roast pork or salmon, as he had -ordered; but a nice fried sole, and a boiled chicken, and a semolina -pudding, which I knew wouldn’t hurt him, and I wouldn’t let him have the -champagne, pretending that we were quite out of the only brand he cared -for.</p> - -<p>After dinner he smoked a cigar by himself, and then he came down into -our bar-parlour and smoked a pipe.</p> - -<p>Several of our regular customers knew him, through his having been with -us before, and they remembered him, so he joined in the conversation, -which got on foreign parts; and, as he was known to travel abroad a good -deal, they asked him questions about the places he had seen.</p> - -<p>I will say this for Mr. Saxon: he never wanted much encouragement to -start him off talking, and when he did begin he went on.</p> - -<p>I’m quite sure that it wasn’t all true what he told the people in our -bar-parlour. He couldn’t help exaggerating, if it was to save his life; -but I believe the stories he told were founded on fact, only he made -them as wonderful as he could.</p> - -<p>He had been in the winter to Africa, and he told us of a very wonderful -adventure he had with a lion. It seems he was very anxious to kill a -lion and bring it home with him. So one day that he heard a lion had -been seen in the mountains near where he was, he went off on a hunting -expedition and camped out in the open air. The first night he thought it -was very jolly; but when he woke up in the morning he found he had got -the rheumatics so fearfully that he could hardly move. So he told the -Arabs, who were with him, to go hunting, and he would stop in the tent -and rub himself with liniment, as he couldn’t walk till the rheumatics -went off.</p> - -<p>The Arabs went off to look for the lion, and soon after they had gone -Mr. Saxon heard a curious noise, and looking up, he saw a great big lion -coming stealthily towards him.</p> - -<p>He was awfully frightened, and picked up his gun and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span> went as white as -death, and waited for the animal to come on. When it began to move, he -noticed it was rather lame, and moved very slowly, so he aimed at it and -fired; but not being a good marksman, the shot went a long way over the -lion’s head.</p> - -<p>Then he felt so frightened, he said, that he was quite paralyzed, and he -fired again; but the bullet didn’t go near the lion.</p> - -<p>Then he dropped his gun and tried to run away; but the rheumatism was so -dreadful that he couldn’t move, and still the lion crept nearer and -nearer. He gave himself up for lost, and thought he should never see -anybody again, when the animal, who was evidently in pain, limped into -the tent.</p> - -<p>He thought it would jump on him and eat him, but instead of that it only -sat down on its haunches by his side in the tent and groaned, and held -up one of its paws.</p> - -<p>All of a sudden, he having a lot of experience with dogs, guessed that -the lion was suffering from rheumatism, and so he thought he would try -an experiment. He got out his bottle of liniment, and took the lion’s -leg and rubbed the liniment well into it, the lion sitting quite still -all the time, only holding its head on one side, as the liniment was -very strong, and it got up its nose and made its eyes water.</p> - -<p>After he had rubbed it well the lion seemed to be better, and wagged its -tail, and would have licked his hand, he said, only he didn’t like the -liniment that was on it. And presently it got up and went away, walking -much easier than before.</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon said the relief to his feelings was so great that he felt -quite exhausted, and fell asleep, and when he woke up, to his horror he -saw three lions in his tent—it was the lion he had rubbed, who had -brought his wife, the lioness, and his eldest son, a very fine young -lion, and it was evident that he had brought them to be rubbed with the -liniment, as they held out their legs towards him.</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon said that evidently all the family had slept in a damp place -and got rheumatic. He rubbed the lioness and the young lion till all his -liniment was gone, and then they went away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span></p> - -<p>When the Arabs came back in the evening they said they had had no sport, -as they found the lions gone from their lair. “Yes,” said Mr. Saxon, -“they have been here.” At first the Arabs would not believe him, but he -showed them the footsteps of the lions, and then they did, and said it -was very wonderful.</p> - -<p>They had to camp in the same place that night, as Mr. Saxon was not well -enough to go on. The next morning when they got up it was found that -they were short of provisions, and they were wondering what they would -do, when one of the Arabs said, “Oh, look there; there is a lion coming. -Let us shoot him!” “No,” said Mr. Saxon, “perhaps it is one of my -friends.” And so it was—it was the old lion, and he had a very fine -sheep in his mouth. He marched into the tent, laid the sheep at Mr. -Saxon’s feet, and then, nodding his head to the Arabs, turned round and -walked away again.</p> - -<p>He had brought Mr. Saxon a present of a sheep, to show his gratitude for -being eased of the rheumatism with the liniment.</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon said it was one of the most wonderful instances of gratitude -in a wild beast that had ever been known, and we all thought so too.</p> - -<p>Some of the people in our parlour believed it was all gospel truth; but -Harry laughed, and so did I. I had heard Mr. Saxon’s wonderful stories -about his travels before.</p> - -<p>I knew it was true about his suffering with rheumatism, though, because -I had seen him; and I’ve heard the Swedish gentleman tell how, when Mr. -Saxon was in Rome, he had it so bad that he could hardly move, and the -twinges used to make him yell out. And one day one of the Pope’s -chamberlains came to take him to the Vatican, and he couldn’t crawl -across the room. He was in an awful state, because he was to be -introduced to the Pope, and it was a great honour, and it made him very -upset to think he should have to lose it. The Pope’s chamberlain, who -was an Englishman, recommended a very hot bath. So Mr. Saxon had one put -in his bedroom; and, in his hasty, impulsive way, got into it without -trying the heat. It was so hot that he was nearly boiled alive, and he -jumped out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span> in such a hurry that the bath was tilted over, and boiled -all the pattern out of the carpet, and went through the ceiling, and Mr. -Saxon danced about, and swore, and went on dreadfully—like he can if -he’s put out. It cost him ten pounds for the damage; but his rheumatics -had gone quite away, and he was able to be introduced to the Pope that -afternoon; so he didn’t mind the ten pounds. But the Swedish gentleman -told us that he was the colour of a boiled lobster for a fortnight -afterwards.</p> - -<p>Another time that he had the rheumatism come on very awkwardly—so the -Swedish gentleman told us, and I think he tells the truth—was at -Madrid. Mr. Saxon was at a bull-fight, and after the third bull had been -killed the beautifully dressed men who fight the bulls all went out, and -the people all began to jump into the arena. Mr. Saxon and the Swedish -gentleman thought that was a short cut to get out, so they got over into -the circus too. Presently, to their horror, the doors were opened, and -two bulls came galloping in. The Swedish gentleman jumped over the -barriers quick; but Mr. Saxon, when he went to follow, had a sudden -attack of rheumatics in his legs, and couldn’t move. He gave a horrified -look, and saw one of the bulls making straight at him. He turned round -to try and run; but the bull caught him, and threw him right up on the -top of the barrier, and the Swedish gentleman seized him and pulled him -over, while all the people clapped their hands, and shrieked with -laughter.</p> - -<p>Of course Mr. Saxon thought he must be wounded, and couldn’t make out -why he didn’t feel where the bull’s horns had been; but when he looked -round he saw all the people in the ring playing with the bulls, and the -boys waving their cloaks in front of them, and then running away; and -then he saw that the bulls had big indiarubber balls on their horns, to -prevent them hurting.</p> - -<p>It was explained to him afterwards by a Spanish gentleman that, after -the real bull-fight is over, the young bulls, with their horns -protected, are turned into the ring for the boys and young men to play -with, and it is with these bulls that many, who afterwards become -bull-fighters, take their first lesson. But it was very awkward for Mr. -Saxon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span> having his rheumatics come on just as the bull was running at -him, before about five thousand people in the great bullring at Madrid.</p> - -<p>The Queen of Spain, Mr. Saxon told us, was in the royal box, and she -laughed as heartily as anybody. So Mr. Saxon tells everybody that he has -had the honour of appearing as a bull-fighter before the royal family in -Madrid, which is much more true than a good many of the stories he tells -about his adventures abroad, I dare say.</p> - -<p>The next day Mr. Saxon was rather melancholy again, and he said he -shouldn’t stop, as he thought the country didn’t suit him at that season -of the year. It was the autumn; and he said the fall of the leaf always -made him ill.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” I said; “a good many people feel it. It’s always a trying -time for invalids.”</p> - -<p>“My dear Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “all times are alike to me. In the -winter my doctor says, ‘Ah, it’s the cold weather makes you queer; -you’ll be better when it’s over.’ When the spring comes, he says, -‘People with livers are always queer in the spring.’ When it’s summer, -he says, ‘The heat always upsets livers.’ When it’s autumn, he says, -‘People with the least acidity in their blood always feel the autumn;’ -and when it’s winter it’s the cold that’s bad for me again. And that’s -the game they’ve played with me for the last ten years. It’s just the -same if I go out of town for the benefit of my health. If I go to the -seaside, the sea is bad for bilious people. If I go inland, it isn’t -bracing enough. If I go to a bracing place, the air is too strong for -me. If I go to a relaxing place, the air is too mild for me. There isn’t -one of the beggars who pocket my guinea that has the honesty to say that -nothing will ever make me any better.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder you take their prescriptions,” I said, “if you don’t believe -they can do you any good.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to take any more,” he said. “Why, this last year I’ve -tried the hot-water cure, the lemon cure, and the cold-water cure. I’ve -worn four different sorts of pads and belts, I’ve been medically rubbed, -and I’ve put myself on milk diet. I buy everything that’s advertised in -the newspapers and on the hoardings, and I take everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span> everybody -sends me, and the only time I was really well for a week was when I sent -my little dog, who had a bad liver, to the veterinary surgeon, and he -sent her some powders, and I took them by mistake for my own. When I -went to get some more, the vet. had gone for his holiday and left an -assistant. The assistant looked over the books and sent me some more -powders. I thought they tasted different; but I took them, and ever -since that I have never been able to pass a cat’s-meat barrow without -wanting to stand on my hind legs and beg. The stupid assistant had made -up some powders to give a dainty pet dog an appetite instead of my -little dog’s liver powders.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Saxon,” I said, laughing; “you don’t expect me to believe -that!”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help whether you believe it or not, Mrs. Beckett,” he said; -“I’m only telling you what actually happened.”</p> - -<p>I stopped with him a little and tried to persuade him to give us a -little longer trial. He couldn’t expect changes of air to do him good in -a day. He said there was something in that, and he’d try another day or -two.</p> - -<p>I got Harry to offer to go for a long walk with him; and when Harry came -back, he said, “My dear, I really think this time Mr. Saxon is a bit -dotty.”</p> - -<p>“Whatever do you mean, Harry,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Well, he’s been asking me if I could get him a nice jolly crew of -sailors to man a pirate ship for him, as he thinks of turning pirate. He -says he’s been ordered a sea voyage, and that’s the only way he could -take it without feeling the monotony of it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” I said, “you mustn’t take any notice of his talking like that. -Once, when he was ordered horse exercise, I remember him saying that -he’d turn highwayman, and wear a mask, and have pistols in his belt, as -he must have something to occupy his mind while he was riding, or he -should go to sleep and tumble off.”</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Saxon! I often wonder whether people, who don’t know him well, -believe that he really means the idiotic things he says. He says them so -seriously that you can’t help being taken in by them sometimes.</p> - -<p>After he had been with us a couple of days he sent a telegram to London -and had a telegram back, and then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> called me up, and he said, “Mrs. -Beckett, I’m going to ask you a very great favour.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” I said, wondering what was coming.</p> - -<p>“A very dear friend of mine,” he said, “who has been for five years in a -lunatic asylum has been cured, and is to be released to-morrow. He has a -wife and family. Before he goes home to them we are anxious to see how -he will behave—if he is quite cured, in fact.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” I said, still wondering what I had to do with his mad -friend.</p> - -<p>“I have asked him to come here and stay with me.”</p> - -<p>“What, sir!” I said, starting. “To come here!”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but don’t be alarmed. I believe he is quite cured, and as sane as -I am now. He is a very nice man—a little odd in his ways; but he -wouldn’t hurt a fly. He is coming to-night. I assure you there is no -danger, or I wouldn’t have asked him: only his friends think it will be -better for him to get accustomed to his freedom before he goes home.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, sir,” I said; “but it’s a great responsibility for you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m not afraid; but I want you to help me.”</p> - -<p>“How, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Well, please put him a very blunt knife at dinner, and if he gets up in -the morning before I do and goes out, just ask your husband not to let -him go far away or let him out of his sight. That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir,” I said; but I didn’t like it, and I went down. I said -to Harry, “Here’s a nice thing. Mr. Saxon has asked a lunatic to stay -with him, and he wants us to look after him!”</p> - -<p>That night the gentleman arrived. He was a very thin, very mild, -amiable-looking gentleman of about fifty, with long black hair, turning -grey.</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon told us he was a literary gentleman and a fine scholar, and -had written a great many burlesques, and it was this that had brought -him to a lunatic asylum. He certainly was a little odd, and seemed -rather nervous. I thought that was on account of his finding himself -without any keepers about him.</p> - -<p>He spoke very nicely, and laughed a good deal, and seemed a little -fidgety and funny; but that was all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span></p> - -<p>I put him a very blunt knife at dinner, and when he tried to cut his -meat with it, he said, “God bless me; this is an awful knife! Give me -another, please.”</p> - -<p>I looked at Mr. Saxon for instructions; but he shook his head. So I -said, “It’s the sharpest we have, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I cut your meat up for you, Bob?” said Mr. Saxon.</p> - -<p>“No, thank you,” said the gentleman; and he made another try; but he -groaned over it and went quite hot, and kept saying, “God bless me!” and -muttering to himself.</p> - -<p>He and Mr. Saxon sat and smoked pipes all the evening, and they went to -bed early, Mr. Saxon telling me not to give his friend a candle, as it -wasn’t advisable to trust him with fire.</p> - -<p>The gentleman asked for a candle. But I said I was very sorry, but all -the candles were engaged.</p> - -<p>He went into his bedroom and went to bed in the dark. But he went on -awfully, groaning, and saying, “God bless me!” and that he never heard -such a thing in his life.</p> - -<p>In the morning he got up early, and, to our horror, came down with his -hat on and went out.</p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said, “Follow him, quick; he’s going towards the horse-pond.”</p> - -<p>Harry said it was all very fine. He wished Mr. Saxon would take charge -of his own lunatics; but he put on his hat, and went after the -gentleman.</p> - -<p>They came in in half an hour, the gentleman looking very bad tempered.</p> - -<p>At breakfast, I heard him say to Mr. Saxon that the landlord had been -following him.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, Bob,” said Mr. Saxon. “Come, old fellow, eat your breakfast.” -There were chops for breakfast, and I had put the blunt knife on again. -The gentleman tried to cut his chop with it, and then he flung it down, -and said, “God bless me, Saxon, I can’t stand this place. I can’t cut my -food; I have to go to bed in the dark; and I’m followed when I go out. -One would think they took me for a lunatic.”</p> - -<p>“Poor fellow,” I said to myself; “that’s always the way. They never have -the slightest idea that they <i>are</i> lunatics.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The gentleman and Mr. Saxon went out for a walk, and the gentleman came -in first and went up to the sitting-room. I heard him open the window, -and that gave me a turn. I thought, “Oh, dear me, he has given Mr. Saxon -the slip. Perhaps he is going to throw himself out of the window.”</p> - -<p>I rushed upstairs and opened the door, and saw that he was leaning half -way out of the window. He made a movement, as if he was going to throw -himself right out; but I rushed in, and seized him by the coat-tails.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” I said; “come in, please; that window’s dangerous!”</p> - -<p>“God bless me!” he said, turning round. “What does all this mean? Am I -in a private lunatic asylum?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” I said. “Pray be calm, sir. Come, sit down; you’re not very -well. Mr. Saxon will be here directly.”</p> - -<p>He sat down, and looked at me, with such a strange look on his face, -that I felt he had been let out too soon, and I made up my mind to -advise Mr. Saxon to send him back. It wasn’t safe to have an only -half-cured lunatic about the place.</p> - -<p>“Go out of the room, if you please, madam,” he said. “I think it is very -great impertinence on your part to come in without being asked.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” I said; “I shall not leave you in your present condition, and -if you make any resistance I shall call my husband. Now be a good, kind -creature, and sit still till Mr. Saxon comes in.”</p> - -<p>“God bless me,” he said, “am I mad? What does it mean? I—I—confound -it, Saxon” (Mr. Saxon had come in), “what sort of a place is this that -you’ve asked me to? Is it an hotel, or an asylum for idiots? This woman -is certainly mad!”</p> - -<p>“Poor gentleman!” I thought, “they always think it’s you and not them -that’s mad.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon looked at me and then at his friend, and then he burst out -laughing.</p> - -<p>I don’t know what put it into my head; but it came like a flash that I’d -been “had,” as Harry calls it.</p> - -<p>I went hot and cold, and didn’t know which way to look.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s all right, Bob,” said Mr. Saxon; “don’t blame Mrs. Beckett. It’s -my fault. I told her you were only let out of a lunatic asylum -yesterday, and she and her husband have been seeing that you don’t get -into mischief.”</p> - -<p>I made for the door, and got downstairs quick. But I could hear the -gentleman going on, and saying it was too bad, and that it was a -shameful thing to have made out that he was a lunatic. But he was all -right at dinner-time, and he laughed about it, and said Mr. Saxon was an -awful man, and always up to some idiotic trick or other.</p> - -<p>And so he was. But it was a long time before I felt quite comfortable -with the gentleman we’d treated as a lunatic, and given a blunt knife -to, and made to go to bed in the dark, and watched about wherever he -went.</p> - -<p>It was too bad of Mr. Saxon to play such a trick on us; for the -gentleman was as sane as he was, and, if it came to that, a good deal -saner. For sometimes Mr. Saxon does things, and says things, that are -only fit for a lunatic asylum; and I’ve heard his friends say to him, -“Why, if anybody who didn’t know you were to hear you, they’d take you -for a lunatic.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Saxon and the gentleman who wrote burlesques went away together. Mr. -Saxon was really much better when he left, and he said so. He’s promised -to send us his portrait with his autograph under it to put up in our -little private room, and before he left I got his permission to allow me -to dedicate my next book to——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>What! The billiard balls gone. Nonsense! You’ve looked everywhere for -them, John, and they’re not there? You don’t mean to say they’re stolen? -Well, I declare, what next! I suppose somebody has been in and found the -place empty and walked off with them. I knew something would come of -that separate entrance. It’s your own fault, for not locking the room up -when you go to dinner. Your master will be in a fine way when he hears -of it. I expect he’ll make you pay for them, and it will serve you -right.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /><br /> -<i>THE VILLAGE WITCH.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">People</span> who have lived all their lives in London, when they come to live -in a country place generally find the inhabitants what is called “behind -the world,” and the village that our hotel is in is no exception to the -rule. Even the railway, which has done a lot to take stupid ideas out of -country people, hasn’t made our village folks quite as sharp as they -should be. The old people—those who were born before School Boards and -all the new-fangled ideas—have some awfully funny notions, and nothing -you can say will shake their belief in them.</p> - -<p>In our village there are still no end of old people who believe in -charms, especially for warts; and one day that I had one come on my -hand, Graves, the farrier, said quite seriously, “I’ll tell you how you -can cure that, Mrs. Beckett. You get old Dame Trueman to charm it away -for you.”</p> - -<p>I said, “What nonsense, Mr. Graves! You don’t suppose I believe in such -stuff as that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but it isn’t stuff!” said Graves. “Dame Trueman has got charms for -no end of things, and there’s plenty of people that she’s done good to, -and cured, when the doctors had given them up.”</p> - -<p>This Dame Trueman was quite a character, and lived up at the end of a -village all alone with a black cat in an old broken-down cottage. Many -years ago she had lost her husband under rather mysterious -circumstances, and, it was said, she had bewitched him and caused his -death, because he treated her badly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span></p> - -<p>He was a farm labourer, and worked on the farm that I told you about in -“Old Gaffer Gabbitas,” called Curnock’s Farm; but he used to take more -than was good for him at the village alehouse. People used to say, “How -can he afford to spend such a lot of money out of his wages?” but the -mystery was cleared up when one day it got all over the village that he -had found out where his wife had hidden her savings, and that he had -been helping himself for a long time without her knowing it.</p> - -<p>It seems she had made a bit of money selling charms and telling fortunes -to servant-girls and other foolish people, and had changed her savings -into bank-notes, and sewn them up in the mattress, not telling her -husband anything about it. But he had found it out, and had unsewn the -mattress one day while she was out marketing, taken a couple of notes, -and then sewn the place up again very neatly, and she had never noticed -it.</p> - -<p>How she found it out was through a neighbour who had seen Trueman change -a five-pound note at the inn. Directly his wife heard of that, she went -and unsewed the mattress, and the cat was out of the bag.</p> - -<p>She was heard to say that he would never help himself to any more. And -soon after that, one night he was at the alehouse, smoking his pipe, -when a black cat, that nobody in the place ever remembered to have seen -before, came into the tap-room and jumped up on his knee.</p> - -<p>It was a very curious-looking cat, with very fierce eyes, and it had -three white hairs on its breast. Trueman said, “Hullo, whose cat is -this?” and he put his hand on its back and stroked it. Everybody in the -room declared that as he did so they saw sparks fly out of its back, but -the awful thing about it was that the man gave a sudden cry, as if some -terrible pain had just come to him. The cat jumped off his knee, and ran -out of the door and disappeared. Trueman tried to get on his legs; but -he only staggered half-way across the room and fell down in a heap on -the floor. They ran and fetched the doctor to him; but before the doctor -could get there he was quite dead.</p> - -<p>At the inquest the jury brought it in that he had died of heart disease; -but everybody in the village declared<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> that he had been bewitched by his -wife for stealing her money, and that the black cat was the “familiar,” -or whatever it is called.</p> - -<p>Of course, when I first heard the story, I said, “What nonsense!” and I -couldn’t understand how people living in a Christian country could -believe in such rubbish; but there is no mistake about it that this very -black cat, after the funeral, was seen in Dame Trueman’s house, and it -followed her about like a dog, and nobody had ever seen it in the -village before the night that it jumped on the poor man’s lap at the -alehouse.</p> - -<p>After that the old lady got quite the reputation of being a witch, and -very curious stories were told about her, and the things that went on in -her cottage. She was always very clever with herbs and old women’s -remedies, as they are called, and she had, according to the ignorant -people, wonderful charms for curing sore eyes, and wounds, and other -things; and once when a man working on a farm had put his wrist out, he -went to her, and she caught hold of his hand and muttered a charm, and -pulled it and put it in its place again.</p> - -<p>All these things made the old woman looked up to with a good deal of -fear by the ignorant people. Nobody liked her; but they were all a bit -afraid of her. And it was said that if anybody offended her she could -put them under a spell, and bring misfortune upon them.</p> - -<p>There was a boy in the village, a mischievous young imp, named Joe -Daniels. His mother did washing, and he used to go round with an old -perambulator and fetch it and also take it home. One day that he was -wheeling his perambulator along with a bundle of linen on it, he met Old -Dame Trueman coming down the lane, and after she had passed him he said -to another boy that was with him, “Do you know she’s an old witch, and -rides through the air on a broomstick? My mother says she ought to be -burned alive, if she had her deserts.”</p> - -<p>Dame Trueman, who was hobbling along, being a little lame with one leg, -heard the boy, and she turned round and said, “Your mother says that, -does she?—let her beware!” Then she made an awful grimace at the boy, -and shook her stick at him. He declared that fire came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span> out of her eyes, -and that he felt an awful sensation go all over his body. When he got -home he told his mother what had happened, and she was in a terrible -state, and said she would be ruined, as the old witch would be sure to -put a spell on her now. She was in such a state that she went off to the -clergyman and asked him what she could do to guard against the spells. -He lectured her, which was quite right, and told her it was very wicked -to believe in such things as witches, as there weren’t any. But it -certainly was a fact that, from that day, nothing went right with Mrs. -Daniels. She had the best linen, belonging to the richest family she -washed for, stolen out of her drying-ground two days after; and her boy -Joe, that the witch had shaken her stick at, was run over by a horse and -cart the next time he took the washing home, and had his leg broken; -and, to crown everything, it got about that she had taken washing of a -family that had come down from London with the scarlet fever, and after -that nobody would send her any washing at all; and, having been security -for her married daughter’s husband, and signed a bill of sale on her -things, everything was seized one day, and the poor woman took on so -about it that she died not long afterwards; and little Joe was sent away -to a training-ship to be made a sailor, and the first time he went to -sea he fell down off the top of the mast into the water and was drowned.</p> - -<p>This is one of the stories that I was told in our bar-parlour one night -that we were talking about charms and things, and it brought up about -old Dame Trueman. I said that all these things might have happened. I -found out afterwards that they did—but that didn’t prove that the old -woman was a witch, or that her “charms” were anything more than ordinary -remedies.</p> - -<p>Our new clergyman, poor Mr. Wilkins’s “young whipper-snapper,” was -awfully wild when he found that a lot of his parishioners believed in -witches and spells, and he made it his business to investigate a lot of -things that were being said about the old woman. He found out that she -was telling fortunes by cards on the quiet, and selling a lot of foolish -young women charms to make them get fallen in love with, and all that -sort of nonsense; so he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span> went straight up to the dilapidated old cottage -where the old Dame lived, and he told her that if he heard any more of -it he would have her up before the magistrate, and she would be sent to -prison.</p> - -<p>Of course she pitched him a nice tale, and tried to make out that it -wasn’t true; but that she was a poor, lone widow woman, and that these -stories were circulated by her enemies to do her harm.</p> - -<p>Graves, the farrier, said, when he heard that the young clergyman had -been threatening the Dame, that something was sure to happen to -him—that nobody ever crossed “the old witch’s” path without coming to -grief.</p> - -<p>I laughed at the time, and told Graves that a great strong fellow, like -he was, ought to be ashamed of himself for having such silly, childish -ideas; but it was a very remarkable thing that, the week after, the -young clergyman was riding past the Dame’s door, when her black cat -dashed suddenly across the road, and so terrified the clergyman’s horse -that it bolted and ran into a tree, and fell, and flung the young -clergyman off on to his head, and he was confined to his bed for six -weeks in consequence.</p> - -<p>Of course it was only a coincidence; but Graves was quite triumphant -about it, and he said to me the evening of the accident, “Well, Mrs. -Beckett, what about old Dame Trueman being a witch now?”</p> - -<p>Of course, things happening like this, and the things that had happened -before, made a great impression on the ignorant people; and even people -who weren’t ignorant said it was very odd that everybody who crossed or -offended that dreadful old woman came to grief. It was no good arguing -against it, because these things were known all over the village, and -there is no doubt that the old hag made a lot of money out of her dupes, -in consequence of her being held in such dread and looked up to as -having supernatural powers.</p> - -<p>As I said when I began to write about her, folks who live in London can -hardly credit the number of people in villages who still believe in -magic and spells and charms and witches. But even in some parts of -London there are people who believe the same thing, because every now -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span> then you read about “a wise woman” being brought up at the -police-court for swindling young women by telling their fortunes, and -selling them charms; and not long ago Harry read a bit out of the paper -to me about “a wise woman,” who had got five pounds out of a working -man’s wife for a bottle of something which she was to put in his tea to -make him die, so that she could marry another man. A nice wife and a -nice woman she must have been!</p> - -<p>What has made me write so much about old Dame Trueman is this. There was -an old gentleman who used to come to our smoke-room pretty regularly of -an evening; but not till after Mr. Wilkins had left, and so he might be -called a new customer. He was an old gentleman who took a small house in -the neighbourhood, and it was said he was a retired builder. He was very -nice and quiet, and I should say comfortably off, for his house was -nicely furnished, and although there was only himself and his wife, they -had two servants, and kept a pony and trap.</p> - -<p>Mr. Gwillam—that was the old gentleman’s name—began to use our house -of an evening soon after he came, I suppose finding it dull at home, and -he always smoked a long clay pipe, and drank hot grog in the good -old-fashioned way. He didn’t talk very much, only joining in the -conversation now and then; but he was a wonderful listener, and the -other customers soon found out that he was very simple-minded, because -he took everything he heard for gospel. Some of them, when they found -that out, used to start telling the most dreadful stories about what had -happened in the place, and it was a sight to see the dear old gentleman -open his innocent blue eyes, and to hear him say, “Good gracious!”</p> - -<p>Somebody who knew him told us that what made him seem so simple and -eccentric at times was that years ago, while superintending some -building operations, he had fallen off a ladder on to his head, and it -had affected him a little.</p> - -<p>We liked him very much, because he was so nice and quiet, and, being an -independent and retired person, he was just the sort of customer we -liked to get into the smoke-room, as it brings others of the same class, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span> keeps the wrong sort out, as the wrong sort never feel comfortable -where the right sort are.</p> - -<p>The first thing that made me think Mr. Gwillam really was a little -eccentric was his saying very quietly one evening that according to -Revelations the end of the world would be at five-and-twenty minutes -past six in the evening the last Friday in August, 1890. I thought it -was a very odd thing to say, as nobody was talking about the end of the -world, and, in fact, just at the time there was a dead silence.</p> - -<p>I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “Indeed!” Then he said, “Oh yes; -but it’s nothing to be frightened at, as we shall all be caught up by a -whirlwind.”</p> - -<p>Graves, the farrier, looked at Mr. Gwillam for a minute, and then he -said, “How do you know that, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he said, “I read it in the <i>Evening Standard</i>, and that is a most -respectable paper. It has been in several evenings.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Graves, “has it? It’s very good of the editor to let us know. -I hope we shall go up steady and not knock against each other. It will -be very awkward if some of us turn over and go up head downwards.”</p> - -<p>I frowned at Graves, as it seemed to me wrong to jest about such -matters; but I knew where Mr. Gwillam had seen it. It was an -advertisement which some madman had put in for years, having nothing -better to do with his money. But I thought it very queer that anybody in -their senses could believe such mischievous nonsense.</p> - -<p>After that I began to notice one or two queer things that Mr. Gwillam -said, and I made up my mind that he must have what Harry calls “a tile -loose;” but how loose it was I didn’t know till he did something which -made quite a sensation in the village. One night in our smoke-room he -happened to mention that, coming out of his gate, he had come upon one -of his maid-servants talking to a queer-looking old woman, and when he -described the woman everybody said, “Why, that is old Dame Trueman, the -witch!”</p> - -<p>He looked very horrified, and said, “Do you mean to say that a witch is -allowed to live in the place?”</p> - -<p>That turned the conversation on to the subject, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span> everybody began to -tell stories about Dame Trueman; of course, making them out as awful as -possible to astonish the old gentleman.</p> - -<p>He didn’t say much that night; but the next evening when he came he -didn’t look very well, and he said that he had been awake all night -thinking about the witch.</p> - -<p>He smoked his pipe and had his glass of grog; but he went away early. -After he was gone I said it was a pity for them to have told him such a -lot of stuff about old Dame Trueman—he was just the man to take it all -for gospel.</p> - -<p>The next evening he didn’t come as usual, and I was afraid he was ill, -and our doctor happening to look in, I asked him if he had heard if Mr. -Gwillam was ill.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “he is a bit poorly; but it’s nothing. The old boy -hasn’t been able to sleep the last night or two, and it has upset his -nerves. He’s got some absurd idea into his head that he is under a -spell. He can’t be quite right in his head.”</p> - -<p>The next day after dinner Graves came in in quite a bustle, and said, “I -say, Mrs. Beckett, whatever do you think has happened?”</p> - -<p>“How should I know?” I said. And if you come to think of it, it’s absurd -for people to ask you what you think has happened. As if, out of the -thousands of things that might happen, anybody could think straight off -at once of the one that has happened.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Graves, “there’s been an awful scene in the village! Old -Gwillam was out for a walk this morning, and he saw old Dame Trueman -coming along, and he ran after her and seized her by the neck and tried -to push her into the horse-pond, shouting out that she was a witch, and -a crowd came round, and some of them said, “Serve her right!” But the -others interfered and dragged the old woman away, half-choked and black -in the face, and then he ran after her, and laid into her with his -walking-stick, shouting and cursing, and saying that she had bewitched -him, and prevented him from sleeping; and the end of it was that Jones, -the policeman, had to come to the rescue, and rush in and stop Mr. -Gwillam. But he was so excited that he whacked into the policeman, and -for that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285">{285}</a></span> he was marched off to the police-station, all the village -tagrag and bobtail following.”</p> - -<p>When Graves told me that, I thought it was a very dreadful thing. I laid -the blame on the people who had told the poor old gentleman all that -nonsense about Dame Trueman being a witch.</p> - -<p>Harry went up to the police-station to make inquiries, and he told me -that Mr. Gwillam had been allowed to go home; but he was to be summoned -for assaulting the policeman, and also that Dame Trueman had been and -applied for a summons against him for assaulting her.</p> - -<p>There was a lot of talk about it in our bar and in the parlour that -evening, and it was the biggest sensation we had had in the village -since the inquest on the London gentleman, who was found dead in the -wood near the Silent Pool, with a pistol in his hand, and a letter in -his pocket saying he had committed suicide because he heard voices. It -was a dreadful letter, and showed the poor fellow was quite mad. I cut -the letter out from our county paper, and kept it, because I thought it -so curious, as showing what extraordinary delusions some people go -through life with, appearing sane in every other way. This was some of -the letter—</p> - -<p>“I have committed suicide to escape from the pursuit of a devilish -agency. This is the story of my life. When I was a boy of tender age, -some organization of individuals erected—where, of course, I cannot -tell—an elaborate scientific contrivance for conveying all kinds of -sounds and disagreeable sensations to the human frame. At the time this -was first erected it was not brought into full play; but at a very early -stage these persons worked upon my feelings by simulating the voices of -persons with whom I was brought into contact. But, since then, wherever -I go I have been annoyed by this scientific agency. Wherever I go the -sound of human voices is conveyed to me. When I sit down an intense -heavy pressure is brought to bear upon my body, destroying the effect of -the food I eat, and producing great discomfort. This and the voices have -at last driven me mad, and as no human agency will protect me I am -determined to end my life, believing that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286">{286}</a></span> beyond the grave those voices -will not be allowed to pursue me, and I shall be at rest.”</p> - -<p>Poor fellow!—but I suppose it is a common delusion, that about voices.</p> - -<p>Of course Mr. Gwillam wasn’t as mad as that; but it was certain that he -must have delusions because of his believing about the end of the world -coming at twenty-five past six on a Friday, and about our going up into -the skies on a whirlwind. And it was a delusion for him to believe that -Dame Trueman had bewitched him.</p> - -<p>When the summonses came on for hearing before our magistrate, the little -justice-room was crowded almost to suffocation. Mr. Gwillam, poor -gentleman, had gone about the village, and got all the people who had -anything to say against Dame Trueman to promise to come forward and -prove that she had practised witchcraft, and what he called the black -art.</p> - -<p>He was very troublesome directly the case began, interrupting every -minute, and saying that by the law of the land all witches had a right -to be burned at the stake, and a lot of nonsense, and the magistrate had -to speak quite cross to make him be quiet.</p> - -<p>Old Dame Trueman was in court, and they say she looked most -malignant—in fact, as much like a witch as it was possible to look -without being one—and she told the magistrate how she had been -assaulted. The magistrate asked Mr. Gwillam what he had to say, and he -told the most extraordinary story you ever heard in your life.</p> - -<p>He declared that “the old witch” had put a spell upon him so that he -could not sleep. He had seen her plotting with his servant at his gate, -and that night he couldn’t sleep, nor the next night either, and that he -never should have slept again, only he was determined to find out what -the spell was; and so he got up in the middle of the night and went out -into his garden, and there, under a clod of earth, he discovered a toad, -that was walking round and round. He said the toad had been charmed and -put there by the witch, and as long as it kept walking round and round -he could not go to sleep, so he had killed the toad, and the proof that -it was a spell, was this—that directly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287">{287}</a></span> he had killed it he went back -to bed again and fell asleep, and he had not had another bad night -since.</p> - -<p>The magistrate looked over his gold spectacles very hard at Mr. Gwillam, -and he said, “My dear sir, I’m very sorry for you; but we can’t accept -your explanation. No toad could have anything to do with your sleeping, -and there is no such thing as a witch.”</p> - -<p>“What!” exclaimed Mr. Gwillam, “no such thing as a witch! Why, this -woman is one! I have dozens of witnesses here to prove that she has put -them under her spells. I demand that she shall be punished as the law -directs, and burnt alive, or drowned in the horse-pond!”</p> - -<p>The magistrate, of course, had heard the rumours about Dame Trueman, -because they had been the common talk in the village for years, so he -thought it was a good opportunity to give the people a lecture, and he -made a long speech, saying how wicked it was to suppose that anybody had -supernatural powers; that witches were only believed in when people were -ignorant and degraded and knew no better, and he was ashamed to think -that in such a thriving place as our village there were still people so -foolish as to entertain such beliefs. As to the story about the toad, it -was too absurd. It was trifling with the Court to make such an excuse -for a wanton attack upon a feeble old woman.</p> - -<p>“It is no excuse!” exclaimed Mr. Gwillam indignantly. “She is a bad old -woman, and she put that toad in my garden to charm me. She charmed me, -and I got no rest day nor night for her till I found this walking toad -under the mould. She dug a hole, and she put it there to have a spell on -me. She went round and round this walking toad after she had buried it, -and I shouldn’t have slept till now if I hadn’t found it and killed it.”</p> - -<p>The magistrate called the doctor up and whispered with him for a little, -and then he said that no doubt Mr. Gwillam, who was a very respectable -person, was the victim of a delusion, and had allowed himself to be -carried away by his feelings. He must mark his sense of the impropriety -of the proceedings by fining him ten pounds—five pounds for each -assault—or a month’s imprisonment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288">{288}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I won’t pay!” shouted Mr. Gwillam, brandishing his umbrella. “I’ll go -to prison!”</p> - -<p>He was quieted down a little and taken into another room, and the crowd -was got away while a consultation was held. The old gentleman’s wife saw -the magistrate, and asked to be allowed to pay the ten pounds without -her husband knowing it, and this was done, and presently he was released -believing that the magistrate had altered his mind.</p> - -<p>That evening he came into our bar-parlour as calm as though nothing had -happened. I had begged the customers not to say anything about the -affair to him, and they didn’t. But just as I thought everything was all -right he startled everybody by saying that he was going to wait for the -witch at midnight, and rid the place of her.</p> - -<p>“Harry,” I said to my husband in a whisper, “you must see Mr. Gwillam -home, and don’t leave him till he’s safe in his own house. He isn’t fit -to be trusted alone. He’ll murder that old woman, or some awful thing.”</p> - -<p>So Harry went home with him that evening, and saw him safe indoors, and -told his wife to look after him; but we all agreed that he ought to be -watched, or something dreadful would happen, as he’d evidently got the -witch on his mind.</p> - -<p>But before anything was done, a most extraordinary thing happened. One -morning soon after the trial, the neighbours noticed that there was no -smoke coming out of Dame Trueman’s chimney. They thought it odd, as she -was generally up and her fire alight very early. About twelve o’clock a -young woman, who, it seems, had an appointment with her to get a charm -for her lover, who was going to sea, called at the house, and knocked at -the door, but couldn’t make anybody hear. Some people saw her knocking, -and getting no answer, and made up their minds something was wrong, so -they went and forced the door open.</p> - -<p>“When they got inside all was quite still. They called out, but got no -answer. One of them then went into the kitchen and gave a cry of horror. -There, on the hearth, by a fire that had gone out, lay something that -looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289">{289}</a></span> like a heap of cinders. And walking round and round the heap was -a black cat with three white hairs on its breast.</p> - -<p>The heap of cinders was old Dame Trueman. The witch was dead. It was -supposed that she fell forward in a fit of some sort into the fire, and -her clothes caught, and that she was burned to death on the hearth. -Nothing else had caught light from the flames, as the kitchen was all -paved with bricks.</p> - -<p>That was the end of “our witch,” and a very awful end it was, and a nice -sensation it made in the village. Of course she wasn’t a witch; but I’m -afraid she was a very wicked old woman, and was quite willing to be -thought to be able to cast spells, because she made money by it.</p> - -<p>When her house was searched, over a hundred pounds was found concealed -in different places. The black cat disappeared the day she was found -dead, and nobody ever saw it again.</p> - -<p>I know there are lots of London people who will think that I am like the -customers in our smoke-room, and that I have exaggerated; but I have -not. I have just told you the true story of our village witch—and I can -show you the county paper with the account in it of Mr. Gwillam’s trial -for beating her; and the very words he said about the walking toad are -in it.</p> - -<p>After the witch was dead, Mr. Gwillam seemed to get better; but to the -last he persisted that it was his killing the toad that had brought -about the old woman’s death. It was one of her “familiars,” and he had -slain her in slaying that. Nobody attempted to argue with him on the -question. He didn’t come to our place very long afterwards, because he -got an idea that whenever he went out he was followed by a shadow, and -if ever the shadow overtook him it would kill him; so his wife had a man -to look after him and go about with him, who was really his keeper, and -he was never brought out after dark. Poor gentleman, I have no doubt it -was all the result of his tumbling off the ladder on to his head before -he retired from business.</p> - -<p>The cottage that “the witch” had lived in so many<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290">{290}</a></span> years was done up and -thoroughly repaired; but nobody would live in it, as it was said to be -haunted. Some boys declared that late at night they had seen a black cat -with three white hairs on its breast prowling about on the roof and -making a most unearthly noise, and that——</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The post! Thank you. Oh, Harry! who <i>do</i> you think this letter’s from? -It’s from Jenny. She and her husband are coming to stay with us at last, -and they’re going to bring the baby. Oh! I am so glad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291">{291}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /><br /> -<i>CONCLUSION.</i></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I don’t</span> know why it is, but when I sit down to write this “Memoir,” -knowing that it may be the last that I shall ever write, it makes me -feel a little sad.</p> - -<p>In all human probability I, Mary Jane Beckett, am writing the last few -pages of the last book that will ever come from my pen. We are leaving -the ‘Stretford Arms,’ and going into a much larger house—a real big -hotel in a well-known county town—where we shall have waiters in -evening dress, and a big coffee-room, and a large commercial-room, and -we shall make up over fifty beds, besides having a large room for sales -and auctions, and another very large, lofty room for balls and big -dinners and assemblies, and that sort of thing.</p> - -<p>I am very sorry to leave the dear old ‘Stretford Arms,’—our first -house, and the one where we have spent some happy years, and where my -little Harry and my little Mary were both born; but we have made money, -and we must not stand still. We have sold the house most advantageously, -and made a very large profit, as we ought to do, for we have worked the -business up and improved the premises very considerably.</p> - -<p>It was a long time before we made up our minds, and we had very long and -anxious talks; but a friend of Harry’s told us about the big hotel that -was to be had in a Midland county town, and which was just the place for -us to work up and do well in, and Harry, having a means of getting all -the extra money, wanted to take it. It seemed a pity to let it go, -especially as we could never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292">{292}</a></span> hope to do better than we were doing at -the ‘Stretford Arms,’ and if we are not going to work hard all our lives -we must get into a place where we can make a bigger profit, and get more -scope for our capital.</p> - -<p>I have been to see the new house, and a very fine place it is. The rooms -are simply grand. It is right opposite the Corn Exchange, and has a -noble entrance-hall with statues in it, and is called the “Royal Hotel,” -because Queen Elizabeth once slept there. Harry says that Queen -Elizabeth seems to have slept at nearly every old hotel in the kingdom; -but that is all nonsense.</p> - -<p>The place is in really excellent order, having not long ago been -refurnished by a great London firm, and some of the bedrooms are fit for -Queen Elizabeth to come to now.</p> - -<p>It will be quite a different trade, of course, to what we have been -accustomed to, as coffee-room customers and commercial gentlemen come in -every day by the trains, and it is a big racing house when the races are -on, and they are very famous races indeed. It will be something new for -me to study the commercial gentlemen and the sporting gentlemen, as we -didn’t have any at the ‘Stretford Arms,’ not having any shops or a -racecourse. I am told that I shall pick up a lot of character among the -commercials, who are most entertaining and full of anecdotes; but it -will be too late to put them in my book, as I must finish it now. I know -I shall have no time at the “Royal Hotel,” for it will be a big task to -manage it, and take us all we know.</p> - -<p>I am told, too, that some of the sporting gentlemen would make capital -stories, one of them being a young marquis, who is very odd and goes on -anyhow. I suppose it will be what Harry calls “a warm time” at race -time. I rather dread it. If it is too warm I shall keep out of the way.</p> - -<p>But that is like me. Here am I beginning to worry about things before -they happen, and instead of that I ought to be getting this chapter -finished, for to-morrow is “the change,” and the new people take my dear -old home over and enter into possession.</p> - -<p>Everybody about the place is <i>so</i> sorry that we are going, and the -nicest and kindest things have been said of us.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293">{293}</a></span> There was some talk of -giving Harry a banquet; but we thought it best not for many reasons, and -so last night a few old friends and customers came into our bar-parlour -and had a little supper with us, and during supper the Doctor, who has -been one of our best friends, presented us, in the name of the company, -with a most beautiful silver salver for our sideboard, and on it was -engraved “To Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, from a few old customers of the -‘Stretford Arms,’ wishing them long life, success, and happiness.”</p> - -<p>It was very kind of them, wasn’t it? and we both felt it very deeply. It -is a most beautiful salver, and we shall treasure it as long as we live, -and I hope our children will treasure it after we are gone. It is very -gratifying, when you have tried to keep up the character of your house -and to make your customers comfortable, to know that your efforts have -been appreciated, and that everybody wishes you well in your new -undertaking.</p> - -<p>We are going to spend a week in London before we take possession of the -“Royal Hotel,” as Harry has his solicitor and the brokers to see, and a -lot of business to attend to, and I want to take my boy to the -Zoological Gardens. He is very fond of his Noah’s Ark, and is always -delighted to hear his father tell him about the great big animals that -live in foreign parts, and I am most anxious to hear what the dear child -will say when he sees a real elephant and hears a real lion roar. He is -most intelligent for his age, and, though we were rather afraid while he -was teething, he has had the most perfect health ever since, and is as -fine a little fellow as you could find in the kingdom, and very sturdy -on his legs. He has a little sailor suit now, and marches about as proud -as you please; but he will keep his hands in his pockets. The sailor -suit which I bought him included a knife on a piece of whip-cord, which -was the terror of my life for a long time. I wanted to take it away; but -he screamed himself almost into convulsions, and I was obliged to let -him keep it; but I lived in hourly dread of nurse coming rushing in to -say Master Harry had cut himself.</p> - -<p>I can’t think why it is that boy children always want to keep their -hands in their pockets, and so dearly love<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294">{294}</a></span> a knife. Little girls don’t -care about knives; but, then, little girls are easier to manage in every -way than little boys, who begin to assert their independence at the very -earliest age.</p> - -<p>I hope where we are going to will suit my little ones as well as this -place has done; but everybody tells me that it is a most healthy town, -and so I won’t begin to fidget on that score, though I should feel much -happier if our nice, kind, clever doctor could be near us. But, of -course, that can’t be.</p> - -<p>I believe I shall cry to-morrow when we leave the dear old ‘Stretford -Arms;’ but I shall try not to. I have been very happy in it, and we have -been very fortunate, far more than we had any right to expect, seeing -that we were only young beginners.</p> - -<p>The packing up has been an awful job. It is really wonderful how things -accumulate. We have had to buy boxes and I don’t know what, and we shall -want a big van to take everything, as we take some of our furniture away -with us, the new people having some of their own they want to bring in. -I am very glad, as it will always be something to remind us of the old -place.</p> - -<p>Things in this village haven’t changed much since we first came. Dashing -Dick’s grandmother, poor old lady, is now quite paralyzed; but the lad -has turned out much better than was expected, and has been sent to sea, -and writes very nice letters to her from foreign parts, and has begun to -send her a little money. Old Gaffer Gabbitas, his daughter, who lives in -the village, told us, a little time ago was found dead in his armchair -one Sunday afternoon, with his Bible on his lap open at the place where -he had been reading it when he fell asleep for the last time. We have -written out to Mr. Wilkins in Australia, giving him our new address, and -saying we shall always be glad to hear from him; and dear Jenny has -another baby, a little girl, so, as she says in her letter, we are both -equal now.</p> - -<p>Graves, the farrier, has much improved lately. He is more civilized -since he took to use our house regularly, and gave up going to the other -place. He came out quite nobly not long ago, in a little affair which -made some talk in the village. One of his men injured himself while<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295">{295}</a></span> -working at the forge, he being, I am sorry to say, the worse for liquor -at the time (the man, not Graves), and was so bad he had to be sent to a -London hospital, where he remained some time, and all the while he was -away Graves paid his money to the wife, because she was an invalid, and -had a large family. This shows that there is often a lot of good under a -rough exterior; but I believe blacksmiths and farriers are very -good-hearted men as a rule, and I always respect them, for I never see -one without thinking of that noble-hearted blacksmith in the beautiful -piece of poetry which I also heard as a song one night when there was an -entertainment at our national schools. It was a lovely idea, that brawny -fellow going to church of a Sunday, and thinking of his dead wife when -he heard his daughter singing in the village choir, and wiping away a -tear.</p> - -<p>Graves isn’t the man to do that sort of thing—he couldn’t, because he -has never married, and I don’t think he is so regular in attendance at -church as the other blacksmith was; but his keeping that poor woman and -children all those weeks, shows that his heart is in the right place, if -he doesn’t always pick his words as carefully as he might.</p> - -<p>Miss Ward, our barmaid, that you may remember was so unfortunate in her -young man, that horrid fellow Shipsides, has married well, I am glad to -say, and she and her husband have been put in to manage a public-house -in the South of England. She wrote to me, and told me when she was -married, and sent me a piece of cake, and I wrote her a nice letter -back, and said how pleased I was to hear it.</p> - -<p>Of course, directly I knew we were going to move, I wrote to Mr. Saxon, -and told him what our new address would be, and said that he might be -sure if he paid us a visit no one would be more welcome. He wrote back -and said perhaps he would come when the races were on. I hear he has -taken to go racing lately, which is a thing I should never have -expected, though I remember hearing that, years ago, he used to be very -fond of sport, but got too busy to keep it up. I hope it will do him -good; at any rate, it is a change, and the fresh air is just what he -wants. But I hope he won’t gamble and lose a lot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296">{296}</a></span> money; but I don’t -think he will, as he has to work too hard to get it. I have been told -that he takes that nice Swedish gentleman about with him to the races, -so perhaps he will come, too. I shall be very glad to see him again, as -he was one of the nicest gentlemen I ever talked to, and had been all -over the world, and was full of information. Poor fellow! he ought to be -taken about; for he must have a bad time of it at home with Mr. Saxon, -whose liver seems to get worse as he gets older.</p> - -<p>The last I heard of him he had been to Italy for a month, for the -benefit of his health, and came back in a fortnight, swearing that he -had shortened his life by ten years, by going. Fancy a man going away -for rest, and to benefit his health, and travelling five thousand miles, -night and day, in a railway carriage, and then going on because he felt -knocked up. But, with all his faults and his queer ways, there will be -nobody that I shall be more pleased to see at the “Royal Hotel” than Mr. -Saxon.</p> - -<p>The new clergyman, the young fellow who was the cause of Mr. Wilkins -going to Australia, has turned out what Harry calls “quite a trump.” -There is no mistake about the impression he has made in the place. He -has woke it up, so to speak, and, though nobody liked him at first, -resenting his new-fangled ways, now he is the greatest favourite with -everybody. He is a fine cricketer, and has made a cricket club, and he -sings capitally, and gets up penny readings and entertainments in the -winter, and his sermons are first class. The first Sunday some of the -old-fashioned people were horrified. He made a joke in his sermon, and -it was such a good joke that it made the people laugh before they -remembered where they were. He said afterwards that he saw a lot of -people were horrified, but that it wasn’t wicked to laugh. He said being -good didn’t mean being sulky and gloomy and pulling a long face, and -there was no more harm in feeling glad and gay inside a church than -outside it; in fact, if there was any place in which people ought to -feel comfortable and happy, and ready to smile on the slightest -provocation, it was when they were worshipping One who had done so much -to make His people glad and gay and happy here below.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297">{297}</a></span></p> - -<p>It took time to get the old-fashioned people round to his way of -thinking; but he did it at last, and now our parson is the best-liked -man in the place. Everybody respects him and likes him, and nobody is -afraid of him, except the bad characters, and they are afraid of him -because he don’t care whether they are high or low, rich or poor. He -tells them straight what he thinks of them. The Rev. Tommy was a dear -nice old gentleman; but his mind was always wandering away to before the -Flood, and he let everything after the Flood go its own way. The new -man, “the whipper-snapper,” doesn’t bother himself even about yesterday. -He makes the best of to-day, and looks out for to-morrow, and, after -all, that is the only way to take life practically, and to make the best -of it.</p> - -<p>Which reminds me that I have to make the best of to-day myself, and to -look out for to-morrow as well, for I shall have all my work cut out, so -my dear old “Memoirs” will have to be cut short, and wound up, and put -away, for there won’t be any “Memoirs” at the “Royal Hotel.”</p> - -<p>I think I have told you nearly everything about the people you know who -have been mixed up with the ‘Stretford Arms.’ We leave it with plenty of -friends, and, I honestly believe, without a single enemy. And we leave -it with a first-class reputation and an excellent connection. It has -become quite a “pulling-up house,” as it is called in the trade, with -people who drive from London, and is now well-known as a quiet and -comfortable country hotel for ladies and gentlemen and families, who -wish to stay for a little time a short distance from town. The local -connection has not been neglected, and our smoke-room has become quite a -nice little local club, while the billiard-room has brought many of the -young fellows from the best private houses to make it a rendezvous. We -have been very particular to keep the billiard-room quiet and select, -and to discourage gambling, and this has made it a boon to the -neighbourhood, when with bad management it might have become quite the -reverse.</p> - -<p>The new people who are coming in are luckier than we were, for they will -find a good business ready made for them. All they have to do is to keep -everything up to the mark, and I think they will. I have seen them -several<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298">{298}</a></span> times, and I like them very much. Their name is Eager. Mr. -Eager is a man of about thirty-five, tall and dark, and I think rather -handsome, and his wife is a pretty little woman of about -five-and-twenty. They have both been in the business before, her papa -having been an hotel-proprietor in the North of England, and he having -been manager to a small hotel at the seaside, where the proprietor was -his uncle.</p> - -<p>They are very nice, quiet, straightforward people, and our business with -them has been done very pleasantly indeed. They are what we were when we -took the ‘Stretford Arms’—a newly-married couple—and they seem most -affectionate and amiable.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Eager and I had a quiet cup of tea together while the gentlemen -were talking business over a cigar and a glass of whiskey-and-water, and -she told me all about their meeting, and falling in love, and it wasn’t -at all a bad story.</p> - -<p>It seems that Mrs. Eager, who was a Miss Braham, was staying with her -papa, who was not very well, at the seaside place where Mr. Eager’s -hotel was. Her papa was a good swimmer, and used to bathe early in the -morning from the beach. One morning he was swimming when suddenly he -felt very bad, and found he was losing strength, and being carried too -far from shore in a rough sea. Another gentleman who was swimming, saw -what was the matter, and swam towards him, and managed to help him, and -keep him up and shout till a man on the beach saw them, and jumped into -a boat and rowed out to them, and rescued them both. The old gentleman -(he wasn’t very old) was very grateful, and said the young fellow, who -was Mr. Eager, had saved his life—and that was quite true, for, but for -him, he would have been drowned, as his strength was fast deserting him.</p> - -<p>That began the acquaintance, and Mr. Eager was invited to come and stay -at Mr. Braham’s hotel up north, and he did; and then the daughter, as -well as the papa, took a great liking to him, and they were very soon -engaged to be married. When the father found how the land lay he was -very pleased, and he said he would start the young couple in a nice -little hotel of their own as soon as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299">{299}</a></span> were married, and that is how -they came to take the ‘Stretford Arms’ of us.</p> - -<p>I hope they will be as happy in it as we have been. I shall often sit -and think of an evening, when I am at the “Royal Hotel” of the little -‘Stretford Arms,’ and, in fancy, I shall see the dear old bar-parlour -and the smoke-room, and the customers sitting there smoking their -evening pipes, when I am far away.</p> - -<p>“What is it? Come in. The master wants me? All right; say I’m coming -directly.” I must finish. I have promised Harry that I won’t start any -more “Memoirs” in the new house, as he says, when I have a few minutes -to spare, he wants to enjoy the pleasure of my society; and so I am -going to get every bit of this book written and finished to-night, and -then good-bye to pens and ink, and all the pleasure and all the pains of -authorship.</p> - -<p>Looking back on all that has happened since I left service, and married -Harry, and went into this line of business, I feel that I have every -reason to be grateful. We have had good luck, good health, and a good -time, and not one really great or serious trouble. If we go on as we -have begun, perhaps before we are too old to enjoy it we shall have made -enough money to retire and live in a pretty little house, and devote -ourselves to each other and our children. That is my idea of happiness.</p> - -<p>When that time comes I may perhaps be tempted to write some more of my -experiences. I dare say I shall have had plenty by then. But till that -time does come I have made up my mind to think about no books but the -books of the “Royal Hotel,” and to study no characters but the -characters of my servants. And so, gentle reader, though it makes me -feel sad to say the words, I have at last to wish you good-bye—a long, -long good-bye. I hope you won’t forget me altogether, but that -sometimes, when you are reading other people’s stories, you will say to -yourself, “I wonder how Mary Jane is getting on;” and if any of you are -ever near the Midland town we are going to make our new home in, I hope -you will come and stay at the “Royal Hotel,” proprietor Harry Beckett, -late of the ‘Stretford Arms.’ You may be sure that we shall make you as -comfortable as possible, and I think from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300">{300}</a></span> what you know of my husband -and myself you will be able to rely upon finding a good kitchen and a -good cellar, and comfort, cleanliness, and attention, combined with -moderate charges.</p> - -<p>Please don’t think that I say this by way of advertisement. I should be -very sorry to make my book an advertisement for my business, as I don’t -believe in that sort of thing. I have written the “Memoirs” of our -village hotel as I wrote the “Memoirs” of myself in service, because I -thought I had something to write about that would be interesting to the -people who read books. As a landlady, I have had as many opportunities -of observing people and hearing their stories as I had when a -servant—more varied opportunities as the landlady than as the servant. -I hope that now, as in the former “Memoirs,” I have written nothing -which can offend or be considered a breach of confidence. I have tried -in my humble way to describe everything I have seen and heard -faithfully, and to give a correct description of all that happened in -our hotel.</p> - -<p>“All right, dear; I won’t be one minute.” I <i>must</i> finish this chapter -now, or I shall not have another chance. To-morrow we shall be moving up -to London, and I shan’t get a minute. Good-bye, dear reader; that -impatient husband of mine won’t let me have another minute to myself, -and so I can’t write the nice finish that I wanted to. All I have time -to say is this. Don’t all of you go and take country hotels or village -inns because we have done so well and been so comfortable. For one that -succeeds in our business there are half-a-dozen who fail; and I have -told you a good deal more about the bright side of our business than -about the dark side, because I don’t think people nowadays want to look -on the dark side of anything more than they can help. We have been -fortunate; but you might get a business that would nearly drive you mad, -and ruin you. I told you about a few of the dangers of taking a business -in our line in my first chapter, and since I wrote that I have learnt a -good deal more. I could tell you some stories of hard-working young -couples who have put all their capital, and a lot of their friends’ and -relations’ capital, into a licensed house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301">{301}</a></span> and come to the most -dreadful grief. I know there is an idea that a public-house or an hotel -is a royal road to fortune. The money makes itself, and all the landlady -has to do is to dress herself up and wear diamond earrings and a big -gold chain, while the landlord drives a fast trotter in a gig, and goes -to races, and comes home and spends the evening in smoking big cigars -and drinking champagne.</p> - -<p>That is the idea some people have of being a licensed victualler, and it -is a very nice one. Go to the Licensed Victuallers’ Asylum and ask some -of the inmates what <i>their</i> idea is, and you will hear a different tale.</p> - -<p>We have done well because we have worked hard, and because we walked -before we tried to run, and looked after our business ourselves, and -didn’t expect it to go up all by itself in a night, like the mushrooms -grow. “Luck,” you say. No, that is a word that has no right to come into -business at all. I was reading a book of poetry the other day, that one -of the gentlemen who stays with us left behind him, and I came on -something about Luck which I thought was so good that I copied it out.</p> - -<p>It was this——</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“A right hand, guided by an earnest soul<br /></span> -<span class="i1">With a true instinct, takes the golden prize<br /></span> -<span class="i1">From out a thousand blanks. What men call luck<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Is the prerogative of valiant souls—<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The fealty life pays its rightful kings.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Of course I don’t mean to say that Harry and I are “rightful kings.” -That is the way a poet has to put it to make it poetry, I suppose; but I -do mean to say that the first part of the verse is true about us and the -way we got on. And so, if we drew a prize where others get blanks, it -isn’t fair to put it down to our “luck.”</p> - -<p>But, luck or no luck, we did draw a prize, and I hope we are going to -draw another. The “Royal Hotel” will never be to me what the ‘Stretford -Arms’ was. There won’t be the romance about it, and perhaps it is as -well, as a woman with a big business and two little children to look -after hasn’t much time for romance. The romance of the ‘Stretford Arms’ -was very nice though, for it enabled me to write these Tales of a -Village Inn, and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302">{302}</a></span> ask the reader to share in the joys and sorrows, -the pains and pleasures, and the trials and adventures of Mary Jane -Married, and—no, not settled—anything but settled.</p> - -<p>If you could see the way this room is blocked up with boxes half packed, -and how things are lying about all over the place, you wouldn’t say -settled—unsettled, just at present, would be the word. Never mind; I -dare say it will come all right, and in a few weeks we <i>shall</i> be -settled at the “Royal Hotel,” and I hope it will be a very long time -before we make another move.</p> - -<p>And now, farewell, dear reader; I must write the word at last. Harry -sends you his kind regards, little Harry says “Ta-ta,” and my dear -little baby girl puts her little fat hand to her mouth and blows you a -kiss, and, with just one little tear of regret in her eye, Mary Jane -Beckett, formerly Mary Jane Buffham, and late of the ‘Stretford Arms’ -Hotel, wishes you all a long and happy life, and bids you slowly and -sadly a long “Farewell.”</p> - -<p class="astr">* * * * *</p> - -<p>It is written, the last line. Perhaps the last line I shall ever write -for print. Think kindly of me, won’t you? and let my book have a nice -place in your library. I can promise you that it will be a nicer cover -than the last. No grinning policeman this time, with his arm round my -waist. This will be a book that I can give to my husband, and be proud -of, and write his name inside—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">“<i>To my dear Harry.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>From his loving wife, the Authoress.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint">THE END.<br /><br /><br /> - -PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303">{303}</a></span></p> - -<p class="c"><img src="images/colophon.png" width="100" alt="colophon" title="" /> -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY JANE MARRIED ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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