VISIT OF BLACK BESS.
Everybody at Botfield was astonished at the change in Stephen's manner;
so cheerful was he, and light-hearted, as if his brief manhood had passed
away, with its burden of cares and anxieties, and his boyish freedom and
gladsomeness had come back again. The secret cause remained undiscovered;
for Martha, fluent in tongue as she was, had enough discretion to keep
her own counsel, and seal up her lips as close as wax, when it was
necessary. The people puzzled themselves in vain; and Black Thompson left
off hinting at revenge to Stephen. Even the master, when the boy passed
him with a respectful bow, in which there was nothing of resentment or
sullenness, wondered how he could so soon forget the great injury he had
suffered. Mr. Wyley would have been better satisfied if the whole family
could have been driven out of the neighbourhood; but there was no knowing
what ugly rumours and inquiries might be set afloat, if the boy went
telling his tale to nobody knows whom.
Upon the whole, Martha did not very much regret her change of dwelling,
though she made a great virtue of her patience in submitting quietly to
it. To be sure, the cinder-hill was unsightly, and the cabin blackened
with smoke; and it was necessary to lock little Nan and grandfather
safely within the house whenever she went out, lest they should get to
the mouth of the open shaft, where Stephen often amused the child by
throwing stones down it, and listening to their rebound against the
sides. But still Martha had near neighbours; and until now she had hardly
even tasted the luxury of a thorough gossip, which she could enjoy in any
one of the cottages throughout Botfield. Moreover, she could get work for
herself on three days in the week, to help a washerwoman, who gave her
ninepence a day, besides letting little Nan go with her, and have, as she
said, 'the run of her teeth.' She had her admirers, too--young collier
lads, who told her truly enough she was the cleanest, neatest, tidiest
lass in all Botfield. So Martha Fern regarded their residence on the
cinder-hill with more complacency than could have been expected. The only
circumstance which in her secret heart she considered a serious drawback
was her very near neighbourhood to Miss Anne.
'Stephen,' said Martha one Saturday night, after their work was done,
'I've been thinking how it's only thee that's trying to keep the
commandments. I'm not such a scholar as thee; but I've heard thy chapter
read till it's in my head, as well as if I could read it off book myself.
So I'm thinking I ought to love my enemies as well as thee; and I've
asked Black Bess to come and have a cup of tea with us to-morrow.'
'Black Bess!' exclaimed Stephen, with a feeling of some displeasure.
'Ah,' said Martha, 'she's always calling me--a shame to be heard. But
I've quite forgiven her; and to-morrow I'll let her see I can make
pikelets as well as her mother; and we'll have out the three china cups;
only grandfather and little Nan must have common ones. I thought I'd
better tell thee; and then thee'lt make haste home from church in the
afternoon.'
'Black Bess isn't a good friend for thee,' answered Stephen, who was
better acquainted with the pit-girl's character than was Martha, and felt
troubled at the idea of any companionship between them.
'But we are to love our enemies,' persisted Martha, 'and do good to them
that hate us. At any rate I asked her, and she said she'd come.'
'I don't think it means we are to ask our enemies to tea,' said Stephen,
in perplexity. 'If she was badly off, like, and in want of a meal's meat,
it 'ud be another thing; I'd do it gladly. And on a Sunday too! Oh,
Martha, it doesn't seem right.'
'Oh, nothing's right that I do!' replied Martha pettishly; 'thee'rt
afraid I'll get as good as thee, and then thee cannot crow over me. But
I'll not spend a farthing of thy money, depend upon it. I'm not without
some shillings of my own, I reckon. Thee should let me love my enemies as
well as thee, I think; but thee'lt want to go up to heaven alone next.'
Stephen said no more, though Martha continued talking peevishly about
Black Bess. She was not at all satisfied in her own mind that she was
doing right; but Bess had met her at a neighbour's house, where she was
boasting of her skill in making pikelets, and she had been drawn out by
her sneers and mocking to give her a kind of challenge to come and taste
them. She wanted now to make herself and Stephen believe that she was
doing it out of love and forgiveness towards poor Bess; but she could not
succeed in the deception. All the Sunday morning she was bustling about,
and sadly chafing the grandfather by making him move hither and thither
out of the way. It was quite a new experience to have any one coming to
tea; and all her hospitable and housekeeping feelings were greatly
excited by the approaching event.
When Stephen, with tired little Nan riding on his shoulder, returned from
church in the afternoon, they found Bess had arrived, and was sitting in
the warmest corner, close to a very large and blazing fire, which filled
the cabin with light and heat. Bess had dressed herself up in her best
attire, in a bright red stuff gown, and with yellow ribbons tied in her
hair, which had been brought to a degree of smoothness wonderful to
Stephen, who saw her daily on the pit-bank. She had washed her face and
hands with so much care as to leave broad stripes of grime round her neck
and wrists, partly concealed by a necklace and bracelets of glass beads;
and her green apron was marvellously braided in a large pattern. Martha,
in her clean print dress, and white handkerchief pinned round her throat,
was a pleasant contrast to the tawdry girl, who looked wildly at Stephen
as he entered, as if she scarcely knew what to do.
'Good evening, Bess,' he said, as pleasantly as he could. 'Martha told me
thee was coming to eat some pikelets with her, so I asked Tim to come
too; and after tea we'll have some rare singing. I often hear thee on the
bank, Bess, and thee has a good voice.'
Bess coloured with pleasure, and evidently tried her best to be amiable
and well-mannered, sitting up nearer and nearer to the fire until her
face shone as red as her dress with the heat. Martha moved triumphantly
about the house, setting the tea-table, upon which she placed the three
china cups, with a gratified glance at the undisguised admiration of
Bess; though three common ones had to be laid beside them, for, as Tim
was coming, Stephen must fare like grandfather and little Nan. As soon as
Tim arrived, she was very busy beating up the batter for the pikelets,
and then baking them over the fire; and very soon the little party were
sitting down to their feast--Bess declaring politely, between each piece
pressed upon her by Martha, that she had never tasted such pikelets,
never!
At last, when tea was quite finished, and the table carefully lifted back
to a safe corner at the foot of the bed, though Martha prudently replaced
the china cups in the cupboard, Tim and Stephen drew up their stools to
the front of the fire, and a significant glance passed between them.
'Now then, Stevie,' said Tim, 'thee learn me the new hymn Miss Anne sings
with us; and let's teach Bess to sing too.'
Bess looked round uneasily, as if she found herself caught in a trap;
but, as Tim burst off loudly into a hymn tune, in which Stephen joined at
the top of his voice, she had no time to make any objection. Martha and
the old grandfather, who had been a capital singer in his day, began to
help; and little Nan mingled her sweet, clear, childish notes with their
stronger tones. It was a long hymn, and, before it was finished, Bess
found herself shyly humming away to the tune, almost as if it had been
the chorus of one of the pit-bank songs. They sang more and more, until
she joined in boldly, and whispered to Martha that she wished she knew
the words, so as to sing with them. But the crowning pleasure of the
evening was when little Nan, sitting on Stephen's knee, with his fingers
stroking her curly hair, sang by herself a new hymn for little children,
which Miss Anne had been teaching her. She could not say the words very
plainly, but her voice was sweet, and she looked so lovely with her tiny
hands softly folded, and her eyes lifted up steadily to Stephen's face,
that at last Black Bess burst out into a loud and long fit of crying, and
wept so bitterly that none of them could comfort her, until the little
child herself, who had been afraid of her before, climbed upon her lap
and laid her arms round her neck. She looked up then, and wiped the tears
from her face with the corner of her fine apron.
'I had a sister once, just like little Nan,' she said, with a sob, 'and
she minded me of her. Miss Anne told me she was singing somewhere among
the angels, and I thought she'd look like little Nan. But I'm afraid I
shall never go where she is; I'm so bad.'
'We'll teach thee how to be good,' answered Martha. 'Thee come to me,
Bess, and I'll teach thee the hymns, and the singing, and how to make
pikelets, and keep the house clean on a week-day. I'm going to love my
enemies, and do good to them that hate me; so don't thee be shy-like.
We'll be friends like Stephen and Tim; and weren't they enemies afore
Stephen learned to read?'
That night, as Stephen lay down to sleep, he said to himself, 'I'm glad
Black Bess came to eat pikelets with Martha. My chapter says, "Whosoever
shall do the commandments, and teach them, the same shall be called great
in the kingdom of heaven." Perhaps Martha and me will be called great in
heaven, if we teach Bess how to do God's commandments.'