Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 39

He saw the drift of the argument. "Yes, mamma," he acknowledged; "I did not reflect. It would be worse if I were quite as they are."

"William, we can only bear our difficulties, and make the best of them, trusting to surmount them in the end. You and I must both do this. Trust is different from hope. If we only hope, we may lose courage; but if we fully and freely _trust_, we cannot. Patience and perseverance, endurance and trust, they will in the end triumph; never fear. If I feared, William, I should go into the grave with despair. I never lose my trust. I never lose my conviction, firm and certain, that G.o.d is watching over me, that He is permitting these trials for some wise purpose, and that in His own good time we shall be brought through them."

William's sobs were growing lighter.

"The time may come when we shall be at ease again," continued Jane; "when we shall look back on this time of trial, and be thankful that we did bear up and surmount it, instead of fainting under the burden. G.o.d will take care that the battle is not too hot for us, if we only resign ourselves, in all trust, to do the best. The future is grievously dim and indistinct. As the guiding light in your father's dream shone only on one step at a time, so can I see only one step before me."

"What step is that?" he asked somewhat eagerly.

"The one obvious step before me is to persevere, as I am now doing, to try and retain this home for you, my children; to work as I can, so as to keep you around me. I must strive to keep you together, and you must help me. Bear up bravely, William. Make the best of this unpleasant employment and its mortifications, and strive to overcome your repugnance to it. Be resolute, my boy, in doing your duty in it, because it is your duty, and because, William--because it is helping your mother."

A shadow of the trust, so firm in his mother's heart, began to dawn in his. "Yes, it is my duty," he resolutely said. "I will try to do it--to hope and trust."

Jane strained him to her. "Were you and I to give way now, darling, our past troubles would have been borne for nothing. Let us, I repeat, look forward to the time when we may say, 'We did not faint; we battled on, and overcame.' It _will_ come, William. Only trust to G.o.d."

She quitted him, leaving him to reflection and resolve scarcely befitting his young years.

The week wore on to its close. On the Sat.u.r.day night, William, his face flushed, held out four s.h.i.+llings to his mother. "My week's wages, mamma."

Jane's face flushed also. "It is more than I expected, William," she said. "I fancied you would have three."

"I think the master fixed the sum," said William.

"The master? Do you mean Mr. Ashley?"

"We never say 'Mr. Ashley' in the manufactory; we say 'the master.' Mr.

Lynn was paying the wages to-night. I heard them say that sometimes Mr.

Lynn paid them, and sometimes James Meeking. Those two black boys have half-a-crown apiece. He left me to the last, and when the rest were gone, he looked at me and took up three s.h.i.+llings. Then he seemed to hesitate, and suddenly he locked the desk, went into the master's room, and spoke with him. He came back in a minute, unlocked the desk, and gave me four s.h.i.+llings. 'Thee hast not earned it,' he said, 'but I think thee has done thy best. Thee will have the same each week, so long as thee does so.'"

Jane held the four s.h.i.+llings, and felt that she was growing quite rich.

The rest crowded round to look. "Can't we have a nice dinner to-morrow with it?" said one.

"I think we must," said Jane cheerily. "A nice dinner for once in a way.

What shall it be?"

"Roast beef," called out Frank.

"Pork with crackling," suggested Janey. "That of Mrs. Reece's yesterday was so good."

"Couldn't we have fowls and a jam pudding?" asked Gar.

Jane smiled and kissed him. All the suggestions were beyond her purse.

"We will have a meat pudding," she said; "that's best." And the children cheerfully acquiesced. They had implicit faith in their mother; they knew that what she said was best, would be best.

On this same Sat.u.r.day night Charlotte East was returning home from Helstonleigh, an errand having taken her thither after dark. Almost opposite to the turning to Honey Fair, a lane branched off, leading to some farm-houses; a lane, green and pleasant in summer, but bare and uninviting now. Two people turned into it as Charlotte looked across.

She caught only a glance; but something in the aspect of both struck upon her as familiar. A gas-lamp at the corner shed a light upon the spot, and Charlotte suddenly halted, and stood endeavouring to peer further. But they were soon out of view. A feeling of dismay had stolen over Charlotte. She hoped she was mistaken; that the parties were not those she had fancied; and she slowly continued her way. A few paces more, she turned up the road leading to Honey Fair and found herself nearly knocked over by one who came running against her, apparently in some excitement and in a great hurry.

"Who's this?" cried the voice of Eliza Tyrrett. "Charlotte East, I declare! I say, have you seen anything of Caroline Mason?"

Charlotte hesitated. She hoped she had not seen her; though the misgiving was upon her that she had. "Did you think I might have seen her?" she returned. "Has she come this way?"

"Yes, I expect she has come this way, and I want to find her," returned Eliza Tyrrett vehemently. "I saw her making off out of Honey Fair, and I saw who was waiting for her round the corner. I knew my company wasn't wanted then, and turned into Dame Buffle's for a talk; and there I found that Madam Carry has been telling falsehoods about me. Let me set on to her, that's all! I shall say what she won't like."

"Who do you mean was waiting for her?" inquired Charlotte East.

Eliza Tyrrett laughed. She was beginning to recover her temper. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" said she pertly. "But I'm not going to tell tales out of school."

"I think I do know," returned Charlotte quietly. "I fear I do."

"Do you? I thought n.o.body knew nothing about it but me. It has been going on this ten weeks. Did you see her, though, Charlotte?"

"I thought I saw her, but I could not believe my eyes. She was with--with--some one she has no business to be with."

"Oh, as to business, I don't know about that," carelessly answered Eliza Tyrrett. "We have a right to walk with anybody we like."

"Whether it is good or bad for you?" returned Charlotte.

"There's no 'bad' in it," cried Eliza Tyrrett indignantly. "I never saw such an old maid as you are, Charlotte East, never! Carry Mason's not a child, to be led into mischief."

"Carry's very foolish," was Charlotte's comment.

"Oh, of course _you_ think so, or it wouldn't be you. You'll go and tell upon her at home, I suppose, now."

"I shall tell _her_," said Charlotte. "Folks should choose their acquaintances in their own cla.s.s of life, if they want things to turn out pleasantly."

"Were you not all took in about that shawl!" uttered Eliza Tyrrett, with a laugh. "You thought she went in debt for it at Bankes's, and her people at home thought so. Het Mason shrieked on at her like anything, for spending money on her back while she owed it for her board. _He_ gave her that."

"Eliza!"

"He did. Law, where's the harm? He is rich enough to give all us girls in Honey Fair one apiece, and who'd be the worse for it? Only his pocket; and that can afford it. I wish he would!"

"I wish you would not talk so, Eliza. She is not a fit companion for him, even though it is but to take a walk; and she ought to remember that she is not."

"He wants her for a longer companion than that," observed Eliza Tyrrett; "that is, if he tells true. He wants her to marry him."

"He--wants her to marry him!" repeated Charlotte, speaking the words in sheer amazement. "Who says so?"

"He does. I should hardly think he can be in earnest, though."

"Eliza Tyrrett, we cannot be speaking of the same person," cried Charlotte, feeling bewildered. "To whom have you been alluding?"

"To the same that you have, I expect. Young Anthony Dare."

CHAPTER XXVII.