THE OLD SHAFT.
Black Bess began to visit the cinder-hill cabin very often. But there
was a fatal mistake, which poor Stephen, in his simplicity and
single-heartedness, was a long time in discovering. Martha herself had
not truly set out on the path of obedience to God's commandments; and it
was not possible that she could teach Bess how to keep them. A Christian
cannot be like a finger-post, which only points the way to a place, but
never goes there itself. She could teach Bess the words of the hymn, and
the tunes they were sung to; but she could tell her nothing of the
feeling of praise and love to the Saviour with which Stephen sang them,
and out of which all true obedience must flow. With her lips she could
say, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit,' and 'Blessed are the meek,' and
'Blessed are they that do hunger and thirst after righteousness;' but she
cared for none of these things, and felt none of their blessedness in her
own soul; and Bess very quickly found out that she would far rather talk
about other matters. And because our hearts, which are foolish, and
deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, soon grow weary of
good, but are ever ready to delight in evil, it came to pass that,
instead of Martha teaching poor ignorant Bess how to do God's will, Bess
was leading her into all sorts of folly and wickedness.
It would be no very easy task to describe how unhappy Stephen was when,
from day to day, he saw Martha's pleasant sisterly ways change into a
rude and careless harshness, and her thrifty, cleanly habits give place
to the dirty extravagance of the collier-folk at Botfield. But who could
tell how he suffered in his warm, tender-hearted nature, when he came
home at night, and found the poor old grandfather neglected, and left
desolate in his blindness; and little Nan herself severely punished by
Martha's unkindness and quick temper? Not that Martha became bad
suddenly, or was always unkind and neglectful; there were times when
she was her old self again, when she would listen patiently enough to
Stephen's remonstrances and Miss Anne's gentle teaching; but yet Stephen
could never feel sure, when he was at his dismal toil underground, that
all things were going on right in his home overhead. Often and often, as
he looked up to Fern's Hollow, where the new red-brick house was now to
be seen plainly, like a city set on a hill, he longed to be back again,
and counted the months and weeks until the spring should bring home the
good clergyman to Danesford.
One day, during the time allowed to the pit-girls for eating their
dinner, Bess came running over the cinderhills in breathless haste to the
old cabin. Martha had been busy all the morning, and was still standing
at the washing-tub; but she was glad of an excuse for resting herself,
and when Bess sprang over the door-sill, she received her very cordially.
'Martha! Martha!' cried Bess; 'come away quickly. Here's Andrew the
packman in the lane, with such shawls, Martha! Blue and red and yellow
and green! Only five shillings a-piece; and thee canst pay him a shilling
a week. Come along, and be sharp with thee.'
'I've got no money to spend,' said Martha sullenly. 'Stephen ought to let
grandfather go into the House, and then we shouldn't be so pinched. What
with buying for him and little Nan, I've hardly a brass farthing in the
world for myself.'
'I'd not pinch,' Bess answered; 'let Stephen pinch if he will. Why,
all the lads in Botfield are making a mock at thee, calling thee an
old-fashioned piece and Granny Fern. But come and look, anyhow; Andrew
will be gone directly.'
Bess dragged Martha by the arm to the top of the cinder-hill, where they
could see the pit-girls clustering round the packman in the lane. The
black linen wrapper in which his pack was carried was stretched along
the hedge, and upon it was spread a great show of bright-coloured shawls
and dresses, and the girls were flitting from one to another, closely
examining their quality; while Andrew's wife walked up and down,
exhibiting each shawl by turns upon her shoulders. The temptation was too
strong for Martha; she wiped the soap-suds from her arms upon her apron,
and ran as eagerly down to the lane as Black Bess herself.
'Eh! here's a clean, tight lass for you!' cried Andrew, comparing Martha
with the begrimed pit-girls about him. 'The best shawl in my pack isn't
good enough for you, my dear. Pick and choose. Just make your own choice,
and I'll accommodate you about the price.'
'I've got no money,' said Martha.
'Oh, you and me'll not quarrel about money,' replied Andrew; 'you make
your choice, and I'll wait your time. I'm coming my rounds pretty
regular, and you can put up a shilling or two agen I come, without
letting on to father. But maybe you're married, my dear?'
'No,' she answered, blushing.
'It's not far off, I'll be bound,' he continued, 'and with a shawl like
this, now, you'd look like a full-blown rose. Come, I'll not be hard upon
you, as it's the first time you've dealt with me. That shawl's worth ten
shillings if it's worth a farthing, and I'll let you have it for seven
shillings and sixpence; half a crown down, and a shilling a fortnight
till it's paid up.'
Andrew threw the shawl over her shoulders, and turned her round to the
envying view of the assembled girls, who were not allowed to touch any of
his goods with their soiled hands. Martha softly stroked the bright blue
border, and felt its texture between her fingers; while she deliberated
within herself whether she could not buy it from the fund procured by the
bilberry picking in the autumn. As Stephen had never known the full
amount, she could withdraw the half-crown without his knowledge, and the
sixpence a week she could save out of her own earnings. In ten minutes,
while Andrew was bargaining with some of the others, she came to the
conclusion that she could not possibly do any longer without a new shawl;
so, telling the packman that she would be back again directly, she ran as
swiftly as she could over the cinder-hill homewards.
In her hurry to accompany Bess to the lane, she had left her cabin door
unfastened, never thinking of the danger of the open pit to her blind
grandfather and the child. Little Nan had been wearying all morning for
a run in the wintry sunshine, out of the close steam of washing in the
small hut; but Martha had not dared to let her run about alone, as she
had been used to do at Fern's Hollow, in their safe garden. After Martha
and Black Bess had left her, the child stood looking wistfully through
the open door for some time; but at last she ventured over the door-sill,
and her tiny feet painfully climbed the frozen bank behind the house,
whence she could see the group of girls in the lane below. Perhaps she
would have found her way down to them, but Martha had been cross with her
all the morning, and the child's little spirit was frightened with her
scolding. She turned back to the cabin, sobbing, for the north wind blew
coldly upon her; and then she must have caught sight of the shaft, where
Stephen had been throwing stones down for her the night before, without a
thought of the little one trying to pursue the dangerous game alone. As
Martha came over the cinder-hill, her eyes fell upon little Nan, rosy,
laughing, screaming with delight as her tiny hands lifted a large stone
high above her curly head, while she bent over the unguarded margin of
the pit. But before Martha could move in her agony of terror, the heavy
stone dropped from her small fingers, and Nan, little Nan, with her rosy,
laughing face, had fallen after it.
Martha never forgot that moment. As if with a sudden awaking of memory,
there flashed across her mind all the child's simple, winning ways. She
seemed to see her dying mother again, laying the helpless baby in her
arms, and bidding her to be a mother to it. She heard her father's last
charge to take care of little Nan, when he also was passing away. Her own
wicked carelessness and neglect, Stephen's terrible sorrow if little Nan
should be dead, all the woeful consequences of her fault, were stamped
upon her heart with a sudden and very bitter stroke. Those who were
watching her from the lane saw her stand as if transfixed for a moment;
and then a piercing scream, which made every one within hearing start
with terror, rang through the frosty air, as Martha sprang forward to the
mouth of the old pit, and, peering down its dark and narrow depths, could
just discern a little white figure lying motionless at the bottom of the
shaft.