Paul’s face shewed more wonder than anything else. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ he said, ‘I didn’t think it was any one’s business.’
‘No one’s business!’ exclaimed the young clergyman. ‘It is every one’s business to see justice done, and it should never have gone on so if you had spoken. Why didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t think it would be any use,’ again said Paul. ‘There was old Joe Joiner, he always said ’twas a hard world to live in, and that there was nothing for it but to grin and bear it.’
‘There’s something better to be done than to grin,’ said Mr. Cope.
‘Yes, I know, Sir,’ said Paul, with a brighter gleam on his face; ‘and I seem to understand that better since I came here. I was thinking,’ he added, ‘if they pass me back to Upperscote, I’ll tell old Joe that folks are much kinder than he told me, by far.’
‘Kinder—I should not have thought that your experience!’ exclaimed Mr. Cope, his head still running on the Shepherds.
But Paul did not seem to think of them at all, or else to take their treatment as a matter-of-course, as he did his Union hardships. There was a glistening in his eyes; and he moved his head so as to sign down-stairs, as he said, ‘I didn’t think there was ne’er a one in the world like her.’
‘What, Mrs. King? I don’t think there are many,’ said Mr. Cope warmly. ‘And yet I hope there are.’
‘Ay, Sir,’ said Paul fervently. ‘And there’s Harold, and John Farden, and all the chaps. Please, Sir, when I’m gone away, will you tell them all that I’ll never forget ’em? and I’ll be happier as long as I live for knowing that there are such good-hearted folks.’
Mr. Cope felt trebly moved towards one who thought harshness so much more natural than kindness, and who received the one so submissively, the other so gratefully; but the conversation was interrupted by Harold’s exclaiming that my Lady in her carriage was stopping at the gate, and Mother was running out to her.