ISAAC'S MOTHER COMES.
Mrs. Ogden and her grandson reached Sootythorn rather late that
evening--namely, about eight o'clock; and as it happened that she knew
an old maid there--one Miss Mellor--whose feelings would have been
wounded if Mrs. Ogden had passed through Sootythorn without calling upon
her, she took the opportunity of doing so whilst the horse was baited at
the inn. The driver took the fly straight to the Thorn; and when Mr.
Garley saw a lady and a little boy emerge therefrom he concluded that
they intended to stay at his house, and came with his apologies for want
of room. "But we can let you 'ave a nice parlor, mum, to take your tea,
and I can find you good bedrooms in the town."
Mrs. Ogden declined these obliging propositions, in the hope that Miss
Mellor would offer her a night's lodging. It was not that she loved Miss
Mellor so much as to desire to stay longer under her roof than was
necessary to keep her in a good temper, but she had made sundry
reflections on the road. "If I stop at th' Thorn they'll charge me
'appen 'alf-a-crown for my bedroom, and Jane Mellor 'ad a nice spare
bedroom formerly. It really is no use throwin' money away on
inn-keepers. And then there's our tea; they'll make me pay eighteenpence
or two shillin' for't at Garley's, and very likely charge full as much
for little Jacob. It's quite enough to 'ave to pay seven shillin' for
th' horse and fly." And in any case there would be time to get on to
Whittlecup after the horse had had his feed.
But Miss Mellor, who had not been to Shayton or heard direct news of
Shayton for several years, was so delighted to see Mrs. Ogden that she
would not hear of her going forward that night. "It's lucky I 'appened
to be at 'ome," said Miss Mellor, "for I'm often out of an evening." It
was lucky, certainly, for little Jacob, who got a much better tea than
he would have done at the Thorn Inn, with quantities of sweet things
greatly to his taste. Little Jacob was convinced that there was nobody
in the world so kind and generous as his grandmother, yet he conceived
an affection for Miss Mellor also before the close of the evening.
"The devil take the people," said Isaac Ogden, when he got back from
Sootythorn to the Blue Bell, and had gone as usual to his bedroom
there--"the devil take the people, they've hidden all my things!"
Just then came a gentle knock at the door, and the servant-maid entered.
"Please, sir, your mother's come, and she says you aren't to sleep here
any more, sir; and she's fetched your things to lodgings that she's took
over Mr. Wood's, the shoemaker's."
It is at all times vexatious and humiliating to the independent spirit
of a man to be disposed of by female authority, but it is most
especially so when the authority is one's mamma. A grown-up man will
submit to his mother on most points if he is worth any thing, but the
best of sons does not quite like to see his submission absolutely taken
for granted. In this case there was an aggravation in the look of the
servant-girl. Notwithstanding the respectful modesty of her tone, there
was just a twinkle of satire in her eye. It was plain that she was
inwardly laughing at the Lieutenant. "Damn it!" he said, "this house is
good enough for me; I don't want to leave it." Yet he _did_ leave,
nevertheless.
The next day was Sunday, and it was a satisfaction to Mrs. Ogden to
think that Isaac would be professionally compelled to attend public
worship. Little Jacob was one of the crowd of spectators who gathered
round the company when it was mustered for church-parade. He was proud
of his resplendent papa--a papa all scarlet and silver; and it was a
matter of peculiar anxiety with him that they should sit in the same
pew. Mr. Ogden gratified him in this respect, and the child felt himself
the most important young personage in Whittlecup. A steady attention to
the service is not commonly characteristic of little boys; and on this
occasion little Jacob's eye was so continually caught by the glitter of
his father's gold sword-knot and the silver embroidery on his sleeve,
that he followed the clergyman much less regularly than usual.
The neighborhood of Whittlecup was not aristocratic, but there were one
or two manufacturing families of rather a superior description. One of
these families, the Anisons, were at church not far from the pew which
the Ogdens occupied. They lived at a house near Whittlecup called
Arkwright Lodge, in a comfortable manner, with most of those refinements
of civilization which are to be met with in the houses of rich
professional men in London. Mr. Anison, indeed, was a manufacturer of
the new school, whilst Jacob Ogden belonged to the old one. Men of the
Anison class sometimes make large fortunes, but they more frequently
content themselves with a moderate independence and a sufficient
provision for their families. Money does not seem to them an end in
itself, but they value the comforts and refinements which it procures
and which cannot be had without it. Jacob Ogden, on the other hand, did
not care a fig for comforts and refinements, and had no domestic
objects: his only purpose was the inward satisfaction and the outward
glory of being rich. Mr. Anison worked in moderation, spent a good deal,
saved something, and kept a very hospitable house, where everybody who
had the slightest imaginable claim upon his kindness was always heartily
welcome.
After Philip Stanburne's accident he had been immediately moved to
Arkwright Lodge, in compliance with the surgeon's advice and Mr.
Anison's urgent request. Here he had rapidly passed into a state of
agreeable convalescence, and found the house so pleasant that the
prospect of a perfect recovery, and consequent departure, was not very
attractive to him now.
When the service in Whittlecup church was over, Joseph Anison went
straight to Mr. Ogden's pew and reminded him that he had promised to
dine that day at Arkwright Lodge. When they got out of the church, Isaac
presented his mother to Mr. Anison, and to Mrs. Anison also, who joined
them in the midst of that ceremony. This was followed by a polite little
speech from Mrs. Anison (she was an adept in polite little speeches), to
the effect that, as Mr. Ogden had kindly promised to eat a dinner and
pay his first call at the Lodge at the same time, his duties in the
militia having prevented him from calling during the week, perhaps they
might hope that Mrs. Ogden would allow them to call upon her at once at
her lodgings, and then would she come with her son to the Lodge to spend
the afternoon? So when the militia-men were disbanded, the Anisons
accompanied the Ogdens to the lodging over Mr. Wood's, the shoemaker.
It was a very fine May morning, and they had all come on foot. There are
families in Sootythorn (perhaps also there may be families out of
Sootythorn) who, though living within a very short distance of their
parish church, go thither always in their carriages--on the same
principle which causes the Prince of Wales to go from Marlborough House
to St James's Palace in a state-coach--namely, for the maintenance of
their dignity. But though the Anisons' carriage was an institution
sufficiently recent to have still some of the charms of novelty, they
dispensed with it as much as possible on Sundays.
The young ladies had gone slowly forwards towards the Lodge with the
clergyman, who had a standing invitation to dine there whenever he came
to Whittlecup. Mrs. Ogden's great regret in going to dine at the Lodge
was for the dinner she left behind her, and she did not hesitate to
express it. "It seems quite a pity," she said, "to leave them ducks and
green peas--they were such fine ducks, and we're all of us very fond o'
ducks, 'specially when we've green peas to 'em." After this little
speech, she paused regretfully, as if meditating on the delightfulness
of the ducks, and then she added, more cheerfully, "But what--ducks are
very good cold, and they'll do very well for supper to-morrow night,
when our Isaac comes back from Sootythorn."
The dinner at the Lodge was good enough to compensate even for the one
left untasted at the shoemaker's, and nobody did better justice to it
than the Rev. Abel Blunting. A man may well be hungry who has preached
vehemently for seventy minutes, and eaten nothing since seven in the
morning, which was Mr. Blunting's habitual breakfast-hour. He was a very
agreeable guest, and worth his salt. He had a vein of rich humor
approaching to joviality, yet he drank only water. On this matter of
teetotalism he was by no means fanatical, but he said simply that in his
office of minister it was useful to his work amongst the poor. Mrs.
Ogden sat next to him at table, and was perfectly delighted with him.
The Rev. Abel perceived at once what manner of woman she was, and talked
to her accordingly. When he found out that she came from Shayton, he
said that he had a great respect for Shayton, it was such a sound
Protestant community--there was not a single Papist in the place--Popery
had no hold _there_. Unfortunately, when Mr. Blunting made this
observation, there happened to be a lull in the talk, and it was audible
to everybody, including Philip Stanburne, who was well enough to sit at
table. Poor Mrs. Anison began to feel very uncomfortable, but as Mr.
Blunting sat next to her, she whispered to him that they had a Roman
Catholic at table. This communication not having been loud enough to be
heard by Mrs. Ogden, who, never having sat down with a Roman Catholic in
her life, was incapable of imagining such a contingency, that lady
replied,--
"Shayton folk believe i' th' Bible."
"And may I ask," said Philip, very loudly and resolutely from the other
end of the table, "what Catholics believe in?"
"Why, they believe i' th' Koran."
The hearers--and everybody present had heard Mrs. Ogden
distinctly--could not credit their ears. Each thought that he must be
mistaken--that by some wholly unaccountable magic he had heard the word
"Koran" when it had been pronounced by no mortal lips. Nobody
laughed--nobody even smiled. There is a degree of astonishment which
stuns the sense of humor. Every one held his breath when Mr. Blunting
spoke.
"No, ma'am," he said, respectfully, "you are somewhat mistaken. You
appear to have confounded the Papal and the Mohammedan religions."
What Mrs. Ogden's answer may have been does not matter very much, for
Mr. and Mrs. Anison both saw the necessity for an immediate diversion,
and talked about something else in the most determined manner. On
reflection, Philip Stanburne thought his Church quite sufficiently
avenged already. "As I believe in the Koran," he said to Miss Anison, "I
may marry four wives. What an advantage that will be!"
"You horrible man!"
"Why am I a horrible man? Why are you so ungracious to me? The Sultan
and the Viceroy of Egypt are like me--they believe in the Koran--and
they act upon their belief as I intend to do. Yet a Christian queen has
been gracious to them. She did not tell them they were horrible men. Why
should you not be gracious to me in the same way? When I have married
my four wives, you will come and visit me, won't you, in my palace on
the Bosphorus? Black slaves shall bring you coffee in a little jewelled
cup, and your lips shall touch the amber mouth-piece of a diamonded
chibouque."
"But then your four wives will all be Orientals, and I shall not be able
to talk to them."
The Misses Anison were not the only young ladies at the table. Philip
Stanburne had a neighbor on his left hand who interested him even more
than the brilliant girl on his right. This was Miss Alice Stedman, whom
he had seen in the bookseller's shop at Sootythorn.
"And if you believe in the Koran," said Miss Stedman, "you ought to show
it by refusing to drink wine."
"Ah, then, I renounce Mohammed, that I may have the pleasure of drinking
wine with you, Miss Stedman!" This was said with perfect grace, and in
the little ceremony which followed, the young gentleman contrived to
express so much respect and admiration for his fair neighbor, that Mrs.
Anison took note of it. "Mr. Stanburne is in love with Alice," she said
to herself.
"Would you renounce your religion for love?" asked Madge Anison, in a
low tone.
Philip felt a sudden sensation, as if a doctor had just probed him.
Garibaldi felt the corresponding physical pain when Nélaton found the
bullet.
He turned slowly and looked at Madge. There was a strange expression
about her lips, and the perennial merriment had faded from her face.
"Are you speaking seriously, Miss Anison, I wonder?"
The talk was noisy enough all round the table to isolate the two
completely. Even Miss Stedman was listening to her loud-voiced neighbor,
the Lieutenant. Madge Anison looked straight at Philip, and said, "Yes,
I _am_ speaking seriously."
"I believe I should not, now. But nobody knows what he may do when he is
in love."
"You _are_ in love."
This time the room whirled, and the voices sounded like the murmur of a
distant sea. In an instant Philip Stanburne passed from one state of
life to another state of life. A crisis, which changed the whole future
of four persons there present, occurred in the world of his
consciousness. His imagination rioted in wild day-dreams; but one
picture rose before him with irresistible vividness--a picture of Alice
kneeling with him under a canopy, before the high altar at St. Agatha's.
A slight pressure on his left arm recalled him to the actual world. The
ladies were all leaving their seats, and Madge had kindly reminded him
where he was.
"A sad place for drinking is Shayton," observed Mr. Blunting, as he
poured himself a glass of pure water. "I wonder if one could do any good
there?"
"They're past curing, mostly, are Shayton folk," answered John Stedman.
"Are not they, Mr. Ogden?"
"There's one here that is, I'm afraid," answered Isaac, with much
humility.
Mr. Blunting inquired, with sympathy in his tone, whether Mr. Ogden had
himself fallen under temptation. When Isaac confessed his backslidings
of the past week, the reverend gentleman requested permission to see him
in private. Isaac had a dislike to clergymen in general, and in matters
of religion rather shared the latitudinarian views of his friend Dr.
Bardly; but he was in a state of profound moral discouragement, and
ready to be grateful to any one who held out prospects of effectual
help. So it ended by his accepting an invitation to take tea at the
parsonage at Sootythorn.
"If you take tea with Mr. Blunting," said Joseph Anison, "you must mind
he doesn't inoculate you with his own sort of intemperance, if he cures
you of your little excesses. He drinks tea enough in a year to float a
canal-boat. It's a terribly bad habit. In my opinion it's far worse than
drinking brandy. The worst of it is that it makes men like gossip just
as women do. Stick to your brandy-bottle, Mr. Ogden, like a man, and let
Mr. Blunting empty his big tea-pot!"