“What you could do!” exclaimed Mrs. Morland, remembering bitterly enough that her stepson was of age now; that, had she treated him justly, and made over to him the share of his father’s property which was morally his right when he reached his majority, he would have been able, and probably willing, to help her to good purpose. “What can you do, pray? Take my son, and teach him the trade of a blacksmith?”
“He has pluck enough,” replied Jim gently. “And he would think it no shame to do aught which would help you or his sister. But of course that’s for me to do. I am the eldest: and—though I feel sore-like to vex you, Madam,—I’ve come now to claim my rights.”
“Your rights?” queried Mrs. Morland, thinking of her husband’s lost thousands.
“Yes. I’ve waited—knowing as you and Missy thought shame of me—to see if you had better plans. But now I’ve come, because my brother and sister are in need of someone to care for them.” Jim moved nearer, and laid his strong brown hand on the dainty inlaid table: Mrs. Morland almost shivered to see it there. “I claim the right to care for them. Madam, this time you can’t say me nay—it is my right.”
“My good boy,” said Mrs. Morland petulantly, “don’t try to be bombastic if you want me to hear you out. Please say what you have come to say, as quickly as you can.”
“I’d best be quick,” said Jim, unmoved; “for I doubt not you are tired and worried: and if I could”—the lad’s eyes rested softly on his stepmother’s hard-drawn features—“I’d like to bring you some ease. You know as I’ve a little house, Madam. ’Tis a small place, but tidy-like; and there’s a big orchard behind. And since my brother and sister must soon leave their home, I’d have them come to mine and be king and queen of it. I’d be proud to see them there.”
“No doubt,” said Mrs. Morland grimly; “but the joys of cottage life are not quite in their line.”
“Madam,” said Jim earnestly, “you must listen to me now. The others are too young to do aught, and it’s not for them to feel the world’s roughness. You do not like as folks should know their brother’s just a blacksmith and the home he has to offer them just a poor cottage. I do not say as that’s not reason in a way, and no fault of yours. But if, when this place is sold, you will not let me take them to Rowdon, where are they to go?”
Mrs. Morland sat still awhile, without replying, while her fingers tapped nervously the polished surface of the little table. Her demeanour had changed somewhat during Jim’s brief speech, for she had been obliged to recognize that his words were the expression of his heart’s true feeling, and that she had now no hard or revengeful nature to deal with. However unworthy might be her estimate of the causes which prompted Jim’s present attitude, she began to see in the lad possibilities that would render more tolerable the necessity for owning him.
“Where are they to go?” asked Jim again, with increased gentleness.