I did not escape Mr. Hoad by my walk. He had stayed to tea. I do not
think that he was a favorite of mother's, but she always made a great
point of welcoming all father's friends to the house, and I saw that
she had welcomed him to-night. He sat in the place of honor beside
her, and there were sundry alterations on the tea-table, and a pot of
special marmalade in the middle.
It was very late when I came in. I took off my things in the hall and
went in without smoothing my hair. I thought I should have been in
disgrace for coming in late, and for having my hair in disorder when a
guest was present; but mother had forgotten her displeasure, and smiled
as she pushed my cup towards me. She never made any allusion to by-gone
differences--her anger never lasted long.
The mood that I had brought with me from without was still upon me, and
when I saw that father's face had lost its gray pallor, that his eyes
shone with their usual fire, and that his voice was strong and healthy,
I sighed a sigh of relief and told myself that I was a fool, and that
Mr. Hoad must really be a good fellow if he could so soon chase away
the gloom from my parent's brow.
"Your husband looks wonderfully well again, Mrs. Maliphant," he was
saying; "it's quite surprising how soon he has pulled round. When I met
the doctor the other day driving from town, and stopped to ask after
him, he said it would be weeks before he could be about again. But he
has got a splendid constitution--must have. Not that I would wish to
detract from your powers of nursing. We all have heard how wonderful
they are."
Mr. Hoad smiled at mother, but she did not smile back again. There were
people whom she kept at arm's-length, even though carefully civil to
them. I don't suppose she knew this, for she was a shy woman, but I
recollect it well.
"We can all nurse those we are fond of," she said. "I'm sure I'm very
pleased to think you should find Mr. Maliphant looking better."
"Better! Nonsense!" exclaimed father. "I'm as well as I ever was in my
life. Don't let's hear any more about that, wife, there's a dear soul."
"Nay, you shall hear no more about it than need be from me, Laban, I
can promise you that," smiled mother, pouring out the tea, while Joyce,
from the opposite side of the table, where she was cutting up the
seed-cake that she had made with her own hands the day before, asked
the guest after his two daughters.
"They are very busy," answered Mr. Hoad. "A large acquaintance, you
know--it involves a great deal of calling. I'm afraid they have been
remiss here."
"Oh, I pray, don't mention such a thing, Mr. Hoad," exclaimed mother,
hastily. "We don't pay calls ourselves. We are plain folk, and don't
hold with fashionable ways."
Mr. Hoad smiled rather uncomfortably.
"And we have not much to amuse them with," I put in. "We do nothing
that young ladies do."
I saw mother purse up her lips at this, and I was vexed that I
had said it, but father laughed and said: "No, Hoad, my girls are
simple farmer's daughters, and have learned more about gardening and
house-keeping than they have about French and piano-playing, though Meg
can sing a ballad when she chooses as well as I want to hear it."
I declared my voice was nothing to Miss Hoad's; and Joyce, always
gracious, looked across to Mr. Hoad and said: "I wonder whether Miss
Jessie would sing something for us at our village concert?"
"I'll ask her," said Mr. Hoad, a little diffidently. "I'm never sure
about my daughters' engagements. They have so many engagements."
"We shall be very pleased to see them here any afternoon for a
practice, sha'n't we, mother?" added Joyce.
"The young ladies will always be welcome," replied mother, a little
stiffly; and I hastened to add, I fear less graciously:
"But pray don't let them break any engagements for us."
Mr. Hoad smiled again, and then father turned to him and they took up
the thread of their own talk where they had left it.
"You certainly ought to know that young fellow I was speaking of,"
Mr. Hoad began. "I was struck with him at once. A wonderful gift of
expressing himself, and just that kind of way with him that always wins
people--one can't explain it. Handsome, too, and full of enthusiasm."
"Enthusiasm don't always carry weight," objected father. "It's rather
apt to fly too high."
"Bound to fly high when you have got to get over the heads of other
folks," laughed Mr. Hoad.
Father looked annoyed. "I wasn't joking, I wasn't joking," said he.
"If men want to go in for great work, they can't afford to take it
lightly." And then he added with one of his quick looks, "But don't
misunderstand me, Hoad. Enthusiasm of the right kind never takes things
lightly. It's the only sort of stuff that wins great battles, because
it has plenty of courage and don't know the meaning of failure. Only
there's such lots of stuff that's called enthusiasm and is nothing but
gas. I should like to see this young man and judge for myself. God
forbid I should think youth a stumbling-block. Youth is the time for
doing as well as for dreaming."
Father sighed, and though I could not tell why at the time, I can guess
now that it was from the recollection of that friend of his who must
have been the type of youthful enthusiasm thus to have left his memory
and the strength of his convictions so many years in the heart of
another.
"Well, you can see him easily enough," said Mr. Hoad. "He's staying in
your village, I believe. He's a nephew of Squire Broderick's."
"What! Captain Forrester?" cried I.
"Ah, you know him of course, Miss Maliphant. Trust the young ladies for
finding out the handsome men," said Mr. Hoad, turning to me with his
most irritating expression of gallantry. I bit my lips with annoyance
at having opened my mouth to the man, especially as he glanced across
at Joyce with a horribly knowing look, at which of course she blushed,
making me very angry.
"I fancy the squire and he don't get on so extra well together," said
Mr. Hoad. "Squire don't like the look of the lad that'll step into his
shoes, if he don't make haste and marry and have a son of his own, I
suppose."
"I should think this smart captain had best not reckon too much on the
property," said mother, stiffly, up in arms at once for her favorite.
"The squire's young enough yet to marry and have a dozen sons."
"Yes, yes, ma'am, only joking, only joking," declared Mr. Hoad. "I
shouldn't think the lad gave the property a thought."
"If he's the kind of man you say, he can't possibly care about
property," said I, glibly, talking of what I could not understand.
Father smiled, but smiled kindly, at me. Mr. Hoad laughed outright and
made me furious.
"I see you're up in all the party phrases, young lady," said he.
"How did you come to know the young man, Hoad?" asked father, without
giving me time to reply. "You seem to have become friends in a very
short time."
"He came to me on a matter of business," repeated Hoad, evasively. "I
fancy he's pretty hard up. Only got his captain's pay and a little
private property, on his father's side, I suppose, and no doubt gives
more than he can spare to these societies and things."
Father was silent. Probably he knew, what I had no notion of, that
there was another branch to Mr. Hoad's profession besides that of a
solicitor. Evidently he did not like to be reminded of the fact, for he
knitted his brow and let his jaw fall, as he always did when annoyed.
"I don't know how we came to talk politics," Hoad went on, "but we did,
and I thought to myself, 'Why, here's just the man for Maliphant.'
I never knew any one else go as far as you do; but this young
fellow--why, he nearly beat you, 'pon my soul he did!"
"Politics!" echoed father, frowning more unmistakably than ever; "what
have they got to do with the matter?"
"Come, now, Maliphant, you're not going to keep that farce up forever,"
cried Mr. Hoad, in his most intimate and good-natured fashion. Oh, how
I resented it when he would treat father as though he were on perfect
equality with him! For my father's daughter I was intolerant; but then
Mr. Hoad patronized, and patronizing was not necessary in order to be
consistent.
"What do you mean?" asked father.
"It was all very well for you to swear you would have nothing to do
with us before," continued Mr. Hoad. "You did not think we should ever
get hold of a man who looked at things as you do. But now we have.
And if you really have the Radical cause at heart, as you say, you
will be able to get him in for the county. He has got everything in
his favor--good name, good presence, good-breeding. Those are the men
to run your notions; not your measly, workaday fellows--they have no
influence with the masses."
Father rose from the table. His eyebrows nearly met in their
overhanging shagginess, and his eyes were small and brilliant.
"I don't think I understand you, Hoad," said he. "We seem to be at
cross-purposes. Do you mean to say that this young man wants to get
into Parliament?"
"Oh, no plans, no plans whatever, I should say," said Hoad. "He
merely asked me who was going to contest the Tory seat; and when I
asked him if he was a Radical, he aired a few sentiments which, as I
tell you, are quite in your line. But I should think we might easily
persuade him--he seemed so very eager. If you would back our man,
Maliphant, we should be safe whoever he was, I do believe," added the
solicitor, emphatically. "He has a really wonderful influence with the
working-classes, that husband of yours, ma'am," he finished up, turning
to mother.
"Yes," said she, proudly; "Laban's a fine orator. When I heard him
speak at the meeting the other day he fairly took my breath away, that
he did."
Mother looked up at father with a pleased smile, for she loved to hear
him praised, but for my own part I knew very well that he was in no
mood for pleasant speeches.
"I have always told you, Hoad, that it's no part of my scheme to go in
for politics," said he, in a low voice, but very decisively. "I see no
reason to change my mind."
"Well, my dear fellow, but that's absurd," answered Mr. Hoad, still in
that provokingly friendly fashion. "However do you expect to get what
you want?"
"Not through Parliament, anyhow," said father, laconically. "I never
heard of any Act of Parliament that gave bread to the poor out of the
waste of the rich. I'll wait to support Parliament till I see one of
the law-makers there lift up a finger to right the poor miserable
children who swarm and starve in the London streets, and whose little
faces grow mean and sharp with the learning to cheat those who cheat
them of their daily bread."
I can see him now, his lip trembling, his eye bright, his hands
clinched. It was the cry with which he ended every discourse; this
tender pity for the many children who must needs hunger while others
waste, who must needs learn sin while others are shielded from even
knowing that there is such a thing; those innocent sinners, outcasts
from good, patient because hopeless, yet often enough incurably happy
even in the very centre of evil--they were always in his heart. It was
his most cherished hope in some way to succor them, by some means to
bring the horror of their helplessness home to the hearts of those who
had happy children of their own.
I held my face down that no one should see my tears, and I knew that
father took out his big colored pocket-handkerchief and blew his nose
very hard. Mr. Hoad, however, was not so easily affected.
"Ah, you were right, Mrs. Maliphant," said he, in a loud, emphatic
voice. "Your husband would make a very fine orator. All the more reason
it's a sin and a shame he should hide his talents under a bushel. Now,
don't you agree with me?"
"Oh, Laban knows best what he has got to do," answered mother. "I think
it's a great pity for women to mix themselves up in these matters. They
have plenty to do attending to the practical affairs of life."
Mr. Hoad burst into a loud fit of laughter. "Ah, you've got a clever
wife, Maliphant," cried he. "She's put her finger upon the weak joint
in your armor! Yes, that's it, my boy. They're fine sentiments, but
they aren't practical; they won't wash. But you would soon see, when
you really got into the thing, that the best way to make the first step
towards what you want is not to ask for the whole lot at once. The thin
edge of the wedge--that's the art. And I should be inclined to think
this young fellow was not wanting in tact."
"Anyhow," answered father, quietly, "if Squire Broderick's nephew were
minded to oppose the Tory candidate for this county, I should certainly
not wish--as Squire Broderick's old friend--to support him in his
venture."
"Ah, you're very scrupulous, Maliphant," laughed Mr. Hoad. But then,
seeing his mistake, he added, quickly, "Quite right, perfectly right of
course, and I don't suppose the young man has any intention of doing
anything of the kind."
"No doubt it was rather that the wish was father to the thought in you,
Hoad," answered father, frankly.
"Ah, well, you may be as obstinate as you like, Maliphant," said the
solicitor, trying to take father's good-tempered effort as a cue for
jocoseness, "but we can get on very well without you if the young
ladies will only give us their kind support. I hope you won't be such
an old curmudgeon as to forbid that; and I hope," added he, turning
to Joyce with that sugary smile of his, "that the young ladies will
not withdraw their patronage if, after all, a less handsome man than
Captain Forrester should be our Radical candidate."
"Oh, thank you," said Joyce, blushing furiously, and looking up with
distressed blue eyes; "indeed, we scarcely know Captain Forrester at
all. We couldn't possibly be of any use to you."
"Of course not," cried I. "Whoever were the candidate we should not
canvass. We never canvass. We are not politicians."
I wonder that nobody smiled, but nobody did. Father was too busy with
his thoughts, and perhaps Mr. Hoad was too much astonished. But as
though to cover my priggishness, Joyce said, sweetly, when Mr. Hoad
rose to go: "You won't forget the concert, will you? And, please, will
you tell Miss Bessie that I shall be very glad to do what I can to help
her with her bazaar work?"
He promised to remember both messages, and shook hands with her in a
kind of lingering way, which I remember was a manner he always had
towards a pretty girl. I thought mother took leave of him a little
shortly. Father alone accompanied him out into the hall, and saw him
into the smart little gig that came round from the stable to pick him
up. I went to the pantry for the tray to clear the tea-things. When I
came back again into the parlor Joyce had gone up-stairs, and father
and mother were alone. I do not know why it was, but as soon as I came
in I felt sure that the discussion with Hoad, eager as it had been at
the time, was not occupying father's mind. I felt sure that mother
had alluded to that more important matter hotly spoken of after the
squire's visit. She was standing by the fire, and father held her hand
in his. He asked me to bring a lamp into his study, and went out. I
glanced at mother.
"What does father want to go to work for so late?" said I. "Why don't
he sit and smoke his pipe as usual?"
Mother did not answer; her back was turned towards me, but there was
something in its expression which made me feel sure that she was crying.
"But he seems much better to-night, mother," I added, coming up behind
her; "he was quite himself over that argument."
"Yes, dear, yes; he can always wake up over those things," answered
she, and sure enough there was a tremble in her voice, and every trace
of the dignity that she had used towards me since the scene at the
dinner-table had entirely disappeared.
"Dear mother, why do you fret?" said I, softly. "I'm sure there's no
need."
"No, no, of course there's no need," she repeated. "But, Margaret,"
added she, hurriedly, as though she were half ashamed of what she were
saying, "if he could be brought to see that plan of the squire's in
a better light, I'm sure it would be a good thing. I don't think his
heart has ever been in farm-work, and I can't a-bear to see him working
so hard now he is old. It would have been different, you see, if--if
little John had lived."
I kissed her silently. The innocent slight to my own capacities, which
had so occupied my mind an hour ago, passed unnoticed by me. And as
father that night at family prayers rolled forth in his sonorous voice
the beautiful language of the Psalms, the words, "He hath respect unto
the lowly, but the proud he knoweth afar off," sank into my heart, and
I thought that I should never again want to set myself up above my
betters.