A WEDDING IN HONEY FAIR.
But that such contrasts are all too common in life, you might think it
scarcely seemly to go direct from a house of death to a house of
marriage. This same morning which witnessed the death of Jane
Halliburton, witnessed also the wedding of Mary Ann Cross and Ben
Tyrrett. Upon which there was wonderful rejoicing at the Crosses'
house.
Of course, whether a wedding was a good one or a bad one (speaking from
a pecuniary point of view), it was equally the custom to feast over it
in Honey Fair. Benjamin Tyrrett was only what is called a jobber in the
glove trade, earning fifteen or sixteen shillings a week; but Mary Ann
Cross made up her mind to have him--in defiance of parental and other
admonitions that she ought to look over Ben's head. They had gone to
work Honey Fair fashion, preparing nothing. Every shilling that Mary Ann
Cross could spare went in finery--had long gone in finery. In vain
Charlotte East impressed upon her the necessity of saving: of waiting.
Mary Ann would do neither one nor the other.
"All that you can spare from back debts, and from present actual wants,
you should put by," Charlotte had urged. "You don't know how many more
calls there are for money after marriage than before it."
"There'll be two of us to earn it then," logically replied Mary Ann.
"And two of you to live," said Charlotte. "To marry upon nothing is to
rush into trouble."
"How you do go on, Charlotte East! He'll earn his wages, and I shall
earn mine. Where'll be the trouble? I shan't want to spend so much upon
my back when I am married."
"To marry as you are going to do, must bring trouble," persisted
Charlotte. "He will manage to get together a few bits of cheap
furniture, just what you can't do without, to put into one room; and
there you will be set up, neither of you having one sixpence laid by to
fall back upon; and perhaps the furniture unpaid, hanging like a log
upon you. What shall you do when children come, Mary Ann?"
Mary Ann Cross giggled. "If ever I heard the like of you, Charlotte! If
children do come, they must come, that's all. We can't send 'em back
again."
"No, you can't," said Charlotte. "They generally arrive in pretty good
troops: and sometimes there's little to welcome them on. Half the
quarrels between man and wife, in our class of life, spring from nothing
but large families and small means. Their tempers get soured with each
other, and never get pleased again."
"Folks must take their chance, Charlotte."
"There's no _must_ in it. You are nineteen, Ben Tyrrett's twenty-three;
suppose you made up your minds to wait two or three years. You would be
quite young enough then: and meanwhile, if both of you laid by, you
would have something in hand to meet extra expenses, or sickness if it
came."
"Opinions differs," shortly returned Mary Ann. "If folks tell true, you
were putting by ever so long for your marriage, and it all ended in
smoke. I'd rather make sure of a husband when I can get him."
An expression of pain crossed the face of Charlotte East. "Whether I
marry or not," she answered calmly, "I shall be none the worse for
having laid money by instead of squandering it. If the best man that
ever was born came to me, I would not marry him if we had made no better
provision for a rainy day than you and Tyrrett have. What can come of
such unions, Mary Ann?"
"It's the way most of us girls do marry," returned Mary Ann.
"And what comes of it, I ask? _Blows_ sometimes, Mary Ann; the workhouse
sometimes; trouble always."
"Is it true that you put by, Charlotte?"
"Yes. I put by what I can."
"But how in wonder do you manage it? You dress as well as we do. I'm
sure our backs take all our money; father pretty nigh keeps the house."
"I dress better than you in one sense, Mary Ann. I don't have on a silk
gown one day and a petticoat in rags the next. No one ever sees me
otherwise than neat and clean, and my clothes keep good a long while.
It's the finery that runs away with your money. I am not ashamed to make
a bonnet last two years; you'd have two in a season. Another thing, Mary
Ann: I do not waste my time--I sit to my work; and I dare say I earn
double what you do."
"Let us hear what you earned last week, if it isn't impertinent," was
Mary Ann's answer.
"Ten and ninepence."
"Look at that!" cried the girl, lifting her hands. "I brought out but
five and twopence, and I left no money for silk, and am in debt two
quarterns. 'Melia was worse. Hers came to four and eleven. That surly
old foreman says to me when he was paying, 'What d'ye leave for silk,
Mary Ann Cross? There's two quarterns down.' 'I know there is, sir,'
says I, 'but I don't leave nothing to-day.' He gave a grunt at that, the
old file did."
"And I suppose you spent your five shillings in some useless thing?"
"I had to pay up at Bankes's, and the rest went in a new peach
bonnet-ribbon."
"Peach! You should have bought white, if you must be married."
"Thank you, Charlotte! What next? Do you suppose I'm going to be married
in that shabby old straw, that I've worn all the spring? Not if I know
it."
"Where's your money to come from for a new one? There will be other
things wanted, more essential than a bonnet."
"I'll have a new one if I go in trust for it," returned Mary Ann.
"Tyrrett buys the ring. And it is of no use for you to preach,
Charlotte; if you preach your tongue out, it'll do no good."
Charlotte might, indeed, have preached a very long sermon before she
could effect any change in the system of improvidence obtaining in Honey
Fair. Neither Benjamin Tyrrett nor Mary Ann Cross was gifted with
forethought, and they took no pains to acquire it.
The marriage was carried out, and this was the happy day. Mrs. Cross
gave an entertainment in honour of the event, at which the bride and
bridegroom assisted--as the French say--with as many others as the
kitchen would hold. Tea for the ladies, pipes and ale for the gentlemen,
supper for all, with spirits-and-water handed round.
How Mrs. Cross had contrived to go on so long without an _expose_, she
scarcely knew herself. The wonder was, that she had gone on at all. It
took the energies of her life to patch up her embarrassments, and hide
her difficulties from her husband. The evil day, however, was only
delayed. It could not be averted.