Friarswood Post Office
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> Friarswood Post Office
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That was a terrible mile and a half--Harold sometimes thought it
would never be over, or that Paul would drop down, and he would have
to gallop off for help; but Paul was not one to give in, and somehow
they got back at last, and Harold, with his arm round his friend,
dragged him through the garden, and across the shop, and pushed him
into the arm-chair by the fire, Mrs. King following, and Ellen
rushing down from up-stairs.
'There!' cried Harold, all in a breath, 'there he is! That rascal
tried to rob me on Ragglesford Bridge, and was nigh too much for me;
but HE there came and pulled him off me, and got spilt into the
river, and he's got a chill, and if you don't give him something
jolly hot, Mother, he'll catch his death!'
Mrs. King thought so too: Paul's state looked to her more alarming
than it did even to Harold. He did not seem able to think or speak,
but kept rocking himself towards the fire, and that terrible
shivering shaking him all over.
'Poor lad!' she said kindly. 'I'll tell you what, Harold, all you
can do is put him into your bed at once.--Here, Ellen, you run up
first, and bring me a shirt to warm for him. Then we'll get his own
clothes dried.'
'No, no,' cried Harold, with a caper, 'we'll make a scare-crow of
'em. You don't know what I know, Mother. I've got twelve shillings
and sixpence here all his own; and you'll see what I won't do with it
at old Levi's, the second-hand clothes man, to-night.'
Harold grew less noisy as he saw how little good the fire was doing
to his patient, and how ill his mother seemed to think him. He
quietly obeyed her, by getting him up-stairs, and putting him into
his own bed, the first in which Paul had lain down for more than four
months. Then Mrs. King sent Harold out for some gin; she thought hot
spirits and water the only chance of bringing back any life after
such a dreadful chill; and she and Ellen kept on warming flannels and
shawls to restore some heat, and to stop the trembling that shook the
bed, so that Alfred felt it, even in the next room, where he lay with
the door open, longing to be able to help, and wishing to understand
what could have happened.
At last, the cordial and the warm applications effected some good.
Paul was able to say, 'I don't know why you are so good to me,' and
seemed ready to burst into a great fit of crying; but Mrs. King
managed to stop him by saying something about one good turn deserving
another, and that she hoped he was coming round now.
Harold was now at leisure to tell the story in his brother's room.
Alfred did not grieve now at his brother's being able to do spirited
things; he laughed out loud, and said, 'Well done, Harold!' at the
switching, and rubbed his hands, and lighted up with glee, as he
heard of the Ragglesford boys and their cheers; and then, Harold went
eagerly on with his scheme for fitting up Paul at the second-hand
shop, both Mrs. King and Alfred taking great interest in his plans,
till Mrs. King hearing something like a moan, went back to Paul.
She found his cheeks and hands as burning hot as they had been cold;
they were like live coals; and what was worse, such severe pains were
running all over his limbs, that he was squeezing the clothes into
his mouth that he might not scream aloud.
Happily it was Mr. Blunt's day for calling; and before the morning
was over he came, and after a few words of explanation, he stood at
Paul's bedside.
Not much given to tenderness towards the feelings of patients of his
degree, Mr. Blunt's advice was soon given. 'Yes, he is in for
rheumatic fever--won't be about again for a long time to come. I
say, Mistress, all you've got to do is to send in your boy to the
Union at Elbury, tell 'em to send out a cart for him, and take him in
as a casual pauper. Then they may pass him on to his parish.'
Therewith Mr. Blunt went on to attend to Alfred.
'Then you think this poor lad will be ill a long time, Sir?' said
Mrs. King, when Mr. Blunt was preparing to depart.
'Of course he will; I never saw a clearer case! You'd better send
him off as fast as you can, while he can be moved. He'll have a
pretty bout of it, I dare say.
'It is nothing infectious, of course, Sir?' said the mother, a little
startled by this hastiness.
'Infectious--nonsense! why, you know better than that, Mrs. King; I
only meant that you'd better get rid of him as quick as you can,
unless you wish to set up a hospital at once--and a capital nurse
you'd be! I would leave word with the relieving officer for you, but
that I've got to go on to Stoke, and shan't be at home till too
late.'
Mrs. King's heart ached for the poor forlorn orphan, when she
remembered what she had heard of the nursing in Elbury Union. She
did not know how to turn him from her door the day he had saved her
son from danger such as she could not think of without shuddering;
and yet, what could she do? Her rent and the winter before her, a
heavy doctor's bill, and the loss of Alfred's work!
Slowly she went up the stairs again to the narrow landing that held
the bed where Paul Blackthorn lay. He was quite still, but there
were large tears coursing one after the other from his eyes, his
hollow cheeks quite glazed with them.
'Is the pain so very bad?' she said in her soft voice, putting her
hand over his hot forehead, in the way that Alfred liked.
'I don't--know,' he answered; and his black eyes, after looking up
once in her face with the piteous earnest glance that some loving
dogs have, shut themselves as if on purpose to keep in the tears, but
she saw the dew squeezing out through the eye-lashes.
'My poor boy, I'm sure it's very bad for you,' she said again.
'Please, don't speak so kind,' said Paul; and this time he could not
prevent a-sob. 'Nobody ever did so before, and--' he paused, and
went on, 'I suppose they do it up in Heaven, so I hope I shall die.'
'You are vexing about the Union,' said Mrs. King, without answering
this last speech, or she knew that she should begin to cry herself.
'I DID think I'd done with them,' said Paul, with another sob. 'I
said I'd never set foot in those four walls again! I was proud,
maybe; but please don't stop with me! If you wouldn't look and speak
like that, the place wouldn't seem so hard, seeing I'm bred to it, as
they say;' and he made an odd sort of attempt to laugh, which ended
in his choking himself with worse tears.
'Harold is not gone yet,' said Mrs. King soothingly; 'we'll wait till
he comes in from his work, and see how you are, when you've had a
little sleep. Don't cry; you aren't going just yet.'
That same earnest questioning glance, but with more hope in it, was
turned on her again; but she did not dare to bind herself, much as
she longed to take the wanderer to her home. She went on to her
son's room.
'Mother, Mother,' Alfred cried in a whisper, so eager that it made
him cough, 'you can't never send him to the workhouse?'
'I can't bear the thought, Alfy,' she said, the tears in her eyes;
'but I don't know what to do. It's not the trouble. That I'd take
with all my heart, but it is hard enough to live, and--'
'I'm sure,' said Ellen, coming close, that her undertone might be
heard, 'Harold and I would never mind how much we were pinched.'
'And I could go without--some things,' began Alfred.
'And then,' went on the mother, 'you see, if we got straitened, and
Matilda found it out, she'd want to help, and I can't have her
savings touched; and yet I can't bear to let that poor lad be sent
off, so ill as he is, and after all he's done for Harold--such a good
boy, too, and one that's so thankful for a common kind word.'
'O Mother, keep him!' said Alfred; 'don't you know how the Psalm
says, "God careth for the stranger, and provideth for the fatherless
and the widow"?'
Mrs. King almost smiled. 'Yes, Alf, I think it would be trusting
God's word; but then there's my duty to you.'
'You've not sent Harold off for the cart?' said Alfred.
'No; I thought somehow, we have enough for to-day; and it goes
against me to send him away at once. I thought we'd wait to see how
it is to-morrow; and Harold won't mind having a bed made up in the
kitchen.'
Tap, tap, on the counter. Some one had come in while they were
talking. It was Mr. Cope, very anxious to hear the truth of the
strange stories that were going about the place. Ellen and Alfred
thought it very tiresome that he was so long in coming up-stairs; but
the fact was, that their mother was very glad to talk the matter over
without them. She knew indeed that Mr. Cope was a very young man,
and not likely to be so well able as herself, with all her
experience, to decide what she could afford, or whether she ought to
follow her feelings at the risk of debt or of privations for her
delicate children; but she also knew that though he had not
experience, education had given him a wider and clearer range of
thought; and that, as her pastor, he ought to be consulted; so though
she did not exactly mean to make it a matter for his decision
(unless, indeed, he should have some view which had not occurred to
her), she knew that he was by far the best person to help her to see
her way, and form her own judgment.
Mr. Cope heard all the story with as much eagerness as the
Ragglesford boys themselves, and laughed quite out loud at Harold's
spirited defence.
'That's a good lad!' said he. 'Well, Mrs. King, I don't think you
need be very uneasy about your boy. When a fellow can stand up like
that in defence of his duty, there must be the right stuff in him to
be got at in time! And now, as to his ally--this other poor fellow--
very kind of you to have taken him in.'
'I couldn't do no other, Sir,' said Mrs. King; 'he came in so
drenched, and so terribly bad, I could do nothing but let him lie
down on Harold's bed; and now Dr. Blunt thinks he's going to have a
rheumatic fever, and wanted me to send in to the relieving officer,
to have him removed, but I don't know how to do that; the poor lad
doesn't say one word against it, but I can see it cuts him to the
heart; and they do tell such stories of the nurses at the Union, that
it does seem hard to send him there, such an innocent boy, too, and
one that doesn't seem to know how to believe it if one says a kind
word to him.' The tears were in Mrs. King's eyes as she went on: 'I
do wish to let him stay here and do what I can for him, with all my
heart, and so does all the children, but I don't hardly know what's
right by them, poor things. If the parish would but allow him just
one shilling and sixpence a week out of the house, I think I could do
it.'
'What, with your own boy in such a state, you could undertake to
nurse a stranger through a rheumatic fever!'
'It wouldn't make much difference, Sir,' said Mrs. King. 'You see I
am up a good deal most nights with Alfred, and we have fire and
candle almost always alight. I should only be glad to do it for a
poor motherless lad like that, except for the cost; and I thought
perhaps if you could speak to the Guardians, they might allow him
ever so little, because there will be expenses.'
Mr. Cope had not much hope from the parish, so he said, 'Mr. Shepherd
ought to do something for him after he has worked for him so long.
He has been looking wretchedly ill for some time past; and I dare say
half this illness is brought on by such lodging and living as he got
there. But what did you say about some eggs?'
Mrs. King told him; and he stood a moment thoughtful, then said,
'Well, I'll go and see about it,' and strode across to the farm.
When Mr. Cope came back, Ellen was serving a customer. He stood
looking redder than they had ever seen him, and tapping the toe of
his boot impatiently with his stick; and the moment the buyer had
turned away, he said, 'Ellen, ask your mother to be kind enough to
come down.'
Mrs. King came, and found the young Curate in such a state of
indignation, as he could not keep to himself. He had learnt more
than he had ever known, or she had ever known, of the oppression that
the farmer and his wife and Tom Boldre had practised on the
friendless stranger, and he was burning with all the keen generous
displeasure of one new to such base ways. At the gate he had met,
going home to dinner, John Farden with Mrs. Hayward, who had been
charing at the farm. Both had spoken out, and he had learned how far
below the value of his labour the boy had been paid, how he had been
struck, abused, and hunted about, as would never have been done to
one who had a father to take his part. And he had further heard
Farden's statement of having himself thrown away the eggs, and Mrs.
Hayward's declaration that she verily believed that the farmer only
made the accusation an excuse for hurrying the lad off because he
thought him faltering for a fever, and wouldn't have him sick there.
This was shocking enough; Mr. Cope had thought it merely the kind-
hearted woman's angry construction, but it was still worse when he
came to the farmer and his wife.
So used were they to think it their business to wring the utmost they
could out of whatever came in their way, that they had not the
slightest shame about it. They thought they had done a thing to be
proud of in making such a good bargain of the lad, and getting so
much work out of him for so little pay; in fact, that they had been
rather weakly kind in granting him the freedom of the hay-loft; the
notion of his dishonesty was firmly fixed in their heads, though
there was not a charge to bring against him. This was chiefly
because they had begun by setting him down as a convict, and because
they could not imagine any one living honestly on what they gave him.
And lastly, the farmer thought the cleverest stroke of all, was the
having got rid of him just as winter was coming on and work was
scarce, and when there seemed to be a chance of his being laid up to
encumber the rates. Mr. Cope was quite breathless after the answer
he had made to them. He had never spoken so strongly in his life
before, and he could hardly believe his own ears, that people could
be found, not only to do such things, but to be proud of having done
them.
It is to be hoped there are not many such thoroughgoing tyrants; but
selfishness is always ready to make any one into a tyrant, and Mammon
is a false god, who manages to make his servants satisfied that they
are doing their duty.
It was plain enough that no help was to be expected from the farm,
and neither Mrs. King nor the clergyman thought there was much hope
in the Guardians; however, they were to be applied to, and this would
be at least a reprieve for Paul. Mr. Cope went up to see him, and
found Harold sitting on the top step of the stairs.
'Well, boys,' he said, in his hearty voice, 'so you've had a battle,
I hear. I'm glad it turned out better than your namesake's at
Hastings.'
Paul was not too ill to smile at this; and Harold modestly said, 'It
was all along of he, Sir.'
'And he seems to be the chief sufferer.--Are you in much pain, Paul?'
'Sometimes, Sir, when I try to move,' said Paul; 'but it is better
when I'm still.'
'You've had a harder time of it than I supposed, my boy,' said Mr.
Cope. 'Why did you never let me know how you were treated?'
Paul's face shewed more wonder than anything else. 'Thank you, Sir,'
he said, 'I didn't think it was any one's business.'
'No one's business!' exclaimed the young clergyman. 'It is every
one's business to see justice done, and it should never have gone on
so if you had spoken. Why didn't you?'
'I didn't think it would be any use,' again said Paul. 'There was
old Joe Joiner, he always said 'twas a hard world to live in, and
that there was nothing for it but to grin and bear it.'
'There's something better to be done than to grin,' said Mr. Cope.
'Yes, I know, Sir,' said Paul, with a brighter gleam on his face;
'and I seem to understand that better since I came here. I was
thinking,' he added, 'if they pass me back to Upperscote, I'll tell
old Joe that folks are much kinder than he told me, by far.'
'Kinder--I should not have thought that your experience!' exclaimed
Mr. Cope, his head still running on the Shepherds.
But Paul did not seem to think of them at all, or else to take their
treatment as a matter-of-course, as he did his Union hardships.
There was a glistening in his eyes; and he moved his head so as to
sign down-stairs, as he said, 'I didn't think there was ne'er a one
in the world like HER.'
'What, Mrs. King? I don't think there are many,' said Mr. Cope
warmly. 'And yet I hope there are.'
'Ay, Sir,' said Paul fervently. 'And there's Harold, and John
Farden, and all the chaps. Please, Sir, when I'm gone away, will you
tell them all that I'll never forget 'em? and I'll be happier as long
as I live for knowing that there are such good-hearted folks.'
Mr. Cope felt trebly moved towards one who thought harshness so much
more natural than kindness, and who received the one so submissively,
the other so gratefully; but the conversation was interrupted by
Harold's exclaiming that my Lady in her carriage was stopping at the
gate, and Mother was running out to her.
Rumours of the post-office robbery, as little Miss Selby called it,
had travelled up to the Grange, and she was wild to know what had
happened to Harold; but her grandmamma, not knowing what highway
robbers might be roaming about Friarswood, would not hear of her
walking to the post-office, and drove thither with her herself, in
full state, close carriage, coachman and footman; and there was Mrs.
King, with her head in at the carriage window, telling all the story.
'So you have this youth here?' said Lady Jane.
'Yes, my Lady; he was so poorly that I couldn't but let him lie
down.'
'And you have not sent him to the workhouse yet?'
'Why, no, not yet, my Lady; I thought I would wait to see how he is
to-morrow.'
'You had better take care, Mary,' said Lady Jane. 'You'll have him
too ill to be moved; and then what will you do? a great lad of that
age, and with illness enough in the house already!' She sighed, and
it was not said unkindly; but Mrs. King answered with something about
his being so good a lad, and so friendless. And Miss Jane exclaimed,
'O Grandmamma, it does seem so hard to send him to the workhouse!'
'Do not talk like a silly child, my dear,' said Lady Jane. 'Mary is
much too sensible to think of saddling herself with such a charge--
not fit for her, nor the children either--even if the parish made it
worth her while, which it never will. The Union is intended to
provide for such cases of destitution; and depend on it, the youth
looks to nothing else.'
'No, my Lady,' said Mrs. King; 'he is so patient and meek about it,
that it goes to one's very heart.'
'Ay, ay,' said the old lady; 'but don't be soft-hearted and weak,
Mary. It is not what I expect of you, as a sensible woman, to be
harbouring a mere vagrant whom you know nothing about, and injuring
your own children.'
'Indeed, my Lady,' began Mrs. King, 'I've known the poor boy these
four months, and so has Mr. Cope; and he is as steady and serious a
boy as ever lived.'
'Very likely,' said Lady Jane; 'and I am sure I would do anything for
him--give him work when he is out again, or send him with a paper to
the county hospital. Eh?'
But the county hospital was thirty miles off; and the receiving day
was not till Saturday. That would not do.
'Well,' added Lady Jane, 'I'll drive home directly, and send Price
with the spring covered cart to take him in to Elbury. That will be
better for him than jolting in the open cart they would send for
him.'
'Why, thank you, my Lady, but I--I had passed my word that he should
not go to-day.'
Lady Jane made a gesture as if Mary King were a hopelessly weak good-
natured woman; and shaking her head at her with a sort of lady-like
vexation, ordered the coachman to drive on.
My Lady was put out. No wonder. She was a very sensible, managing
woman herself, and justly and up-rightly kind to all her dependants;
and she expected every one else to be sternly and wisely kind in the
same pattern. Mrs. King was one whom she highly esteemed for her
sense and good judgment, and she was the more provoked with her for
any failure in these respects. If she had known Paul as the Kings
did, it is probable she might have felt like them. Not knowing him,
nor knowing the secrets of Elbury Union, she thought it Mrs. King's
clear duty to sacrifice him for her children's sake. Moreover, Lady
Jane had strict laws against lodgers--the greatest kindness she could
do her tenants, though often against their will. So to have her
model woman receiving a strange boy into her house, even under the
circumstances, was beyond bearing.
So Mrs. King stood on her threshold, knowing that to keep Paul
Blackthorn would be an offence to her best friend and patroness.
Moreover, Mr. Cope was gone, without having left her a word of advice
to decide her one way or the other.
CHAPTER X--CHRISTMAS DAY
Things are rather apt to settle themselves; and so did Paul
Blackthorn's stay at the post-office, for the poor boy was in such an
agony of pain all night, and the fever ran so high, that it was
impossible to think of moving him, even if the waiting upon him in
such suffering had not made Mrs. King feel that she could not dismiss
him to careless hands. His patience, gratitude, and surprise at
every trouble she took for him were very endearing, as were the
efforts he made to stifle and suppress moans and cries that the
terrible aches would wring from him, so as not to disturb Alfred.
When towards morning the fever ran to his head, and he did not know
what he said, it was more moving still to see that the instinct of
keeping quiet for some one's sake still suppressed his voice. Then,
too, his wanderings shewed under what dread and harshness his life
had been spent, and what his horror was of a return to the workhouse.
In his senses, he would never have thought of asking to remain at
Friarswood; but in his half-conscious state, he implored again and
again not to be sent away, and talked about not going back, but only
being left in a corner to die; and Mrs. King, without knowing what
she was about, soothed him by telling him to lie still, for he was
not going to that place again. At day-break she sent Harold, on his
way to the post, for an order from the relieving officer for medical
attendance; and, after some long and weary hours, the Union doctor
came. He said, like Mr. Blunt, that it was a rheumatic fever, the
effect of hardship and exposure; for which perhaps poor Paul--after
his regular meals, warm clothing, and full shelter, in the workhouse-
-was less prepared than many a country lad, whose days had been much
happier, but who had been rendered more hardy by often going without
some of those necessaries which were provided for the paupers.
The head continued so much affected, that the doctor said the hair
must be taken off; which was done by old Master Warren, who singed
the horses in the autumn, killed the pigs in the winter, and shaved
the men on Saturday night. It was a very good thing for all parties;
and he would take no pay for his trouble, but sent down a pitcher
with what he called 'all manner of yarbs' steeping in it, with which,
as he said, to 'ferment the boy's limbs.' Foment was what he meant;
and Mrs. King thought, as it was kindly intended, and could do no
harm, she would try if it would do any good; but she could not find
that it made much difference whether she used that or common warm
water. However, the good will made Paul smile, and helped to change
his notion about its being very few that had any compassion for a
stranger. So, too, did good Mrs. Hayward, who, when he was at the
worst, twice came to sit up all night with him after her day's work;
and though she was not as tender a nurse as Mrs. King, treated him
like her own son, and moreover carried off to her own tub all the
clothes she could find ready to be washed, and would not take so much
as a mouthful of meat or drink in return, struggling, toil-worn body
as she was.
The parish, as might have been foreseen, would afford nothing but the
doctor to a chance-comer such as Paul. If he needed more, he might
come into the House, and be passed home to Upperscote.
But by the time this reply came, Mrs. King not only felt that it
would be almost murder to send a person in such a state four miles on
a November day, but she was caring so much for her patient, that it
sounded almost as impossible as to send Alfred away.
Besides, she had remembered the cup of cold water, she had thought of
the widow's cruse of oil and barrel of meal, and she had called to
mind, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My
brethren, ye have done it unto Me;' and thereupon she took heart, and
made up her mind that it was right to tend the sick lad; and that
even if she should bring trouble and want on herself and her
children, it would be a Heaven-sent trial that would be good for
them.
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