Salome's burden

by Eleanora H. Stooke

He shook his head sadly, but refrained from questioning her further. He saw she was thinner than she had been a few months previously, and wondered if she was sufficiently well fed, or if Josiah Petherick expended the money he should have spent on his home, on the friends he met at the inn. As he watched the little girl swinging herself slowly down the hill by the aid of her crutches, he felt very grieved and troubled on her account.

"What a curse this drink is!" he thought. "And it's a curse that creeps in everywhere, too."

In the village that afternoon, he had been told that Mr. Fowler had summarily dismissed a groom who had been discovered with a bottle of beer in the stable, and he had listened to various comments upon the strict notions of the master of Greystone. Most of the villagers were inclined to think that the man's fault in disobeying his master's rule that no intoxicating liquor should be brought on the premises might have been overlooked, as it was his first offence, whilst some few argued that Mr. Fowler had acted rightly.

As Salome passed the "Crab and Cockle" on her way home, she heard sounds of hilarity within, and recognised her father's voice singing a rollicking sea song. She sighed, remembering how, during his wife's lifetime, Josiah had been a member of the church choir; it appeared unseemly to her that a voice which once had been raised to the praise and glory of God should lend itself to the entertainment of a set of half-drunken men in the bar of a public-house. As she paused, involuntarily listening, a whiff of foul air, laden with the mingled odour of smoke and beer, was wafted before her nostrils from the open doorway, and she moved on with a sickening sense of shame and disgust, her heart heavy as lead, her eyes smarting with tears. Oh, hers was a hard life, she thought bitterly.

Arrived at home, she laid a frugal supper of bread and cheese, and soon afterwards her father reeled up the garden path and into the kitchen. Sitting down at the table, he helped himself to bread and cheese in silence, and commenced eating, whilst his little daughter took her accustomed place opposite to him.

"Where've you been?" he questioned. "I saw you pass the inn."

She told him how she had spent the evening, explaining that she had sung at the Vicar's request, and that Mrs. Fowler had invited her to Greystone.

"I won't let you go there!" he cried. "I hate those new people! What did Mr. Fowler do yesterday, but dismiss as honest a chap as ever lived, at a moment's notice, just because he'd got a bottle o' beer in the stable! An' the man wasn't drunk either! No, you shan't go nigh folks as treats their servants like that."

"Oh, father!" Salome exclaimed, disappointedly. She was wise enough, however, not to pursue the subject. After a brief silence, she asked, with some timidity, "Father, have you any money? Because, when Silas Moyle left the bread this afternoon, he said he couldn't supply us with any more unless you paid him what you owe."

Silas Moyle was the one baker of the place, and the owner of the village shop, in which his wife served. Josiah Petherick had formerly paid ready money for everything, but latterly he had been spending at the "Crab and Cockle" what should have gone into Silas Moyle's pocket. This was an additional trouble to Salome, but her father did not appear to care. He was enraged, though, when he heard what the baker had said, and, as his creditor was not present to bear the brunt of his indignation, Salome had to stand it instead. She turned white when he swore at her, and sat perfectly still whilst he abused her roundly, but when he called her extravagant she began to protest.