_Result of the Water-Party._
THE only Person in the Boat, who was left for the Boatman to save, was
Mistress _Glossop_, the Widow of a _Cheapside_ Hairdresser in a much
larger Way of Business than my Father, with whom we were on very
intimate Terms. She was a Woman of about forty-five, tall, bulky, and
with a very heated Face, which was the Result of Intemperance, not in
drinking, but eating, as I have often heard her acknowledge. She was
fond of Everything nice, and had a Habit of saying, “Oh, I can’t resist
this!” “I never can resist that!” which used to disgust me with her; and
make me ready to say, “More Shame for you if you cannot.” She and her
Husband had always been well to do; and now she was Mistress of a large
Business, with Court-patronage, such as it was, and a Foreman and three
’Prentices under her; besides keeping a professed Cook, Housemaid, and
Scullion. And whereas she and Master _Glossop_ had always been
Companions and Gossips of my Father and Mother, whose Ages were suitable
to them, yet, now she had cast off her Weeds, she went mighty fine; and
_Mark_, who thought her sufficiently unagreeable, though he often went
on Errands to her, said he was sure she was casting about for a second.
To a Woman of her Habit, the Ducking she got was unlikely to be of much
Good; and as for her flame-coloured Mantua, and pea-green Mantle, they
were ruined outright: however, she was very merry about it, and as we
were all engaged to sup with her, would hear of no excuse. Howbeit, my
Mother was too wet for doing Anything but going Home and to Bed: my
Father would not leave her; _Hugh Braidfoot_ said he would join us, but
did not; and the End was, that _Mark_ and I, when we had dressed
ourselves afresh and kept our Engagement, found Nobody to meet us but
some _Cheapside_ Shop-keepers who had not been on the Water. And though
they made very merry, and though there were Lobsters, and Pound-cake,
and Ducks, and green Peas, and fried Plum-pudding, and Gooseberry Pie,
and other Delicacies too numerous to mention, I had no Mind to eat, but
sat shivering, and scorching, and thinking of the Water closing over me;
and at length, before any one else was ready to leave, begged Mistress
_Glossop_ to let me wish her Good-night.
_Mark_, though he was in high Spirits, came away with me, and very
kindly said he feared I was the worse for the Accident. And though he
had been very talkative at the Supper-table, yet as soon as we got into
the open Air we became as quiet as two Judges, and walked Home scarcely
speaking a Word, till we came to that last one, “Good-night.”
I had taken Cold, which, with a good deal of Fever attending it, made me
very poorly for some Days; and my dear Mother, who did not show it so
much at first, had in fact taken her Death-chill, though we knew it not
till long afterwards. Meantime, she kept about; I seeming at first the
worst of the two, and sitting by the Fire in a Cloke, very chilly,
though ’twas close upon the Dog-days. _Violet Armytage_ came over the
Way to see me; and saith she, “Dear _Cherry_, how well _Mark_ behaved! I
shall think the better of him for it as long as I live!”
I felt I should do so too, but had no Mind to speak much about it; and,
my Cold being heavy, and making me indisposed to talk, she soon went
away. Almost daily, however, she came across; and, when she did not,
_Mark_ went at her Desire to tell her how I was.
And so I got well; and just as I was fit for going out again, my dear
Mother’s Illness became so apparent that I kept wholly to the House. At
first we thought it troublesome rather than dangerous, and were not
frightened; and, though I sat by her Bed almost all Day long, she would
sometimes send me down to work below and keep an Eye to the House. Her
Illness subdued me a good deal; and _Mark_ was become unwontedly gentle
and silent; so that, though we scarce saw each other save at Meals, we
said little; and yet I never felt him to be better Company.
_Violet_ sent me Word that unusual Press of Business in the Shop kept
her from coming over, but begged I would never let a Day pass without
sending her Word how my Mother was; which I did, though thinking, now
and then, she might have just run over, if but for a Minute.
One sultry Evening, my Mother being ready to compose herself to Sleep,
bade me sit below till she rang for me, as she was sure the Room must be
warm and close. It was so, in fact, and I was feeling a little faint,
therefore was glad to sit at the open Casement of our Parlour behind the
Shop. The Business of the Day was done; my Father was gossiping with
_Hugh Braidfoot_ next Door; there was a pleasing Confusion of distant
Sounds from the City and along the Water; Boatmen calling “Yo, heave
ho,” and singing Snatches of Boat-songs; the Water trembling and
murmuring among the Arches, and the Evening Air feeling soft and
reviving.
[Illustration]
While I was thus sitting, all alone save for _Dolly_ in the Kitchen, and
Master _Blower_ on the first Story, _Mark_ comes in and gives me a Posy,
saying, “_Violet_ sends you these Flowers:” and then remained, with his
Hand resting on the Back of my Chair.
I know not how long we thus remained, quite silent, and I conscious of
great Pleasure in his Presence; till at last, for want of Anything more
important to say, I observed, “How pleasant the Evening Air is coming
over the Water!”
“Very,” said he, without seeming to be thinking much about it: and again
we were both quiet.
“Cousin,” said he at length, in a very gentle Voice,—which was not his
usual Way of addressing me, for in common he called me _Cherry_,—
—“Dear Cousin, I have something to say to you”—and stopped.
“What is it, _Mark_?” said I, softly.
“We have lived long together,” began he again, faintly laughing, “and I
never felt afraid of speaking to you, before—How odd it is that I should
feel so, now!”
“What have you to be afraid about?” said I, looking up at him: on which
he coloured and looked away; and I did the same, without knowing why.
“You have always been my Friend,” resumed he, taking Courage; “you will
not be angry with me?”
“Why should I?” said I. “Is there Anything to be angry about?”
“Perhaps you may think so,” said he, “when you come to know all. Dear
_Cherry_, I’m in Love!” And laughed, and then was silent.
I never felt so perplexed what to say next. “I don’t see that is any
Matter of mine,” said I at length.
“Don’t you, though? But that depends upon whom I’m in Love with!” said
he, smiling. “If it were with Anybody a hundred Miles off, that you had
never seen or heard of, you might say it was no Matter of yours; but,
_Cherry_, she’s not one Mile off! She’s the prettiest Girl on the
Bridge!”
“Then,” said I, turning scarlet as I spoke, “it must certainly be
_Violet Armytage_!”
“It is!” cried he rapturously. “What a Guesser you are!—Dear _Cherry_!”
Oh! what a Bound my Heart gave; and then seemed to stop! For,—I’m only
speaking to myself; to myself I may own the Truth—I had not thought he
meant _Violet_!
“Ah,” said he, after a long Silence, which I was as unable as he was
disinclined to break, “I dare say you’ve seen it all along—I may have
told you no News—you are such a good Secret-keeper, _Cherry_!”
I could not yet say a Word—He had taken my Hand and wrung it; and I
gently pressed his in Sign of Sympathy; it was all I could do, but it
was quite enough.
“How kind you are!” said he. “What do you think my Uncle will say?”
“What do you think her Father will say?” said I faintly.
“We are not going to tell him just yet,” returned he, “nor yet her
Mother.”
“That sounds bad, _Mark_——”
“Nay, _Cherry_, you know how crazy the old Lady is to have _Braidfoot_
for her Son-in-law; she’ll find in Time he won’t come forward, and
_Violet_ will take care he shall not, for she will give him no
Encouragement; but, till her Mother finds it won’t do, there’s no Use in
my speaking, for you know I have nothing to marry upon, yet.”
“When shall you have?” said I.
“_When?_” repeated he, looking a little annoyed. “Why, _some of these
Days_, as the Saying is. You know I am thorough Master of my Business
now, have served my time, receive good Wages, and am very useful to your
Father. Who knows but that, as Time goes on, he’ll take me for a
Partner, and finally retire from Business?”
“Ah, _Mark_, so little comes in now, that he will have nothing to retire
upon. We can but just go on as we do.”
“Well,” said he, laughing, with a little Embarrassment, “perhaps
Mistress _Glossop_ will take me into Partnership. I’m a Favourite in
that Quarter.”
“Mistress _Glossop_! Oh, _Mark_!”
“Nay, _Cherry_, don’t you see, if old Master _Armytage_ takes a Fancy to
me, he may make it worth her while to do so, for the Sake of his ‘sweet
_Wi-let_’?”
“Ah, _Mark_, Master _Armytage_ is himself in a very small Way of
Business—nothing at all to compare with Mistress _Glossop’s_. _We_ love
and esteem them for old Acquaintance sake, but she looks quite down upon
them. There are so many small Haberdashers on the Bridge!”
“Well, the smaller he is, the less Reason he will have to look down upon
me. I suppose you don’t mean to say, _Cherry_, that no young Man thinks
of Marriage unless he is better off than I am?”
“So far from it, _Mark_, that I cannot see what Right the _Armytages_
have to expect a better Match for their Daughter; and therefore I think
it a Pity there should be any Concealment.”
“Marry come up!” cries he, “I would rather draw a Double-tooth for a
fiery Dragon than tell Master _Armytage_ I was Suitor for his sweet
_Wi-let_!”
“Why, you will have to tell him sooner or later,” said I.
“Not ... not if we wait till he dies,” said _Mark_.
“_Dies!_ oh, _Mark_!”——
“It’s ill, reckoning on dead Men’s Shoes, I own,” said he, looking
rather ashamed.
“It’s unfeeling and indelicate in the highest Degree,” said I. “Why
should not _Violet_ tell her Father?”
“Ah, _Cherry_, she will not; and what’s more, she has made me solemnly
promise that _I_ will not, at present; so you see there’s no more to be
said. We must just go on, hoping and waiting, as many young Couples have
done before us; knowing that we love one another—and is not that, for a
While at least, enough?”
I faintly said, “Yes.”
“You don’t speak so heartily, though, as I thought you would,” said he.
“Don’t you sympathize with us, _Cherry_?”
I looked up at him with a Smile, though my Lip quivered, and said
fervently, “Oh, yes!”
“That’s right!” said he gladly. “Now I shall feel that, whether Things
go rough or smooth with me, you take cordial Part in them. GOD bless
you, _Cherry_! And if ever I’m in any little Difficulty with _Violet_, I
shall come to you for Advice and Help, rely upon it!—Hark, there is your
Mother’s Bell.”
I ran off, glad to leave him; and found my Mother coughing, and in want
of some Water. When she had recovered herself, and composed herself
again to Sleep, I sat by her Casement, looking out on the same Scene I
had been gazing on an Hour before; but oh! with what different Feelings!
The Trouble of my Soul taught me how much I had cared for him, what
Expectations I had nourished of him, what Disappointment I felt in him.
All was changed, all was shivered: never to be built up again! And yet
no one knew what Hopes were wrecked within me.—The World was going on
just the same!
I thought how kind my Father and Mother had been to him, and how likely
it was they had hoped he would marry me, and how certainly, in that
case, my Father would have shared his Business with him.
I thought how dull and forlorn a Place the World would now seem to me,
but resolved they should never know it. I would go on, in all Respects,
just the same.
Large Tears were flowing unrestrained down my Cheeks, when Master
_Blower’s_ Bell, having been once rung already, was now pulled again
with some Impatience; and as _Dolly_ had stepped out, I answered it
myself, and found he wanted his Supper, which he took at no particular
Time, but just whenever he was inclined to lay aside his Reading or
Writing. I might have spread the Table for him nineteen Times out of
twenty, without his ever looking at me; however, on this Occasion he
happened to have nothing better to do, and observed I was in trouble.
“Child,” said he, “is thy Mother worse?”
“No, Sir, I humbly thank you.”
“Then,” says he, “Something else has happened to grieve thee, for thine
Eyes are red with weeping. What is it?”
But I could not tell him.
“Well,” said he, after a Pause, “young Girls may have their Griefs that
they don’t care to tell about.—Man is born to Trouble, as the Sparks fly
upward. And sometimes those Griefs we show least, we feel most. But
remember, my good Girl, (for a good Girl, _Cherry_, thou art!) that
there is One to whom we may always carry our Burthens; One who can ease
them, too, either by giving us Strength to bear them, or by removing
them altogether.—Go pray, my Child, go pray!”
And I did as he bade me, and found Balm for a bleeding Heart. He was a
good and wise Man, was Master _Blower_.
When my Mother awoke, she said, “_Cherry_, I don’t know what has come
over me, but I feel a Peace and a Quiet past expressing ... I should not
wonder if you have been praying for me, my Child.”
I pressed her Hand and said, “Yes, Mother, I have ... and for myself
too.”
“This Illness of mine may be a Blessing in Disguise to us both,” said
she after a Pause—“it has taught me your Value, _Cherry_.”
“What a funny Story,” resumed she presently, quietly smiling, “might be
written by a clever Hand about a Person who always fancied herself
undervalued! ‘_The Undervalued Woman!_’—There are a good many such in
the World, I fancy; poor Things, it seems no Joke to _them_. People who
have that Impression of themselves generally take such silly Methods to
prevent their being overlooked! They had better make themselves of real
Importance, by being useful and thoughtful for others. They had better
take Pattern by _you_, _Cherry_!”
How dear, a Mother’s Praise! Especially when so seldom bestowed!
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