"UNCLE JOSHUA."
"Let each be what he is, so will he be good enough for man himself,
and God."--_Lavater_.
Whilst all this was going on at the farm, Mrs White had been busy as
usual in the cottage on the hill--her mind full of Lilac, and her hands
full of the Rectory washing. It was an important business, for it was
all she and her child had to depend on beside a small pension allowed
her by Jem's late employers; but quite apart from this she took a pride
in her work for its own sake. She felt responsible not only for the
unyielding stiffness of the Rector's round collars, but also for the
appearance of the choristers' surplices; and any failure in colour or
approach to limpness was a real pain to her, and made it difficult to
fix her attention on the service. This happened very seldom, however;
and when it did, was owing to an unfortunate drying day or other
accident, and never to want of exertion on her own part.
There was nothing to complain of in the weather this morning--a bright
sun and a nice bit of wind, and not too much of it. Mrs White wrung
out the surplices in a very cheerful spirit, and her grave face had a
smile on it now and then, for she was thinking of Lilac. Lilac
sweetened all her life now, much in the same way that the bunch of
flowers from which she took her name had sweetened the small room with
its fragrance twelve years ago. As she grew up her mother's love grew
too, stronger year by year; for when she looked at her she remembered
all the happiness that her life had known--when she spoke her name, it
brought back a thousand pleasant memories and kept them fresh in her
mind. And she looked forward too, for Lilac's sake, and saw in years to
come her proudest hope fulfilled--her child grown to be a
self-respecting useful woman, who could work for herself and need be
beholden to no one. She had no higher ambition for her; but this she
had set her heart on, she should not become lazy, vain, helpless, like
her cousins the Greenways. That was the pitfall from which she would
strain every muscle to hold Lilac back. There were moments when she
trembled for the bad influence of example at Orchards Farm. She knew
Lilac's yielding affectionate nature and her great admiration for her
cousins, and kept a watchful eye for the first unsatisfactory signs.
But there were none. No one could accuse Lilac of untidy ways, or want
of thoroughness in dusting, sweeping, and all branches of household
work, and even Mrs White could find no fault. "After all," she said to
herself, "it's natural in young things to like to be together, and
there's nothing worse nor foolishness in Agnetta and Bella." So she
allowed the visits to go on, and contented herself by many a word in
season and many a pointed practical lesson. The Greenways were seldom
mentioned, but they were, nevertheless, very often in the minds of both
mother and daughter.
This morning she was thinking of a much more pleasant subject. "How was
the artist gentleman getting along with Lilac's picture? He must be
well at it now," she thought, looking up at the loud-voiced American
clock, "an' her looking as peart and pretty as a daisy. White-faced
indeed! I'd rather she were white-faced than have great red cheeks like
a peony bloom. What will he do with the picture afterwards?" Joshua
Snell, through reading the papers so much, knew most things, and he had
said that it would p'r'aps be hung up with a lot of others in a place in
London called an exhibition, where you could pay money and go to see
'em. "If he's right," concluded Mrs White, wringing out the last
surplice, "I do really think as how I must give Lilac a jaunt up to
London, an' we'll go and see it. The last holiday as ever I had was
fifteen years back, an' that was when Jem and me, we went--Why, I do
believe," she said aloud, "here she is back a'ready!"
There was a sound of running feet, which she had heard too often to
mistake, then the click of the latch, and then Lilac herself rushed
through the front room.
"Mother, Mother," she cried, "he won't paint me!"
Mrs White turned sharply round. Lilac was standing just inside the
entrance to the back kitchen, with her bonnet on, and her hands clasped
over her face. To keep her bonnet on a moment after she was in the
house struck her mother at once as something strange and unusual, and
she stared at her for an instant in silence, with her bands held up
dripping and pink from the water.
"Whatever ails you, child?" she said at length. "What made him change
his mind?"
"He said as how I was the wrong one," murmured Lilac under her closed
hands.
"The _wrong_ one!" repeated her mother. "Why, how could he go to say
such a thing? You told him you was Lilac White, I s'pose. There's
ne'er another in the village."
"He didn't seem as if he knew me," said Lilac. "He looked at me very
sharp, and said as how it was no good to paint me now."
"Why ever not? You're just the same as you was."
"I ain't," said Lilac desperately, taking away her hands from her face
and letting them fan at her side. "I ain't the same. I've cut my
hair!"
It was over now. She stood before her mother a disgraced and miserable
Lilac. The black fringe of hair across her forehead, the bonnet pushed
back, the small white face quivering nervously.
But though she knew it would displease her mother, she had very little
idea that she had done the thing of all others most hateful to her. A
fringe was to Mrs White a sort of distinguishing mark of the Greenways
family, and of others like it. Not only was it ugly and unsuitable in
itself, but it was an outward sign of all manner of unworthy qualities
within. Girls who wore fringes were in her eyes stamped with three
certain faults: untidiness, vanity, and love of dressing beyond their
station. Beginning with these, who could tell to what other evils a
fringe might lead? And now, her own child, her Lilac whom she had been
so proud of, and thought so different from others, stood before her with
this abomination on her brow. Bitterest of all, it was the influence of
the Greenways that had triumphed, and not her own. All her care and
toil had ended in this. It had all been in vain. If Lilac "took
pattern" by her cousins in one way she would in another--"a straw can
tell which way the wind blows." She would grow up like Bella and
Agnetta.
Swiftly all this rushed into Mrs White's mind, as she stood looking
with surprise and horror at Lilac's altered face. Finding her voice as
she arrived at the last conclusion, she asked coldly:
"What made yer do it?"
Lilac locked her hands tightly together and made no answer. She would
not say anything about Agnetta, who had meant kindly in what she had
done.
"I know," continued her mother, "without you sayin' a word. It was one
of them Greenways. But I did think as how you'd enough sense and
sperrit of yer own to stand out agin' their foolishness--let alone
anything else. It's plain to me now that you don't care for yer mother
or what she says. You'll fly right in her face to please any of them at
Orchards Farm."
Still Lilac did not speak, and her silence made Mrs White more and more
angry.
"An' what do you think you've got by it?" she continued scornfully. "Do
those silly things think it makes 'em look like ladies to cut their hair
so and dress themselves up fine? Then you can tell 'em this from me:
Vulgar they are, and vulgar they'll be all their lives long, and nothing
they can do to their outsides will change 'em. But they might a left
you alone, Lilac, for you're but a child; only I did think as you'd a
had more sense."
Lilac was crying now. This scolding on the top of much excitement and
disappointment was more than she could bear, but still she felt she must
defend the Greenways from blame.
"It was my fault," she sobbed. "I thought as how it would look nicer."
"The many and many times," pursued Mrs White, drying her hands
vigorously on a rough towel, "as I've tried to make you understand
what's respectable and right and fitting! And it's all been no good.
Well, I've done. Go to your Greenways and let them teach you, and much
profit may you get. I've done with you--you don't look like my child no
longer."
She turned her back and began to bustle about with the linen, not
looking towards Lilac again. In reality her eyes were full of tears and
she would have given worlds to cry heartily with the child, for to use
those hard words to her was like bruising her own flesh. But she was
too mortified and angry to show it, and Lilac, after casting some
wistful glances at the active figure, turned and went slowly out of the
room with drooping head.
Pulling her bonnet forward so that her forehead and the dreadful fringe
were quite hidden, she wandered down the hill, hardly knowing or caring
where she went. All the world was against her. No one would ever look
pleasantly at her again, if even her mother frowned and turned away.
One by one she recalled what they had all said. First, Peter: "I liked
it best as it wur afore." Then the artist--he had been quite angry.
"You stupid little girl," he had said, "you've made yourself quite
commonplace. You're no use whatever. Run away." And now Mother--that
was worst of all: "You don't look like my child." Lilac's tears fell
fast when she remembered that. How very hard they all were upon her!
She strayed listlessly onwards, and presently came to a sudden
standstill, for she found that she was getting near the bottom of the
hill, where the artist was no doubt still sitting. That would never do.
At her right hand there branched off a wide grass-grown lane, one of
the ancient roads of the Romans which could still be traced along the
valley. It was seldom used now, for it led nowhere in particular; but
here and there at long distances there were some small cottages in it,
and in one of these lived the cobbler, Joshua Snell.
Now, Uncle Joshua, as she called him, though he was no relation to her,
was a great friend of Lilac's, and the thought of him darted into her
forlorn little mind like a ray of comfort. He would perhaps look kindly
at her in spite of her fringe. There was no one else to do it except
Agnetta, and to reach her the artist must be passed, which was
impossible. Lilac could not remember that Joshua had ever been cross to
her, even in the days when she had played with his bits of leather and
mislaid his tools--those old days when she was a tiny child, and Mother
had left her with him "to mind" when she went out to work. And besides
being kind he was wise, and would surely find some way to help her in
her present distress. Perhaps even he would speak to Mother, who
thought a deal of what he said, and that would make her less angry. A
little cheered by these reflections Lilac turned down the lane,
quickened her pace, and made straight for the cobbler's cottage.
It was a very small abode, with such a deep thatch and such tiny windows
that it looked all roof. At right angles there jutted out from it an
extra room, or rather shed, and in this it was possible, by peering
closely through a dingy pane of glass, to make out the dim figure of
Joshua bending over his work. This dark little hole, in which there was
just space enough for Joshua, his boots and tools and leather, had no
door from without, but could only be approached through the kitchen. As
he sat at work he could see the fire and the clock without getting up,
which was very convenient, and he was proud of his work-shed, though in
the winter it was both chilly and dark. Joshua lived quite alone. He
had come to Danecross twenty years ago from the north, bringing with him
a wife, a collection of old books, and a clarionet. The wife, whose
black bonnet still hung behind the kitchen door, had now been dead ten
years, and he had only the books and the clarionet to bear him company.
But these companions kept him from being dull and lonely, and gave him
besides a position of some importance in the village. For by dint of
reading his books many times over, and pondering on them as he sat and
cobbled, he had gained a store of wisdom, or what passed for such, and a
great many long words with which he was fond of impressing the
neighbours. He was also considered a fine reader, and quite a musical
genius; for although he now only played the clarionet in private, there
had been a time, he told them, when he had performed in a gallery as one
of the church choir.
It was now about four o'clock in the afternoon, and he sat earnestly
intent on making a good job of a pair of boots which had been brought to
him to sole. He was also anxious to make the most of the bright spring
sunshine, a stray beam of which had found its way in at his little
window and helped him greatly by its cheerful presence. All at once a
shadow flitted across it, and glancing up he saw a well-known figure run
hurriedly in at the cottage door. "It's White Lilac," he said to
himself with a smile but without ceasing his work, for Lilac was a
frequent visitor, and he could not afford to waste his time in welcoming
his guests. He did not even look round, therefore, but listened for her
greeting white his hammer kept up a steady tack, tack, tack. It did not
come. Joshua stopped his work, raised his head, and listened more
intently. The kitchen was as perfectly silent as though it were empty.
"I cert'nly did see her," said he, almost doubting his eyesight; "maybe
she's playing off a game." He got up and looked cautiously round the
entrance, quite expecting Lilac to jump out from some hiding-place with
a laugh; but a very different sight met his eyes. Lilac had thrown
herself into a large chair which stood on the hearth, her head was bent,
her face buried in her hands, and she was crying bitterly.
"My word!" exclaimed Joshua, suddenly arrested on the threshold.
He rubbed his hands in great perplexity on his leather apron. It was
quite a new thing to see Lilac in tears, and they fell so fast that she
could neither control herself nor tell him the cause of her distress.
In vain he tried to coax and comfort her: she would not even raise her
head nor look at him. Joshua looked round the room as if for counsel
and advice in this difficulty, and fixed his eyes thoughtfully on the
tall clock for some moments; then he winked at it, and said softly, as
though speaking in confidence: "Best let her have her cry out; then
she'll tell me."
"See here," he continued, turning to Lilac and using his ordinary voice.
"You've come to get Uncle's tea ready for him, I know, and make him
some toast; that's what you've come for. An' I've got a job as I must
finish afore tea-time, 'cause the owner's coming for 'em. So I'll go
and set to and do it, and you'll get the tea ready like a handy maid as
you are, and then we'll have it together, snug and cosy."
When he had settled himself to his work again, and the sound of his
hammer mingled with the ticking of the tall clock as though they were
running a race, Lilac raised her head and rubbed her wet eyes. There
was something very soothing and peaceful in Uncle Joshua's cottage, and
his kind voice seemed to carry comfort with it. She had a strong hope
that he would help her in some way, though she could not tell how, for
he had never failed to find a remedy for all the little troubles she had
brought to him from her earliest years. Her faith in him, therefore,
was entire, and even if he had proposed to make her hair long again at
once, she would have believed it possible, because he knew so much.
Gradually, as she remembered this, she ceased crying altogether, and
began to move about the room to prepare the tea, a business to which she
was well used, for she had always considered it an honour to get Uncle
Joshua's tea and make toast for him. The kettle already hung on its
chain over the fire, and gave out a gentle simmering sound; by the time
the toast was ready the water would boil. Lilac got the bread from the
corner cupboard and cut some stout slices. Uncle liked his toast thick.
Then she knelt on the hearth, and shielding her face with one hand
chose out the fiercest red hollows of the fire. It was an anxious
process, needing the greatest attention; for Lilac prided herself on her
toast, and it was a matter of deep importance that it should be a fine
even brown all over--neither burnt, nor smoked, nor the least blackened.
While she was making it she was happy again, and quite unconscious of
the fringe, for the first time since she had felt Agnetta's cold
scissors on her brow.
It was soon quite ready on a plate on the hearth, so that it might keep
hot. Uncle Joshua was ready also, for he came in just then from his
shed, carrying his completed job in his hand: a pair of huge hobnailed
boots, which he placed gently on the ground as though they were brittle
and must be handled with care.
"Them's Peter Greenways' boots," he said, looking at them with some
triumph, "and a good piece of work they be!"
It was a great relief to Lilac that neither then nor during the meal did
Uncle Joshua look at her with surprise, or appear to notice that there
was anything different about her. Everything went on just as usual,
just as it had so often done before. She sat on one side of the table
and poured out the tea, and Uncle Joshua in his high-backed elbow chair
on the other, with his red-and-white handkerchief over his knees, his
spectacles pushed up on his forehead, and a well-buttered slice of toast
in his hand. He never talked much during his meals; partly because he
was used to having them alone, and partly because he liked to enjoy one
thing at a time thoroughly. He was fond of talking and he was fond of
eating, and he would not spoil both by trying to do them together. So
to-night, as usual, he drank endless cups of tea in almost perfect
silence, and at last Lilac began to wish he would stop, for although she
feared she yet longed for his opinion. She felt more able to face it
now that she had eaten something, for without knowing it she had been
hungry as well as miserable, and had quite forgotten that she had had no
dinner. She watched Uncle Joshua nervously. Would he ask for more tea.
No. He wiped his mouth with the red handkerchief, looked straight at
Lilac, and suddenly spoke:
"And how's the picture going forrard then?"
After this question it was easy to tell the whole story, from its
beginning to its unlucky end. During its progress the cobbler listened
with the deepest attention, gave now a nod, and now a shake of the head
or a muttered "Humph!" and when it was finished he fingered his cheek
thoughtfully, and said:
"And so he wouldn't paint you--eh? and Mother was angry?"
"She's dreadful angry," sighed Lilac.
"Did you think it 'ud please her, now?" asked Uncle Joshua.
"N-no," answered Lilac hesitatingly; "but I never thought as how she'd
make so much fuss. And after all no one don't like it. Do you think as
how it looks _very_ bad, Uncle?"
The cobbler put his spectacles carefully straight and studied Lilac's
face with earnest attention. "What I consider is this here," he said as
he finished his examination and leant back in his chair. "It makes you
look like lots of other little gells, that's what it does. Not so much
like White Lilac as you used to. I liked it best as it wur afore."
"Peter, he said that too," said Lilac. "No one likes it except
Agnetta."
"Ah! And what made Agnetta and all of 'em cut their hair that way?"
asked Uncle Joshua.
"Because Gusta Greenways told Bella as how all the ladies in London did
it," answered Lilac simply.
"That's where it is," said Uncle Joshua. "My little maid, there's
things as is fitting and there's things as isn't fitting. Perhaps it's
fitting for London ladies to wear their hair so. Very well, then let
them do it. But why should you and Agnetta and the rest copy 'em?
You're not ladies. You're country girls with honest work to do, and
proud you ought to be of it. As proud every bit as the grandest lady as
ever was, who never put her hand to a useful thing in her life. I'm not
saying you're better than her. She's got her own place, an' her own
lessons to learn, an' she's got to do the best she can with her life.
But you're different, because your life's different, an' you'll never
look like her whatever you put on your outside. If a thing isn't fit
for what it's intended, it'll never look well. Now, here's Peter's
boots--I call 'em handsome."
He lifted one of them as he spoke and put it on the table, where it
seemed to take up a great deal of room. Lilac looked at it with a
puzzled air; she saw nothing handsome in it. It was enormously thick
and deeply wrinkled across the toes, which were turned upwards as though
with many and many a weary tramp.
"I call 'em handsome," pursued Joshua. "Because for why? Because
they're fit for ploughin' in the stiffest soil. Because they'll keep
out wet and never give in the seams. They're fit for what they're meant
to do. But now you just fancy," he went on, raising one finger, "as how
I'd made 'em of shiny leather, and put paper soles to 'em, and pointed
tips to the toes. How'd they look in a ploughed field or a muddy lane?
Or s'pose Peter he went and capered about in these 'ere on a velvet
carpet an' tried to dance. How'd he look?"
The idea of the loutish Peter capering anywhere, least of all on a
velvet carpet, made Lilac smile in spite of Uncle Joshua's great
gravity.
"Why, he'd look silly," he continued; "as silly as a country girl, who's
got to scrub an' wash an' make the butter, dressed out in silks an'
fandangoes. She ought to be too proud of being what she is, to try and
look like what she isn't. Give me down that big brown book yonder an'
I'll read you something fine about that."
Lilac reached the book from the shelf with the greatest reverence; it
was the only one amongst Joshua's collection that she often begged to
look at, because it was full of curious pictures. It was Lavater's
Physiognomy; having found the passage he wanted, Joshua read it very
slowly aloud:
"In the mansion of God there are to his glory vessels of wood, of
silver, and of gold. All are serviceable, all profitable, all capable
of divine uses, all the instruments of God: but the wood continues wood,
the silver silver, the gold gold. Though the golden should remain
unused, still they are gold. The wooden may be made more serviceable
than the golden, but they continue wood. Let each be what he is, so
will he be sufficiently good, for man himself, and God. The violin
cannot have the sound of the flute, nor the trumpet of the drum."
He had just finished the last line, and still held one knotty brown
finger raised to mark the important words, when there was a low knock at
the door, and immediately afterwards it opened a little way and a head
appeared, covered by a rusty-black wideawake. It was the second time
that day that Lilac had seen it, for it was Peter Greenways' head. In a
moment all the events of the unlucky morning came back to her, and his
gruffly unfavourable opinion. Why had he come? This awkward Peter was
always turning up when he was not wanted, and thrusting that large
uncouth head in at unexpected places. She turned her back towards the
door in much vexation, and Peter himself remained stationary, with his
eyes fixed where he had first directed them--on his own boot, which
still stood on the table by Joshua's elbow. His first intention had
evidently been to come in, but suddenly seized with shyness he was now
unable to move.
"Why, Peter, lad," said the cobbler, "come in then; the boots is ready
for you."
Thus invited Peter slowly opened the door a very little wider and
squeezed himself into the room. He was indeed a very awkward-looking
youth, and though he was broad-shouldered and strongly made, he was so
badly put together that he did not seem to join properly anywhere, and
moved with effort as though he were walking in a heavy clay soil.
Everything about Peter, and even the colour of his clothes, made you
think of a ploughed field, and he generally kept his eyes fastened on
the ground as though following the course of a furrow. This was a pity,
for his eyes were the only good features in his broad red face, and had
the kindly faithful expression seen in those of some dogs.
As he stood there, ill at ease, with his enormous hands opening and
shutting nervously, Lilac thought of Agnetta's speech: "Peter's so
common." If to be common was to look like Peter, it was a thing to be
avoided, and she was dismayed to hear Uncle Joshua say:
"Well, now, if you're not just in time to go home with Lilac here,
seein' as how we've done our tea, and her mother'll be looking for her."
"Oh, Uncle, I'd rather not," said Lilac hastily. Then she added, "I
want you to play me a tune before I go."
Joshua was always open to a compliment about his playing.
"Ah!" he said, "you want a tune, do you? Well, and p'r'aps Peter he'd
like to hear it too."
As he spoke he gave the boots to Peter, who was now engaged in dragging
up a leather purse from some great depth beneath his gaberdine. This
effort, and the necessity of replying, flushed his face to a deeper red
than ever, but he managed to say huskily as he counted some coin into
Joshua's hand:
"No, thank you, Mr Snell. Can't stop tonight."
Nevertheless it was some moments before he could go away: he stood
clasping his boots and staring at Joshua.
"The money's all right, my lad," said the latter.
"Well," said Peter, "I must be goin'." But he did not move.
"Well, good night, Peter," said Joshua, encouragingly.
"Good night, Mr Snell."
"Good night, Peter," said Lilac at length, nodding to him, and this
seemed to rouse him, for with sudden energy he hurled himself towards
the door and disappeared.
"Yon's an honest lad and a fine worker," remarked the cobbler, "but he
do seem a bit tongue-tied now and then."
And now, after the tune was played, there was no longer any excuse to
put off going home. For the first time in her life Lilac dreaded it,
for instead of a smile of welcome she had only a frown of displeasure to
expect from her mother. It was such a new thing that she shrank from it
with fear, and found it almost as difficult to say goodbye as Peter had
done. If only Uncle Joshua would go with her! Her face looked so
wistful that he guessed her unspoken desire.
"Now I shouldn't wonder," he said, carefully thrusting the clarionet
into its green baize bag, "as how you'd like me to go up yonder with
you. And it do so happen as how I've got a job to take back to Dan'l
Wishing, so I shall pass yours without goin' out of my way."
Accordingly, the door of the cottage being locked, the pair set out
together a few moments later, Lilac walking very soberly by the
cobbler's side, with one hand in his. Joshua's hand was rough with
work, so that it felt like holding the bough of a gnarled elm tree, but
it was so full of kindness that there was great comfort and support in
it.
How would Mother receive them? Lilac hardly dared to look up when they
got near the gate and saw her standing there, and hardly dared to
believe her own ears when she heard her speak. For what she said was:
"Run in, child, and get yer tea. I've put it by."
She stayed a long time at the gate talking to Uncle Joshua, and Lilac,
watching them through the window, felt little doubt that they were
talking of her. When her mother came in, and was quite kind and gentle,
and behaved just as usual, she felt still more sure that it was Uncle
Joshua's wonderful wisdom that had done it all. But if she could have
heard the conversation she would have been surprised, for they dwelt
entirely on the cobbler's rheumatics and the chances of rain, and said
no word of either Lilac or her fringe. Mrs White had had time to
repent of her harsh words, and when the hours went by, and Lilac did not
come back, she had pictured her receiving comfort and encouragement from
the Greenways--the very people she wished her to avoid. Now she had
driven her to them. "I could bite my tongue out for talking so
foolish," she said to herself as she ran out to the gate, over and over
again. When at last she saw the two well-known figures approaching, she
could only just restrain herself from rushing out to meet Lilac and
covering her with kisses. The relief was almost too great to bear.
In her own home, therefore, Lilac heard nothing further on the unlucky
subject. But this was not by any means the case in the village, where
nothing was too small to be important. The fact of the Widow White's
Lilac wearing a fringe was quite enough to talk of, and more than enough
to stare at, for it was something new. Unfortunately everyone knew
Lilac, and Lilac knew everyone, so there was no escape. Her
acquaintances would draw up in front of her and gaze steadily for an
instant, after which the same remarks always came:
"My! you have altered yerself. I shouldn't never have known you, I do
declare! And so you didn't have yer picter done after all?"
Lilac wished she could hide somewhere until her hair had grown long
again. And worst of all, when Mrs Leigh next saw her in school, she
looked quite startled and said:
"I'm so sorry you've cut your hair, Lilac; it looked much nicer before."
It was the same thing over and over again, no one approved the change
but Agnetta, and Lilac's faith in her cousin was by this time a little
bit shaken. She should not be so ready, she thought, the next time to
believe that Agnetta must know best. One drop of comfort in all this
was that the artist gentleman no longer sat painting at the bottom of
the hill. He had packed up all his canvases and brushes and gone off to
the station, so that Lilac saw him no more. She was very glad of this,
for she felt that it would have been almost impossible to pass him every
day and to see his keen disapproving glance fixed upon her. Slowly the
picture that was to have been painted was forgotten, and Lilac White's
fringe became a thing of custom. There were more important matters near
at hand; May Day was approaching, an event of interest and excitement to
both young and old.