RECOGNISED
Bessie's marriage passed off in high style,--the change that had come
over her mother being most marked--and after a fortnight of "doing the
grand" at Bournemouth she and her "Darling" Jones settled down to
business with the firm determination of making it "hum." And "hum" it
did. Bessie had been a treasure in the business at Hadley, but she was a
far smarter business woman now that she shared some responsibility.
Every morning the shutters were down at eight o'clock, every corner
thoroughly swept by nine, every order attended to promptly, supplies
well seen to. It was like taking in a breath of Swiss air to go into
that shop. Many a sleepy country-woman rubbed her eyes and pulled
herself together after an interview with Bessie. It was not simply done
for the money it brought, though of course the more business done the
more it was to the advantage of the managers, but the main impetus was
in the thought that she was helping Mrs. Waring. Bessie's highest
delight was to win her "Well done!"--to know she was hastening the
development of her scheme, for Phebe had taken both Reynolds and Jones
into her confidence.
Bessie's mother marvelled at the change which had come over her, and
wondered if it could possibly be the same girl who used to be always in
hot water! If there was anything "hot" now-a-days it was more of the
nature of milk than water.
The money for Phebe's scheme was gradually accumulating. One or two
special agencies had helped in this, but it had mostly been won by hard
and constant application to work. And all the time the sum in the bank
had been growing Phebe's influence had grown too. There was never a
town's meeting called to discuss any forward movement, or to right any
wrong, but she was invited, mostly accompanied by her boy. But, as
nearly always happens, alongside with this growing influence was a
growing disfavour with well-to-do, rut-bound people, especially with
those who had class prejudices and believed that woman was simply the
chattel of a man. This was very much accentuated when she was called in
as an arbitrator in a dispute between some men and their master, and was
still further manifested when she publicly exposed the wrongs of some
laundry girls. Whenever she saw wrongs or injustice she was bound to
speak out. She even once spoke out at a church-meeting against the
custom of relegating the poorest members to the top seats in the church
gallery. That was a shocking offence, and almost won for her
church-discipline. But she calmly went on her way, her eyes still fixed
on the silver stars, and more and more became the confidante and helper
of the poor.
The day at last arrived--the day she had looked forward to for months,
even years--on which she paid into the bank to her "scheme account" the
last needed amount before commencing operations, bringing the grand
total up to five hundred pounds!
The following day arrangements were made for an interview with Stephen
Collins. Both Nanna and she agreed it had better take place at her
sister's house, her old home. It would be quieter, and there would be
less chance for gossip to make anything out of it.
The father was dead, but the sister was still staying on in the old
house. Phebe frankly told her she wanted a business talk with Stephen,
and asked if she would mind inviting him.
"I shall be only too pleased," was the reply. "The wonder to me is you
manage to get along so much by yourself as you do. Who would have
imagined our dreamy Phebe turning into an enterprising business woman,
and quite a public character, too! How things change! I used to be the
go-ahead, and now I'm as good as a recluse."
"You've done the hardest piece of work, after all, dear," was Phebe's
answer; "one that God won't forget. And, besides, you have the
opportunity of coming out into the world and its work now father is at
rest."
Stephen Collins accepted the invitation, and on a dreary Friday
afternoon at the end of October the three gathered round a cheerful fire
in the old-fashioned parlour.
For a minute or so Phebe thought they were girls and boy together again,
and that the door would open presently and "mother" would come in with
her cheery voice, "Girls, it's time for tea, and you'd better get Steve
to help you!" How many a romp they had had together, especially when
"father" was away at market! The fire crackled and the old clock ticked
just as they had done then, but a glance at Stephen's iron-grey hair and
his sad, earnest face gave proof enough that the old merry days had gone
by for ever.
They talked about the weather, about the new tenant in the next
farm--all three seemed anxious to talk, and yet there were awkward
pauses, and Phebe could not bring herself to mention her scheme. The
Spirit of the Past seemed to hold them.
The sister must have known Phebe's thoughts, for all at once she said:
"It's no use waiting for mother to announce tea to-day. I must get it
ready myself."
"Let me help you," said Phebe.
"No, you sit and talk with Stephen." She still called him by his
Christian name.
Phebe poked the fire, and swept some dust from the hearth, conscious all
the time that Stephen was watching her closely. When she took her seat
again they were both silent, till at last Stephen said:
"Mrs. Waring, I have not the slightest idea what it is you wish me to do
for you, but rest assured whatever it is I will do my utmost to fulfil
your wish. Please do not hesitate. Trust me."
"Trust you! There is no need to tell me to do that. I do not hesitate
because of any thought of unwillingness or mistrust--never that." For
the first time their eyes met and she could not resist putting her hand
on his, just for an instant. "Why I hesitate is because I am going to
ask so much, and you may not think my plan a wise one."
"You need not hesitate on either of those points. I have plenty of time
at my disposal, and I should not put my judgment before yours."
"I don't think for a minute my sister will agree to my scheme."
"Then we must try to convert her."
It was not till the tea had been cleared away and the trio had gathered
round the fire again that the scheme was unfolded. Phebe introduced it
by saying: "You must please both of you let me tell my tale without
interruptions, for I really feel nervous talking to two such critics.
When I have quite finished, then you can talk. I must first of all tell
you I have saved up five hundred pounds, and I want to buy Farmer
Green's big meadow in Haystone Lane; he wants a thousand pounds for it."
"How can you buy a thousand-pound meadow for five hundred pounds? Folks
will say that's like a woman," interrupted the sister.
"Will they? But you must please let me finish my story. I propose for
the present getting a mortgage of five hundred. I want to put this
meadow in trust of Mr. Collins, Mr. Black, Jim Coates, and my two
assistants, Reynolds and Jones, with Mr. Collins as chairman, or
something of that sort. Then I want this meadow turned into garden
allotments. I think it will make forty. One of these I want to reserve
for a plot for our railway-hall to stand on, to be used as a club-room.
These thirty-nine allotments I want let out to working-men, or women,
too, if they felt equal to spade-work. These would bring in a rental of
thirty-nine pounds; twenty of this would be needed for interest and the
remainder to be spent in prizes for the best things grown in the
gardens. For the club I should propose that a small quarterly
subscription be charged, which would be sufficient to keep the place
going. I hope by the time the scheme is started to have saved another
fifty pounds, which I should like spent in the purchase of plants and
trees to start the gardens with." Phebe paused. The sister held up her
hand like the children do at school: "Have you finished! Please may I
talk?"
"Yes, I have finished."
"Well, I think you are a very foolish woman to squander your money in
such a fashion! You've got your old age to think of, and your child to
provide for. Let your working-men provide gardens for themselves--they
can spend plenty of money in the public-house. You stint yourself to
help them, and not one in twenty will give you a 'Thank you' for it. No,
I say you are not called upon to do such a thing as this. What do you
say, Stephen?"
"I say, it's just like her."
"That may be, but that doesn't say it's wise."
"You are too hard on these men, Lizzie. They can afford no luxuries, no
hobbies, and there is little wonder they go to the public-house. I often
think if I had a home like they have I should do the same myself; there
is nowhere else that is bright and attractive for them to go. As for
their thanks, I don't want them; besides, my name is not to be mentioned
in connection with the scheme. But before I die I hope to be able to
clear off the mortgage. As for my boy he can always get a living out of
the business. I have no need to provide further than that for him."
Turning to Stephen: "Will you do this for me, Mr. Collins?"
"I will." No marriage-vow was given with more earnestness.
"Well, you are the funniest woman that ever God made," exclaimed the
sister.
When the time came to separate, Phebe would not hear of either her
sister or Stephen accompanying her, though the night was dark. They went
as far as the garden-gate with her, and as they stood there after she
had left them, Stephen said in a choked voice: "You call her the
funniest woman God made: I call her the best and the bravest."
"So she is," the sister replied frankly; "but then it doesn't do to tell
her so, does it?"
"I only wish I might," was his low response.
As the sister walked up the path again to the silent old home she
whispered to herself: "Poor old Steve! Dear old fellow! What a queer
world this is!"
While Phebe was away from home that evening Nanna sat for a while in the
desk in the grocery department; she often did so when a quiet time was
expected. "I shall write a book some day," she used to say, "and the
title will be 'From the Mangle to the Desk.'" Certainly she looked
wonderfully wise there with her spectacles on her nose.
All at once she was attracted by the sound of a voice. Her memory for
faces was very defective, but for voices very acute. Where had she heard
that voice before? Looking up she saw a tall, elderly, shabby-looking
man, who every now and again gave a little hacking cough. She watched
him as he bought half an ounce of tea, a rasher of bacon, one egg, and
half a pound of sugar. Then she heard him say to Reynolds, who was
serving him:
"Who owns this shop?"
"Mrs. Waring."
"I wondered who 'P. Waring' was: it used to be 'R. Waring.'"
"Yes."
"Where is Ralph Waring now?"
"I don't know--he went abroad on business."
A little stifled laugh: "Oh, did he?"
Nanna saw that Reynolds suddenly looked up and gave the man a searching
look. When he had gone Reynolds went up to the desk. He was too agitated
to speak, and Nanna was feeling just the same. At last she managed to
say:
"Follow him!" pointing to the door.
Just as he was Reynolds rushed to the door; he looked to the right, he
looked to the left, but the questioning customer with his cough and his
laugh was out of sight, for the gathering gloom of the chilly autumn
night made escape easy.
It might have been a December night the way Reynolds was shivering. "Was
it----?" he asked in a hoarse whisper as he returned to the desk.
"Yes," was all her answer. Then, "I must go at once and meet the
mistress."
"Let me go."
"No, that would never do. She would wonder what was the matter, and as
long as possible we must keep it from her."
As fast as she could the dear old lady hurried along the lonely country
road. The little, stifled sarcastic laugh was still sounding in her
ears, a laugh that spoke of a heart unchanged except as trouble had
soured it.
At last she heard footsteps--light ones--she could see a woman's form!
Yes, it was her dear Phebe, and, thank God, she was alone!
"Why, Nanna!" exclaimed Phebe, as soon as she recognised her; "whatever
brought you out a night like this?"--kissing her on the cheek and taking
hold of her arm.
"To take care of you, dearie, to be sure; and, besides, I wanted a
walk."
"On a night like this?"
"Yes, I felt stifled like," which was quite true.
Phebe's suspicions were aroused, but finding all well at home, concluded
it was just some whim of the dear old soul's, or else she had suddenly
been seized with some unaccountable fear, as is sometimes the case even
with young folks.