MR. GRAY'S SCHEME.
Mr. Gray and his daughter Mattie re-commenced housekeeping together on a different principle. Mattie's flitting had impressed Mr. Gray with the consciousness of his daughter possessing a will a trifle more inflexible than his own, and he respected her opinions in consequence. He treated her less like a child, and more like a woman whose remarks were worth listening to. In plain truth, he had become a little afraid of Mattie. He had learned to love her, and was afraid of losing her. Her stern determination to keep her promise—even part with him, rather than break it—had won his respect; for he was a firm man himself, and in his heart admired firmness in others.
Father and daughter settled down to home-matters, and worked together in many things; if the daughter had one secret from her father, it was the woman's natural aversion to confess to an attachment not likely to be returned, and was scarcely a secret, considering that Mr. Gray had more than an inkling of the truth.
The father did not care to solve the problem that was so easy of solution; he objected to showing any interest in such trivial mundane matters as love-making. He had a soul himself above love-making; which he considered vain, frivolous, and worldly, leading the thoughts astray from things divine. He saw Mattie's perplexity, and even hoped in the good time to alter it, if separation did not have its proper effect. "Presently—we shall see," was Mr. Gray's motto; and though he had spoken hopefully to Mattie, as Mattie had fancied, yet when they were at home again—two prosaic home figures—he kept the subject in the background.
Still he was watchful, and when Mattie began to alter, to become more grave and downcast, as though his home was not exactly the place where she experienced happiness—when she brightened up at any suggestion to visit Sidney Hinchford, he thought less of his own comfort, and more of his daughter's, like a good father as he was, after all.
One afternoon, without apprising that daughter of his intentions, he walked over to Camberwell, to see Sidney Hinchford. That young gentleman had ventured forth into the street, and therefore Mr. Gray had leisure to put things in order during his absence; arrange the mantel-piece, and wheel the table into the exact centre of the room. Anything out of order always put him in an ill temper, and he wanted to discuss business matters in an equable way, and with as little to disturb him as possible. If anything besides business leaked forth in the course of conversation, he should not be sorry; but he would take no mean advantage of Sidney Hinchford's position. He had a scheme to propose, which might be accepted or declined—what that scheme might end in, he would not say just then. It might end in his daughter marrying Sidney, or it might only tend to that singular young man's comfort and peace of mind—at all events, harm could not evolve from it, and possibly some personal advantage to himself, though he considered that that need not be taken into account.
Sidney Hinchford returned, and his face lit up at the brisk "Good afternoon" of Mr. Gray. He turned a little aside from him, as if expecting a smaller, softer hand in his, a voice more musical, asking if he were well, and then his face lost a great deal of its brightness with his disappointment.
"Alone?" he said.
"This time, Mattie is very busy—has a large dress-making order to fulfil."
"She'll kill herself with that needlework," he remarked; "it is a miserable profession, at the best."
"You're quite right, Mr. Sidney. And talking about professions, have you thought of yours lately?"
"Oh! I have thought of a hundred things. I must invest my capital—such as it is—in something."
"Will you listen patiently to a little plan of mine? I am of the world, worldly to-day, God forgive me!" he ejaculated, piously.
"What plan is that? Let us sit down and talk it over."
The local preacher, lithographer, &c., sat down facing Sidney, on whose face was visible an expression of keen interest. In matters of religion, Mr. Gray was long and prosy; in matters of business, quick and terse, a man after Sidney's own heart. Two "straightforward" men like them got through a deal of business in a little time.
"How much money have you at command?"
"A hundred pounds, perhaps."
"So have I."
"What's that to do with it?"
"A great deal, if you like my scheme—nothing, if you don't."
"Go on."
"A hundred pounds might start a business, but it's a risk—two hundred is better. How does Gray and Hinchford sound, now?"
"A partnership?"
"Why not? You're not fit to manage a business by yourself—I'm inclined to think the two of us might make a success of it—the three of us, if Mattie has to assist. I don't see why we should go on like this any longer—you can't stand at this rent—one house may as well hold all of us—why not?"
"You are very kind. I shall be a great trouble to you."
"I hope not. If you are—I like trouble. I shall make a bright light of you in good time!"
Sidney thought of the sermons in store for him, but hazarded no comment. Beyond them, and before all, was the preacher's daughter—the woman who understood him, and who had even rendered blindness endurable.
"You were speaking a short while since of going abroad. Have you changed your mind?"
"They changed theirs at the chapel. Bless you! they thought they could pitch upon a man so much more suitable! You hear that—so much more suitable!"
"Ah!—a good joke."
"I don't see where the joke lies," he said quickly.
"I beg pardon. No, not exactly a joke—was it?"
"I should say not."
"Well—and this business—what is it to be?"
"I fancy the old idea of a bookseller and stationer's. I can bring a little connection from our chapel together—and there's your friends at the bank."
"No—don't build on them—I have done with them."
"Ah! I had forgotten. But we must not bear enmity in our hearts against our fellow-men."
"True—and this business—where is it to be?"
"We'll look out, Mattie and I, at once."
"Nothing settled yet, then?" said Sidney, with a sigh, who was anxious to be stirring in life once more.
"Nothing yet, of course. I did not know whether you would approve of the scheme. Whether Mattie and I would be exactly fitting company for you."
"Is that satire?"
"My dear sir, I never said a satirical thing in my life."
"The best of company, then—for you and Mattie are the only friends left me, save that honest girl down-stairs."
"Ah! Ann Packet—we must not forget her, or we shall have Mattie scolding us."
"I asked if it were satire, because you are doing me a great service, and saving me from much anxiety. I have been thinking lately that it would be better for me to find my way into some asylum or other, and settle down there apart from the busy world without. You come forward to save me from the streets I have been fearing."
"As Mattie was saved," said Mr. Gray, solemnly; "remember that!"
Mr. Gray shortly afterwards took his leave. The same night he communicated the details of his scheme to his daughter; he could easily read in her face that it was a plan that had her full concurrence. Sidney at home again—Sidney to take care of, and screen from all those ills to which his position was liable!
In a short while a shop in the suburbs of London—not a great distance from Peckham Rye—was found to let. It stood in a new neighbourhood, with houses rising round it at every turn. A building mania had set in that direction, and a populous district was springing up there.
"I have always heard that to pitch one's camp in a new neighbourhood, if one has the patience to wait, will always succeed. We three have patience, and I think we'll try it."
This was said to Mattie, after she and her father had inspected the premises, and were walking by cross roads towards Camberwell, to gladden Sidney with the latest news.
"We'll try it—we'll begin home there, father."
"Home in earnest—eh?"
Mattie did not notice the meaning in his tones; she was full of other thoughts.
"It must be a home, that you and I will try to render happy for him—for his own sake—for his dead father's," she said.
"To be sure. And if he be not happy then, it will not be our fault."
"I hope not!"
"Hope not," said her father; "do you think we may fail in the attempt?"
"If we be not careful. We must remember that he is weak and requires support—that he is blind, and cannot escape us if we weary him too much."
"Oh! I see—I see," he said, a little aggrieved; "you are afraid that I shall tire him with the Word of God. Mattie, he's not exactly a Christian man yet, and I should certainly like to make him one. There will be plenty of time for preaching the truth unto him."
"And for leaving it alone."
"Bless my soul!" he ejaculated, as though Mattie had fired a pistol in his ear.
"You will believe that I understand him best, and I think that it will not do to attack him too often with our creed. His first disappointment is over—he is teaching himself resignation—he will come round to a great extent without our help—with our help, judiciously applied, he will come round altogether."
"You think a man may be told too often of the error of his ways?"
"Yes."
"Then we shall never agree upon that point."
And they never did. Notwithstanding this, Mr. Gray remembered Mattie's hint, and often curbed a rising attempt to preach to Sidney. When his rigour carried him to preaching point, Sidney listened patiently; when Sidney knew that Mr. Gray's energy was real, and that not one atom of hypocrisy actuated his motives, he respected the preacher, and paid attention to him.
He altered rapidly for the better; he became again almost the Sidney Hinchford of old times—the smile returned more frequently, the brightness of his face was something new; it was pleasant to think that he was not isolated from the world, and that there were friends in it yet to care for him.
He went to church every Sunday in lieu of chapel, somewhat to Mr. Gray's dissatisfaction. He had gone in old days twice every Sunday with his father, and he preferred adopting the old habits to frequenting the chapel whither Mr. Gray desired to conduct him. Sometimes Mattie accompanied him; more often, when he knew his ground, he went by himself, leaving Mattie to her father's escort.
Meanwhile business slowly but surely increased; the connection extended—all went well with these three watchers—each watching for a different purpose, with an equal degree of earnestness.