NOTHING TO DO.
TROWGOOD was willing to trust to any amount for the furniture; so the
making ready of the new house began at once. Mother said she did not
see any good in waiting, for the bills could be paid as soon as ever
the money came, and father was of the same mind.
There was a great deal to be done to the house. Father took it in such
a hurry, that he did not have a proper agreement made; and when he
found afterwards what a number of repairs were wanted, he had to do it
all himself, for the landlord was a churlish sort of body, and said
"No" to pretty nearly everything asked.
Mother was vexed because father had not thought of these matters
sooner; but father said, what did it signify? He seemed to think five
thousand pounds could do everything.
He and mother were agreed on one head, and that was that the house
must make a smart appearance. The top rooms were damp, and the kitchen
had water oozing out all over the walls, and there was a queer sort of
smell in the parlour, which grannie said ought to be attended to. She
said our cottage had always been so sweet and dry, and that was partly
how we had all kept such good health. She told father he had a deal
better have the dampness and the smell cured, and spend less on carpets
and gimcracks. But mother said—"Who cared for a little wet?" and father
said,—"All in good time, grannie." And he seemed to think the "good
time" should come late, not early.
The new carpet, which was chosen in such a hurry for our cottage, would
not fit the new parlour, and Trowgood said he could not get any more of
the same pattern. Mother seemed rather glad. She had that put into the
biggest bedroom,—at least she settled that it should go there when we
moved,—and she chose another, quite as smart, which cost a great deal
more, and so she liked it better.
It is wonderful what a number of things are wanted in a new house.
Mother did not seem to care to keep anything out of the dear old
cottage. Grannie and I were to sleep together still, and we settled to
furnish our room with things that we had by us, and to have nothing
new at all. But whatever we did not want for our room was to be sold.
Mother seemed bent on having all quite fresh. I think the thought of
parting with the old furniture that she loved so much cut very deeply
with grannie.
Father was still working for the Johnstones, but he did not work
regular as he was used to do before. He seemed to have a sort of
distaste for it. Sundays were getting to be just days of pleasure and
amusement, with no thought of God in them; and on Monday he commonly
had a lazy fit, and lounged about doing nothing. Sometimes the lazy fit
lasted over Tuesday as well. He used before to have a bright brisk way
of doing things, but he was losing that now. I think Mr. Johnstone or
the foreman must have found fault with him once or twice, for I heard
him talking about them angrily, and saying "he wouldn't be driven—not
he,—thank goodness he had enough and to spare now, and he should please
himself."
I don't at all know whether father meant to go on with the same work,
after he got his money. I think it is likely he was in a sort of
uncertain state, waiting to see what to do. He would have money enough
to start him in something better, or even to live an idle life. But
he had been trained to no other kind of work; and it is quite certain
that no hale and hearty man in middle life can be happy with nothing
to do. There are men who can make their own work and find their own
interests,—men who can be quite happy in doing good to others, or in
studying God's works, or in reading books. But reading was always a
labour to father, and he knew and cared nothing about study; and I
don't suppose he ever thought of such a thing as steady doing of good
to others, though of course he would have been ready any day to give a
crust to a starving man, if he came across him by chance.
But, as I say, I do not know what father really meant to do. I think it
startled him, and I am sure it was a great shock to us all, when Mr.
Johnstone dismissed him from his employ.
There was no warning given; except that I believe there had been
several complaints of father's irregular way of working. Mr. Johnstone
did not speak to father himself. The foreman told him he would not be
wanted any more, after a certain day. Father was angry and wanted to
know why. The answer was, that Mr. Johnstone had not been satisfied
with him for a good while, and as he had rather more hands than he
wanted just then, of course those who had been least steady at work
must be the first to go.
Years later I heard more, in other quarters. I know now that poor
father had more than once forgotten himself, and had spoken in an
uppish sort of way, and had talked too much of his "good luck," and
had seemed to think himself pretty much on a level with his master.
And neither master nor men liked it. I know that Mr. Johnstone told a
friend he found father's influence "demoralising," whatever that might
mean. He said the other men were getting unsettled and discontented,
and he could not allow it to go on.
But we had known nothing of all this; and when father came home, and
told us he was not to work there any more, we did not know what to
think of it.
Father was very angry, and yet he tried to seem as if he did not care.
He talked big, and said he was right glad, and he didn't mean to be
any more at the beck and call of that fellow Sykes. Sykes was the
foreman. Mother seemed half frightened and half pleased. And grannie
was very quiet, and her dear face looked so pale. I had seen that pale
look often lately, and I knew she was fretted and worried. She said at
last,—"What are you going to do, Miles?"
"Do! Why, stay away," says he roughly.
"But the money isn't come yet, and we can't live on nothing till it
does," grannie said.
"Oh, there's no need," father said. "I could get other work easy
enough. But I don't see why I'm to work like a poor man, when I have
five thousand pounds of my own. I don't see it at all."
"God's law is work," said grannie in a low voice. "He gave us the
Sunday for rest. But He gave us a clear command too,—'SIX DAYS SHALT
THOU LABOUR.'"
"It's a command lots of people break, then," said father.
I think that father, like a good many people, fancied "work" and
"labour" can only mean bodily toil. I know better now. I have seen more
of life, and I know there are many different kinds of work,—hand-work,
and head-work, and heart-work. The man that is piling up bricks and
mortar may not be toiling one quarter so hard, as the man who sits
quiet in a chair, working out some deep thought for other men, or the
woman who wears herself out in ceaseless watching of her children and
caring for their good.
"What are we to do, Miles?" grannie asked again.
"Oh, I'll see about it," said father. "There's no hurry. I'll get a job
or two somewhere. And they'll let us have things on credit anywhere. My
good fortune is well enough known. We shan't starve."
"Maybe not," grannie said. "But if you don't look out, my dear, you'll
make a big hole in your five thousand pounds, before ever it comes to
you."
Father laughed loud at the idea. The money seemed to him too much ever
to come to an end. Grannie went out of the room, and I went after her,
I didn't know why. She crossed into the parlour, and sat down, and I
was frightened at the look in her face.
"It's nothing," she said,—"only a sort of fainty feeling that comes
over me once in a while. Just to show me I'm an old woman, maybe. Don't
you mind."
"O grannie, is it because you're fretting at having to leave the old
home?" I asked: for I knew how it grieved her.
"I dare say it is," she said: "I've a silly sort of fondness for
places, and somehow I've never felt right and like myself since that
was settled. But I'll have no words spoken to them, Phœbe. For it's not
that which cuts most deep. It is seeing how things are tending, and
knowing I can do nought to stop what is wrong."
And I knew what she meant.