RETROSPECTIONS.
WHEN the train had carried away Nelly, I felt sad enough, and began
to wonder what would be the result of her two years' absence. Should
I ever see her stretch eager hands towards me whilst her dear, true
face was lighted with gladness, as she had done to-day? Or—dreadful
thought!—would she return a finished young lady, only desirous of
shining in fashionable society, and turn a sort of "Who are you?" look
on her old friend Jack?
I had little time for such speculations. My work awaited me, but I went
back to my desk with a slower step than usual, though the train which
sped away with Nelly was far out of sight.
I seldom made a mistake in giving change or ticket, but on that
morning, I handed a sovereign too much to a burly farmer who had
tendered a five-pound note. Fortunately for me, he found out the
mistake and returned the sovereign.
"I had no gold but what you gave me, Mr. John," he said as he balanced
the coin on his broad finger and poked it through the booking-office
window.
"I am glad you gave me too much, instead of somebody with a pocket so
full of yellow-boys that he could not tell if he got one more than he
had a right to, or to somebody else that would have chuckled at getting
hold of an extra pound that he had never worked for."
"I have cause to be glad," I said, "and I am very much obliged to you
for bringing the sovereign back. Such coins are not over-plentiful with
me, and I was very careless to make such a blunder."
"As easy to do it with a sovereign as a shilling. I don't think you
make many mistakes, Mr. John, for I have noticed how careful you are.
But you are not very well, maybe; you look a bit down this morning. You
must take care of yourself, as well as of the tickets and the cash."
I thanked the good farmer, and told him I was well, though I had felt
a little out of spirits about something. Then, resolutely banishing
regret and gloomy foreboding, I bent my mind to my duties and made no
more mistakes that day.
My piano, however, discoursed no sweet music that night. It had lost
its power to charm me into forgetfulness, for the first time since it
came into my possession.
I sat for a while silently thinking over all that had passed, and
especially dwelling on the many happy hours I had spent in Nelly
Burford's society when I was the favoured guest under her father's
roof, the friend whose presence was not only approved of, but courted
by her mother.
To-day had added one more to these sweet memories, though Mrs. Burford
knew it not. Her face and that of her favourite Rose did not come into
this last picture. There were only Nelly's and that of cousin Dorothy;
after all, I preferred Miss Flint's to Mrs. Burford's.
Now and then Jabez and Betsy looked inquiringly in my direction, as
if wondering at my silence, and whether they could give me service or
sympathy. But their kindness was always of the unobtrusive sort, and
they were very considerate in little things. They possessed the natural
politeness which prevented them from troubling me with inquiries or
forcing me to talk, when I wished to be left to myself.
It is one thing to be thoughtfully cared for, another to be obtrusively
fussed after, even by one's best friends. I could appreciate the
difference; so could Jabez and Betsy.
After a while, I told the old couple that I was tired, and went to my
own room, where I at length forgot my anxieties in sleep.
I have mentioned the friendly relations which subsisted between the
Harwoods and the Cartwrights, in spite of the fact that Jabez only
worked as a labourer in the Hall garden during my father's life, and
Cartwright had the oversight of the place. Betsy used to help Jane in
her laundry-work, and Jabez would smoke his pipe in company with her
husband, as the women stood together at the ironing-table.
Now Cartwright needed no outside help, his sons being more than equal
to the work, so Jabez found as much employment as he was able for, on a
farm not far from the cottage.
When Miss Flint was at the Hall, the Harwoods avoided the place as if
it were haunted, but as soon as her back was turned, the old friendly
and frequent intercourse was resumed. Indeed, the Cartwrights came
oftener than ever to the cottage, and spoke with much frankness of the
sayings and doings of my kinswoman. They had a very high opinion of her
cuteness, and Cartwright said Miss Flint could see through people as
well as anybody.
"But she is fair, Miss Flint is, though she may be hard. If she makes a
bargain she sticks to it, though she will haggle for half-an-hour over
a halfpenny. I think it is partly for want of something else to do."
"She might find something better," said Betsy, "seeing that whilst she
haggles, she wastes the time of other people as well as her own. Time
may be money to them, though it is worthless to her."
"True," said Jane, "but Miss Flint makes one laugh, she is so queer.
How she does love to tease Mrs. Burford! I've caught myself smiling
many a time over the way she served her when she last called at the
Hall. To hear those two 'my dear' one another, you would think they
were the best of friends, and all the while one knows that Mrs. Burford
is just wild with vexation at the way Miss Flint goes on. The last time
Mrs. Burford came it was the end of August, and such a hot day, but
she let her come and go, without so much as a grape to refresh her. No
sooner was she gone, than the best fruit in the place was put in piles
before Miss Nelly, and there the two of them were laughing over it like
a couple of children. If Miss Flint loves anybody, it is that young
girl, and I really believe it is because she says and does things that
no one else dare. She is a very straight talker, is Miss Nelly."
"I suppose the fruit would be Cartwright's," said I. "It is easy to be
liberal with what belongs to other people."
"Not so, Mr. John; Cartwright has all the fruit, but Miss Flint pays
him good money for all she wants, and she is his best customer. We
often wonder where all the grapes and fine stone-fruit go to, for she
could not eat it if she sat up o' nights to get through it," said Jane.
"I suppose what you brought me did not come from Miss Flint," said I,
feeling that if such were the case, Lint Hall grapes would be sour to
me for the future, as I could take none from that hand.
"Bless you, no, Mr. John! You have only had a taste now and then from
Cartwright himself, for the sake of old days. But I can tell you there
would have been a lot left on your windowsill by somebody else, if I
had not prevented her."
Then Jane told me how Nelly had wanted to empty her basket for me, and
had only been dissuaded by the information that I was as well supplied
as herself.
A tell-tale flush spread over my boyish face as I heard this story, and
I blessed my old playmate for her generous thought, and felt thankful
that, so far, her leal heart remained unchanged in spite of all that
had befallen me.
"You would see Miss Flint when they started for foreign parts, Mr.
John. Wasn't she a picture? She says anything is good enough to travel
in so long as it is whole, clean, and strong, so as to stand wear and
tear. She has the prettiest hands and feet, small and well shaped,
but she wears stout boots with clamped soles, and gloves as thick as
gentlemen use when driving; she showed some to Miss Nelly.
"'See,' she said, 'my gloves slip on easily; they are not like yours.
No pulling, tugging, stretching, and struggling with them till I am
purple in the face, and then toiling to fasten a long row of buttons.
My gloves keep my hands warm, whilst the young simpletons like you,
Nelly, pinch their fingers blue, stop the circulation, and give
themselves chilblains by wearing tight ones.'
"'I often go without gloves,' said Nelly, in defence.
"'More to blame, you. I am very particular about the look of my hands
when uncovered. They are my special vanity. The Flints have always had
beautiful hands, and been proud of them. My old grand-aunt used to show
me hers when she was fully eighty, and say,—
"'"Dorothy, only finely bred people can show such hands and feet as we
Flints can."
"'I was only a child at the time, but I took care of mine ever after.
It is as well to show one's fine breeding in some way, if one does not
do it by honeyed words and fashionable raiment. As to my boots, Miss
Nelly, you may laugh at them, but they are made to fit my feet. I never
know when I put on new ones, and other people are welcome to my share
of corns.'
"Miss Nelly was helping Miss Flint to pack at the time. She was the
only one our lady would allow to touch a thing, and she had been
comparing the gloves and boots with the pretty hands and feet they were
to cover. She was never put out with Miss Flint's speeches, and she
only laughed back and said,—
"'I wish I were like you, and always had sense enough to prefer comfort
to looks; perhaps I shall improve with you for an example.'
"Miss Flint's answer was a tap on the head with the sole of a new boot
as she said, 'For shame, Nelly, to make game of an old woman like me!'
"Miss Nelly was kneeling in front of the box, and what did she do but
jump up and kiss Miss Flint.
"'There's a kiss for a blow,' she said, 'and I hope you feel ashamed
of your wicked, false accusations. Who ever meant to make game of you?
Not I, and you know it. I may be saucy sometimes, as you call me, but I
never did make fun of anybody that is old in my life. Besides, I don't
call you "old." If you only didn't—'
"Miss Nelly stopped, as if even she were afraid to finish.
"'Didn't what, Miss?' asked the mistress.
"'Make yourself look old by dressing so queerly; people will make game
if they see any one got up like a—'
"'Guy?' put in Miss Flint, with a grim look on her face.
"'Well, yes,' says Miss Nelly; 'only guys are not ladies, you see.
They are always stuffed into a man's old clothes, not a woman's; but I
cannot just think of another word.'
"'Your mother spoke of my looking as if I had come out of Noah's ark.
She did not say it to me, but there are always good-natured people who
try to make capital for themselves out of their neighbours' spiteful
remarks. One of these told me what Mrs. Burford said.'
"'And it was a horrid, mean thing to do,' said Nelly, her cheeks all
red with anger. 'My mother is your old friend, you know, and would like
you to dress nicely for your own sake.'
"Miss Flint's face looked very queer as the young lady said this; but I
am sure, whatever she might think of the mother, she liked the daughter
to stand up for her. And it came all the better from Miss Nelly,
because Mrs. Burford always made so much more of her sister than of
herself.
"Miss Flint did not speak for the moment, and the young lady went on
again—
"'I do not believe anybody would recommend themselves to you by
tattling and repeating things. Lots of people get separated and there's
no end of mischief made by such hateful, sneaking ways. You just say a
word, perhaps, when you are vexed, and you never meant to be unkind,
and it would be forgotten if some miserable tale-bearer did not pick
it up, add twenty more to it, and whisper the whole in the very ears
it ought never to have reached. Now, let me tell you something, Miss
Flint. I don't care a scrap how you dress for my own sake. If you had
your gown inside out and your bonnet back to front, I would rather
be with you than with half my mother's fine-feathered friends put
together. Only I do like you well enough to wish you to look what you
easily might do—very distinguished and bonny.'"
"I should have thought there was no need to make Miss Flint more
distinguished-looking, in one sense," I said. "She was always sure to
be noticed, even in a crowd."
"True enough," replied Jane Cartwright. "But Miss Nelly meant something
different from that."
"Certainly she did. Well, how did Miss Flint take these bold words?"
"Why," continued Jane, "she said,—
"'You are a saucy chit, Nelly. It is high time you were at school and
learning to treat your elders with proper reverence. Go on with the
packing, child. Some day you shall choose me a new gown and bonnet, and
I will see if I can recognise Dorothy Flint in them. But mind, I shall
not promise to wear them twice. If the feathers do not suit the old
bird, the young one shall pay the penalty by having them "cut down" for
her.'
"'What lovely things I will choose!' cried Miss Nelly, clapping her
hands with delight. 'They shall be right for me, second hand; only you
will like them so much that you will never be able to part with them as
long as they will hang together.'
"Miss Flint said no more, but she turned her back on the young lady,
and stood for ever so long as if she were gazing out of the window.
But I do not believe she saw anything. She might make-believe to scold
and call Miss Nelly a chit, and wonder what girls were coming to
now-a-days. But the truth was, she did not care to let anybody see how
she had been stirred by the clasp of the young arms round her neck,
the touch of the rosy lips on her cheek, and the honest words that had
reached her ears.
"I saw signs of tears when at last the mistress turned round, though
they had been carefully wiped away. And she sniffed and made a fuss as
if she were beginning with a cold, and said to Nelly that she was glad
they would soon be off, for this climate did not suit her."
Jane Cartwright's description of this little scene was so true to life
that I was sure of its absolute correctness. I knew instinctively, that
she had taken the greatest pains to remember all that passed between
Miss Flint and Nelly, because she knew the details would interest me,
and I felt more gratitude than I durst express in words.
After all, I had great cause to rejoice that Nelly travelled under
cousin Dorothy's convoy. But for this, I should have heard nothing
about her movements. As it was, Miss Flint employed Nelly to write on
her behalf to Jane Cartwright, not merely to give certain instructions
about the care of Lint Hall, but to tell her of the journey and safe
arrival.
Nelly must have liked her task, for she wrote at great length, gave
many amusing particulars of their movements, and especially about some
delightful days spent in what Miss Flint called "gadding up and down
together" before her own actual school-life began. The cheery letter
proved that cousin Dorothy had been very kind, and that Nelly was also
well satisfied with her new life and surroundings.
Jane Cartwright gave me the letter to read, after having told most of
the news it contained in the presence of Jabez and Betsy.
"There are no secrets, Mr. John, so you can read it if you like.
There's just a bit over the leaf at the very last, where Miss Nelly
mentions you."
Jane turned to her old friends and spoke of home matters as she handed
me the letter.
Need I say the "bit over the leaf" was the first to which I gave my
attention, though it was the last paragraph of the letter. It was as
follows:—
"I am sorry Miss Flint seems so set against poor Jack. One thing that
made me glad at the thought of travelling with her was the hope that I
might put in a word for him, seeing how badly he has been used by those
who pretended to be his father's friends. She might make everything
right for him, but she will not hear a word about him. Just the one
person I may not name is Jack Simpson. She quite flew up when I tried,
and said 'she' could see through that young man. He had tried to curry
favour by paying some money that his father borrowed of her; but she
was or would be fifty pounds the better, and he just where he was
before.
"She quite chuckled over this, and I felt so wild with anger that, if
I could, I would have run away from Miss Flint that minute; but I had
no chance. However, I don't care now; I know what Jack is, and he will
always be the same to me as when we played together and were friends
before his trouble came. Some day I hope Miss Flint will be ashamed of
herself."
Little cared I about Miss Flint's opinion, so long as I had the
testimony of my own conscience as to my motive in paying her the fifty
pounds. Little cared I whether she was willing to listen, so long as I
knew that Nelly would have spoken bravely on my behalf, and that her
feelings towards me were unchanged.
There was another sentence in the letter that made me glad—
"Give my love and messages of remembrance to all dear friends at
Oakhill."
And I felt I had a share in it, and rejoiced accordingly.
My piano was not silent after that evening, neither did I seek the
solitude of my bedroom to muse over old times. Instead of that, I
looked forward with hope, and worked with my might to deserve promotion.
"Wait, I must. Work, I will. Win, I shall in the long-run," said I to
myself as I turned over the little coin attached to my watch-chain,
and read once again the words so clearly cut upon it, and which I had
adopted as my motto.
At that moment, I am not sure that I should have been glad had
everything been made as smooth for me as my girl-friend would have made
my future if she could.
There is a purer pleasure, a truer satisfaction, in putting forth
one's powers and using the talents that have been given us in order to
conquer difficulties, than in merely opening the hand to have it filled
with the fruits of another man's labour. I doubt if I should have
enjoyed the possession of Lint Hall and its broad acres more than I did
my present life of hard work. It was not the loss of house and lands
that troubled me so much now; it was the memory of my father's end,
the empty place in the old home, the thought that it was the nominal
residence of one who did not care to occupy it, and who mentioned his
name, and mine too, with dislike and contempt.
"Well," thought I, "it shall not be my fault if cousin Dorothy
continues to speak ill of us Simpsons; she has no cause to do it, and
she shall have none in the future. I can forgive her for hating me, so
long as she is so kind to Nelly Burford; and if ever I have the chance,
I will try to do her a good turn, instead of rendering evil for evil."