A DISCUSSION.
Mrs. Martin had not named the hour she had promised to call at the Farm.
Dorothy, however, kept a good look out for her new friend, while
pursuing her domestic avocations, and when she saw her coming down the
lane she ran to meet her.
After discussing for some time the school matter, and her probable
chance of success, Mrs. Martin thought she could prevail upon Mr.
Rushmere to let Dorothy attend an evening school, for an hour, three
times during the week, without making any mystery about it.
She was not aware, as Dorothy was, of the stubborn obstinacy of his
character, which, combined with old hereditary prejudices, made him a
very difficult person to deal with.
She found the yeoman in the big hall, putting in rake handles, to be
ready against they were wanted, for the day was cold and rough without,
and the old man was one who always made a boast of taking time by the
forelock.
He would have made a fine study for the pencil of Wilkie or
Gainsborough. His regular but strongly marked features, reflecting the
energy with which he pursued his employment; his cheeks ruddy with
exertion; and his snow-white hair falling in long wavy curls upon his
ample shoulders.
Pincher was sitting erect upon his haunches beside him, dividing his
attention between his master and watching the progress he made in his
work; and the frisking of Dolly's kitten, Rory, who was playing with
the tail of his demure-looking mother, who lay sleeping upon the hearth.
"Always busy, neighbour Rushmere," said Mrs. Martin, stepping briskly up
to the old man. "It would be a wonder to find you napping."
"Aye, ma'am, lazy folk are no good," he replied, looking up and shaking
hands with her. "What brings you out this cold day? It's not weather for
women folk. Some money, I suppose, to be collected for the church.
Parsons are capital at that work. When they can't come themselves, they
send their wives."
"They know how difficult it is for an Englishman to say nay to a woman,"
and Mrs. Martin rubbed her cold hands and laughed.
"You are just right, ma'am, I never could resist their sweet voices--not
I. From youth to age I have allers found women my best friends. God
bless 'em. But let us come to the point at once. What do you want o'
me? What am I expected to disburse?"
"Neither silver nor gold this time."
"Well, now, that's something uncommon. Surely you never came out this
wintry day for the pleasure o' seeing an old man at work." He looked at
her with a shrewd twinkle in his clear blue eyes, as if he suspected
that her visit was not wholly disinterested.
"I want you to allow Dorothy Chance to assist me in teaching in the
Sunday-school, which is to go into operation in a few weeks. Her
industrious habits and good character, which is well-known to the
parish, eminently qualify her for instructing the young people of her
own class. Will you permit her to take a share in the good work?"
"No, a' will not," said the old man, a frown gathering upon his broad
forehead; and he applied the spoke-shave with great vigour to the
rake-handle in his grasp.
"Who is to do her work at home, while she is drumming the A B C into the
heads of children, whom God never meant to know B from a bull's foot. If
you want money, I'll gi' that, but not the time o' my servant, that's
more nor money's worth to me."
Dorothy, who was standing on the hearth, from which she had been
diligently sweeping the pile of shavings the farmer had scattered over
it, winced at this. It was the first time she had ever heard the name of
servant applied to her, by her foster parents. She thought it unkind and
cruel, and her dark eyes flashed with a sudden fire, that dried up the
gathering tears.
Mrs. Martin, however, nothing daunted by this rebuff, and beginning to
understand something of the character of the man with whom she had to
deal, replied with the greatest coolness.
"I spoke to you, Mr. Rushmere as Dorothy's father, not as her master. I
thought that her welfare was as dear to you as that of your own child;
and if report says true, she has been a good dutiful daughter to you."
"Yes, I ha' naught to complain of on that score." This was said with a
dogged air of sullen resistance.
"Well, then, my friend, you surely will not deny her the privilege of
joining in a Christian duty, and deprive her of the advantage of
improving her scanty education. Such a course would be injurious to her,
and would reflect no credit on you."
"I don't allow a parson's wife to preach to me about my duty, or to
interfere wi' my family matters," said Rushmere, dryly. "Politics and
religion are subjects which belong o' right to men; women allers make a
mess o' it, when they meddle wi' what they don't understand."
Mrs. Martin, amused with the vehemence with which the old man spoke out
his mind, replied, with a smile.
"You will allow, however, Mr. Rushmere, that women have souls to be
saved as well as men, and that a little education is necessary for them,
to enable them to teach their own children. The religious instruction
which a boy receives at his mother's knee, generally clings to him
through life; and often is the silent monitor restraining him from the
commission of great crimes in after years, when the most eloquent
preaching from the pulpit has produced little moral change in his
character. To teach poor ignorant children to read the Bible, to learn
their duty to God and man, and to be contented with the state of life in
which His good providence has placed them, is surely to confer upon them
a great benefit. I have visited dying people in this parish, who barely
knew their right hand from their left, who had never been taught to
pray, and lived without a knowledge of Christ or of God, in the world.
Now, it is not our intention to make scholars of such poor people, but
to teach them how to become good Christians."
"That sounds sensible like," mused the farmer. "You're a clever woman,
Mrs. Martin. Aye, a cleverer woman than I thought you. But Dorothy wants
instruction in such matters herself. How can she teach others?"
"I am willing and anxious to fit her for this task. Let her come to me
for an hour--only one short hour--three times during the week, and I
will spare no pains to improve her education, and make her an excellent
teacher."
"Very kind o' you, ma'am, but who's to milk the cows, and attend to the
house, while she's away?"
"Father, I promise you, faithfully, that nothing shall be neglected,"
cried Dorothy, eagerly, who saw, by the subdued anger in his face, that
he was relenting. "I will rise an hour earlier, and will not study my
lessons until the evening, when my work is all done."
"Well," said Rushmere, slowly conceding the point. "I will gi' my
permission only on one condition, and that is, Mrs. Martin, that you
teach the lass no fine airs, no apeing of rich ladies, no wish to dress
smarter, nor hold her head higher than her neighbours; nor to think
herself better an' wiser than those who ha' been at the expense o'
rearing her. When once a gal takes such notions into her head, she's
good for naught. As to making our Dolly a Christian, I think she be that
already.
"And now, Mrs. Martin," he continued, with increasing energy, and
handling his rake in a most warlike manner, "that you ha' had your say,
and got your own way, which I 'spose you be used to with the goodman at
home, will you tell me who's to be at the expense of this
school--_school_?" repeating his own words with a sarcastic laugh. "What
time ha' poor folk for learning, who ha' to work fourteen hours out o'
the twenty-four, to earn bread for themselves and their children?"
"I will tell you all about our plans the next time I come to see you,"
said Mrs. Martin, who perceived she was treading upon dangerous ground,
and was very well satisfied with her present position. "I hope, Lawrence
Rushmere, you will become one of the best patrons of our institution."
"Dorothy," turning to that individual, who was now beaming with smiles,
her face all good humour and sunshine, "I shall expect you on Monday
evening."
"Ah, dear Mrs. Martin, Monday is our washing day. Will not Tuesday do as
well?"
"Yes, perhaps better. Monday is always a busy day in all working
communities. We will say Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Will that
suit you?"
"Perfectly."
Mrs. Martin went away delighted with the success of her negotiations,
and so that matter was settled; though Rushmere, after the departure of
his visitor, grumbled terribly at his want of resolution, in not
sticking like a man to his first determination, and was very cross and
contradictory to Dorothy and his wife during the rest of the day.
Dorothy bore it all with exemplary patience, and resumed her work in
such spirits, that she sang from the very joy of her heart. And such a
voice as the little damsel had, it only wanted cultivation to have made
her a fortune. Dorothy was not conscious of its surpassing excellence
and power, though Rushmere often remarked to his wife, "that it was
better than the best of music. It did his old heart good to hear the
girl sing. She sang like a _trush_, and made him feel like a boy again."
In the lives of most individuals, whether brought up in the seclusion of
the country, or amid the turmoil of a great city, there is a turning
point, whether for good or ill, that determines their future position,
and either makes or mars their worldly prospects. A certain "tide," as a
great writer has expressed it, "which, taken at the flood, will lead to
fortune."
This period had arrived in the hitherto obscure life of Dorothy Chance,
and without speculating at all on the probable result of the change that
a few days had made in her position, she embraced it with the ardour
peculiar to her character, in which strength of mind and a gentle loving
nature were blended most harmoniously together.
Her visit to Heath Hall had kindled in her breast vague yearnings for
mental improvement. She had never felt any pleasure in vulgar
companionship, and always kept aloof from coarse scenes and unrefined
amusements.
Her very language differed from the common dialect of those by whom she
was surrounded, and well-educated people marvelled at the grace and
simplicity with which she expressed herself.
She had lived out of the world, a pure and useful life; her mind deeply
imbued with the poetry of nature--in fact, nature had been her only
teacher. Of books she knew little. The Bible, and a book of old ballads,
and some odd volumes of the "Spectator," comprised her literary lore;
but she was never tired of poring over these--they afforded the only
recreation of the few spare moments she could call her own, and their
diligent perusal had doubtless contributed, in no small degree, to the
improvement in her mind and manners.
Beauty itself confers a certain air of dignity upon its humblest
possessor. Numbers of women, thus richly endowed by nature, when called
from a subordinate position to fill a higher station, have done so, with
as much ease and grace, as if it had been inherited from birth.
The most delightful trait in Dorothy's character was its perfect
unselfishness; and what is still more rare, a deep and abiding sense of
gratitude to the friends who had protected her childhood, and saved her
from being brought up in the workhouse. This devotion had been expressed
in every act of her life, and had induced her to give up the first love
of a warm, truthful heart.
Rushmere, though an honest, good man in his way, was incapable of
appreciating a sacrifice which few would have made under the same
circumstances. In a momentary impulse of generous feeling he had adopted
Dorothy, but even then, he had in view the services she might in future
render to his household.
Having no daughter of his own, the beautiful little girl, and her
winning ways, had grown into his cold, stern heart, and forced him to
regard her with affection against his will. The idea of her becoming his
son's wife, however, he rejected with contempt, and though in another
fit of sudden benevolence, when the girl, by her courage and prudence,
had saved his life and property, he had given his consent to their
marriage, it was not without a settled conviction in his own mind, that
Gilbert, if living, no longer wished to claim her as such.
Pride, and the love of money, were the old man's besetting sins. He had
toiled hard all his life, in accumulating the one, and had hoped that
his son, by a fortunate marriage, might be the means of gratifying the
other; and he viewed this sudden advancement in Dorothy's prospects with
a jealous eye, as a not improbable means of drawing her and Gilbert once
more together.
Dorothy herself never had the least misgiving in her mind with regard to
her lover's fidelity--they were, indeed, _parted_, but, in her
estimation, not _divided_.
How could Gilbert cease to love her, when her soul was devoted to him;
and had not the old man at last given his consent; and did not she long
to tell him that, and make him happy with the unexpected consummation of
their treasured hope?
Dorothy was very ignorant of Gilbert's real character. She had yet to
learn that his mind was a reflex of his father's; that the same
deep-rooted obstinacy formed the base of her lover's character. With a
larger share of vanity, he also felt a deeper share of personal injury.
His animosity once aroused, was a demon very hard to quell.
Rushmere was often hasty and contrary, and pugnacious as a bull-dog, but
at the same time, steady in his affections, and if unresisted in his
angry moods, he came round of himself, often expressing the deepest
regret for harsh or unreasonable conduct.
He was honest and truthful, and a just master to his servants; and Dolly
loved and venerated the old man, for the sterling good qualities he
possessed, and willingly forgave all the faults, often remarking, when
her mother had been vexed by some blunt, fault-finding speech from her
stern husband,
"Don't think of it, mother, you will always find some thistles among the
finest corn. Father will forget it all before night."
This was true. Rushmere did not treasure his wrath, but his son Gilbert
did.
The refusal Dorothy gave him to his father's face, was rankling still in
his heart. When he left his home, it was not with any desire to spite
his parents, especially his mother, to whom he was much attached, but
out of revenge to Dorothy; for he well knew that in her heart he could
not inflict a deeper wound.
Mentally and morally, Gilbert Rushmere was quite unworthy of her love.
Dorothy was so blind to this fact, that her great wish for educational
improvement was in the hope that it might render her more deserving of
his regard.
Her sensitive nature had been deeply hurt that morning, by the rough,
unfeeling manner in which Mr. Rushmere had called her _his servant_. She
tried her best to forget it, but the ungracious thought would again and
again intrude.
"He might have spoken of me as his daughter, as he always calls me when
we are alone. It was hard to degrade me in my own eyes before Mrs.
Martin," argued poor Dorothy. "I am not a servant. I receive no
wages--ask for none. Their love I consider is sufficient reward. Perhaps
it is my ignorance that makes father so averse to my marriage with
Gilbert; but then," she continued, musingly, "if that were the case, he
would not be so much against my receiving instruction. I do not believe
that he really wishes us to come together, and it was cruel of Gilly to
write of me in that careless manner, as if it were a matter of
indifference to him my marriage with another.
"However, I mean to study in real earnest, to give my whole mind to it,
and acquire all the knowledge I can. I feel a power within me, that has
never been called into action. A something that is always waking up, and
urging me to work out my own living, instead of depending on the charity
of others. I have always tried to silence this voice--it seemed
ungrateful in me to listen to it, but to-day it speaks to me in louder
tones, urging me to lead a holy and useful life, and I now know," she
cried, earnestly clasping her hands together, "that it is from God."
With this conviction, deeply impressed upon her mind, Dorothy commenced
her studies with Mrs. Martin, who had conceived a deep attachment to her
young pupil.
They got on swimmingly together. Dorothy's cheerful, hopeful temper and
great patience, with the addition of an excellent memory, made the task
of tuition light and agreeable to her friend, while the progress she
made astonished her worthy preceptress, as much as it did Dorothy
herself.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: Missing end of paragraph punctuation has been
inserted. Two printer's errors have been amended. Minntes is now
minutes and ungateful is now ungrateful.