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SIR WALTER SCOTT AND HIS DOGS.
One of my pleasant recollections is that of seeing Sir Walter Scott
out on a stroll with his dogs; the scene being in the neighbourhood of
Abbotsford, in the summer of 1824, while as yet the gloom of misfortune
had not clouded the mind of the great man. There he was limping gaily
along with his pet companions amidst the rural scenes which he had
toiled to secure and loved so dearly.
Scott's fondness for animals has perhaps never been sufficiently
acknowledged. It was with him a kind of second nature, and appears to
have been implanted when as a child he was sent on a visit to the house
of his grandfather, Robert Scott, at Sandyknowe, in the neighbourhood
of Dryburgh. Here, amidst flocks of sheep and lambs, talked to and
fondled by shepherds and ewe-milkers, and revelling with collies, he
was impressed with a degree of affectionate feeling for animals which
lasted through life. At a subsequent visit to Sandyknowe, when his
grandfather had passed away, and the farm operations were administered
by 'Uncle Thomas,' he was provided with a Shetland pony to ride upon.
The pony was little larger than many a Newfoundland dog. It walked
freely into the house, and was regularly fed from the boy's hand. He
soon learned to ride the little pony well, and often alarmed 'Aunt
Jenny' by cantering over the rough places in the neighbourhood. Such
were the beginnings of Scott's intercourse with animals. Growing up,
there was something extraordinary in his attachment to his dogs,
his horses, his ponies, and his cats; all of which were treated by
him, each in its own sphere, as agreeable companions, and which were
attached to him in return. There may have been something feudal and
poetic in this kindly association with humble adherents, but there was
also much of simple good-heartedness. Scott added not a little to the
happiness of his existence by this genial intercourse with his domestic
pets. From Lockhart's Memoirs of Sir Walter, and other works, we have
occasionally bright glimpses of the great man's familiarity with his
four-footed favourites. We can see that Scott did not, as is too often
the case, treat them capriciously, as creatures to be made of at one
time, and spoken to harshly when not in the vein for amusement. On the
contrary, they were elevated to the position of friends. They possessed
rights to be respected, feelings which it would be scandalous to
outrage. At all times he had a soothing word, and a kind pat, for every
one of them. And that, surely, is the proper way to behave towards the
beings who are dependent on us.
Among Sir Walter's favourite dogs we first hear of Camp, a large
bull-terrier, that was taken with him when visiting the Ellises for
a week at Sunninghill in 1803. Mr and Mrs Ellis having cordially
sympathised in his fondness for this animal, Scott, at parting,
promised to send one of Camp's progeny in the course of the season to
Sunninghill. As an officer in a troop of yeomanry cavalry, Scott proved
a good horseman, and we are led to know that he was much attached to
the animal which he rode. In a letter to a friend written at this
period (1803), he says: 'I have, too, a hereditary attachment to the
animal--not, I flatter myself, of the common jockey cast, but because I
regard him as the kindest and most generous of the subordinate animals.
I hardly even except the dogs; at least, they are usually so much
better treated, that compassion for the steed should be thrown into the
scale when we weigh their comparative merits.'
For several years Camp was the constant parlour dog. He was handsome,
intelligent, and fierce, but gentle as a lamb among the children. At
the same time, there were two greyhounds, Douglas and Percy, which were
kept in the country for coursing. Scott kept one window of his study
open, whatever might be the state of the weather, that Douglas and
Percy might leap out and in as the fancy moved them. He always talked
to Camp as if he understood what was said--and the animal certainly
did understand not a little of it; in particular, it seemed as if he
perfectly comprehended on all occasions that his master considered
him a sensible and steady friend; the greyhounds, as volatile young
creatures whose freaks must be borne with.
William Laidlaw, the friend and amanuensis of Scott, mentions in the
_Abbotsford Notanda_ a remarkable instance of Camp's fidelity and
attention. It was on the occasion of a party visiting a wild cataract
in Dumfriesshire, known as the Gray Mare's Tail. There was a rocky
chasm to be ascended, up which Scott made his way with difficulty, on
account of his lameness. 'Camp attended anxiously on his master; and
when the latter came to a difficult part of the rock, Camp would jump
down, look up to his master's face, then spring up, lick his master's
hand and cheek, jump down again, and look upwards, as if to shew him
the way and encourage him. We were greatly interested with the scene.'
The most charming part of Scott's life was, as we think, that which
he spent with his family at Ashestiel, from about 1804 to 1808, part
of which time he was engaged in writing _Marmion_. Ashestiel was a
country mansion situated on the south bank of the Tweed, half way
between Innerleithen and Galashiels, and in what would be called a
solitary mountain district. There was the river for fishing, and the
hills for coursing, and no other amusement. To enliven the scene,
literary friends came on short visits. There was an odd character in
the immediate neighbourhood, called from his parsimony Old Nippie,
whose habits afforded some fun. When still at Ashestiel in 1808, there
is presented a pleasant picture by Lockhart of the way in which Scott
passed the Sunday. The account of it is a perfect Idyll. 'On Sunday
he never rode--at least not until his growing infirmity made his pony
almost necessary for him--for it was his principle that all domestic
animals have a full right to their Sabbath of rest; but after he had
read the Church service, he usually walked with his whole family, dogs
included, to some favourite spot at a considerable distance from the
house--most frequently the ruined tower of Elibank--and there dined
with them in the open air on a basket of cold provisions, mixing his
wine with the water of the brook beside which they were all grouped
around him on the turf; and here, or at home, if the weather kept
them from their ramble, his Sunday talk was just such a series of
biblical lessons as that preserved for the permanent use of the rising
generation in his _Tales of a Grandfather_. He had his Bible, the Old
Testament especially, by heart; and on these days inwove the simple
pathos or sublime enthusiasm of Scripture, in whatever story he was
telling, with the same picturesque richness as he did, in his week-day
tales, the quaint Scotch of Pitscottie, or some rude romantic old rhyme
from Barbour's _Bruce_ or Blind Harry's _Wallace_.'
Failing from old age, Camp was taken by the family to Edinburgh, and
there he died about January 1809. He was buried in a fine moonlight
night in the little garden behind the house, No. 39 Castle Street,
immediately opposite the window where Scott usually sat writing. His
daughter, Mrs Lockhart, remembered 'the whole family standing round
the grave as her father himself smoothed down the turf above Camp with
the saddest expression of face she had ever seen in him. He had been
engaged to dine abroad that day, but apologised on account of "the
death of a dear old friend."' A few months later, Scott says in one of
his letters: 'I have supplied the vacancy occasioned by the death of
dear old Camp with a terrier puppy of the old shaggy Celtic breed,' and
which he named Wallace. This new companion was taken on an excursion
to the Hebrides in 1810, and in time partly compensated for the loss
of Camp. There came, however, a fresh bereavement in 1812, in the
death of the greyhound Percy. Scott alludes to the fact in one of his
letters. 'We are going on in the old way, only poor Percy is dead. I
intend to have an old stone set up by his grave, with _Cy gist li preux
Percie_ [Here lies the brave Percy]; and I hope future antiquaries will
debate which hero of the House of Northumberland has left his bones
in Teviotdale.' The two favourite greyhounds are alluded to in the
Introduction to the second canto of _Marmion_--
Remember'st thou my greyhounds true?
O'er holt or hill there never flew,
From slip or leash there never sprang,
More fleet of foot or sure of fang.
In a letter dated Abbotsford, 1816, written to Terry, with whom he
communicated on literary and dramatic subjects, he says: 'I have got
from my friend Glengarry the noblest dog ever seen on the Border since
Johnnie Armstrong's time. He is between the wolf and deer hound, about
six feet long from the tip of the nose to the tail, and high and strong
in proportion: he is quite gentle and a great favourite. Tell Will.
Erskine he will eat off his plate without being at the trouble to put a
paw on the table or chair. I shewed him to Matthews, who dined one day
in Castle Street before I came here.'
The staghound so introduced was the famous Maida, which came upon the
scene when the Waverley novels were beginning to set the world on fire.
Maida was the crack dog of Scott's life, and figures at his feet in the
well-known sculpture by Steell. He did not quite supersede Wallace and
the other dogs, but assumed among them the most distinguished place,
and might be called the canine major-domo of the establishment. On
visiting Abbotsford in 1817, Washington Irving enjoyed the pleasure of
a ramble with Scott and his dogs. His description of the scene is so
amusing that we can scarcely abate a jot:
'As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment turned out to
attend us. There was the old staghound, Maida, that I have already
mentioned, a noble animal; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a wild
thoughtless youngster, not yet arrived at the years of discretion;
and Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft silken hair, long pendent
ears, and a mild eye, the parlour favourite. When in front of the
house, we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, who came from the
kitchen wagging his tail; and was cheered by Scott as an old friend
and comrade. In our walks, he would frequently pause in conversation,
to notice his dogs, and speak to them as if rational companions;
and, indeed, there appears to be a vast deal of rationality in these
faithful attendants on man, derived from their close intimacy with
him. Maida deported himself with a gravity becoming his age and size,
and seemed to consider himself called upon to preserve a great degree
of dignity and decorum in our society. As he jogged along a little
distance ahead of us, the young dogs would gambol about him, leap on
his neck, worry at his ears, and endeavour to tease him into a gambol.
The old dog would keep on for a long time with imperturbable solemnity,
now and then seeming to rebuke the wantonness of his young companions.
At length he would make a sudden turn, seize one of them, and tumble
him in the dust, then giving a glance at us, as much as to say: "You
see, gentlemen, I can't help giving way to this nonsense," would resume
his gravity, and jog on as before. Scott amused himself with these
peculiarities. "I make no doubt," said he, "when Maida is alone with
these young dogs, he throws gravity aside, and plays the boy as much as
any of them; but he is ashamed to do so in our company, and seems to
say: Ha' done with your nonsense, youngsters: what will the laird and
that other gentleman think of me if I give way to such foolery?"
'Scott amused himself with the peculiarities of another of his dogs,
a little shamefaced terrier, with large glassy eyes, one of the most
sensitive little bodies to insult and indignity in the world. "If ever
he whipped him," he said, "the little fellow would sneak off and hide
himself from the light of day in a lumber garret, from whence there
was no drawing him forth but by the sound of the chopping-knife, as if
chopping up his victuals, when he would steal forth with humiliated and
downcast look, but would skulk away again if any one regarded him."
'While we were discussing the humours and peculiarities of our canine
companions, some object provoked their spleen, and produced a sharp
and petulant barking from the smaller fry; but it was some time before
Maida was sufficiently roused to ramp forward two or three bounds, and
join the chorus with a deep-mouthed _bow wow_. It was but a transient
outbreak, and he returned instantly, wagging his tail, and looking up
dubiously in his master's face, uncertain whether he would receive
censure or applause. "Ay, ay, old boy!" cried Scott, "you have done
wonders; you have shaken the Eildon hills with your roaring; you may
now lay by your artillery for the rest of the day. Maida," continued
he, "is like the great gun at Constantinople; it takes so long to get
it ready, that the smaller guns can fire off a dozen times first."'
Maida accompanied his master to town, where he occupied the place of
the lamented Camp. In the sanctum at Castle Street, Maida lay on the
hearth-rug, ready when called on to lay his head across his master's
knees, and to be caressed and fondled. On the top step of a ladder
for reaching down the books from the higher shelves sat a sleek and
venerable Tom-cat, which Scott facetiously called by the German name
Hinse of Hinsfeldt. Lockhart mentions that Hinse, 'no longer very
locomotive, usually lay watching the proceedings of his master and
Maida with an air of dignified equanimity. When Maida chose to leave
the party, he signified his inclinations by beating the door with his
huge paw; Scott rose and opened it for him with courteous alacrity--and
then Hinse came down purring from his perch, and mounted guard by
the foot-stool, _vice_ Maida absent on furlough. Whatever discourse
might be passing was broken, every now and then, by some affectionate
apostrophe to these four-footed friends. Dogs and cats, like children,
have some infallible tact for discovering who is, and who is not,
really fond of their company; and I venture to say, Scott was never
five minutes in any room before the little pets of the family, whether
dumb or lisping, had found out his kindness for all their generation.'
In letters to his eldest son, Scott seldom fails to tell him how
things are going on with the domesticated animals. For example:
'Hamlet had an inflammatory attack, and I began to think he was going
mad, after the example of his great namesake; but Willie Laidlaw bled
him, and he recovered. Pussy is very well.' Next letter: 'Dogs all
well--cat sick--supposed with eating birds in their feathers.' Shortly
afterwards: 'All here send love. Dogs and cat are well. I daresay
you have heard from some other correspondent that poor Lady Wallace
[a favourite pony] died of an inflammation after two days' illness.
Trout [a favourite pointer] has returned here several times, poor
fellow, and seems to look for you; but Henry Scott is very kind to
him.' In a succeeding letter we have the account of an accident to
Maida: 'On Sunday, Maida walked with us, and in jumping the paling at
the Greentongue park, contrived to hang himself up by the hind-leg. He
howled at first, but seeing us making towards him, he stopped crying,
and waved his tail, by way of signal, it was supposed, for assistance.
He sustained no material injury, though his leg was strangely twisted
into the bars, and he was nearly hanging by it. He shewed great
gratitude, in his way, to his deliverers.'
At Abbotsford, in the autumn of 1820, when a large party, including
Sir Humphry Davy, Dr Wollaston, and Henry Mackenzie were sallying
out--Scott on his pony Sybyl Grey, with Maida gambolling about
him--there was some commotion and laughter when it was discovered that
a little black pig was frisking about and apparently resolved to be
one of the party for the day. Scott tried to look stern, and cracked
his whip at the creature, but was in a moment obliged to join in the
general cheers. Poor piggy was sent home. 'This pig,' says Lockhart,
'had taken, nobody could tell how, a most sentimental attachment to
Scott, and was constantly urging his pretensions to be admitted a
regular member of his _tail_ along with the greyhounds and terriers;
but indeed, I remember him suffering another summer under the same
sort of pertinacity on the part of an affectionate hen. I leave the
explanation for philosophers--but such were the facts.'
Mr Adolphus, a visitor to Abbotsford in 1830, when the health of the
great writer was breaking down under his honourable and terribly
imposed task-work, gives us not the least striking instance of Scott's
wonderful considerateness towards animals. 'In the morning's drive we
crossed several fords, and after the rain they were wide and deep.
A little, long, wise-looking, rough terrier, named Spice, which ran
after us, had a cough, and as often as we came to a water, Spice, by
the special order of his master, was let into the carriage till we
had crossed. His tenderness to his brute dependants was a striking
point in the benignity of his character. He seemed to consult not only
their bodily welfare, but their feelings, in the human sense. He was a
gentleman even to his dogs.' When too roughly frolicsome, he rebuked
them gently, so as not to mortify them, or spoil the natural buoyancy
of their character.
We could extend these memorabilia, but have perhaps said enough. Maida
died in October 1824, and is commemorated in a sculptured figure at the
doorway of Abbotsford. His attached master wrote an epitaph on him in
Latin, which he thus Englished:
Beneath the sculptured form which late you wore,
Sleep soundly, Maida, at your master's door.
It was a sad pang for Scott, when quitting home to seek for health
abroad, and which he did not find, to leave the pet dogs which survived
Maida. His last orders were that they should be taken care of. We may
be permitted to join in the noble eulogium pronounced on Scott by
Willie Laidlaw, who lived to mourn his loss, that Kindness of heart was
positively the reigning quality of Sir Walter's character!
W. C.
THE LAST OF THE HADDONS.
CHAPTER XXI.--OUR EXPERIMENT.
I watched Lilian very anxiously for a few days after our visit to
Fairview. But although it had given her a shock to find Arthur Trafford
already upon such familiar terms there, whilst there had been no
call at the cottage, nor even a message sent to inquire after our
well-being, she was not permanently depressed in consequence. I must
do Arthur Trafford the justice to say that I think he was ashamed
of sending conventional messages under the circumstances, and felt
that bad as silence was, it was in better taste than meaningless
words. Nevertheless, his sister might have contrived a call, had she
possessed the something besides blue blood, which, in dear Mrs Tipper's
estimation, constitutes a gentlewoman, sufficiently to recollect past
kindness, and act up to her former rôle of being Lilian's friend.
Fortunately, Lilian did not depend upon her friendship.
'Do not fear for me, Mary,' she whispered, rightly interpreting my
anxious looks.
I did not fear for her--in the long-run. I knew that in time she
would come to be even ashamed of having given the name of love to her
infatuation for Arthur Trafford. But to attain that end, she must not
be allowed to dream over the past; and I was casting about in my mind
in the hope of finding some plan for employing our time which would be
sufficiently interesting to absorb the attention of her mind as well as
her hands. Pupils Mrs Tipper would not hear of; nor would she allow us
to render any assistance in the housekeeping, insisting that Becky and
she had no more to do than they could very easily get through. Indeed
Becky worked with a will; Mrs Tipper and she were the best of friends;
and nothing would have pleased them better than keeping Lilian and me
in the parlour in state, and waiting upon us.
Fortunately we neither of us inclined for that kind of state. Lilian
knew as well as I did that hers was not a nature to be nursed and
petted out of a trouble. As people thoroughly in earnest generally do,
we soon found a way of filling up our time--a way which had a spice of
novelty and adventure in it, specially adapted to our present frame of
mind.
About a mile distant, on the high-road leading from the left of the
village towards the town of Grayleigh, were a few cottages, which had
been erected for the accommodation of the labourers upon some fruit and
hop growing grounds in the vicinity. Lilian and I had come upon them
in one of our walks; and their forlorn uncared-for aspect appealed to
our sympathies, and set us thinking about the possibility of a remedy.
At length an idea suggested itself to us. During the daytime, at this
season of the year, they were all unoccupied but one, where dwelt an
old woman past work, and who was, as she proudly informed us, kept
out of the workhouse by her children. Through the medium of this old
woman, we applied for permission to do what we could for the absent
wives and mothers, in the way of making the desolate-looking hovels
more like homes. There seemed some difficulty in obtaining leave. We
afterwards found that there had been grave deliberations as to the
expediency of allowing us the freedom of the place, there being all
sorts of doubts and speculations as to our motives. But after two or
three visits to old Sally Dent, during which she sharply questioned and
cross-questioned us, she gave us to understand that it was agreed that
we might try what we could do; though I believe permission was given
more out of curiosity to see what our intention was, than from anything
else; and she was cautious enough to inform us that they reserved to
themselves the right of putting a summary stop to our visits whenever
it should please them so to do. For the present, Sally Dent gave us the
key of the end cottage, which was to be duly returned when what she
ungraciously termed our 'rummaging' was over.
'Not as you will find much to rummage at Meg Lane's,' chuckled the old
woman. 'She ain't taken any pride in her home since she had to sell her
bits of things when they were down with the fever.'
It did appear rather unwarrantable to unlock the door and enter the
place in the absence of the inmates, before we had even made their
acquaintance; but we satisfied ourselves with the hope that the
end would be found to justify the means; and the very first day we
contrived to leave a pleasant indication of our intentions.
The cottage contained two rooms up-stairs, and one on the ground floor
opening to the road, with a little back scullery. We did not intrude
into the upper regions, contenting ourselves with putting things into
some sort of order in the little sitting-room. Perhaps I had better
not describe how very real our work was, and how hopeless at first
seemed the task we had undertaken. But we worked with a will, enjoying
many a little jest at the idea of what Mrs Tipper's astonishment would
be if she could see us with our sleeves tucked up sweeping out dirty
corners, when we were supposed to be taking our daily constitutional
as decorous gentlewomen should. Lilian devoted herself to one dirty
cupboard with a pertinacity which, I gravely informed her, did equal
honour to her head and heart, considering the time it would take to
make any visible improvement. Four shelves filled with a heterogeneous
collection of unwashed cups and saucers, bread new and stale, scraps
of meat (some not too fresh), a jug coated with a thick fur of sour
milk, dirty plates, mugs smelling of stale beer, bits of old pipes, and
so forth--'all canopied o'er' with spiders' webs, certainly were an
undertaking.
But it must not be supposed that we intended solely to employ ourselves
in sweeping and cleaning: no indeed; the little we did in that way
was only intended to serve as a suggestion for others to carry out.
Our ambition was to induce the people to begin to feel that they had
homes, and so in time to take some little pride in keeping them neat
themselves.
The small amount of money which we allowed ourselves to spend was spent
in a way which might not a little surprise some people. We tried to
make the little room attractive, with an ornament or two, which though
inexpensive, were in good taste and pretty in shape and colouring--a
primitive hanging shelf with two or three neatly bound books, a clean
blind, a nicely framed print for the wall, and so forth, all new and
fresh and bright; a contrast with the blackened ceiling, which we
hoped would in time suggest whitewash. Then we boldly challenged our
hosts, as we laughingly termed them, with a clean hearth; and after
persisting two or three days, we were delighted to find that the hint
was taken--that our clean hearth-stone had brought about a decently
brushed grate.
By this time we were presented with the key of the next cottage,
together with a pressing invitation to extend the field of our
operations. As days went on we began to feel a little proud of our
success, such as it was, though it could not be said to have been
achieved without difficulty. In the outset, all sorts of obstacles
were placed in our way. It took us, for instance, some days to bring a
certain dirty table to reason. After cleaning away sundry marks, such
as beer-stains, which offended our sense of propriety, we invariably
found it as dirty as ever. A more unmanageable piece of business than
this obstinate old table is not often found. It really was depressing,
as Lilian said, to find our efforts so entirely ignored, not to say set
at naught; though of course we did not intend to yield. We tried the
effect of placing a little round waiter on the table, in the hope that
its use would suggest itself; but without any good result. At length
I began to perceive that this was a case in which we were contending
against one of the lords of creation, and that for some reason he
considered it necessary to assert his independence.
'It's old Jemmy Rodgers as lives with his darter,' explained Sally
Dent, to whom I had put a question upon the point. 'He says you ain't
a-doing all this for nothing--'t ain't likely; and he ain't a-going to
give in to the new ways till he knows for certain what's to come of it.'
'I should think he might be sure no harm could come of it.'
'He ain't so sure, Miss. _He_ says' (carefully fixing the
responsibility upon Jemmy Rodgers) 'that perhaps you only wants to make
us all obligated to you, so as we can't shake you off when you comes
by-and-by a-worriting about'----
'About what?' I asked, seeing that she hesitated to go on.
'Well, there; he says, most like you have got hold of some newfangled
way for saving souls, and you wants to try it on we. William Marther,
he says there's all sorts of new ways a-being tried up in London.
But we are old-fashioned folks, and we've got enough to do to read
our Bibles and 'tend to what the clergyman says. He's a good kind
gentleman; and if he worrits a bit about the drink and all that, we
don't mind it from he, because he shews us the texts for what he says,
and there's no saying nay to _them_.'
I very gravely assured her that I had no intention whatever of
worriting; and that we did not, at anyrate for the present, even desire
to make the acquaintance of the cottagers.
'But you must have _some_ reason for doing it, Miss; at least Jemmy
Rodgers ses so,' said Sally Dent, eyeing us sharply.
'Tell Jemmy Rodgers that if he attended more to what Mr Wyatt teaches,
he would not be so ready to doubt others,' I replied.
And leaving that to sink into Jemmy Rodgers' heart, we cleaned away
at the table again. All to no purpose; that table represented Jemmy
Rodgers' independence of us and our help, and we regularly found
it in the same state every morning. But we made up our minds that
even Jemmy Rodgers must have a weakness somewhere; and after a few
diplomatic questions to Sally Dent, we discovered it. Once his weakness
discovered, Jemmy Rodgers was vanquished, though it cost us five
shillings to do it, and he really did not deserve to have that much
spent upon him. But by-and-by perhaps, he would understand that it was
the victory only which had been paid for. A neat little bracket was
placed beside the fireplace, and on it, Jemmy Rodgers one evening found
a pretty stone tobacco-jar filled with good tobacco, and a nice new
pipe. Not a little curiously did we open the door the next morning.
There was only one mark on the table, and that a very faint one, as a
sort of feeble protest that Jemmy Rodgers was not to be bought; but
after that we were left to our own devices; regarded, I think, as
eccentric, but eccentric in a way that no one had any right to object
to--something like children who had a fancy for playing at being
servants.
Be that as it may, we were beginning to be rewarded in the way we most
cared for. There were unmistakable signs of a disposition to keep
the little homes in a more orderly state; and the delight our modest
offerings in the way of ornament gave, was very marked as well as
suggestive.
The love which the poor display for some little possession in the way
of ornament, is not always, I think, sufficiently considered. I can
only say that I have known one little thing of beauty, or even a faint
and blurred image of beauty, to have a more refining influence in a
cottage home than many would suspect. Wherever a cherished bit of china
or what not is found, there will be also found some tendency towards
making the surroundings more worthy of it.
I found that our proceedings not a little puzzled Mr Wyatt; an
earnest, anxious, good man, well known as a friend to the poor in all
directions. He too for a time was under the impression that we might
possibly be paving the way to introduce doctrinal matters, and felt
it, I think, to be his duty to ascertain what these were. It was, I
knew, not by chance he one morning made his appearance at the door of
a cottage we happened to be at work in. I was busily engaged hammering
in a nail for a picture, and did not turn my head when the sunlight
streamed in through the open doorway, imagining that Lilian had
re-entered, she having gone to borrow a broom from the next house.
'A more wrong-headed nail than this never existed! We must not forget
nails the next time we go to Grayleigh, Lilian.'
'I beg your pardon.'
I turned hastily round and met the eyes of Mr Wyatt. Descending
from the chair, as gracefully as might be, with due regard to its
ricketiness, I offered my hand.
'How do you do, Mr Wyatt? We are not quite strangers, I think?'
'No, indeed,' he replied, looking not a little relieved. Though in
the interests of his poor, he had made up his mind to find out who
and what we were, he was too much a gentleman to enjoy doing it. I
knew afterwards that he had feared having to do battle with some
lady with objectionable views and an objectionable way of advocating
them; and it was therefore natural enough he should be a great deal
relieved to see one of the members of his small congregation. As I have
said elsewhere, Lilian and I had, in the prosperous days, preferred
attending the primitive little church on the road to Grayleigh, to
going to the newly built and more highly decorated church on the hill.
And as the congregation consisted mostly of labouring people and the
small shopkeepers in the village, it was natural that the appearance
of two strangers should attract some attention, which had led to his
introducing himself, and a pleasant acquaintance springing up between
us.
It was this little church which the inmates of the 'Home,' as it was
gracefully designated, attended; sitting in the organ-loft, where
they were out of range of curious eyes; a consideration for which I
afterwards found they were indebted to Mr Wyatt. We had frequently
passed them on their road to church; and I had been painfully struck by
the hopeless, not to say sullen and discontented aspect of most of the
women, as they filed slowly along, the matron's rich silks and velvets
in too marked a contrast to the ugliness of her charge's attire, which
I thought savoured unnecessarily of prison uniform for those who were
supposed to be struggling to free themselves from past associations.
Then I was disappointed that my occasional smile and word, as we stood
aside for them to pass into the porch, should be considered an offence
by the matron, as it so evidently was. And I could not see why I should
not offer a few violets I was carrying, which the eyes of one of the
women seemed to ask for as we passed them one morning in the road.
'I am to give 'em back, Miss,' she exclaimed, running after me and
putting them into my hand. 'It's against rules, please--that is, the
mistress says I mustn't have them.'
'Well, I cannot present you with the beautiful sky, and that lark's
song, and the glorious sunshine, for they are yours already; but please
take my good-wishes and give me yours.'
She stood gazing at me a moment, then turned away without a word, and
ran back.
'This,' continued Mr Wyatt, '_is_ a surprise, Miss Haddon. I did not
at all expect to find you to be one of the mysterious ladies I have of
late heard so much about from the cottagers here. Is Miss'----
'Yes; Miss Maitland is the other delinquent,' I smilingly replied, as
he hesitated over the name, and so shewed me that he knew something
of what had occurred. At this moment Lilian came in, her skirts and
sleeves tucked up, a handkerchief tied corner-wise over her hair, and a
broom in her hand.
'We really must contrive to squeeze a better broom than this out of
next week's allowance, Mary; it won't go into the corners a bit.' (We
had agreed to restrict ourselves to spending only so much a week upon
our protégées, leaving the rest to our own ingenuity.) 'We cannot make
brooms, you know; and oh'----
'Mr Wyatt, Lilian.'
He gave her a low bow in return for hers, and I fancied that I
understood why he was a trifle more embarrassed with her than with me.
Lilian had never looked more lovely than she did thus, her refined
order of beauty idealising her working dress. The clear, deep-blue
eyes, hair of _unpurchasable_ gold, the soft rosy cheeks, and white
delicately rounded arms bared, to the elbow, what a charming picture
it was! I do not think I would even have dispensed with the little
stray black, which had perched itself at the edge of a dimple,
much more effectively than anything in the way of a patch could do
it. One might have imagined her the beautiful Princess who went as
serving-maid in the Ogre's castle, protected only by her goodness and
innocence--all-sufficient protectors in fairy tales, and more than they
are always allowed to be in real life--to obtain the release of her
captive father. She was so natural too, and devoid of all attempts to
attract; and only sensitive as a pure good girl, with a delicate sense
of truth and honour, is sensitive.
'You have heard what we are attempting here, Mr Wyatt?' I asked.
'Yes;' slowly and awkwardly. 'But I am not altogether sure that I
understand your plan.'
I gave him a little explanation of what our intentions were; and he
listened gravely and politely, though I could see that I did not
entirely succeed in proselytising him. He was ready enough to give
us credit for good intentions; but when we were bold enough to ask
his opinion as to our succeeding, he acknowledged that he had not
much hope of our being able to do permanent good. And when Lilian a
little triumphantly told him about our success with Jemmy Rodgers, he
smilingly pointed out that that was a success which had been purchased.
In truth he confessed that he belonged to the old school, and did not
take kindly to innovations.
'I do not, for example, like seeing a lady doing such work as Miss
Maitland is doing for people who have quite enough time to keep their
own homes clean and neat, if they would only do so, instead of going
down to spend their spare hours at the village ale-house.'
'But we are hoping to get them to do that, Mr Wyatt,' said Lilian. 'We
are trying to make the homes more attractive than the ale-houses.'
'I can only hope you will succeed, Miss Mervyn.'
'Well, I call it a tiny bit of success to get Meg Lane, as they call
her, to brighten her fire-grate and clean her window.'
'Purchased,' he replied, smilingly.
But I could see that he advanced his objections hesitatingly and
doubtfully; and I felt that he would be ready enough to acknowledge
that we were right, whenever we could prove that we were; and we
did not despair of that in time. Moreover, he had now no fear of our
attempting to disturb the faith of his flock.
We came off a great deal better with Mr Wyatt than with the district
visitors at the cottages; though even they recognised the wisdom of
non-interference, and kept aloof, paying their weekly visits in the
afternoons when we had retired. Nevertheless, we quite understood why
we were always finding certain tracts of a very decided tendency placed
in our way, had old Sally Dent not informed us that we were regarded
as not being quite 'safe.' We just worked on, and did not intrude
ourselves upon the residents at the cottages; not even knowing them by
sight, and making a _détour_ on our way to church on Sundays, for the
purpose of avoiding them.
CHAPTER XXII.--MORE WEAK THAN WICKED.
Robert Wentworth took good care that our time should not hang heavily
upon our hands when we were at home, urging us to work, and keeping
us well supplied with books, such as he had gradually got me into the
habit of reading--books which required some little mental exercise for
their proper appreciation. Moreover, he demanded notes, a paraphrase,
or criticism, upon all we read; being very exacting about our getting
thoroughly to the root of the subject treated upon, and having no mercy
upon what he termed a slovenly habit of thinking.
We were much amused at the tests he gave us, and the impossibility of
throwing dust in his eyes. If Lilian wrote my thoughts upon a subject,
and I hers, he detected which belonged to which with an unerring
readiness which proved that our minds were as open books to him. The
very difference in his treatment of us when he found us flagging,
bantering--not to say taunting--me, and encouraging Lilian, I now think
was a proof that he knew the kind of spur we each needed. And although
I believed that he was doing all this for Lilian's sake, I was none the
less grateful for the benefit it was to me. At his suggestion, Lilian
was doing a little French with me, for which she gave me German; whilst
our sketch-books were not allowed to lie entirely unused. All this,
with what dear Mrs Tipper called our long walks--she did not as yet
know how our mornings were employed--sent us healthily tired each night
to bed.
Robert Wentworth came down twice and sometimes three times during the
week; and after we had given him a _résumé_ of the work we had done in
the interval, we finished the evenings with music and singing. Lilian's
voice was not her least charm. Then would come some triumph of dear
Mrs Tipper's skill in the way of little appetising dainties for our
substantial tea, and afterwards Lilian and I went along the lanes with
him as far as the stile, which separated them from the fields, in the
summer moonlight, bidding him goodnight there.
It was a pleasant life, though at the time I naturally could not think
it _the_ pleasantest; it was merely the pleasant peaceful prelude--the,
so to speak, preparation for the fuller life to come. But best of all,
Lilian was beginning to enter into it with real enjoyment, less as a
life lived from duty than from love.
'It is what I never hoped for--to see my darling get over it so well as
this!' confided dear Mrs Tipper to me.
'They cannot at anyrate call her broken-hearted at present,' was my
cheerful rejoinder.
'No, indeed, dear. I shall begin now to hope that by-and-by some one
more worthy of her may have a chance; and I shall yet live to see my
Lilian's children about me.--And you too will be thinking of getting
married presently, dear?' with what I fancied was an inquiring glance.
I murmured something to the effect that perhaps my time would come;
even then shrinking a little nervously from entering into details.
'Of course it will, dear; and Lilian's too. Already there is Mr Wyatt
making all sorts of excuses for finding his way to the cottage. A nice
gentleman; isn't he, dear--shews what brings him so plain too; doesn't
he?'
Yes, he did shew it plainly; no doubt of that. If he did not already
love Lilian, he was on the very verge of it. But that was not at all in
accordance with my hopes.
'You forget Mr Wentworth,' I put in smilingly. She looked up into my
face for a moment; then bent over her knitting again, as I went on: 'I
think you must have guessed what brings _him_ so often down here now?'
'Yes, Mary; yes, I have, dear.'
'And so have I; but I suppose it's early days for talking of it yet.'
'Very well, dear; you know best about that, of course. I will only say
that Robert Wentworth is a great favourite of mine.'
'That is because he is so good, auntie,' said Lilian, who had caught
the last words as she entered the room. 'He is the very best and
kindest friend we have known.'
'The _very_ best, dearie?' I asked.
She flushed to her temples; then, after a moment, repeated in a low
clear tone: 'The very best and kindest, Mary.'
I was quite satisfied. No love-lorn damsel could talk in that way.
Arthur Trafford no longer disturbed her peace. Everything was going
on favourably for Robert Wentworth; and the sooner poor Mr Wyatt was
allowed to perceive the real state of the case, the better for his
future peace.
Two months had glided thus pleasantly away. There was now only one
shadow upon Lilian's mind, though that was an abiding one. The wrong
done to the innocent mother was not likely to be forgotten by her
child. It was that, and _not_ the loss of her lover, which caused the
soft yearning regretful expression that still lingered in the beautiful
blue eyes.
Fortunately, we had accustomed ourselves to think of Arthur Trafford
as Miss Farrar's lover, before the news reached us that it was so;
and I was very proud of Lilian's calm reception of it. After that, it
was easy to get over the additional information that the marriage was
arranged to take place very shortly.
Marian adopted the tone--I think I knew by whom it was suggested--of
Arthur Trafford having been badly treated by Lilian, who had cruelly
cast him off; and that made matters easier for us all. As Marian said,
Lilian could not blame her for accepting one whom she herself had
rejected. Nor had she had any misgivings about his love. Fortunately
for her own peace, she did not suspect that Arthur Trafford's love for
her was less than hers for him. And the readiness with which he had
transferred his affections was interpreted in the same convenient way.
'The truth is, he had not seen _me_ when he engaged himself to Lilian,'
she confided to me in a little aside. '_You_ knew he admired me from
the very first; _now_, didn't you, Miss Haddon? I don't blame you
now for being cross about his paying me such compliments when he was
engaged to Lilian; he really couldn't help it, poor fellow! And I do
believe that if Lilian had played her cards well, he would have acted
honourably to her; he says he should. But you can't blame me for being
glad things have turned out as they have, neither. Caroline says only
_envious_ people would blame me.'
I really did not much blame her. I suppose she acted up to her
perception in the matter; and I know she meant now to be good-natured.
I will do her the justice to say she was honestly glad to find that
Lilian shewed no sign of distress at the engagement.
'If you had been miserable or disagreeable about it, I don't know what
I should have done, dear,' she said with engaging confidence. 'It would
be like that story in the what's-its-name, you know, two sisters in
love with the same man. Though I don't think--I'm _sure_ I shouldn't
have poisoned you. I expect I should have joined your hands, and then
died of a broken heart;' sentimentally.
At which Lilian broke into a smile, and Marian was satisfied. In truth,
no one could now have imagined Lilian a love-sick damsel, so improved
was she in health and spirits by our present life.
Marian was very pressing with us to be present at the wedding, which
was to be a very grand one, she told us.
'But I tell Caroline, I shan't care for it a bit if Lilian won't be
first bridesmaid. And it shouldn't cost you a penny, dear,' she urged.
'Everything of the very best, and made at Madame Michaud, if you will
only say you will come?'
But Lilian was firm; and then Marian tried the effect of her persuasive
powers upon Mrs Tipper.
'You really must, aunt. It would look worse for you to stop away than
even for Lilian--my own aunt!'
But Mrs Tipper also shewed that it was not to be thought of; and Marian
at length came to the conclusion that their refusal arose from their
sense of the wrong done to Lilian's mother; though she was quite as
much at a loss to account for that as for everything else we did.
'I don't see why you should be so put out about a thing which can't be
helped. When it was thought that it was _my_ Ma who had been taken in,
I behaved sensibly about it; and why can't Lilian and you do the same?'
Great preparation were being made for the event; and a great deal of
company--'Caroline's' friends--was constantly at Fairview. Rumours
reached us that the bridegroom expectant was not in very good health;
indeed it was said that the marriage was being hastened on that
account, a change of climate having been recommended for a while.
I saw him once only before his marriage, and that happened by chance.
Had Lilian really suffered from his desertion of her--had I felt any
desire to see her avenged--I must have been satisfied. As it was I
felt almost inclined to pity him, as more weak than wicked. I do
not believe that any utterly bad man would be as heartily ashamed
of himself as Arthur Trafford appeared to be when he saw Lilian for
the first time after his approaching marriage with 'Miss Farrar' was
announced.
The Fairview party were attending morning service at the little church
to which Lilian and I went. I do not think that they had the slightest
expectation of seeing us there; since they could not know that we
should choose the long walk to that out-of-the-way little church, in
preference to attending the one in the village. Most probably they went
there for the drive, or perhaps to create a little sensation, which
Miss Farrar was candid enough to acknowledge she had a _penchant_ for
doing.
They were shewn into the best pew, as befitted people who had arrived
in state, the old clerk himself seeing that their wants in the way
of hassocks and hymn-books were duly supplied, before signing to
his subordinate to cease pulling _the_ bell, and stepping back into
the vestry for Mr Wyatt, whom he always carefully buttoned into his
reading-desk before shutting himself up in his own square box beneath.
How thankful I felt that although Arthur Trafford could see Lilian,
she was so placed that she could not see him. I was glad too that he
should see her thus--shewing no traces of suffering from his desertion,
her face blooming with the delicate rose-tint of health, and its whole
expression calm, and sweet, and pure; whilst she joined in the service
in a way which betokened no wandering thoughts, unconscious of the
eyes bent upon her half in shame, half in regret. He was surprised, I
fancied even disagreeably so, to find his loss borne so calmly as this.
And though he no doubt persuaded himself that he was glad to see that
his desertion had not permanently injured her, his vanity was wounded.
It was just as well that the bride-elect had no misgivings about
herself, and was too much occupied in admiring some bracelets, which I
suppose she was wearing for the first time, to notice the direction of
her lover's eyes. She did not perceive us where we sat, and I contrived
to whisper a few words so as to draw Lilian's attention from them,
as they passed down the aisle on their way out. They had driven away
before she knew that they had been there, and I was rejoiced to find
that her walk home was none the less enjoyed for my telling her of it.