Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
READY,
AYE READY!
BY
AGNES GIBERNE
AUTHOR OF "ST. AUSTIN'S LODGE," ETC.
London
JAMES NISBET & CO., LIMITED
22 BERNERS STREET, W.
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. A TOWN COTTAGE
II. DANGEROUS
III. THE NEIGHBOURS
IV. NANCY AND THE DOG
V. A BRAVE DEED
VI. SUNDAY MORNING
VII. GOING TO CHURCH
VIII. THE OLD MOTTO
IX. ARCHIE'S MOTHER
X. TEMPERS
XI. "MY ONLY BOY"
XII. WITH MISS WILMOT
XIII. MISSING
XIV. FALLEN BRICKS
XV. A PRIVATE TALK
XVI. MRS. MASON'S OPINIONS
XVII. PEOPLE AND THINGS
XVIII. THE GARDINERS
XIX. THAT GIRL BESS!
XX. TROUBLE
XXI. THE GREAT DREAD
XXII. LIFE LESSONS
XXIII. GOOD ADVICE
XXIV. THE RECTOR'S WISH
XXV. REST
XXVI. A LOSS
XXVII. HOW THINGS CAME ABOUT
READY, AYE READY!
CHAPTER I.
A TOWN COTTAGE.
"AND they call this 'Woodbine Cottage'!" said Susan Dunn, gazing out
upon a paved street, where several unwashed children were disporting
themselves in a gutter.
She looked dusty and unhappy, and she spoke disconsolately,—all three
things rare with Susan Dunn, for a neater and brighter and more smiling
little roundabout of a woman could in general be nowhere found.
The cottage wore an air of confusion. A damp floor told of recent
scrubbing, as also did pail and soap, not to speak of Mrs. Dunn's own
rolled-up sleeves and bare arms.
In one corner stood a pile of chairs: in another a small wooden
cupboard. An empty book-case lay on the table, and through the open
door might be seen a folded carpet, waiting for admission.
Side by side with the book-case, on the round table, sat cross-legged a
little girl, about seven years old, contemplating the scene with sober
eyes. She had plainly climbed there to be out of the way.
There had been a family flitting from an old home to a new. No unusual
event this, in the lives of many men and women, but very unusual in the
lives of Richard and Susan Dunn.
For during more than fifteen years Dunn had worked as a regularly
attached labourer, under Messrs. Horry, Builders, &c.; and not merely
as a labourer, but as a clever and skilful "handy man," though,
unhappily for himself, not as a skilled artisan. A widowed mother
had been unable to afford the seven years' apprenticeship in those
days requisite; and Richard Dunn's abilities were thereby handicapped
through his after life.
For fifteen years they had known no change; and now suddenly a change
had become necessary. Times were bad for business men, and Dunn's
employers had failed. Thereby many working-men were cast adrift, and
compelled to flit elsewhere in search of employment.
Dunn found what he needed, with less difficulty than he had expected.
But he had to quit the pretty cottage and well-cultivated garden-slip
which had long been the pride of his heart; to say good-bye to friends
of many years' standing; and to find himself fresh quarters at
Littleburgh.
"Woodbine Cottage" had sounded hopeful, when first he was advised to
take a look at it. Dunn soon found, however, that dreams of country
prettiness and twining creepers must be put aside.
Littleburgh was a bustling manufacturing town, of perhaps some nine or
ten thousand inhabitants, and, viewed from a money point of view, it
might be regarded as a very thriving place. There were cloth-factories
and other factories, some of the former being worked almost entirely by
women. Fresh houses and streets were being run up in all directions: so
the builders were just then having a fairly good time of it. Of course
rents were proportionately dear.
The town lay in a flat unbeautiful neighbourhood; very different from
the fair and hilly landscape the Dunns were used to look upon. Long
rows of small red or white houses, as much alike one to another as a
supply of pill-boxes, stretched away to the east and south; and beyond
them lay wide brick-fields, with a kiln here and there.
"Woodbine Cottage" stood exactly in the middle of one such row. It was
flanked by "Rose Cottage" and "Myrtle Cottage." But no roses, myrtles,
or woodbine grew anywhere near.
The cottage contained four rooms, two below and two above; so it
did well enough for a small family as to space. It opened straight
upon the pavement, without an inch of garden in front, and with only
a minute yard behind. No doubt the Dunns were well off to have so
much. Some cottages in Littleburgh could boast no back yard at all.
Still—when they should think of the garden they had left, the pinks and
sweet-williams, the roses and geraniums, cannot we imagine how they
would feel?
They had arrived quite early that morning, and Dunn had immediately
gone straight off to his new work. He was not a man to waste one day
without necessity.
For hours since, Susan and her eldest girl, Nancy, had been scrubbing
and scouring. The bedrooms and the kitchen were now almost in order.
Only the little parlour remained. Susan was bent upon getting that
straight too, before her husband should come in.
"Just to make him feel home-like," she said once or twice.
But Susan was very tired, and her back ached. They had started early
by train, and she had been up late the night before. So at length she
stood still for a minute to rest, gazing out upon the street, and then
it was that the words escaped her lips,—
"They call this 'Woodbine Cottage!'"
"It isn't so pretty as home, mother," a sedate small voice said, and
the little maiden on the table folded her hands.
"Pretty! There isn't a scrap of woodbine anywhere," said Susan.
"Won't father get some?"
"It wouldn't grow here, if he did, I expect."
"Won't father get some nice garden-mould, mother?"
Susan shook her head. "I don't know what he'll do yet, child. We've got
to make the best of things—somehow."
Then she fell to her work anew. The boards were getting dry, and
soon it was time to lay the carpet down. The elder girl, Nancy, was
upstairs, finishing the bedrooms; and the boy, Dick, had gone to
assist. So Susie climbed off the table, and offered her tiny help. It
was little, if anything, that she could really do; yet Susan would not
spurn that little or nothing. For the child wanted to be useful, and
that was good both for child and mother. So Susan had often said.
"Pull harder, Susie. It is not straight yet," Susan said encouragingly.
All at once a stronger hand grasped Susie's corner, and in a trice the
matter was accomplished. Susan said, "Why, Richard!" and looked up.
No, not Richard Dunn. A stout motherly woman was raising herself erect.
"That was what you wanted, wasn't it?" she said. "So you've only just
come?"
Susan answered civilly but coldly. She did not wish to plunge into
fresh acquaintances, without knowing something first of the people
around. Like a wise mother, she had a great notion of choosing good and
desirable companions for her children.
But the new-comer, smiling good-humouredly, seemed unconscious of her
coldness.
"Now, I suppose you'll put the cupboard into that recess. It'll just
fit there, if I'm not mistaken. What a handsome bit of furniture it is!
And that clock has the look of something uncommon. Old, isn't it?"
"Yes,—it came from Holland. It's more than a hundred years old," said
Susan.
"Wouldn't Mr. Rawdon give something to have it! He's a wonderful
fancier of old furniture and the like!"
Mr. Rawdon was Richard Dunn's new employer; but Susan said nothing. She
could hardly refuse, however, the kindly offered help, and for a few
minutes the two worked hard.
"That looks well!" the other said presently. "Is this little one your
only child? Pretty," was murmured in a lower key.
"No, I've two others."
"Older or younger?"
"Dick is one year older; and Nancy is sixteen."
"Sixteen!"
The stout woman paused, looked at Susan, looked out of the window, and
then once more looked back at Susan.
"I don't know you yet, my dear," she said. "I don't know whether you're
one that minds a word of advice. I shouldn't wonder if you'll count it
an impertinent interference. Maybe I should in your place. For I'm a
stranger to you,—and if I say I'm Mrs. Mason from over the way, you'll
not be much the wiser. But there's one thing I should like to say to
you, now you've just come here, and don't know the ways of the place
nor the people,—if you'll not take it ill, that's to say?"
Susan simply answered,—"No."
Mrs. Mason's face broke into a smile.
"I like that," she said. "I like a woman that don't pour out a rush
of words, like water gallopading out of a spout. 'No' was enough: and
you're right to say just that, and not a word more."
Susan privately thought that Mrs. Mason was admiring a virtue to which
she had not herself attained.
"Well, but what I was going to say," resumed the other, "what I was
going to say to you, was this: If you can help it, don't you let that
girl of yours work in the factories!"
"My Nancy work in the factory!" Susan's comely face lighted up with
a hot flush. "My Nancy! Thank you, Mrs. Mason. No, I'm not angry,
indeed—but it's such an idea as never came into my head before!"
Susan stopped, and suddenly cooled down.
"But there! You don't know my Nannie yet," she said quietly.
"No, I don't, Mrs. Dunn."
"Nor her father—nor me!"
Mrs. Mason's face broke into a genial smile.
"I think I'm getting to know you fast, Mrs. Dunn," she said, "and the
faster the better. I'm sorry I said a word about the factories, as
it seems to put you out,—but, dear me, if you knew what I know! The
young mothers that are out all day, working, and leaving their little
ones with none to care for them! And the girls of fifteen and sixteen,
who do for themselves, and won't brook a word of control from father
nor mother nor anybody! Not but what there's good girls among them,
and good women too. But I always do say there's a lot of temptation,
specially for young things. And if I was you, I wouldn't send a girl of
mine there without I was downright obliged. I wouldn't, Mrs. Dunn!"