FROM HALL TO COTTAGE.
FOUR years at a great public school had taught me to think and plan for
myself in many of the lesser matters of daily life, and encouraged in
me a spirit of independence. I had been sent there almost immediately
after my mother's death, my father having decided that Jack would be
miserable at Lint Hall all by himself—that is, with no one but him.
"I shall have no heart to entertain company, even were it fitting for
gaiety to shoulder out sorrow; and if the lad had young companions
here, the sound of their voices would make me miserable. If there had
been more children, they might have cheered each other, and roused me
in time; as it is, I shall be better alone, and Jack far happier at
school," was my father's decision.
It was the best for me, no doubt; and though I did not forget my
mother, there was nothing around me, as there would have been at
home, to keep the knowledge of my loss constantly before me. When the
holidays came, I was more frequently with the Burfords than at Lint
Hall, and my father had become so absorbed in the speculations which
led to his ruin, that he did not miss or want me. I was too young to be
made a confidant of, and, except for occasional hints of greater wealth
in prospect, I was told nothing.
All these things combined to foster a self-reliant spirit, and before
Mr. Burford asked what I should do in the meanwhile, I was prepared
with an answer which surprised him not a little. It was a written
calculation, and though not put down in a very methodical way, was
eminently satisfactory to myself:—
"Available capital to last twenty-six weeks, £12, 10s. Owing at Rugby,
10s. Half-year's interest, cousin Dorothy, £1, 2s. 6d. Deduct these,
and I have £10, 17s. 6d. left to call my own."
This sum I allotted as follows:—Lodgings, £3, 5s.; food and all other
expenses, £7, 12s. 6d.
As Mr. Burford ran his eye over the paper, I said—
"I shall be able to live, even if I get nothing to do, but I hope to
earn something beside. I am resolved not to be idle, but will try to go
on improving myself, or at least keep up what I have learned."
"My dear lad, what decent lodgings could you get for half-a-crown a
week?" asked the lawyer.
"A clean little bedroom all to myself at Jabez Harwood's. Old Jabez
made my first kite, and taught me how to fly it. I have gone in and out
of his little place ever since I can remember. His wife Betsy told me,
when I was at home last holidays, that she wanted another lodger to pay
half-a-crown a week for her parlour. She had one for a year, a youth
rather older than myself, who was booking-clerk at the station. She was
glad he was going to a better post, because he was steady and a good
son who did with less himself that he might help his widowed mother,
but she was very sorry to lose him and the regular weekly half-crown,
which was of great use to her. Jabez is only a labourer, and has never
been equal to full work since his accident."
"I remember; the old man was driving Farmer Whitehead's trap home for
him, and the horse bolted. He was thrown out and badly shaken and
bruised. But Betsy could get working-men lodgers who would pay her
half-a-crown a week. Her cottage is no fit place for you, Jack."
"Betsy says that, seeing she would have to do for whoever lives under
her roof, she would prefer being servant to a gentleman, because she
finds such-like the easiest to please. She will be very good to me, I
am sure, and the terms and place are in accordance with my means. I
shall be able to pay my way and live. Betsy told me how she used to
contrive for her former lodger. He had vegetables from the cottage
garden, and she marketed for him, and washed and mended his clothes.
She kept account of all she spent; and a very funny way she had of
doing it, but it was easy to understand. And I found that, beside
the half-crown for lodgings, the clerk's other expenses averaged
five-and-threepence per week. I shall have rather over sevenpence left
for pocket-money."
Mr. Burford gave a groan as he listened, and was far more moved at
the prospect before me than I was—outwardly at any rate. I purposely
spoke in a business-like, matter-of-fact way, the better to conceal the
heart-sinking of which I was profoundly conscious, in spite of my brave
front.
"It will never do, Jack. I could not bear to think of your father's son
reduced to such shifts and living under a thatched roof."
"The roof is sound and weather-proof," I replied. "Besides, I shall be
on the ground-floor. The old folks sleep in the large chamber that runs
over the house-place and the parlour. Jabez is a first-rate thatcher,
and takes care to have a dry shelter."
"You will need clothes and more pocket-money. You must not be so proud,
my boy, but let me be your banker until you have begun to climb the
ladder of prosperity," said Mr. Burford.
"I have plenty of clothes to serve me for years," I answered, quite
determined to make them do.
"You will grow out of them, Jack."
"Not for some time, Mr. Burford."
I gave a gulp before I could add, "If I do, there are some of my
father's. You told me you had arranged for me to have them. And there
are my mother's watch and a few ornaments that are really mine, you
know, though I never mean to part with them if I can help it."
"What will you let me do for you, Jack?"
"If you could speak for me to some one who wants a—" Here I hesitated.
What could I say? What was I fit for? The thought crossed my mind
that there were scores of lads, brought up in cottage homes, whose
qualifications for immediate employment were far superior to mine. My
writing, for instance, though legible enough, was far from good, and
had always an untidy look with it. I am by no means sure that I did not
consider it almost vulgar to write a good hand.
It was all very well for clerks, and tradesmen, but not for the heir of
Lint Hall.
"A what? Tell me, Jack. There is nothing I will not do for you, if I
can," replied Mr. Burford.
"I mean, that I want work of some kind. Oh, Mr. Burford! Am I fit for
any place, do you think?"
"I would offer to take you into my office, but there are reasons why I
am just now unable to do this."
"Mrs. Burford again," thought I. "The office is too near the house; and
this time the lady has been consulted before the husband ventured to do
what was in his heart."
"Thank you all the same," I said, "but I would rather be somewhere else
if possible. I wonder if I could get such a place on the railway as the
Harwoods' lodger had. It does not seem to want a very clever person to
give out tickets."
"If you would take a post of the kind, I think I could get one for you;
perhaps the very same which that youth filled. His successor has not
turned out well, and is about to leave. It is singular that I heard
this to-day. I will use my interest for you, Jack, and have little
doubt of success."
Mr. Burford's face brightened, and my heart felt all the lighter as I
retired to prepare for my change of residence.
That night saw me installed as Jabez Harwood's lodger and the
occupant of the little parlour which was to serve as sitting-room and
bedroom, though I was to take my meals in the house-place. This was a
good-sized, cheerful apartment, opening into the garden, and kept in a
state of spotless cleanliness by the neat hands of Betsy.
Clothes-washing and dish-washing were done in winter-time beneath a
lean-to shed at the end of the cottage, in summer, on a wide wooden
bench by the hedge-side, as being cooler and more airy than the tiny
shed.
There was an outer door to the parlour, but it was always fastened and
nearly hidden by the end of the bed which was placed against it. The
rude staircase was between the two apartments, but all corners entered
by the house-place, and passed through it to the parlour or the room
above, as the case might be.
My room had a good-sized window looking into the garden, and a smaller,
containing only four panes, at the end, overlooking a pretty lane. One
pane swung on hinges and would open, so good ventilation was secured by
its means.
The cottage was one of the oldest on the Lint Hall estate, and a
favourite plan of mine had been to persuade my father to pull it down
and build Jabez a new house on the site of it. I had ventured to name
the subject, and been told to wait a while, but in such a kindly way
that I felt sure the new dwelling would be built some time, when those
dreams of increased wealth became realities.
I told Jabez this, and was a little pained to find that he did not
share my enthusiasm, but said, "The old place will serve my time,
Master John. I've lived here so many years that I seem to know every
straw in the thatch and every twig in the hedge. I hardly think I
should sit down comfortable in any chimney-corner but this, even if it
were a better one."
In my secret heart I then resolved that whenever I became master of
Lint Hall, I should let the old man have the cottage rent free; just as
though it were likely that the old man would be living after my father,
a man barely forty, and with every prospect of long life, was gone.
And now here was I a lodger in this poor cottage, my father newly laid
in the family vault, and Lint Hall the property of Lawyer Burford, on
whose interest I was depending for a situation as ticket-clerk at a
country railway station.
I did wonder a little that there was such a scanty following at my
father's funeral. Surely his old neighbours might have shown him this
last mark of respect, despite his fallen fortunes! And they might have
extended kind hands and said a word of sympathy to a lonely lad who had
lost father, mother, and all.
Mr. Burford enlightened me as to the cause of their absence.
"Some of them have lost money through your father; not by lending, but
he was so enthusiastic, so certain of gaining largely by his ventures,
that they listened to his hopeful words and followed his example,
though only in a small way. They cannot forgive him for having been
mistaken and misled, though his ruin proves how entirely he was himself
deceived."
"But I never did anything, and they used to be so kind to me," said I.
Mr. Burford did not answer. He only shrugged his shoulders and looked
meaningly.
I think I understood for myself, when I remembered that the children
must, to a great extent, reap what their fathers have sown. Besides,
had not Mrs. Burford been worse than any one else because she had
professed so much affection for me? I was the same Jack Simpson, but I
was no longer heir to the Lint Hall estates. Truly, not only are the
sins, but the misfortunes, of the fathers visited upon the children.
I could not meet one of those whom I had been used to look upon as a
friend without having this truth brought painfully home.
Mr. Burford proved the single exception amongst the elders. He could
not do all to serve me that his kind heart prompted, for his wife held
him back on the one hand, and I refused his offers on the other. He
did, however, obtain for me the post of booking-clerk, with a salary
of eight shillings a week to begin at. My joy on hearing of this
appointment was in proportion to my previous anxiety about employment.
It had been such a long drop from Lint Hall to Jabez Harwood's cottage,
that anything in the shape of an upward step, cheered me beyond
description.
The duties that I was expected to perform, though considered worth only
a small salary, were not exactly light. The working-hours were long,
and began at ten minutes before six in the morning, the sliding-panel
in the booking-office being finally closed at half-past eight at night.
To be there in time, I must rise at five, summer and winter. And though
there were intervals for meals, and I had exercise enough during the
day, I had to be within reach, as it were, more than fourteen hours out
of the twenty-four.
"You must mind what you are about when you are taking money," said the
station-master. "It seems a small matter to give out tickets, receive
payment, and hand the change, but you need to have your wits about you,
and to reckon quickly as well as correctly. If you take bad money, you
have to make it good out of your wages. If you give too much change,
your pocket must supply the deficiency. Your cash must balance to a
fraction, remember; so give your whole mind to what you are about, or
you will pay forfeit for carelessness. I have gone through all this
myself; ay, and gone short of a dinner when I was a lad, because the
price of it must be put into the till to make up a deficiency that I
could not explain to myself, much less to any one else."
I thanked Mr. Edelston, the station-master, and felt the value of his
advice. I was a fairly ready reckoner, but at first I had to find out
the amount of each fare, as well as to calculate what change would be
needed. With a moderate allowance of time this would have been easy
enough. But when people were rushing in, several at once, as was the
case on market-days, dreading the being too late, too impatient to wait
until the previous comer was served, and stretching across to shout
various requests all at the same time, it was bewildering enough to
confuse more experienced heads than mine.
"Take time to be correct, and resolutely serve one at once," said Mr.
Edelston. "If some are left, it will be their own fault, not yours, for
they will pour in at the last moment."
This was true enough, but, boy as I was, I knew how hard many of the
labouring people had to work, how precious were the minutes to them,
and how difficult it was to set home in order and arrange all for the
family, before the house-mother could leave them with a mind at rest.
I could not look at the hot, red faces, on which stood great beads of
perspiration, which the bearers of heavy bundles or baskets had not
time to wipe away, without feeling unwilling to cause needless trouble
by any act of mine.
"I am only a booking-clerk, but I will be the smartest on the line," I
resolved; and I succeeded. I studied names of places, fares, distances,
timetables—everything, in short, that would enable me to give a prompt
answer to every probable question. The travelling public reaped the
first benefit of my painstaking, but in the long-run, my own work was
lightened and time saved by it.
I also overheard remarks which proved that my endeavour to do my duties
in the best possible way, was appreciated by the poorer travellers.
Nearly all of these who lived within a few miles of Lint Hall knew
me, and many amongst them looked the sympathy they did not venture
to put into words. It gratified my family pride, too, when I heard a
speech like this, addressed by one cottager's wife to another who was
perplexed about something—
"Ax young Mr. Simpson. He'll tell you in a minute. He has it all at
his tongue-end, and it's a civil, kindly tongue, too. No fear of him
'saucing' you for axing a question that young men are put there to
answer and won't trouble to do it in a general way; or if they do, are
just fit to snap one's head off. No, no. He's a well-bred 'un, is young
Mr. Simpson, and the gentleman shows his true sort wherever you put
him. We might all be ladies, the way he speaks to us."
Such words, and others of a like kind, though not meant for my ear,
lingered very pleasantly in my memory, and cheered me on from day to
day. It was much to feel that my efforts were not in vain, and that to
the poor folk, at any rate, Jack Simpson was as truly a gentleman as
when they deemed him heir to Lint Hall and its broad acres.
I had more substantial marks of goodwill from the old tenants, both
farmers and cottagers. Sometimes they came in the shape of a little
basket of fruit, half-a-dozen fresh eggs, half-a-pound of butter
between two cool cabbage-leaves, or garden produce, often far more than
I could consume unassisted, and always the best of its kind.
I have had a couple of big rosy apples pushed in at the booking-office
window, as the giver put in her hand to take the ticket. Then, towards
Christmas-time, when pig-killing was going on, I had to ask my kind
friends to stay their hands, for mince-pies, sausages, and other
seasonable dainties came from all quarters, and far beyond my power to
dispose of, even when assisted by Jabez and his good wife. Moreover,
I was always "young Mr. Simpson," whilst the station-master was
"Edelston" to his neighbours, he having been one of themselves, and not
the son of a gentleman.