whispered Ruth,
“Your ’prentice hands on linseys try,
And then to West-o’-England’s fly.”
CHAPTER X.
MITCHELL MILL.
I imagine few masters behave as handsomely by their men as Mr. Wrigley did by Jim and me when the news spread like fire from Harrop Green to Greenfield that Parson Holmes’s and Jim o’ ’Lijah’s, th’ Tuner, had dropped into a fortune and were going to start on their own bottom at Mitchell, commonly called Mickle Mill. “It’ll ta’ a guidish mony o’ them sort o’ mickles to ma’ a muckle,” the village wit had prophesied; but Mr. Wrigley was not among the croakers. He sent for Jim and me into the counting house, if so big a name can be given to the little office in which he kept his books and paid the wages each Saturday noon. Mr. Wrigley, I have said, was a man of few words, but a just.
“And so you youngsters are going to run Mitchell Mill?” he said.
“We’re going to try,” I answered meekly, almost feeling that I was doing Mr. Wrigley a personal injury.
“It’s a grave step,” he said, “a very grave step. But you’ve youth and courage. Never lose courage, whatever else you lose. There’s a saying I remember—it isn’t in the Bible, for I’ve looked for it from Genesis to Revelations. Perhaps it’s in th’ ‘Pocrypha—there’s a lot o’ good things in th’ ’Pocrypha—‘He who loses fortune loses much, who loses friends loses more, but who loses courage loses all.’ My first an’ last word to you both is, ‘Go steady an’ keep your tails up.’ If you ever want a bit of advice, don’t be too proud to ask, it, and you know where to come for it. What’s in these envelopes is from Mrs. Wrigley and myself. They should have been wedding presents—oh! we aren’t deaf at Holly Grove but I daresay it’ll come in handy now. Now be off with you, I’m busy. Oh! and I was to tell you to be sure to be at service next Sunday night and stop for th’ prayer meeting.”
We opened the envelopes when we got outside. There was a new Bank of England note for five pounds in each, fresh and crisp, straight from the bank.