I had looked forward all the day to accompanying my father and the girls at least a part of the way home to Pole Moor; but at the close of the service Mrs. Wrigley was good enough to ask my father to allow Miriam to stay for a week or two at Holly Grove, adding that she had formed the highest estimate of my loved one’s graces of mind and heart, and hoped a little change from the routine of Pole Moor might be all to her benefit. To this my father willingly assented; so that instead of journeying over Stanedge with Miriam by my side, her little hand stealing into mine in the friendly cover of the night, I turned my face to Wrigley Mill Fold with only Mary as my companion. No need to say where Jim was.
“Eh,” said Mary, as we walked slowly down Ward Lane, “Eh! that aw should ha’ lived to see this day, an’ my ’Lijah ta’en away i’ his prime afore it come off. ‘Affliction sore long time he bore, physicians were i’ vain’; at least Dr. Garstang were. But happen he’s been permitted to look down from aboon an’ see his lone widder an’ th fruit o his loins sittin at table wi’ his owd mester an’ his mester’s missus. Did yo’ notice th’ spooin’s, Abe? Real silver, every one on ’em, hall-marked, an’ th’ salt cellars an’ th’ teapot. Aw wonder Mrs. Wrigley can sleep i’ bed o’ neets wi’ so mich silver about. Little cattle, little care’s a true sayin’. An’ th’ cups an’ saucers, Crown Derby ’oo towd me. An’ yo’ should ha’ seen upstairs. Th’ cloe’s on th’ bed that high they’d to ha’ a steppin’ stooil to get into bed; an’ a feather bed that soft an’ thick ’at it’s a wonder onnybody can be got to ger up in a mornin. An’ th’ hair brushes—iv’ry backs an’ han’les. An’ a wardrobe, aw think oo ca’ed it, wi’ a glass to it fro’ top to bottom, so yo’ could see yersen fro yead to fooit. It gay’ mi a turn it did, aw assewer yo’. Aw nivver seed missen full length afore, an’ aw could hardly believe it were me. An’ th’ dresses! Aw do believe oo’s a dress for evvry day i’ th’ week, an’ two for Sundays. An’ th’ linen—all ready choose oo dies. Oo showed me th’ sheets Mr. Wrigley’s to be laid out in, an’ th’ shirt wi’, frilled front, an’ th’ same for hersen. Oh, they needn’t be feart to go whenivver it may please th’ gooid Lord to ca’ ’em, for they’n all ready if it were to-morrow. An’ to think yo’ an’ our Jim may ha’ th’ same if it sud please the Lord to prosper yo’. Aw cannot bear to think on it, Abe; mi heart’s full to burstin’. Aw dunnot know what aw’n done to ha’ so mich happiness showered on mi i’ mi owd days”—and here Mary fairly sobbed, and the tears streamed down her cheeks.
I comforted her as best I could by saying that to be sure she hadn’t done much to deserve such luck: only been the best of wives, the best of mothers, and the best of friends, with a hand ready for any service and a heart that made all her neighbours’ troubles its own. And so by the time we reached her little cot Mary was her serene self once more, and on her straw mattress slept, I doubt not, as sweet a sleep as Mrs. Wrigley on her bed of down.
CHAPTER XI.
JIM AND I GO ON A QUEST.
NOW, though, as I have said, Miriam remained at Holly Grove as a guest of Mrs. Wrigley, I as not destined to see her any the oftener from her being so much the nearer. Mrs. Wrigley had not invited me to visit the great house during my sweetheart’s stay, which I thought she might well have done, and I was far too proud to go there uninvited. I could not forget that though I was now a master myself—in a very small way to be sure, but still a master—I had till quite recently been Mr. Wrigley’s man, and I still stood in some awe of him and his good lady. I am told that men who have been brought up as youths at our great public schools, such as Eton and Harrow, never quite get over the sense of trembling awe with which the headmaster impressed their young and plastic minds. They may become great generals, famous ministers of State, archbishops, aye, even prime ministers, in after life, yet to the end of their days their old headmaster is still their headmaster, a being little less august than Deity itself. Nay, in my own humble experience, I remember when I was a great, broad-shouldered man of forty years and more meeting at Huddersfield Market, for the first time for thirty years and more, one who used to bully and trounce me at the little village school we both attended. I had shot up into a big, strong man. To my great wonderment the bully of my youth was, in his prime of years, a little, peevish, spindle-shanked, weak-chested, pale-faced mannikin that I could have picked up and tossed over any stall without straining myself. And yet, at our first encounter at the market, when he made himself known to me, I felt a sudden sinking and sickening of my heart, such as I had often felt in the days so long gone by, when I had seen him striding across the playground towards me, wrath in his eye, majesty on his brow, a cricket-stump in his mighty hand with which to belabour poor, trembling me for some offence to his dignity as cock of the school. Aye, and would you believe it, at our first encounter at the market, the little fellow, though but a bummer, actually addressed me—me, a prosperous manufacturer, with good and coveted orders to place, in a patronising, condescending tone. But he soon altered his tune, I can tell you. All this to explain why, partly from pride and partly from cowardice, I kept away from Holly Grove during all the time of Miriam’s sojourn there, though I will not deny that when night had fallen, and there were only the moon and stars to witness my folly, I would steal across the fields to the Upper Intak’, and from a safe distance gaze wistfully at the chamber windows, and wonder in which room my goddess slept her sweet sleep and dreamed her pure dreams. One night I was blessed by seeing a shadow cross behind the window blind, and though the night was bitter cold I went hot as a stove all over me, my heart thumped in my breast, and my knees trembled under me. I learned afterwards that I had been staring at the window of Mrs. Wrigley’s very plain and elderly serving maid!
But if I did not go to Holly Grove Miriam came on one blessed occasion to Mary’s house in the Mill Fold. It was in the afternoon, when Jim and I were, of course, busy at Mitchell Mill. She explained to Mary that Mrs. Wrigley had thought she ought not to come to the house when I was likely to be at home: that it was not seemly for a maiden to run after a young man, even though she were plighted to him. Another thing she said, which threw me into much uneasiness and apprehension. Mrs. Wrigley, having heard the story of Miriam’s birth and parentage, as we had gleaned it from her father and old Mother Sykes, was clearly of opinion that inquiry ought to be made as to her relatives in general. Her grandmother Garside had, so Mrs. Wrigley argued, clearly been a lady of position and affluence, and was likely to have connexions in like case. These, doubtless, would welcome with fervour a young and beautiful relation, and who could say what might not ensue from opening up communications with the well-to-do Garside family. To this my Miriam had promptly replied that, so far as she could judge, her grandmother Garside had behaved atrociously to her own son Miriam’s unfortunate father, and to his much wronged wife, her mother: and that so far as she was concerned all the Garsides in Lancashire might be at the bottom of the sea and their money-bags with them: that she was more than content, aye, happy as the day was long, at the humble Manse at Pole Moor, that she asked no greater gift from Heaven than the love of the simple lad who had won her heart, and that she could conceive of no greater blessing than to share his life and fortunes be they better or worse. She had even ventured, though, she confessed to Mary, with much diffidence, to take up against Mrs. Wrigley that lady’s favourite weapon, a text from the Scriptures, and to remind her hostess that we are bidden to lay not up for ourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal, but to lay up for ourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal; and that for her part she believed that a home, however humble, with fare however mean, where love reigned in the hearts of those that dwelt therein, was indeed a heaven upon earth, the very mirror and prototype of those mansions in the skies to which the chosen were called. Mrs. Wrigley had shaken her head sadly at what she called the romantic ravings of a moon-struck, silly maiden, who would know better than to talk such nonsense when she had a family of lusty lads and lasses clustering round an empty porridge bowl. Then the good dame had changed her tactics and had rebuked Miriam for her selfishness, bidding her to think of me and of how useful a little more capital and the backing of influential friends would be to a poor and struggling firm.
“And there,” concluded Miriam, “she pierced my armour, and I had no answer for her.”
“And what did you say to all this, Mary?” I asked, certain that Mary’s great gift of speech had not been allowed to rust during what must have been a prolonged colloquy.
“Why,” answered Mrs. Haigh, evidently itching to unburthen herself, “when your lass had said her say oo just med me sit dahn i’ th’ rocking-cheer, an’ oo raked th’ fire clean, an’ red th’ hearth up, an’ gate th’ tabble-cloth spread, an’ fot th’ loaf, an’ th’ butter, an’ some eggs fro’ th’ cellar-head, an’ set th’ pots, an’ got th’ toasting-fork, an’ med some toast, an’ boiled th’ eggs, an’ mashed some tea—oo’d browt a pun’ wi’ her fro’ Uppermill, wheer oo’d bin o’ purpose—an’ waited on me hand an’ fooit just as if aw’d bin a lady; an’ not till we’d etten an’ drunk yar fill would oo hearken to another word abaat th’ matter. ‘An empty stomach’s a bad counsellor,’ oo said. Then oo weshed an’ sided th’ pots, an’ set me bi th’ fire wi’ mi knitting. ‘Nah talk,’ oo said, smiling at me like a hangel fro’ heaven, which I awmost think oo is, though her browt up more like a heathen nor a Christian body.”