“She’ll never do as she’s meant if you don’t allow for it,” was her parting advice. “Best give her two folks’ room, and then you’ll have done with it. She’s a big child, to begin with,—as fine a one as you’ll see anywhere, though I says it as shouldn’t,—but it isn’t only that. It’s just she can’t do with feeling she hasn’t room to breathe and spread about in.”
Later on, of course, she had learned to adapt herself better to the conditions in which she lived, so that pots were no longer broken, or schoolfellows thrust aside. But her love of space continued to grow with her, although more or less unconsciously, showing itself mainly in a liking for long walks, and for open windows and doors. It was during a dispute with her mother over the latter that for once she had caught a faint glimpse of the life for which she was really intended. An aunt of hers had been staying with them, who knew a little of the world, and she had taken a hand in the family quarrel.
“Folks can’t all think the same,” she had said, in reply to the mother’s statement that, “if our Mattie had her way, roof would be off afore you could say Jack Robinson!” “They’re different, all the world over. Your Mattie’d likely do rarely in one o’ them new countries they’re talking of opening up.”
Mattie’s mother had been altogether vague upon the subject of “new countries,” having, indeed, sufficient difficulty, as it was, in realising that there was more of England beyond the one little spot in which she lived and moved and had her being.... “Eh, now! What countries?” she had enquired incredulously, rather as if she suspected the visitor of inventing them on the spur of the moment.
“Colonies, they call ’em,” the other had said firmly, although almost equally vaguely, and speaking the word as people spoke it in those days, before such names as Canada and New Zealand had become living realities to the public mind. “Fine big spots wanting big strong folk as like fresh air and a bit o’ work. Your Mattie’d do grand for Colonies, from what they tell me.”
“They’re big, d’you say?” Mattie herself had asked, fixing upon the one point which had intrigued her imagination, and in that one word, had she but known it, assessing the whole of her life’s trouble.
The visitor nodded.
“Big, every way, so I understand. Mountains and rivers, and great pieces as they call—nay, I can’t think on, except that I know it made me think o’ church. Trouble is, though, they’re such a sight of a long way off,—t’other side of the ocean, though I’m sure I can’t say which.”
Mattie’s mother had laughed when the ocean was mentioned, as though the very sound of that awe-inspiring word had put a full stop to the conversation.
“Nay, now, it’s no use your talking Colonies to the lass, if there’s oceans and such-like mixed up in it! She can’t abide the sea, can’t our Mattie, and never could. I don’t know where she gets it from, I’m sure, unless it’s my mother, as was once right near drowned, falling off a pier at Morecambe. She had a terble down on the sea, after that, and I reckon our Mattie’s the same. What, she can’t even abide a picture of it in the room,—says it puts her off her meat! Nay, if Colonies means crossing the ocean and such-like, I reckon they’ll have to do without our Mattie.”