A VISIT TO CLAY'S MILLS.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny, as Sarah saw when Naomi drew up
her blinds. She also saw that the girl's face was swollen with crying.
'What is the matter, Naomi?' she asked anxiously, for Sarah was very
kind-hearted, and she was very fond of her young maid.
'It's Ruth, miss; she's been took with the croup, and mother's been up
all night with her, and the doctor says he doubts if we shall pull her
through. And, oh, she's such--a--darling, is Ruth!' Here Naomi burst into
tears again.
'Poor little Ruth! I'll go and see her to-day, Naomi, and ask if there is
anything we can do for her,' said Sarah; and she dressed with more
alacrity than usual, in her desire to go and visit Naomi's home.
Horatia was always up earlier than Sarah, and generally went for a run in
the park before breakfast. She had just come in and was sitting at the
breakfast-table chattering with Mrs Clay when Sarah appeared, and, with a
hurried 'Good-morning' to them both, plunged into the subject of which
she was full. 'Naomi's sister is ill, mother. I'm going to see her this
morning, so will you, please, go to the mills with Horatia?' she said.
Mrs Clay looked a little vexed. 'Your father will be grieved if you don't
go, Sarah. 'E thinks you might go to your own mills sometimes, instead
of always goin' to your uncle Howroyd's,' she protested.
'They're not my own mills. I have nothing to do with them. If I had I'd
soon alter them,' Sarah replied hotly. 'Besides, Uncle Howroyd's mill is
a pleasure to go over; my father's are a pain.'
'Oh Sarah, you do say such things! An' w'at-ever you mean I don't know
'alf the time. I'm sure there's no need to go over more of the mills than
you like. You can stop before you get a pain, if that's w'at you mean,'
Mrs Clay added doubtfully, for Sarah had begun to laugh.
'It's not a pain in my body, mother; it's a pain in my mind that they
give me.--But I would have gone with you to-day, Horatia,' she observed,
turning to her schoolfellow, 'if my maid Naomi's sister had not been
taken ill; but I must go and see how she is. And I shall take Naomi with
me, and let her have a holiday for the rest of the day,' she announced.
Mrs Clay did not rebuke her daughter for taking it upon herself to give a
servant a holiday, any more than she did for settling her plans for the
day without any reference to her mother; but only said plaintively,
'W'at's the matter with little Ruth? I suppose it's nothin' catchin', or
they'd 'ave told me first; but still, I do think I should be more use
than you, Sarah; you don't know anythin' about sickness. W'at 'as Ruth
got?'
'Croup, and I thought I'd take her some jelly or something; children
always like jelly,' said Sarah.
'Jelly--when the poor child can't swallow, very like! You'd better by
'alf let me go, Sarah; the poor mother'll not 'ave a moment to talk to
you if the child's really bad, an' you'll only find yourself in the way.
You go with Horatia to the mills, an' I'll call at Mickleroyd's an' do
w'at I can do for 'em.'
'Martha Mickleroyd won't stand on ceremony with me, and I'm not so
ignorant as you think about croup. You have to put the child in hot
water. We had first-aid and domestic lessons at school. Besides, I
promised Naomi I'd go, so I must,' declared Sarah in such a determined
tone that Mrs Clay, who never could oppose any one for long, gave way
with a sigh.
Horatia had been looking from one to the other, listening with her quick,
eager look to the conversation, and longing to join in it, but
half-afraid for fear of vexing Sarah; but now she could no longer resist
the temptation. 'Can't we all go on our way to the mills? I should like
to see a mill-hand's cottage, and I needn't go into the sick-room at
all.'
Mrs Clay looked relieved. 'I'd far rather 'ave it so, Sarah. You don't
know for certain that it isn't 'oopin'-cough or somethin' o' that sort.
Women are that ignorant,' she declared.
'Martha Mickleroyd isn't ignorant; she's a very clever woman, and no more
ignorant than--lots of ladies,' Sarah finished hurriedly. She had nearly
said, 'than you are,' but luckily remembered in time.
'I believe that; but it isn't every lady that knows as much about illness
as I do; an' as Miss 'Oratia 'ere wants to go to see a mill-'and's
'ome'----Mrs Clay was saying.
But Sarah broke in with impatience, 'One would think we were Hottentots
or savages, or something, by the way Horatia talks!
Horatia coloured as she answered, 'Oh, but indeed I don't; you quite
mistake me. Father is very much interested in the housing question, and
all sorts of things that have to do with the poor, and putting stone
baths in their houses, and all that will make them healthier,' she
explained eagerly.
'Very kind of your father, I'm sure, my dear; but I think you'd better
not talk about stone baths for the Mickleroyds. Mark won't 'ave it. 'E
won't, indeed; 'e told Luke Mickleroyd so,' said Mrs Clay.
Sarah's lip curled. 'If that child has no bath to be put into it will
die, and it'll be his fault, then,' she observed, as she rose from the
table.
'No, it won't; it'll be the fault of its mother, who hasn't a small bath
in her house,' said Horatia.
Horatia had spoken on the impulse of the moment, without any thought of
contradicting or annoying Sarah; but the latter cast her a furious look,
and then, drawing herself up, said, 'When will you be ready to start?'
Horatia felt crushed by Sarah's manner; but it was so uncomfortable to
start out in the morning in this way that she determined to try to
conciliate her. 'Don't be horrid and up in the clouds above us all;' and
she took Sarah's arm with a coaxing smile.
Sarah could not help smiling, for this was an old school accusation which
Horatia had made when Sarah once asked how she looked proud and haughty,
and the girls had all laughed at it. 'I don't feel there; I've told you
that before; but you can't or won't understand how I hate and despise it
all.'
'Well, never mind; let's go and see those Mickleroyds. You don't hate
and despise them,' said Horatia.
Half-an-hour later the party in the motor stopped at the point of the
main street from which a 'ginnel' or alley led to the Mickleroyds' house,
in one of the oldest parts of the town, and quite near the mills.
Luke Mickleroyd, as will be remembered, was the chief watchman of Clay's
Mills, and could have afforded a nice little house in the suburbs on the
tram-line, for he earned good wages; but he found it more convenient to
be close to the mills, so that he could rest between his rounds, and in
cold weather warm and refresh himself during the night.
'What a funny old place! I wonder they don't pull it down,' said Horatia,
as she picked her way over uneven and broken paving-stones to the house,
which had steps, with no balustrade, leading down to an open cellar-door
and up to another door.
'It belongs to my father,' said Sarah curtly.
Horatia said no more, and determined not to make any comments whatever
she saw, 'not even if the paper were hanging off the walls and the place
in ruins,' she said to herself.
But once they were inside the cottage the scene was changed. Everything
was spotlessly clean; the walls were prettily papered; the furniture was
handsome and old-fashioned; and Maria Mickleroyd came forward with a
pleasant smile on her tired, anxious face. 'Pleased to see you, Mrs Clay,
and Miss Sarah; and you've brought Omi,' pronounced 'Oh my,' to Horatia's
amusement. 'That's main kind of you. Little Ruthie's dropped off into a
lovely sleep for the minute; but, thank you, I shall be glad to have Omi
for the day, if Miss Sarah is sure she can spare her, for I shall be up
to-night again, and I might rest a bit by-and-by. Luke's resting now.'
'No, I'm not resting, missus,' said Luke Mickleroyd, coming down a narrow
staircase. 'I've had my sleep, and was coming to take a turn at watching.
I ought to be good at that, seeing it's my trade; but Miss Sarah's found
us some one better, I see, in Omi.'
'We're glad to know the child is better, Luke,' said Mrs Clay, as she
added some suggestions about the child's treatment. 'An' now we're goin'
on to the mills; but if the doctor orders anythin' special, or Ruthie
fancies w'at you can't get, be sure an' send up to us. The master won't
grudge you that. An' if you want Naomi the night, keep 'er, so long as we
know. Jane Mary could come wi' the message after the mills are out. A
walk would do her good.'
'Jane Mary won't come nigh Balmoral,' put in Naomi suddenly.
'How'd thy tongue, Omi!' said her father, and Naomi subsided.
'Jane Mary should do w'at she's told; she's too independent,' said Mrs
Clay, and, with a short 'Good-morning,' they all went off.
Sarah turned to wave a friendly farewell, whereupon Mrs Clay said, with
some irritation, 'It seems to me, Sarah, that folk 'ave only got to be
nasty to your father for you to like 'em. It's not much good goin' on
like that. You know w'at the Bible says: a 'ouse divided against itself
cannot stand.'
'I wonder if that's true,' said Sarah gravely.
'Sarah, 'owever dare you!' exclaimed Mrs Clay; and even Horatia looked
rather shocked at this remark.
'Oh, I'm not talking about the Bible; of course I believe that. I meant
what you said,' explained Sarah. But this was not much better.
'Thank you, Sarah. W'atever I said, I 'ope it was true. I'm not in the
'abit of tellin' untruths.' Mrs Clay had forgotten what she had said.
'You only said what you thought, and we can all make that kind of
mistake. I only meant that I wonder whether I do like people better if
they dislike father.'
'Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, for 'e's a good father. An'
look at all these mills; every brick is 'is an' built by 'im--'is money,
I mean--an' thousan's of poun's' worth of wool goods sent out every
week--well-made goods, too, as every one will tell you. 'E's a wonderful
man is your father, an' one to be proud of, not despised. Most girls
would 'old their 'eads 'igh for bein' 'is daughter, not 'old it 'igh to
despite 'im.--Oh, good-mornin', my men! good-mornin'!' Mrs Clay
exclaimed, as the gates were thrown open for them to enter, and she saw
some men crossing the yard.
The men replied by a surly 'Good-morning;' one or two touched their hats,
but the most of them took no notice of the master's wife and daughter at
all.
Mark Clay met them at the door of his private office, a plainly furnished
little room, the same now as it had been thirty years before, when it had
been just built. 'This is my private room,' he said.
Horatia looked round with interest. 'It's a very business-like-looking
room,' she said, after searching in vain for something more complimentary
to say.
'That's the biggest compliment you can pay it, and it is a true one, too.
There's millions have passed through my hands in this room,' he said
proudly.
''Ave you 'eard that Luke Mickleroyd nearly lost his little Ruth in the
night?' said Mrs Clay. 'We've just been to see 'em an' leave Naomi
there.'
Mrs Clay never liked to take the responsibility of doing anything
herself; but Mark Clay turned to her more angrily than Horatia had ever
seen him, and said, 'I won't have you go to the hands, encouraging them
in independence and idleness. You call for Naomi on your way back. Do you
hear? She doesn't get wages for nursing her sister. What's her mother
there for?'
'But, Mark, the mother's got the 'ouse to clean an' meals to cook;
they're such a large family, an' useful to us,' protested Mrs Clay.
'I don't care. I won't have it, I say. I shall have the other girl
wanting her day off; so you do as I tell you. If the mother can't see to
the girl, let her go to the hospital. What do I pay to the hospitals for
if it isn't for them to be useful to me? You can tell her so on your way
home, and take Naomi back with you to her work,' blustered Mark Clay.
'Oh, are we going straight home? I thought we could, perhaps, go to
Fountains Abbey to-day, and you would come with us?' cried Horatia.
Sarah shot a quick look of surprise at her friend, who added, 'You said I
might choose what I liked best to do every day, didn't you, Sarah?'
'Of course,' said Sarah.
'But, my dear, w'yever didn't you mention it before we started? We would
'ave taken a picnic-basket along wi' us,' cried Mrs Clay.
'That doesn't matter, Polly; send Fox for it while we're looking over the
mills. That's a good idea of the lass. We'll all go to Fountains. Do you
go and telephone to them to put in plenty of champagne and lemonade for
the girls,' said the mill-owner boisterously.
Mrs Clay hurried off to the telephone to give her directions, while Mark
Clay started with the two girls over the mills.
'I couldn't write an essay on this,' said Horatia, as they were hurried
through yard after yard, on each side of which were doors which the
millionaire just ordered to be opened, and into which they gave a peep as
he told them, 'In there there's thousands of pounds' worth of rags and
wool for blankets,' or 'cloth,' as the case might be.
'My father doesn't want you to; he only wants you to see what a huge
business he has. I hope he has succeeded,' said Sarah.
Horatia was saved the trouble of answering, for they now entered the room
where the machinery drowned every sound. 'Doesn't it make them deaf or
make their heads ache?' she shouted at length to Mark Clay.
'Make me deaf? No fear; I don't stop in here long enough,' he replied,
misunderstanding her, and not imagining it was the workpeople she was
thinking of.
And again Horatia was silent.