“And I will never forget it,” she said, through her tears. “I love you; I know you are a lady, and not used to this sort of thing, and only come to do us good; and it was my fault that you were set on that time; but you don’t know how I will love you!”
“And you will really be my friend, Fanny, and help me? Ah, then we will make our Grove more like Paradise than it has ever been before! Do you think you could persuade the boys of the Grove to come and spend their evenings with me, and will you help me entertain them, and see that they have a real good time? I want to get them out of the streets, and teach them how to enjoy better things than pitch-and-toss, and swearing and cheating. But, of course, they will not come if my evenings are dull. I mean them to be very lively; and as you know what sort of things they like, your aid will be invaluable.”
“Yes, I will come with pleasure. I know all the boys in the court, and believe I could persuade them, one and all, to spend their evenings with us; that is, if we make it worth their while. I won’t quite exactly promise every evening until I have talked it over with my mother. I didn’t use to think so much of my mother as I do now; but I’ve thought a deal about her lately, and I’m going to make things better for mother. There ain’t no sense in trying to do other people good, and neglecting your own mother, is there?”
What made the Basket Woman blush and look conscience-smitten and uncomfortable? She did not speak for a moment or two, and then, in a faltering voice, she said: “You are quite right, Fanny; ask your mother, and I will ask mine.”
CHAPTER XI.
OUR PARISH.
The harvest was over, and it had been a good one. The usual festivities were held, and were more really joyous than such occasions frequently are. Already in many parts of the country the true leaders of the people were looking forward to the winter, not only in preparation, but with resolution, and were manfully determined that, if they could not prevent the usual sin, they would prevent some of the attendant misery of the days of cold and gloom. Arthur Knight was doing the work of two or three men. His brain was busy in regard to his own people; but whenever and wherever it was possible he was preaching his Gospel of Christian unity for the world’s good. By the seaside, in the mission hall, in drawing-rooms, in chapels by the dozen he was entreating, in words made eloquent by feeling, that the Church would no longer mourn over the evils of the world, but would set itself by one great united effort to remedy them. And, happily, Knight was only one; there were a dozen other men saying and writing the same thing.
And it was little Darentdale that led the way. By the aid of quiet visits and persuasive talk a number of persons had been led to acquiesce in the plan of making this special harvest festival the occasion for a new start, which made almost every heart in the village glad, for most working men and women had the surprise of a rise of wages—“for no earthly reason,” the people said, but for a very heavenly reason, as all knew who were in the secret. This was what everybody could appreciate, and did. The additional money was no great sum; in many cases it was only a shilling a week, and with it was expressed, as delicately as possible, a hope that it would not find its way into the publican’s hands; nor did it, for the event made the men desire their families to share it. The beauty of the increase lay in the fact that it had been voluntarily and freely given, without any threat of a strike, and even without the asking. That was the wonder of it!
Nor was this all. There were a few loafers in the parish, and every one of these received on the same day an offer of regular work at good wages. There were several who had lost their characters, and each of these had another chance given him. The lads and girls who had left the Sunday-school received an invitation to tea at some ladies’ or gentlemen’s home the next Sunday. Work was found for all who could work, and even for poor old people who could do very little, so that they might still feel themselves independent, and not fear the workhouse. In connection with each of the churches a room was to be fitted up for the purpose of “a girls’ parlour,” or a “boys’ reading-room.” An invitation to an “At Home,” with music and coffee, was signed by Margaret and Tom, and sent to every man who was known to frequent the public-house; while those who were steady, and especially those of the people who were members of Christian churches, were urged to “Come themselves and bring their mates with them.”
So Darentdale led the way. It was all arranged quietly and without ostentation, and this is what was accomplished—there was no poor person in the parish to whom no friendship and help was offered. It was the gladdest day the place had ever known; for there is no joy so great as that of “offering willingly” that which we have to men for Christ’s sake. “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” “There is that scattereth and yet increaseth.” There was no man who took the extra money (which was not given as a favour, but yielded as if it were a right—as, indeed, in most cases it was) who did not resolve that he would put in a better week’s work for the better week’s wage; but it was no shrewd anticipation of this which gave to such men as Whitwell, Dallington, and others the exuberance of that never-to-be-forgotten-day. It would mean more work and self-denial for themselves, they knew; but they faced most joyously all that was involved in the effort which they were making.
Of course there were a few people who shut themselves out of the feast, and sneered at the music and dancing, all the more angrily because they knew that they were not sharers in some strange joy which they could not understand. Mrs. Hunter and her stepson were among the number. William smoked more cigars in that one day than he had ever consumed in the same space of time before, for his nerves needed soothing.