Dinah Maria Mulock, whose fame as a novelist rests entirely
on "John Halifax, Gentleman," was born at Stoke-upon-Trent,
England, on April 20, 1826. She was thirty-one when "John
Halifax" came out, and immediately found herself one of the
most popular novelists, her story having a great vogue
throughout the English-speaking world, and being translated
into half a dozen languages, including Greek and Russian. In
1864 Miss Mulock married George Lillie Craik, and until her
death, on October 12, 1887, she actively engaged herself in
literary work. In all, forty-six works stand to her credit,
but none show unusual literary power. Even "John Halifax"
leaves much to be desired, and its great popularity arises,
perhaps, from its sentimental interest. The character of the
hero, conceived on the most conventional lines, has at least
the charm that comes from the contemplation of a strong and
upright man, and although many better stories have not enjoyed
one tithe of its popularity, "John Halifax, Gentleman" still
deserves to be read as a wholesome and profitable story.
_I.--The Tanner's Apprentice_
"Get out o' Mr. Fletcher's road, you idle, lounging, little----"
"Vagabond" was no doubt what Sally Watkins, the old nurse of Phineas
Fletcher, was going to say, but she had changed her mind in looking
again at the lad, who, ragged and miserable as he was, was anything but
a "vagabond."
On their way home a downpour of rain had drawn Mr. Fletcher and his son
Phineas to shelter in the covered alley that led to Sally's house. Mr.
Fletcher pushed the little hand-carriage in which his weak and ailing
son was seated into the alley. The ragged boy, who had also been
sheltering there, lent a hand in bringing Phineas out of the rain, Mr.
Fletcher saying to him kindly, after Sally's outburst, "Thee need not go
into the wet. Keep close to the wall, and there will be shelter enough
both for us and thee."
Mr. Fletcher was a wealthy tanner in Norton Bury. Years ago his wife had
died, leaving him with their only child, Phineas, now a sickly boy of
sixteen.
The ragged lad, who had seemed very grateful for the Quaker's kind words
to him, stood leaning idly against the wall, looking at the rain that
splashed on the pavement of the High Street. He was a boy perhaps of
fourteen years; but, despite his serious and haggard face, he was tall
and strongly built, with muscular limbs and square, broad shoulders, so
that he looked seventeen or more. The puny boy in the hand-carriage was
filled with admiration for the manly bearing of the poor lad.
The rain at length gave promise of ceasing, and Mr. Fletcher, pulling
out his great silver watch, never known to be wrong, said, "Twenty-three
minutes lost by this shower. Phineas, my son, how am I to get thee home?
Unless thee wilt go with me to the tanyard--"
Phineas shook his head, and his father then called to Sally Watkins if
she knew of anyone who would wheel him home. But at the moment Sally did
not hear, and the ragged boy mustered courage to speak for the first
time?"
"Sir, I want work; may I earn a penny?" he said, taking off his tattered
old cap and looking straight into Mr. Fletcher's face. The old man
scanned the honest face of the lad very closely.
"What is thy name, lad?"
"John Halifax."
"Where dost thee come from?"
"Cornwall."
"Hast thee any parents living?"
The lad answered that he had not, and to many other questions with which
the tanner plied him he returned straightforward answers. He was
promised a groat if he would see Phineas safely home when the rain had
ceased, and was asked if he would care to take the piece of silver now.
"Not till I've earned it, sir," said the Cornish lad. So Mr. Fletcher
slipped the money into his boy's hand and left them. Only a few words
were spoken between the two lads for a little while after he had gone,
and John Halifax stood idly looking across the narrow street at the
mayor's house, with its steps and porticoes, and its fourteen windows,
one of which was open, showing a cluster of little heads within. The
mayor's children seemed to be amused, watching the shivering shelterers
in the alley; but presently a somewhat older child appeared among them,
and then went away from the window quickly. Soon afterwards a front door
was partly opened by someone whom another was endeavoring to restrain,
for the boys on the other side of the street could hear loud words from
behind the door.
"I will! I say I will----"
"You sha'n't, Miss Ursula!"
"But I will!" And there stood the young girl, with a loaf in one hand
and a carving-knife in the other. She hastily cut off a slice of bread.
"Take it, poor boy! You look so hungry," she said. "Do take it!" But the
door was shut again upon a sharp cry of pain; the headstrong little girl
had cut her wrist with the knife.
In a little, John Halifax went across and picked up the slice of bread
which had fallen on the doorstep. At the best of times, wheaten bread
was then a dainty to the poor, and perhaps the Cornish lad had not
tasted a morsel of it for months.
Phineas, from the moment he had set eyes on John, liked the lad, and
living a very lonely life, with no playfellows and no friends of his own
age, he longed to be friends with this strong-looking, honest youth who
had come so suddenly into his life, while John had been so tender in
helping Phineas home that the Quaker boy felt sure he would make a
worthy friend.
It later appeared that John had heard of his own father as a sad, solemn
sort of man, much given to reading. He had been described to him as "a
scholar and a gentleman," and John had determined that he, too, would be
a scholar and a gentleman. He was only an infant when his father died,
and his mother, left very poor, had a sore struggle until her own death,
when the boy was only eleven years old. Since then the lonely lad had
been wandering about the country getting odd jobs at farms; at other
times almost starving.
Thus had he wandered to Norton Bury; and now, thanks to Phineas, Mr.
Fletcher gave him a job at the tannery, although at first the worthy
Quaker was not altogether sure of John's character.
Soon, however, the two lads were fast friends, and spent much of their
time together. John Halifax could read, but he had not yet learnt to
write; so Phineas became his friendly tutor, and repaid his devotion by
teaching him all he knew.
The years wore away, John Halifax labouring faithfully, if not always
contentedly, in the tannery; and in time, old Mr. Fletcher finding him
worthy of the highest trust, John came to be manager of the business,
and to live in the house of his master. In knowledge, too, he had grown,
for Phineas had proved a good tutor, and John so apt a pupil that before
long Phineas confessed that John knew more than himself.
_II.--Ursula March_
It happened that John and Phineas were spending the summer days at the
rural village of Enderley, where they lived at Rose Cottage. Enderley
was not far from Norton Bury, and every day John rode there to look
after the tannery and the flour-mill which had recently been added to
Mr. Fletcher's now flourishing business.
This Rose Cottage was really two houses, in one of which the young men
lived while an invalid gentleman and his daughter occupied the other.
John Halifax had noted this young lady in his walks across the breezy
downs, and thought her the sweetest creature he had seen. Later, when he
got to know that her name was Ursula, he was thrilled with happy
memories of the little girl who had thrown him the slice of bread, for
he had heard her called by that same name. He wondered if this might be
she grown into a young woman.
Ere long he came to know his pretty neighbour, to companion her in rural
walks. No artist ever painted a more attractive picture than these two
made stepping briskly across the wind-swept uplands; she with her
sparkling dark eyes, her great mass of brown curls escaping from her
hood, and John with his frank, ruddy face, and his fine, swinging, manly
figure.
Ursula's father, who had come here ailing, died at the cottage, and was
buried in Enderley churchyard. He had been the same Henry March whose
life John had saved years before when the Avon was in flood. He was
cousin to Squire Brithwood, who also owed his life to John on the same
occasion. Unhappily, Ursula's fortune was left in the keeping of that
highly undesirable person.
John was very sad at the thought of Ursula leaving the cottage for the
squire's home at Mythe House, for he knew that she had been happier
there in the sweet country retreat than she would ever be in the
ill-conducted household of her guardian. She, too, had regrets at the
thought of going, as John and she had become fast friends. He told her
that Mr. Brithwood would probably deny his right to be considered a
friend of hers, and would not allow his claim to be thought a gentleman,
though a poor one.
"It is right," he pursued, on her expression of surprise, "that you
should know who and what I am to whom you are giving the honour of your
kindness. Perhaps you ought to have known before; but here at Enderley
we seem to be equals--friends."
"I have indeed felt it so."
"Then you will the sooner pardon my not telling you--what you never
asked, and I was only too ready to forget--that we are _not_ equals--
that is, society would not regard us as such, and I doubt if even you
yourself would wish us to be friends."
"Why not?"
"Because you are a gentlewoman, and I am a tradesman."
She sat--the eyelashes drooping over her flushed cheeks--perfectly
silent. John's voice grew firmer, prouder; there was no hesitation now.
"My calling is, as you will hear at Norton Bury, that of a tanner. I am
apprentice to Abel Fletcher, Phineas's father."
"Mr. Fletcher!" She looked up at him, with a mingled look of kindliness
and pain.
"Ay, Phineas is a little less beneath your notice than I am. He is rich,
and has been well educated; I have had to educate myself. I came to
Norton Bury six years ago--a beggar-boy. No, not quite so bad as that,
for I never begged. I either worked or starved."
The earnestness, the passion of his tone made Miss March lift her eyes,
but they fell again.
"Yes, Phineas found me starving in an alley. We stood in the rain
opposite the mayor's house. A little girl--you know her, Miss March--
came to the door and threw out to me a bit of bread."