MRS. HUTTON
"I REALLY think if I were owner of such a place as this that it would
not make me happier."
"I honestly confess that it would me. Look at this magnificent avenue
of rhododendrons and chestnuts. Can you imagine what they must be in
the spring? And yet the place is shut up nearly the whole year round.
I think Mrs. Hutton only lives here for three or four months in the
summer. The head gardener here is a friend of mine—his name is Jacobs,
and I get a lot of cuttings from him, while he even condescends to take
some of mine in exchange. I envy him his hothouses here. Sometimes I
think of earning my living and going out as lady-gardener. Don't you
think it would be a good idea? I could superintend well, I'm sure,
and with a good staff under me, I am confident I should be equal to
managing the largest garden in England. I should have a cottage rent
free, and live in an atmosphere of warmth and flowers."
Rhoda and Miss Montague were walking up the avenue, to pay the promised
visit to Mrs. Hutton. It was a beautiful old house, quite hidden away
in its nest of fine old trees, and Rhoda was reminded of her old home
as she stepped inside.
Mrs. Hutton welcomed them warmly. She was a handsome old lady, with
a great deal of character, and as she took Rhoda's hand in hers, she
said, looking at her earnestly, "Are you the young lady on the edge of
the moor?"
"I am," replied Rhoda, with a smile.
Mrs. Hutton shook her head.
"When I was your age," she said, solemnly, "my parents would as soon
have thought of sending me across the ocean in a balloon as allowing me
to plant myself on a wild moor, in a house of my own, with only an old
servant to look after me."
"I have no parents now," said Rhoda, a little sadly.
The old lady's face softened.
"Have you no one to look after you?"
"She has seven brothers," put in Miss Montague; "isn't she to be
pitied? She does well to get away from them."
"Ah, you are a nineteenth-century young woman, with a will and a
purpose of your own, I am afraid."
"I am afraid I am," said Rhoda, smiling. "I am sorry you do not like
the idea of my living on the moor, but I came there to be quiet, and I
am not doing any one any harm."
"Now just tell me what you are doing;" and Mrs. Hutton leant back in
her chair and prepared herself to listen.
Rhoda told her, sketching some of her neighbours' lives with a tender
hand, and bringing before the old lady the isolation and deadness of
their surroundings, and their quick response to friendliness, and
touching gratitude for any kindness shown them.
Tears were in Mrs. Hutton's eyes as she heard about Robin and his wife.
"Go on, my dear, go on. It is as good as a story."
When Rhoda paused, she was asked—
"And how do you get about to all these small farms since you have lost
your horse?"
"I walk."
"But you do not go wandering over the moor all those distances by
yourself?"
"I take my dog with me."
"And do you visit in Ashampton as well?"
"Not much. I cannot find time. I am friends with Miss Frith, at the
post-office, and I know an old washerwoman, and the mother of the lad
who works for me."
"And she comes to see me," put in Miss Montague; "I'm afraid she thinks
me a hard case, but she has tackled me once or twice, and she hits out
straight when she is about it."
"About what does she tackle you?" asked Mrs. Hutton, an amused sparkle
coming in her eyes.
"She thinks me frivolous, sinful—not fulfilling the ends for which I
was created. She wants to set me visiting the poor; and I shall not and
will not do it."
"Now," protested Rhoda, "you must speak fairly, Miss Montague. I don't
think such a thing has ever been in my mind, much less on my lips."
"Well, you rub me up, and make me uncomfortable, until I feel I ought
to do it, which comes to the same thing."
"Will you put me down on your visiting list, and come and see me
sometimes?" said Mrs. Hutton, turning to Rhoda with a smile. "I am
rather an invalid, and it would be a real charity."
Rhoda promised she would, and then another visitor was ushered in, no
other than the curate who generally came over on Sundays to preach.
Mrs. Hutton would not allow them to leave before tea, so they stayed.
Rhoda was rather amused at the curate's blank look of dismay as he saw
Miss Montague, but she was perfectly self-possessed.
"You will not refuse to shake hands with me, will you?" she said, a
little mocking gleam in her bright eyes as she spoke.
Then, as the poor man coloured furiously, offered his hand, and
murmured something that was indistinguishable, she turned to Mrs.
Hutton and explained with great serenity,—
"Mr. Long and I had some words one day when he came to see me.
My unfortunate tongue said what perhaps had been better left
unsaid—circumstances had provoked it. He generally cuts me dead if I
ever meet him out of doors, but I do not bear malice. As long as he
does not favour me with one of his pastoral visits again, I am quite
willing to be friends."
"How is the rector?" asked Mrs. Hutton, changing the subject with
dexterity.
"Very poorly; he is laid up with bronchitis again."
"It is very unfortunate, as it throws so much of the parish work upon
you two young men. Can you tell me in what parish the farms along the
side of the moor are?"
"They belong to Ashampton."
"And do you never visit over there?"
Her tone was inquisitorial, and Rhoda began to feel a little
uncomfortable.
Mr. Long hesitated.
"Yes, some time ago, when first I came here, I used to go up now and
then. But the fact is, Mrs. Hutton, it is as much as we can manage down
here."
"Do you know Miss Carlton? I think she comes down to your church every
Sunday morning."
Mr. Long bowed.
"It is only lately that I have discovered where you lived," he said,
turning to Rhoda. "I hope to have the pleasure of paying you a visit
before long."
"What days have you for visiting the poor in Ashampton?" continued Mrs.
Hutton.
"I—I—well, sometimes I come in on a Saturday. It is generally the end
of the week before I can manage it."
Here tea was brought in, and for the time, Mrs. Hutton's questions
ceased.
Rhoda and Miss Montague left when it was over, and Mrs. Hutton said,
looking at the former with kindly eyes,—
"You will come and see me again, will you not?"
"I shall be delighted," was Rhoda's reply, and she really meant it.
"I like the old lady so much," she said to Miss Montague, as they
walked away; "I am quite grateful to you for taking me to see her."
"But she is a bit of a tyrant, I warn you. I am chuckling at the
thought of Mr. Long now. I hope she will put him through his catechism.
You know the livings of Abeythorpe and Ashampton are in her gift, and
the curates are in mortal fear of her."
"I would rather be your friend than your enemy," Rhoda observed
irrelevantly. "Why are you so hard upon that young man?"
Miss Montague laughed. "I can't help it. It is my evil nature, I
suppose. I hate, I abominate humbug—you know I do—and he is the essence
of it. He came to see me, and in the course of conversation asked me if
I would not undertake a little district visiting in Ashampton. Now if
he had stopped there, I should have thanked him and politely declined,
but when he went on to say, in his most sanctimonious voice,—
"'I assure you, Miss Montague, we hard-worked curates have very few
friends to lighten our load, and however much we may esteem it a
Christian privilege to visit the sick and afflicted, we cannot overtake
our work in these two parishes. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh
is weak," and we cannot be in two places at once—'
"Then my wrath rose.
"'Mr. Long,' I said, 'your heavy loads and, Christian privileges
and willing spirits go to the wind when tennis or a garden-party is
concerned. I am neither deaf nor blind, and if you expect me to relieve
you of your daily duties, whilst you dance off to this entertainment
or the other, you have come to the wrong person. I like my comfort and
ease as much as you do, but I am honest, and say so—'
"And he got up and walked straight out of my house without a word.
I have never met him since to speak to, till to-day. I know you are
shocked. I never can control my tongue—it is always bringing me into
trouble. How will you like a visit from him?"
Rhoda did not answer; she was hoping in her heart that Mrs. Hutton,
in her zeal, would not urge Mr. Long to visit their part much, as she
felt convinced he would be no real spiritual help to those around. And
then she longed for some true-hearted, earnest clergyman to come to
Ashampton and live there.
"In that case," she thought, "I should not be wanted, and would move
farther on."
About a week after this, Rhoda was surprised, one morning, by a small
governess car and moor pony being driven up to her door by a groom in
livery, who delivered the following note:—
DEAR MISS CARLTON,
When I was a girl, I used to drive a good bit about the moor in a
little concern like the one I send you. I want you to accept it as a
gift from an old lady, and not allow any feelings of pride to prevent
her from having the pleasure of giving. The pony is steady and sure,
and you will be able to ride him if you prefer it. I shall feel more
comfortable about you if I know you have a quicker and safer mode of
getting about than you have at present.
Yours very sincerely,
SELINA HUTTON.
What could Rhoda do but accept with gratitude such a present? She felt
the kindness that prompted it, and knew how much she would hurt by
refusing.
"Oh, Hannah," she exclaimed, after writing a grateful little note and
dispatching the groom with it, "is not this just the thing I have been
longing for? Come and look at it. Is it not a dainty little turn-out?
Now do you know the first thing I am going to do with it? I am going
over to the old Days', and I shall bring them back to tea with me. How
they will enjoy it—poor old things! And I shall try if, by putting
plenty of cushions in it, I could not get Mrs. Dyke out for a short
drive one day. I shall be able to take so many little comforts to the
people, that I could not riding. It is really very good of Mrs. Hutton,
considering I am such a stranger to her, and I will not be proud, but
be thankful for her friendship and sympathy."
Mrs. Hutton had indeed taken a great fancy to Rhoda, and the latter
found that if she did not visit her every week or ten days, it was
almost a grievance.
"Tell me all you're doing, my dear, and don't be afraid. I never
chatter, as our mutual friend does, and I like to hear all—good, bad,
and indifferent."
This was how she was always welcomed, and when she went away, it was
always—
"And now don't you want any help? Have you no one you want to relieve,
or sick to whom you would like to take any dainties? Here is my purse;
let me, as I cannot work, help you by my means."
But Rhoda would always refuse this offer.
"I have no very poor about me. They are more in need of spiritual food
than temporal. I will let you know if any deserving ones come to my
notice, to whom relief would be acceptable."
With her little trap and pony, Rhoda was able to accomplish a good
deal. She persuaded Miss Frith to come up one day and see the Tents,
and as she was a bad walker, the trap made this quite practicable.
"I wish you would not shut yourself away from people so," Rhoda had
said to her more than once; "I shall never be satisfied till you get
some one to live with you who would be able to relieve you, and so let
you have a little time for seeing your neighbours."
"I don't like my neighbours," said Miss Frith, grimly.
"But you don't want to live your life entirely alone."
"People don't take to me, nor I to them."
"Because you will not let them know you. Look what a struggle I have
had to get you to speak to me, and even now I am a little frightened
when you hand me my letters with that stern, set look about your face."
Miss Frith smiled.
"I never ought to look stern at you. I can't forget your nursing when I
was ill. I am not ungrateful; only I am a sad, grave woman, and I can't
chatter gossip like most about me, I feel too old for it."
"I shall make you young before I have done with you."
But Miss Frith shook her head, then she said abruptly, "I sometimes
wonder, now my sister has been taken from me, whether I couldn't
do something for others, but where to begin I don't know! I cannot
visit—no one would welcome a visitor such as me—you want to carry
sunshine with you to make visiting a success, and I never could do
that. My life has always been full in the way of having some one to
look after, and now I feel it such a blank. I am thinking of taking a
lodger. Maybe if I got an invalid, I could see to them, and the shop as
well. I can't do work outside, I haven't the time for it."
"Oh, you must not look out for an invalid. It must be a young girl whom
you could mother a little, and influence for good, and who would be
able to help you in some ways. I wish I knew of a London dressmaker, or
some one wanting country air for a change. I will bear it in mind."
Rhoda accomplished her plan of having the old Days over to spend an
afternoon with her very successfully. They were delighted, and some of
their remarks about her room and house were very comical.
"Es fay! Her be a winderful book larner!" observed the old man,
standing up and surveying the well-filled bookcase with awe and
curiosity. Then turning to Rhoda, he said, "Do 'ee know the inzides of
all they vollumes?"
"I think I have read most of them," said Rhoda, laughing.
He shook his head solemnly from side to side.
"A' baint struck at her praychin', Poll—her hath a meenister's
book-shelf, but there is too many for one head to carry, her will coom
to the churchyard early!"
"'Tis too many for she," echoed Poll, "an' I mind me o' me dear
departed Ned—he were powerful vond o' they books—they did disease his
mind, an' he tooked no vood to strengthen hisself up agen them. They
be worritin' sort o' things to lay hold on a young pusson, an' I'm
thinkin', me dear, that 'tis better if you leaveth they alone, an'
keepeth to the Bible an' the newspapers."
"Be 'ee a lady o' property?" asked old Robin, a little later on, as
his eyes roved round the room. "There zeemeth to be a winderful lot o'
curioosities! A' be thinkin' 'ee knoweth how to be coomfortable, but do
'ee tell on us now, when 'ee hath no vizitors, who zitteth on all these
cheers an' cooshions!"
"I use them all myself," said Rhoda, briskly. "When I have a headache,
I lie down on that sofa; when I have a backache, I sit in that big
easy-chair; when I write, I sit up on that tall, straight one; and when
I want to read, I use that low, broad one."
"Ay, to think on't!" ejaculated Robin, with open mouth. "An' one cheer
be all a' need till a' coom to me lazt restin'-place. The quality be
ztrangely queer in their habits, they be!"
The poor old couple were like children over their tea.
And when she drove them back and left them at their own door, Poll
said, with a curtsy, "Robin an' me thank you greatly, me dear.
Your hoose be very tidy an' conformable—but 'tis one thing that be
wantin'—sadly wantin'."
"And what is that?"
"A husband, me dear. I've had four on 'em, an' I knoweth well what they
be. A young maid like you moost get a man. If I were to be left a lone
widder, an Robin did vollow me departed ones, I should a' be in a evil
plight, but I should a' enjoyed on havin' on 'em fur a time. Get a
husband, me dear, an' he'll be company for 'ee. An' if so be he turneth
out badly, the Lord may take 'un off, an' then 'ee can try another!"