The Mickle Family
WREYFORD was an old-fashioned market-town with one principal street,
called Fore Street, where private houses intermingled with shops; and
the eyes of passers-by were refreshed by glimpses of pretty gardens,
a-bloom with flowers in summer-time, stretching in front of roomy,
comfortable-looking, stuccoed dwellings.
The town lay in a valley between two sheltering hills, and the
gardens at the back of many of the houses stretched to the river—
the Wrey—which, as it flowed by Wreyford, was little more than a
sparkling stream, though some ten miles further on its course
it broadened considerably, and was navigable for small boats.
The town of Wreyford was flat, but it was impossible to walk far
beyond in any direction without ascending a hill, when one was fully
repaid by the extensive and beautiful views to be seen, look which
way one would, of rich pastures and woods, the silvery river winding
serpent-like along, and far in the distance the Exmoor hills.
On the summit of one of the hills, called Haresdown Hill, overlooking
the town, stood the parish church—a grey, weather-beaten edifice
with a high tower inhabited by hundreds of jackdaws, and bats
innumerable; and encircled by a churchyard where many crumbling
tombstones, with almost obliterated inscriptions, testified to the
antiquity of the burying-ground. The church was nearly a mile from
the town, and the winding road, which led to it up the hill, was a
favourite walk of Wreyford people, who were justly proud of the fine
old building standing in solitary stateliness, keeping watch, as it
were, over the town beneath. It had been built and endowed in the
twelfth century by a famous follower of Richard I, as a
thank-offering to God for his safe return from the Holy Land, where
he had been engaged in the crusades; his tomb was on the north side
of the church, within an arch with full-size effigies of himself and
his wife in marble.
The old church could have told many an exciting tale of the years it
had seen. Cromwell's soldiery had battered in the great west door,
and had slain the parish clerk, who had vainly endeavoured to defend
the house of God. At the entrance of the porch was a stone let into
the pavement to the memory of the brave old man, which told that—
"Ezekiel Hassal, 46 years clark heere, dyed 19th February, 1631."
It was at this particular stone that two little girls were looking
one fine Saturday afternoon in December as they sat side by side on a
bench within the church porch. They were Dinah and Dora Mickle,
daughters of Mr. Jabez Mickle, the owner of the best practice as a
solicitor in Wreyford. Dinah, the elder of the two children,
was twelve years old, and she was in charge of Dora, who was only
eight; they were resting awhile before going home, having been for a
long walk.
The story of Ezekiel Hassal's fate always had a great attraction
for little Dora, and she had insisted upon hearing it again from
Dinah's lips, although she knew it quite well, and shuddered as she
listened. She was a sensitive, imaginative child, and could easily
picture Cromwell's fierce soldiery ascending the green slope of the
hill, the figure of the old parish clerk stationed before the door
of the church he loved so well, and the tragedy which had followed.
"Oh, Dinah!" she cried, "mustn't it have been a terrible, terrible
sight! Are you not glad we did not live in those days?"
"Yes," Dinah returned, "because I shouldn't have known whether
to side with the king or Cromwell."
"Oh, Dinah! Why, they cut off the poor king's head!" Dora exclaimed,
almost in tears at the very thought. "That could not have been right,
could it?"
"No," Dinah agreed, knitting her brows in a puzzled fashion. She had
been studying the history of the troubles between King Charles I and
his Parliament, and her sympathies were divided. "But don't let us
speak of poor Ezekiel Hassal any more," she continued, conscious of
the cloud of sadness on her little sister's face, "he died long, long
ago, and thinking of him only makes you low-spirited."
"He was a hero!" the younger child declared with sparkling eyes.
"I heard father say so to the boys the other day."
Dinah nodded, but did not prolong the conversation; instead, she
rose, and, followed by her sister, walked through the churchyard,
out by the lych-gate, and down the winding path towards the town.
The sisters were very unlike in appearance and disposition. Dinah,
who was a tall, well-grown girl, had a fresh, rosy face, a pair of
dark blue eyes which shone with a steady light, and a firm mouth and
chin. She was a sweet-natured child, gifted with an equable temper,
and a fund of commonsense unusual at her age, and was a general
favourite at home, as well as at the day-school which she attended.
Dora was fairer, and much slighter than her sister; her eyes were a
lighter blue; her hair golden brown; and her whole appearance was so
fragile that people generally formed the idea she was delicate, which
was certainly not the case. She was very impulsive, and easily led
through her affections, making other folks' troubles her own,
the result of an intensely sympathetic nature.
As the sisters descended the hill their way led past an old house
with cob walls and a thatched roof, standing in its own grounds, the
entrance to which was almost hidden from sight by shrubs so overgrown
that one would have said they had not been trimmed for years. Usually
a board was to be seen in the midst of a mass of evergreens,
announcing to passers-by that the house was to be sold or let;
but to-day the board had disappeared, and as Dinah noted the fact
she paused involuntarily, with an exclamation of intense surprise.
"Why, Dora!" she cried, "I do believe 'Haresdown House' is let! Now,
I wonder who can have taken it!"
"Do you think it can be taken?" Dora questioned, looking quite
excited, for no one had inhabited "Haresdown House" during her eight
years of life. "Who is there in Wreyford that would live here? Every
one says what a dull house it is!"
"I believe it is let because the board has been taken down," Dinah
replied gravely. "However, we shall soon hear if it is; perhaps
father may know. Come, it must be getting near teatime; we had better
hurry home."
The Mickle family lived in a high, old-fashioned house in Fore
Street. The house itself stood back from the street, and had a trim
flower garden before it, and a kitchen garden at the back which
reached to the river.
The chief rooms on the ground floor were the lawyer's offices; but
the house being three stories high, the family was not cramped for
space. The dining-room overlooked the street, and was a pleasant,
airy apartment with a comfortable, homely look about it, in spite
of its well-worn Brussels carpet, and rather shabby, leather-covered
furniture; there were a few good oil-paintings on the walls, some
handsome bronze ornaments on the mantel-piece, and a bowl of
chrysanthemums in the centre of the table in the middle of the room.
On this particular December afternoon the room had two occupants—Mrs.
Mickle, who was seated near the window, bending over some plain
needlework, and her elder son, Gilbert, a boy of nearly sixteen,
who reclined on a sofa drawn near the fire.
Gilbert Mickle was a cripple, and could only walk with the help
of crutches; but he was not in the least an invalid, enjoying really
robust health. He was a very handsome boy, though the expression
of his face was usually not a pleasant one, for he possessed an
obstinate, cantankerous temper, which had already left its traces
in two deep lines between his brows. One of his school-fellows had
once declared in his hearing that his temper was as crooked as his
legs, and he had been stung into a perfect fury of passion by the
remark, conscious that every one recognized its truth, and had dealt
the offender such a series of vicious blows with one of his crutches
that he had cried for mercy and let him alone for the future.
With his brother Tom, who was a year his junior, Gilbert attended the
Wreyford Grammar School; but, whereas the younger brother was
universally popular, Gilbert was generally disliked, and feared,
by reason of the cutting tongue he never hesitated to use
at another's expense.
"I suppose Tom will be back from the football match soon,"
he remarked at length, as he flung aside the book he had been
reading, and yawned idly. "I wonder if the Grammar School will be
beaten. I don't care if it is."
"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Mickle remonstrated gently, "think how
disappointed Tom will be if his side loses."
"It will do Tom good to be on the losing side for once, mother.
The Grammar School has had all the luck so far this season, and,
really, to hear Tom talk you'd think it was mostly owing to him.
Conceited young cub! He wants to be put under a bit!"
Mrs. Mickle laughed, then sighed. Certainly Tom was rather an
important individual in his own estimation; but the manner in which
his brother remarked the fact was not pleasant.
"You should have gone to watch the football match," she said, "it
would have been better for you than lying there all the afternoon."
"Yes. It does me good to hear strangers say, 'Who is that lame boy
on crutches?' or, 'What a pity he is a cripple!' It makes me simply
furious. I overheard some one remark once that my legs were exactly
like a spider's when I moved. I prefer to remain at home in peace
and quietness."
Mrs. Mickle bent her head over her work more to hide the tears in her
eyes than because the light was fading and preventing her seeing
clearly. The sarcastic bitterness in her son's voice cut her to the
heart. Of her four children, Gilbert was the only one who had ever
given her much anxious thought; he had caused her many a sleepless
night, for his had always been a most difficult character
to understand.
"I am sure you dwell too much upon your infirmity, my dear," she said
presently. "You are too self-conscious, too wrapped up in yourself.
Instead of always thinking of what people are saying about you, and
regretting the cross God has given you to bear, do you not think
it would be better and wiser to dwell on all He has blessed you with?
Yes, I mean what I say," she continued, as he made an impatient
gesture, "you are far in advance of most boys of your age
in intellect, and if you use the talents with which God has endowed
you, you may have many opportunities of doing good in the world,
and benefiting your fellow-men."
"I don't know that I want to benefit my fellow-men particularly.
I may have brains, but what are brains in comparison to legs? If my
legs were straight and strong, I should be perfectly content."
"But as they are not, dear Gilbert, don't you think you ought to make
the best of them?"
"Oh, mother, it's all very fine for you to talk, but you don't
understand."
"I think I do, my dear; and if I do not, you know there is One who
understands perfectly."
Gilbert knew whom his mother meant, but he vouchsafed no reply.
He reached for his crutches, and, rising from the sofa, slowly swung
himself towards the window, where he stood by his mother's chair,
gazing out into the street. Mrs. Mickle proceeded with her needlework
in silence, but presently she raised her eyes to her son's face, and
he turned and met her gaze.
"I'm a wretch to make you look like that," he said repentantly, as he
noticed her troubled countenance, and bent to kiss her, for he was
really deeply attached to his mother; "it is too bad of me to be so
disagreeable. Why, here come Tom and the girls!" And flinging upon
the window he shouted to his brother, and asked the result of the
football match.
"The Grammar School won," he reported to his mother, as he shut the
window.
"And you are glad!" Mrs. Mickle exclaimed as she noticed the
gratified expression on his face.
"Well, I suppose I am really. Here they come tumbling up the stairs!"
The next moment the door was flung open, and Tom, followed by his
sisters, hurried into the room.
"Two goals and a try to nil!" shouted the former. "I say, Gilbert,
old boy, I wish you'd been there to see us lick them!"
"Oh, mother! Oh, Gilbert!" cried Dora, "'Haresdown House' is let!"
"Yes, or we suppose so; at any rate, the board has been taken down,"
Dinah hastened to explain.
"It is let," Gilbert said calmly, smiling in a superior manner at his
sisters' excitement; "it has been taken by an elderly gentleman
called Bailey. The house belonged to his father many years ago, and
he had a fancy to purchase it. Mr. Bailey has lately returned from
Australia."
"Where did you get your information?" Mrs. Mickle inquired.
"From Grylls, the chemist. Mr. Bailey's lodging at his house.
You know, Grylls has lived in Wreyford all his life, so he knew
Mr. Bailey before he went to Australia as a boy. Grylls says he
shouldn't be surprised to hear he has made a big fortune, for when he
found out 'Haresdown House' was to be sold or let he bought it
at once. He has been in Wreyford for the last week with a little
girl—a niece of his. I wonder you haven't noticed him about the
place—a big man, with a jolly-looking red face."
"Oh!" cried Dora, "I believe I met him in the street yesterday, and
the little girl too. I saw they were strangers. She was all in black,
and—why, how extraordinary! Mother! Dinah! Boys! There they are!"
Every one looked out of the window at the very instant that three
figures reached the garden gate—a tall, thin, clean-shaven man, who
was no other than Mr. Mickle, in company with Mr. Bailey and Angel.
"Fancy father's knowing them!" cried Dinah. "Oh, he is actually
bringing them in! Do you imagine they will come up here, or will he
take them into his office? Do you think they would come on business
on a Saturday afternoon?"
"Perhaps father has something to do with the transfer of the property
Mr. Bailey has bought," Gilbert suggested sagely.
"Very likely," his mother agreed.
At that point Mr. Mickle's voice from below was heard calling for
Dinah, and she hastened to obey the summons. In a very few minutes
she returned to the dining-room, followed by a pale-faced,
shy-looking little girl, whom she introduced to her mother, simply
saying—
"Mother, this is the Australian gentleman's niece. Father says she is
to stay with us, and we are to amuse her until he has finished his
business with her uncle, whom he is going to bring upstairs to tea
presently."