attachment was springing up between the colonel's nephew and Mary
Stansfield; and all true-hearted people rejoiced, knowing what a
blessing the union of two such earnest workers would prove, as, of
course, they would one day, if spared, succeed to the Riverton estate.
The world, however, was both surprised and disgusted, having hoped
"better things" of the young man. As for the Wilders, they were full of
dark and bitter sayings on the subject--the younger Mr Wilder
especially, who was never tired of remarking to his acquaintance, when
the subject was broached, that "Miss Stansfield had contrived to play
her cards well." This observation was not lost on the busy-bodies and
scandal-mongers who abounded in Franchope, as they do in most country-
towns, where there is not so much of active business stirring as will
furnish sufficient material for gossip to those who love to act as
unpaid news-agents in publishing their neighbours' real or supposed more
private doings from house to house.
There happened to live at the outskirts of the little town an elderly
lady possessed of singular activity in all her members, especially that
most unruly one, the tongue. Give her a little bit of local news or a
hard saying to report, and she would never rest till she had distributed
the information throughout her entire acquaintance, with a little
garnish of her own to the savoury dish, according to the taste or
appetite of her hearers. Loved by none, feared by all, her calls were
received with apparent cordiality, partly from a natural relish in many
for questionable news, and partly from a desire to stand well with one
who had the reputations of her neighbours and associates more or less in
her power. Young Wilder's remark on Miss Stansfield's engagement was a
choice morsel of scandal to old Mrs Tinderley, and was duly reported in
every house to which she had access. But that was not all. Meeting
Mary Stansfield herself one day near her aunt's house, Mrs Tinderley
grasped her warmly by the hand--though hitherto they had never done more
than just exchange civil greetings by word of mouth--and congratulated
her upon her happy prospects. Miss Stansfield, who knew the old lady's
character well, was about to pass on, after a word or two of civil
acknowledgment, but the other would not let her part from her so
hastily.
"My dear," she exclaimed in an earnest half-whisper, "isn't it really
shameful that people should say the ill-natured things they do, calling
you a hypocrite, and selfish of all things in the world? And young Mr
Wilder too--to think of his saying that `you've played your cards well.'
Really, it's too bad. But, my dear Miss Stansfield, if I were you I
wouldn't mind it."
The old lady paused, expecting to see a blush of vexation and annoyance
on her young companion's face; but she was disappointed.
"Thank you, Mrs Tinderley," replied Mary Stansfield. "I suppose you
mean well by repeating to me these foolish remarks. I can assure you
that I do _not_ mind them, as my conscience quite acquits me in the
matter, and my happiness in no degree depends on the judgment of those
who have made or reported them."
So saying, she went quietly on her way, leaving poor Mrs Tinderley in a
state of utter bewilderment.
To Colonel Dawson the attachment, which was soon avowed on his nephew's
part, was a matter of the sincerest satisfaction; as it was also to the
elder Miss Stansfield, who had learned to take great pleasure in the
society of Horace Jackson, and to see in him those excellences of a true
Christian character which would make him a suitable husband to her
invaluable niece. She was pained, however, at the hard things which had
been said on the subject, as reported to her by an acquaintance of Mrs
Tinderley's, and spoke to the colonel on the subject.
"I am sure, Colonel Dawson," she said, "dear Mary is without blame in
this matter. The idea of _her_ acting selfishly or `playing her cards,'
such a thing is altogether preposterous. I cannot imagine how people
can be so wicked as to make such cruel and unjust remarks."
"Ah, my dear friend," replied the colonel, smiling, "let it pass, the
world will have its say. I am sure your dear niece will have no wish,
as I know she has no need, to vindicate her character from such
aspersions. She has just gone straight forward in the path of duty, and
has met Horace while in that path; and to my mind there would be
somewhat of selfishness, or, at any rate, of undue self-consciousness,
on her part were she to trouble herself, or to allow her friends to
trouble themselves, to defend her conduct in this matter. We are, of
course, as Christians, to abstain from all appearance of evil, and to
give no handle to the enemies of the truth against us or our profession;
but it does not, therefore, follow that we are to decline a path which
plainly opens before us in God's providence, just because that path may
be a smooth one, or may lead to a position of wealth and influence. To
choose another path which will gain us high credit for self-denial,
because we turn away from that which is naturally more attractive to
ourselves, may after all be only another though subtler form of
selfishness. Surely the right course is just to go in honesty of
purpose unreservedly where God's hand is plainly guiding us and he will
take care both of our character and of his own cause in connection with
that character, as he orders everything else that is really essential to
the welfare and usefulness of each of his own dear children."
CHAPTER NINE.
RUBY GRIGG.
Horace Jackson had come to take a deep interest in the inhabitants of
Bridgepath, especially since his engagement; for Mary Stansfield's heart
was thoroughly in her work in that once benighted place, and she was
only too glad to lead one now so dear to her to concern himself in the
truest welfare of those in Bridgepath who were still living without
thought of any world but this.
Things had indeed greatly improved through the diligent and loving
exertions of the excellent schoolmaster, who was evidently determined to
tread down all opposition that came in his way by the firm and weighty,
though gentle, steps of a steady and consistent Christian walk. His
task, it is true, was no easy one, for parents and scholars seemed for a
time to be in league against all endeavours on his part to remove
existing abuses. It was all very right, they allowed, that he should
teach the children head-knowledge--this they were content to put up
with; but as for his influencing the heart, or inducing them to change
their conduct, and thereby to give up the pleasures of sin in which they
had so long delighted, this was not to be tolerated; they were
determined not to submit to it. And so the boys, when they could no
longer carry on their encounters and settle their differences with the
fist after school without interruption and remonstrance from the master,
revenged themselves for this interference with their privileges by a
thousand little sly tricks and bits of mischief at his expense, and with
the full approbation, or, at any rate, connivance, of their friends.
As for the grown-up people generally, they gave the good master and his
loving wife to understand, when they paid friendly visits to the parents
of the scholars, that the inhabitants of the hamlet could do just as
well if left to themselves; that they were too old now to go to school;
and as for the master's religious teaching, they had already quite as
much religion amongst them as was necessary for their comfort and well-
being: in fact, the schoolmaster and his wife would best consult their
own interests and the peace of the place by being keepers at home and
looking after their own household out of school hours.
Nor was this all. The good man having, in one of his Sunday evening
addresses in the schoolroom, spoken some very plain though kindly words
against sinful courses too prevalent in Bridgepath, an assault was made
on his little garden one night during the following week, so that when
he looked over his flower-beds next morning he found them all trampled
over, his rose-trees cut down, and the flower roots torn up and thrown
about in all directions.
As he rose from the examination of what remained of a favourite tree,
his eyes encountered those of one of his most determined opponents in
the village. The man was staring over the wall, and when his eyes met
those of the schoolmaster, he inquired with a grin how his roses were
getting on. With a slight flush on his face, but yet with a smile on
his lips, the master replied very slowly, "I shall have to kill some of
you for this." Before the evening this little sentence had been
reported in every house in Bridgepath.
"So you're a-going to kill some of us, master. I thought you was one of
them peaceable Christians," sneered a man to the schoolmaster as he was
passing by the door of one of the beer-shops, before which a number of
men were assembled with their pipes and pots. There was a general
scornful laugh at this speech. Nothing dismayed, however, the
schoolmaster stood still, and facing his opponent, said, "Yes, I said I
would kill some of you, and I mean it; and if you will come up to the
schoolroom to-night at eight o'clock, I will tell you all how and why."
"Let's go and hear him," said one of the drinkers. "Ay, let us," said
another.
By eight o'clock the schoolroom was half filled with men, women, and
children. The master was standing at his desk ready to receive them,
and when the school clock had struck the hour, began as follows:--
"Now, my friends and neighbours, I feel sure that you'll give me a quiet
hearing, as you have come that you may know why I said I must kill some
of you. You've done me harm, some of you, but I've done you none; so
the least you can do is to listen to me patiently."
"Ay, ay," said one or two voices, and there was a hush of earnest
attention.
The master then unlocked his desk, and taking out a printed paper, read
it out clearly and with due spirit and emphasis. It was the admirable
tract entitled "The Man who Killed his Neighbour." When he had finished
reading there was a general murmur of satisfaction, and all were deeply
attentive as he went on to say, "Now, dear friends, that's the way I
mean to kill some of you: I mean to do it by patience, by kindness, and
by returning good for evil, as the good man in the tract did. I'm sorry
of course, that my roses have been cut down and my flower-beds trampled
on. But let that pass; I shan't fret over it, nor try to find out who
did it. But I do want to get you to believe that my great desire and
aim is to do you good; and if I can manage, by God's help, to persuade
you of this, I shall have killed the enemy that is living in your hearts
against me, and we shall be happy and good friends."
No one offered any reply, and the meeting broke up; but the master had
gained his object. Many who had been set against him were now
thoroughly ashamed of themselves; nearly every door was gladly opened to
himself and his wife; and one morning, when he came out into his garden,
he found that some unknown hands had planted new rose-trees in the place
of those which had been destroyed. So the good man was making a way
steadily for the spread of the truth.
Nevertheless, the evil one had still many devoted followers, especially
among the tipplers. As one of these unhappy men was one day emerging
from a beer-shop in Bridgepath, with flushed face and uncertain step, he
ran against Horace Jackson, who was just then passing through the
village. Uttering a loud oath, the man was about to move on, when
Horace, catching him by the arm, compelled him to stand still, while he
sharply reproved him for his drunkenness and profanity. A little
staggered and abashed, the man muttered something that sounded half like
an apology; and then, shaking himself free from Horace's grasp, pointed
with his pipe across the green, and said scoffingly, "'Tain't of no use
speaking to me. If you wants a good hard piece to try your hand on, see
what you can do with Ruby Grigg yonder;" saying which, he plunged back
into the beer-shop.
Vexed and annoyed at this encounter, Horace was just about to hasten on,
when his eyes fell on the man to whom the poor drunkard had referred
him; and who was seated not far-off on the other side of the green, upon
the steps of a large travelling van. The young man's heart died within
him as he gazed at the strange uncouth being to whom he was invited to
try and do some good.
Reuben Gregson, popularly known as "Ruby Grigg," was anything but a
jewel in appearance. He wore at this time a very long coat, whose
original colour, whatever it might have been, had now faded into a
yellowish dirty brown in those parts which still remained unpatched.
Trousers just reaching a little below the knee, and repaired here and
there with remnants of staring blue cloth of various shapes and sizes,
were succeeded by yellowish grey stockings, and by shoes which, if they
ever enjoyed the luxury of blacking, must have last done so at a very
remote period. A hat, which had once been black and of some definite
shape, but was now rimless, distorted, and of the same faded hue as the
coat, being stuck on one side, only partially covered a tangled mass of
greyish hair, which radiated wildly in every direction. Beneath the
foremost locks were two eyeballs, the one sightless, the other black and
piercing, and ever on the move, having to do double duty. A rough,
stubbly, and anything but cleanly beard, which was submitted to the
razor only on festal occasions, gave an additional wildness to a
countenance which was furrowed across the forehead and down either cheek
with deep lines blotched and freckled. As for the mouth, it was a
perfect study in itself. Usually pretty tightly closed, it displayed
when open a small remnant of teeth at irregular intervals, and now grown
old and decayed by long service. But, whether open or shut, there was
an expression of amused consciousness and cunning about that mouth, as
though the owner were living in a chronic state of self-satisfaction at
having fairly outwitted somebody. Such was Ruby Grigg in his personal
appearance.
His caravan, also, was a very original and peculiar structure,
manifestly built more for use than ornament, and combining both shop and
dwelling. It was formed of boards of various lengths and widths, some
painted and others bare, the business part being in front, and arched
over with a stout framework which was covered with a tight-fitting
tarpaulin; while at the back a square little house, painted uniformly a
sober green, and protected by a sloping roof of brown-coloured wood-
work, and lighted by two little windows, served as parlour, bedroom, and
kitchen to Ruby and his wife.
Mrs Gregson, or Sally Grigg as she was usually styled, was not a
noticeable person, keeping out of the way as much as possible; and
devoting her time and energies to seeing to the due feeding of her
husband, his horse and dog, and herself--these forming the entire
family, for they had no children--and also to taking care of, and
tidying up from time to time, the very miscellaneous wares which were
offered for sale in the caravan.
Ruby's affections seemed pretty equally divided between his horse, his
dog, and his wife--the two first having probably the best place in his
heart. The horse, like its owner, had no external beauty to boast of,
and must have numbered many years since the days of its foalhood. There
was something rather knowing about its appearance, as though it had
contracted a measure of cunning from constant companionship with its
master. The dog, whose name was Grip, was one of those nondescript
animals which seem to have inherited a mixture of half-a-dozen different
breeds, and had a temper as uncertain as its pedigree. While
journeying, his place was beneath the caravan, to which he was attached
by a light chain, in which position he was a terror to all who might
venture near the caravan without his master's company or permission.
When the little party rested for a day or so, Grip had his liberty;
which he occasionally abused by appropriating to himself the meals
intended for his fellow-dogs, none of whom, however superior to him in
size or strength, durst for a moment resist him.
Such were the old man and his establishment. His business was that of a
miscellaneous salesman, the difficulty being rather to say what he did
not than what he did offer to his various customers. The front part of
his van was hung with all sorts of hardware, inside and out; but,
besides this, there were, within, secret drawers and cupboards
containing articles which would not bear exhibition to the public--such
as smuggled goods, both wearable and drinkable, which Ruby knew how to
procure at a very low price, and could always part with confidentially
for a sum which both suited the pockets of the purchasers, and also
brought considerable profit to himself. Among his secret wares were
also immoral songs, and impure and infidel books, for which he had many
eager buyers, especially in such places as Bridgepath. He had his
regular rounds, and his special customers, and was in the habit of
attending all the feasts and fairs for many miles round.
It need hardly be said that poor Ruby knew nothing and cared nothing
about better things; his heart was wholly in the world, and in making
money as fast as he could, by hook or by crook,--and in this he was
succeeding. For though the poor man and his wife were utterly godless,
and even profane, yet Ruby was no drunkard; he loved his glass, it is
true, but he loved money more, and so he always contrived to keep a
clear head and a steady eye and hand. He also took good care of his
horse and dog for his own sake, as he wanted to make the best and the
longest of their services, and was shrewd enough to know that you cannot
get out of anything, whether animate or inanimate, more than is put into
it. So self and wife, and horse and dog were all well fed and cared
for, and worked harmoniously together.
This was the man to whom the poor drunkard pointed his pipe and
sneeringly invited Horace Jackson to try and do him good. The young man
shrunk at first instinctively from coming in contact with old Reuben.
Surely there was abundance of self-denying work in looking after the
inhabitants of the hamlet itself; why then need he concern himself about
a man who was only a passer through, and had no special claim on his
attention? Half-satisfied with these thoughts, Horace Jackson was about
to proceed homewards, when it seemed to him that a voice, as it were,
said within him, "Accept the work; it may not be in vain." Though still
reluctant, he now felt that he could no longer hang back; so he crossed
the green, and greeted the old hawker kindly.
Ruby looked up at him with a comical twinkle in his one eye, and,
knocking out the ashes from his pipe, observed, "So you be the young
gent as is turning all things topsy-turvy in this here village--you and
the colonel between you. I've heard all about it; and a precious mess
you'll make of it, I doubt."
"My friend," said Horace, now perfectly relieved from all feeling of
disinclination to encounter the old man, "you make a little mistake
there: when we came here we _found_ things topsy-turvy already, and we
are just trying, by God's help, to set them upright and straight."
"And I suppose you think as you're going to do it," said the other
scornfully.
"Yes, I hope so," was the reply. "Come, my friend, now tell me
honestly, isn't it happier for the people of this village to have a good
school and a good schoolmaster set down amongst them than to be living
as they used to do, without proper instruction for the children, and
without any knowledge of God and a better world?"
"Can't say as to that," said Ruby Grigg doubtfully, and a little
sulkily; "there's lots of people here as likes the old ways better."
"Perhaps so," said Horace; "but they may be wrong in what they like.
Now, I ask you again--tell me honestly--don't you see a change for the
better yourself in Bridgepath?"
"Well, I don't know," replied the old man, fidgeting about; "it's been a
worse change for me. I ain't done anything like the business this time
as I use doing here, leastways in some things."
Horace had now seated himself by the old man, spite of a deep growl from
Grip, whose nearer approach was cut short by a backhanded slap from his
master.
"Look there now, old friend," continued the young man. At this moment
the school doors were thrown open, and out poured a stream of boys and
girls, tumbling one over another in their excitement, and singing gaily
as they began to disperse over the green. But all suddenly stopped, for
the schoolmaster made his appearance, and all clustered round him.
School was over, and what was going to happen now? In former days the
sight of the master would have been a signal for every boy and girl to
slink out of reach of his observation; but now the master's coming was
hailed with a happy shout, and the young ones vied with one another in
getting near him, while the youngest clung to his dress, and all looked
up at him with bright and happy smiles. Horace turned towards the old
man, and marked a flush on his worn and weather-beaten features.
"That's a sight worth seeing, my friend," he added; "I think it used not
to be so."
Reuben made no answer. His eye seemed to be gazing at something beyond
the busy scene before him.
"You've never had any children of your own, it may be," said Horace,
noticing his absent look.
Slowly the old man turned towards his companion, his face was now quite
pale, and tears began to steal down its deep furrows. "I've never a
child now," he said in a hoarse and troubled voice, "but I had once--a
blessed little 'un she were, but she died."
"It may be, friend," said the young man gently, "that the Lord took her
in mercy from the evil to come. Did she die very young?"
Reuben Gregson seemed unable to reply for a while, then he said slowly,
and apparently with a great effort, "Ay, sir, very young, and she were
all the boys and girls I ever had. She were but five year old when she
died, but she died happy, poor thing. It's more nor thirty years now
since she left us."
"And she died happy, you say?" asked Horace, deeply touched. "Did she
know anything of her Saviour?"
"I believe you," replied the other earnestly, "yes. There were a good
young lady--she ain't living now--as seed her playing about by the
roadside one day, and gave her this book." Ruby drew out from his
breast-pocket a large faded leathern case, and from its inmost depths
brought out a small picture-book full of coloured Scripture prints. The
frontispiece represented our Saviour hanging on the cross, and was much
worn, as with the pressure of little fingers. "There, sir," continued
the old man, "the young lady showed her them pictures, and talked to her
about 'em, and particular about Him as was nailed to the cross. We was
staying on a common near her house for a week or more, and each day that
young lady came and had a talk to our little Bessy. And she never
forgot what the lady said to her. And so, when she were took with the
fever, some weeks arter that, when we was far-off from where the lady
lived, her last words was, `Daddy, I'm going to Jesus, 'cos he said,
"Suffer the little children to come to me."' There, sir, I've told you
now what I haven't spoken to nobody else these thirty years."
"And won't you follow your dear child to the better land?" asked Horace
kindly; "there's room in our Saviour's heart and home for you too."
"I don't know, I don't know," said the other gloomily; "these things
ain't in my line. Besides, I'm too old and too hard now; it's no use
for such as me to think about 'em."
Horace said nothing immediately, but taking out a little New Testament,
he read out, without any comment, the parables of the lost sheep and the
lost piece of silver. Then he said, "Old friend, I am so glad we have
met. Will you accept this little book from me? It will tell you better
than I can all about the loving Saviour, who has taken that dear child
to himself, and wants you and your wife to follow her."
Without saying a word Ruby clutched the Testament, thrust it into his
breast-pocket and then, rising hastily, said, "I wish you good day, sir;
maybe we shall meet again. Thank you kindly for the little book."
"Farewell for the present," said Horace. "Yes, I believe we shall meet
again," and he turned his steps homewards, deeply thankful that he had
not declined the work which was so unexpectedly thrust upon him.
CHAPTER TEN.
A ROUGH JEWEL POLISHED.