a bit.'
"I ran back with them, and made him take some wine; and, thus revived,
he rose and thanked me.
"`What are you going to do?' I said, staring.
"`I'm going back to town, sir,' he said quietly, but with his lower lip
trembling. `I am not fit to undertake the task. I thank you, but it is
too late. I am not well.'
"I looked at him with business eyes, and in that brief glance, as in a
revelation, I saw the struggles of a poor proud man of genius, who could
not battle with the world. I saw the man who had sold, bit by bit,
everything he owned, in his struggle for daily bread; and as I looked at
him I felt ashamed that I should be so rich, and fat, and well.
"`Mr Grantly,' I said, offering my hand, `I am a rough man, and spoiled
by bullying people, and having my own way. I beg your pardon for what I
have said, and am going to say. You came down here, sir, to paint my
little girl's portrait, and you are going to paint it before you go back
to town; and when you do go, you are going to have fifty guineas in your
pocket. Hush! not a word, sir. My old friend Tom Smith told me that
you were a gentleman and a man of honour. Tom Smith is never deceived.
Now, sir, please come into the dining-room and have some lunch. Not a
word, please. If good food won't bring you round, you shall have the
doctor; for, as the police say,' I continued, laughing, `you're my
prisoner--but on parole.'
"He tried to speak, but could not, and turned away.
"`All right,' I said, `all right;' and I patted him on the shoulder, and
walked away to the window for a few minutes before I turned back to find
him more composed.
"That afternoon we all three went out into the wood, and I made Cobweb
stand as I had seen her on that day.
"Grantly was delighted, and insisted upon making a sketch at once; and
then the days wore on, with the painting progressing slowly, but in a
way that was a wonder to me, so exquisite was every touch, for the
artist's whole soul was in his work.
"Those were delightful days, but there was a storm coming. I quite took
to the young fellow, though, and by degrees heard from him his whole
story--how, young and eager, he had, five years before, come to town to
improve in his art, and how bitter had been his struggle, till, just
before he had encountered Smith, he had been really, literally dying of
sickness and want.
"It was a happy time, that, for when the painting was over for the
morning we gardened, or strolled in the country--our new friend being an
accomplished botanist, and a lover of every object that we saw. I used
to wonder how he had learned so much, and found time to paint as well.
"I say it was a happy time for the first three weeks, and then there
were clouds.
"Cobweb was changed. I knew it but too well. I could see it day by
day. Grantly was growing distant too, and strange, and my suspicions
grew hour by hour, till I was only kept from breaking out by the
recollection of Tom Smith's words--`He is a gentleman and a man of
honour.'
"`Tom Smith never was wrong,' I said one morning, as I sat alone, `and
for a man like that, after my kindness, to take advantage of his
position to win that girl's love from me, would be the act of the
greatest scoun--'
"`May I come in, Mr Burrows?' said the voice of the man of whom I was
thinking.
"`Yes, come in,' I said; and there we stood looking in one another's
eyes.
"`He's come to speak to me,' I said, and my heart grew very hard, but I
concealed my feelings till he spoke, and then I was astounded.
"`Mr Burrows,' he said, `I've come to say good-bye.'
"`Good-bye!' I said.
"`Yes, sir: good-bye. I have wakened from a dream of happiness to a
sense of misery of which I cannot speak. Let me be brief, sir, and tell
you that I shall never forget your kindness.'
"`But you haven't finished the picture.'
"`No, sir, and never shall,' he said bitterly. `Mr Burrows, I cannot
stay. I--that is--I need not be ashamed to own it, I love your child
with all my heart.'
"`I knew it,' I said bitterly.
"`And you think I have imposed on your kindness. No, sir, I have not,
for I have never shown by word or look--'
"`No, you scoundrel,' I said to myself, `but she knows it all the same.'
"`And, sir, such a dream as mine could never be fulfilled--it is
impossible.'
"`Yes,' I said, in a cold hard voice, `it is impossible.'
"`God bless you, sir! Good-bye.'
"`You will not say good-bye to her?' I said harshly.
"He shook his head, and as I stood there, hard, selfish, and jealous of
him, I saw him go down the path, and breathed more freely, for he was
gone.
"Gone, but there was a shadow on my home. Cobweb said not a word, and
expressed no surprise, never even referring to the picture, but went
about the house slowly, drooping day after day, month after month, till
the summer time came round again, and I knew that in my jealous
selfishness I was breaking her young heart.
"She never complained, and was as loving as ever; but my little Cobweb
was broken, and the tears spangled it like dew whenever it was alone.
"It was as nearly as could be a year after, that I, feeling ten years
older, went to seek her one afternoon, and found her as I expected, in
the little wood, standing dreamy and sad in her old position leaning
upon the tree, listening to no bird-song now, but with a far-off longing
look in her eyes, that swept away the last selfish thought from my
heart.
"I did not let her see me, but went straight up to Smith's, learned what
I wanted, and a short time after I was in a handsome studio in Saint
John's Wood, staring at the finished picture of my child--painted, of
course, from memory--framed, against the wall.
"As I stood there, I heard the door open, and turning stood face to face
with Grantly.
"We looked in each other's eyes for a few moments without speaking, and
then in a trembling, broken voice, I said--
"`Grantly, I've come as a beggar now. My poor darling--God forgive
me!--I've broken her heart!'
"It was my turn to sit down, trembling and weak, while my dear boy tried
to comfort me--telling me too with pride how he had worked and become
famous, and in a few more months had meant to come down and ask my
consent.
"But there, I'm mixing it up. Of course he told me that as we were
rushing along, having just had time to catch the express; and on
reaching the station there was no conveyance, and we had to walk.
"That scoundrel would not wait, but ran on without me, and when I got
there, panting and hot, I found my darling's heart was mended with all
of that belonging to the man from whose arms she ran to hide her rosy
blushes on my breast.
"I'm not the selfish old fellow that I was about Cobweb, for there, in
the old place, where they've let me stay with them, I pass my time with
those two flossy-haired little tyrants, Cobweb the Second, and the
Spider, as we call little Frank.
"Ah! Miss Stoneleigh, it's a funny thing this love. You've been lucky.
As for me, I bring up a sweet girl, whom I love with all my heart, and
soon learn that she is not mine, for the first fellow that comes down
and pretends that he loves her, it's `Snip!' says one `Snap!' says the
other; the old father's nowhere, and his darling's gone."
"Leaving him a miserable, unhappy man for life," I said quietly; while
he stared at me as if he could not understand my drift,--"one who takes
no pleasure in his daughter's new-born happiness; in his new son's pride
in his sweet young wife; and who, above all, utterly detests his little
grandchildren."
"No; I'm blest if he does," he cried warmly; "for of all the pretty
little flossy-haired tyrants that ever made a poor old fellow do as they
like, they're about the worst. I say, do come down, Miss Stoneleigh. I
want you to hear little Cobweb sing `Buttercups and Daisies.' It's
fine, ma'am--it's fine!"
"I'll come down, Mr Burrows," I said, with a dreamy feeling of
restfulness coming over me as I pictured myself again in the pretty
rustic home amidst the sweet scenes and heaven-born sights of the
country. How true, indeed, are those words, that man made the town, but
God made the country! I often think of the words of a pale, sallow,
thin girl I met once at a friend's. She turned upon me quite in
surprise as I said I should prefer living always in the country.
"Oh, really!" she exclaimed, in a pitiful tone. "The country is so
dreadfully slow. I never know how people can manage to exist there."
"And yet," I thought, "they do, and are happier and healthier amidst its
innocent pleasures. They miss concert, ball, and party, but they see
such sights as are never dreamed of in town. I could enumerate many,
but there is no need."
Mr Burrows rose and left me, promising to call for me later on, and I
spent a fortnight in the pleasant country home, to come back refreshed
and ready for my old task of trying to help and comfort those amongst
whom I may be thrown. Sadness comes over me at times when I think of
the past, but I chase the gloomy feelings away, telling myself that I am
ungrateful for the calm and peaceful life it has been my fate to lead.
Friends I have many, and the more I may be with the humble people of our
great city, the more I find beneath the hard crust grown upon them in
their rough contest with the world, how many good and generous feelings
exist. I have noted that if a beggar, with a piteous tale of woe or a
mournful ballad, wishes to make money, it is not sought for amongst the
homes of the wealthy, but from the hard toiling poor; and, what is more,
I have seen that the surest blows that are struck at the vices and
miseries that exist, are those which aim at giving the thronging
thousands of our denser places better homes. There can be no doubt that
much of the moral as well as physical disease that disgraces our great
city is caused by overcrowding, and every step taken to give low-priced
wholesome dwellings, does more to ameliorate these plagues than even
education and the spread of knowledge.
I think as one who has mingled with the poorer classes day by day, and
though my experience may not be great, surely it is of some little
value--contains some germs of truth.
And now my pleasant task is ended--a pleasant one indeed; for it has
served to bring up recollections of scenes--some sad, some tinged with
happiness; and as I have placed scene and word on paper, I have been
once more amongst the speakers, and stood with them in their homes. If
the reader can only realise these scenes, fancy he hears the speeches
one-tenth part as vividly as I, my task will not have been without its
reward.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Friends I Have Made, by George Manville Fenn