Friarswood Post Office
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> Friarswood Post Office
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So she made up her resolution to a winter of toil, anxiety, and
trouble, and to Lady Jane's withdrawal of favour; and thinking her
ungrateful, which, to say the truth, grieved her more than anything
else, excepting of course her forebodings for Alfred.
Ellen was in great distress about my Lady's displeasure. Not that
she dreamt of her mother's giving up Paul on that account; but she
was very fond of her little foster-sister, and of many of the maid-
servants, and her visits to the Grange were the chief change and
amusement she ever had. So while Mrs. King was busy between the
shop, her work, and Paul, Ellen sat by her brother, making the
housekeeper's winter dress, and imagining all sorts of dreadful
things that might come of my Lady being angry with them, till Alfred
grew quite out of patience. 'Well, suppose and suppose,' he said,
'suppose it was not to happen at all! Why, Mother's doing right
would be any good for nothing if she only did it to please my Lady.'
Certainly this was the very touchstone to shew whether the fear of
man were the guide. And Ellen was still more terrified that day, for
when she went across to the farm for the evening's supply of milk and
butter, Mrs. Shepherd launched out into such a torrent of abuse
against her and her mother, that she came home trembling from head to
foot; and Mrs. King declared she should never go thither again. They
would send to Mrs. Price's for the little bit of fresh butter that
was real nourishment to Alfred: the healthy ones would save by going
without any.
One word more as to the Shepherds, and then we have done with him.
On the Sunday, Mr. Cope had an elder brother staying with them, who
preached on the lesson for the day, the second chapter of the Prophet
Habakkuk; and when he came to the text, 'Woe to him that coveteth an
evil covetousness to his house,' he brought in some of the like
passages, the threats to those that 'grind the faces of the poor,'
that 'oppress the hireling in his wages,' and that terrible saying of
St. James, 'Behold, the hire of the labourers who have reaped down
your fields, which is of you kept by fraud, crieth; and the cries of
them which have reaped are entered into the ears of the Lord of
Sabbath.'
Three days after, the Curate was very much amazed to hear that Mr.
and Mrs. Shepherd did not choose to be preached at in their own
church, and never meant to come thither again. Now it so happened
that he could testify that the sermon had been written five years
ago, and that his brother had preached it without knowing that the
Shepherds were in existence, for he had only come late the night
before, and there was so much to say about their home, that the
younger brother had not said a word about his parish before church,
though the Kings and their guests were very near his heart.
But it was of no use to say so. It was the TRUTH that wounded the
farmer and his wife, and no one could make that otherwise. They did
not choose to hear their sin rebuked, so they made an excuse by
pretending to take offence, and except when they now and then went to
the next parish to a meeting-house, cut themselves off from all that
might disturb them in the sole pursuit of gain. It is awful to think
of such hardening of the heart, first towards man, then towards the
warnings of God.
And mind, whoever chooses profit rather than mercy, is in the path of
Farmer Shepherd.
Some certainty as to Lady Jane Selby's feelings came on the second
evening of Paul's illness. Mrs. Crabbe, the housekeeper, was seen
with infinite trouble and disgust getting her large person over the
stiles across the path fields. A call from her was almost a greater
event than one from my Lady herself. Why! Mother had been her
still-room maid, and always spoke to her as 'Ma'am,' and she called
her 'Mary,' and she had chosen Matilda's name for her, and had given
her a silver watch!
So when Mrs. Crabbe had found her way in, and had been set down to
rest in the arm-chair, she proceeded to give 'Mary' a good round
scolding against being weak and soft-hearted, saying at last that my
Lady was quite in a way about it. She was sure that Harold would
catch his death of cold, putting him to sleep in the kitchen, upon
the stones--and so--my Lady had sent off the cart with the little
chair-bed, that would take down and put up again--mattress, bed-
clothes, and all.
That was a comfortable finish to the scolding! Not that it was a
finish though, for the thanks made Mrs. Crabbe afraid the family
thought themselves forgiven, so she went on to declare they all would
be pinched, and get into debt, and she should advise her god-
daughter, Matilda, not to help them with a farthing of her wages, and
as to going without their full meals, that was what none of them were
fit to do. With which it appeared that the cart was bringing a can
of broth, a couple of rabbits, some calves'-feet jelly, and a bottle
of port wine for Alfred, who lived on that and cod-liver oil more
than on any other nourishment.
At that rate, Lady Jane's displeasure did not seem likely to do much
harm; but there was pain in it too, for when Mrs. Crabbe had managed
to get up-stairs, past the patch-work quilt that was hung up to
shelter Paul from the draught, and had seen Alfred, and been shocked
to find how much wasted he was since she last had seen him, she said,
'One thing you know--my Lady says she can't have Miss Selby coming
down here to see Alfred while this great lad is always about. And
I'm sure it is not proper for her at any time, such a young lady as
she is, over all those inconvenient stiles. I declare I shall speak
to Mr. Price about them.'
Losing Miss Jane's visits was to Alfred like losing a sunbeam, and
his spirit felt very dreary after he had heard this sentence. Ellen
knew her well enough to suspect that she was very sorry, but that she
could not help herself; and Mrs. King caught the brother and sister
making such grumbling speeches to each other about the old lady's
crossness, that her faithful, grateful spirit was quite grieved, and
she spoke strongly up for the just, right-minded lady to whom she had
loyally looked up for many and many a year, though, with the right
sort of independence, she would not give up to any one's opinion what
she knew to be her duty.
'We all knew it must cost us something,' she said, 'and we'll try to
be ready with it, though it does go to one's heart that the first
should be what vexes you, my Alfy; but it won't be for long.'
'No, Mother; but if it ain't here long? Oh! I don't seem to have
nothing to look to if Miss Jane ain't coming here no more, with her
pretty ways!'
And there were large tears on his cheeks. Mrs. King had tears in her
eyes too, but she bent down over the boy, and turning his eyes to the
little picture on the wall, she said in a whisper in his ear, 'Didn't
He bear His Cross for the sake of other people?' Alfred did not
answer; he turned his face in towards the pillow, and though Ellen
thought he was crying, it did not seem to her to be so sadly.
Cost them something their kindness did. To be sure, there came a
party of boys with the master from Ragglesford, when there had been
time for them to write the history of the robbery to their homes; and
as it came just before the monthly letter which they all had to write
by way of practice, to be shewn up to the master, it was a real
treasure to them to have such a story to tell. Some of their
friends, especially the uncle who gave the watch, had sent small sums
of money for the lad who had behaved so well, and these altogether
came to a fair amount, which the boys were highly pleased to give
over into Mrs. King's hands. She, like Harold, never made the
smallest question that it was all for Paul's benefit, and though,
when she mentioned it to him, he gave a cheery smile, and said it
would lessen the cost of his illness to her, yet she put it all aside
with the first twelve-and-sixpence. She told Ellen that it went
against her to touch the orphan's money, and that unless it came to
very bad times indeed, it should be kept to set him up decently when
he should recover.
No one else could afford aid in money, not Mr. Cope, for he had
little more than a maintenance for himself; indeed, Mrs. King was not
in a station where it would seem becoming to offer alms to her. Lady
Jane gave help in nourishing food, but the days when this would come
were uncertain, and she had made a resolution against undertaking any
share of the expense, lest she should seem to encourage Mary King, as
she said, in such weak good nature--cramming up her house with a
strange boy like that, when she had quite enough to do with her own
son. So they had to fight on as they could; and the first week, when
Paul's illness was at the height, Ellen had so much more to do for
Alfred and about the house, and was so continually called off her
work, that she could not finish Mrs. Crabbe's gown as soon as was
expected; and the ladies' maid, who was kept waiting, took huff, and
sent her new purple silk to Elbury to be madeup.
It is not quite certain that Ellen did not shed a few tears.
Harold had to go without his butter, and once took it much to heart
that his mother would buy no shrimps for tea, but after some one had
whispered to him that if there were a trouble about rent, or about
Mr. Blunt's bill, Peggy would be sold, he bore it all pretty well;
and after all, Alfred and Paul were so apt to give him tastes of
their dainties, that he had not much loss!
Rent was the care. The pig was killed and cut up to great advantage;
Mrs. King sold a side of it at once, which went a good way towards
it, but not the whole; and there was a bad debt of John Farden's for
bread, contracted last winter, and which he had never paid off in the
summer. That would just have made it up, but what hopes were there
of that?
Just then, however, came a parcel from Matilda. It was her way of
helping her family to send them the clothes which her mistresses
allowed her to have when they left them off, when Mrs. King either
made them up for herself or Ellen, or disposed of them at Elbury.
What a treat those parcels were! How curious were all the party at
the unpacking, looking at the many odd things that were sure to come
out, on the happy doubtful certainty that each one would be
remembered by the good sister.
So there were the little directed parcels--a neat knitted grey and
black handkerchief for Mother to wear in the shop; a whole roll of
fashion-books for Ellen, and a nice little pocket-book besides; and a
bundle of 'Illustrated News' to amuse the boys; a precious little
square book of 'Hymns for the Sick' for Alfred; and a famous pair of
riding-gloves, like bears' paws, for Harold. And what rolls besides!
Worn flimsy dresses, once pretty, but now only fit for the old-
clothes man, yet whose trimmings Ellen pulled out and studied;
bonnets that looked as if they had been sat upon; rolls of soft
ragged cambric handkerchiefs, on which Mrs. King seized as the most
valuable part of the cargo, so useful would they be to poor Alfred;
some few real good things, in especial, a beautiful thick silk dress
which had been stained, but which dyeing would render very useful;
and a particularly nice grey cloth mantle, which Matilda had
mentioned in her letter as likely to be useful to Ellen--it was not
at all the worse for wear, except as to the lining of the hood, and
she should just fancy Ellen in it.
Ellen could just fancy herself in it. She had a black silk one,
which had come in the same way, and looked very well, but it was just
turning off, and it was not warm enough for winter without a shawl
under it. That grey looked as if it was made for her, it suited her
shoulders and her shape so well! She put it on and twisted about in
it, and then she saw her good mother not saying one word, and knew
she was thinking of the sum that was wanting to the rent.
'Well, Mother,' said Ellen, 'I'll go in and take the things to Betsey
on the next market-day, and if we can get thirty shillings on them
without the mantle--'
'Yes, if you can, my dear,' said her mother; 'I'm sure I should be
very glad for you to have it, but you see--'
And Mrs. King sighed.
Ellen passed by Paul on the landing, and saw him with his face
flushed with pain and fever, trying to smile at her. She remembered
how her unkind words had brought trouble on him, and how her mother
had begun by telling her that they must give up their own wishes if
they were to nurse him.
Ellen went to Elbury on the market-day, and by the help of Betsey
Hardman, she got great credit for her bargaining. She brought home
thirty shillings, and ten shillings' worth of soap for the shop,
where that article was running low; but she did not bring home the
cloak, though Betsey had told her a silk cloak over a shawl looked so
mean! and she feared all the servants at the Grange would think the
same!
'They always were good children to me,' said Mrs. King to Mr. Cope,
'but somehow, since Paul has been here, I think they are better than
ever! There's poor Alfred, though his cough has been so bad of late,
has been so thoughtful and so good; he says he's quite ashamed to
find how patient Paul is under so much sharper pain than he ever had,
and he's ready to send anything to Paul that he fancies will do him
good--quite carried out of himself, you see; and there's Harold, so
much steadier; I've hardly had to find fault with him since that poor
boy made off--he's sure to come in in time, and takes care not to
disturb his brother, and helps his sister and me all he can.'
Mr. Cope was not at all surprised that the work of mercy was blessed
to all the little household, nor that it drew out all the better side
of their dispositions.
There was no positive change, nor sudden resolution, to alter Harold;
but he had been a good deal startled by Dick's wickedness, and in him
had lost a tempter. Besides, he considered Paul as his own friend,
received for his sake, and therefore felt himself bound to do all he
could for him, and though he was no nurse, he could do much to set
his mother and Ellen free to attend to their patients. And Paul's
illness, though so much less dangerous, frightened and subdued Harold
much more than the quiet gradual pining away of Alfred, to which he
was used. The severe pain, the raging fever, and the ramblings in
talk, were much more fearful things to witness than the low cough,
the wearing sore, and the helpless languor, though there was much
hope for the one, and scarcely any for the other. While to Harold's
apprehension, Alfred was always just the same, only worsening visibly
from month to month; Paul was better or worse every time he came in,
and when fresh from hearing his breath gasp with sharp pain, or
receiving his feeble thanks for some slight service, it was not in
Harold to go out and get into thoughtless mischief.
Moreover, there were helpful things to do at home, such as Harold
liked. He was fond of chopping wood, so he was very obliging about
the oven, and what he liked best of all was helping his mother in
certain evening cookeries of sweet-meats, by receipts from Mrs.
Crabbe. On the day of the expedition from Ragglesford, the young
gentlemen had found out that Mrs. King's bottles contained what they
called 'the real article and no mistake,' much better than what the
old woman at the turnpike sold; and so they were, for Mrs. King made
them herself, and, like an honest woman, without a morsel of sham in
them. She was not going to break the Eighth Commandment by cheating
in a comfit any more than by stealing a purse; and the children of
Friarswood had long known that, and bought all the 'lollies' that
they were not naughty enough to buy on Sundays, when, as may be
supposed, her shutters were not shut only for a decent show.
And now Harold did not often ride up to the school without some
little master giving him a commission for some variety of sweet-
stuff; and though Mrs. King used to say it was a pity the children
should throw away their money in that fashion, it brought a good deal
into her till, and Harold greatly liked assisting at the manufacture.
How often he licked his fingers during the process need not be
mentioned; but his objection to Ragglesford was quite gone off, now
that some one was nearly certain to be looking out for him, with a
good-natured greeting, or an inquiry for Paul. He knew one little
boy from another, and felt friendly with them all, and he really was
quite grieved when the holidays came, and they wished him good-bye.
The coach that had been hired to take them to Elbury seemed something
to watch for now, and some thoughtful boy stopped all the whooping
and hurraing as they came near the house on the bridge. Some other
stopped the coach, and they all came dropping off it like a swarm of
black flies, and tumbling into the shop, where Mrs. King and her
daughter had need to have had a dozen pair of hands to have served
them, and they did not go till they had cleared out her entire stock
of sweet things and gingerbread; nay, some of them would have gone
off without their change, if she had not raced out to catch them with
it after they were climbing up the coach, and then the silly fellows
said they hated coppers! And meeting Harold and his post-bag on his
way home from Elbury, they raised such a tremendous cheer at him that
poor Peggy seemed to make but three springs from the milestone to the
bridge, and he could not so much as touch his cap by way of answer.
Somehow, even after those droll customers were gone, every Saturday's
reckoning was a satisfactory one. More always seemed to come in than
went out. The potatoes had been unusually free from disease in Mrs.
King's garden, and every one came for them; the second pig turned out
well; a lodger at the butcher's took a fancy to her buns; and on the
whole, winter, when her receipts were generally at the lowest, was
now quite a prosperous time with her. The great pressure and near
anxiety she had expected had not come, and something was being put by
every week towards the bill for flour, and for Mr. Blunt's account,
so that she began to hope that after all the Savings Bank would not
have to be left quite bare.
Quite unexpectedly, John Farden came in for a share of the savings of
an old aunt at service, and, like an honest fellow as he was, he got
himself out of debt at once. This quite settled all Mrs. King's
fears; Mr. Blunt and the miller would both have their due, and she
really believed she should be no poorer!
Then she recollected the widow's cruse of oil, and tears of
thankfulness and faith came into her eyes, and other tears dropped
when she remembered the other more precious comfort that the stranger
had brought into the widow's house, but she knew that the days of
miracles and cures past hope were gone, and that the Christian
woman's promise was 'that her children should come again,' but not
till the resurrection of the just.
And though to her eye each frost was freshly piercing her boy's
breast, each warm damp day he faded into greater feebleness, yet the
hope was far clearer. He was happy and content. He had laid hold of
the blessed hope of Everlasting Life, and was learning to believe
that the Cross laid on him here was in mercy to make him fit for
Heaven, first making him afraid and sorry for his sins, and ready to
turn to Him Who could take them away, and then almost becoming
gladness, in the thought of following his Master, though so far off.
Not that Alfred often said such things, but they breathed peace over
his mind, and made Scripture-reading, prayers, and hymns very
delightful to him, especially those in Matilda's book; and he dwelt
more than he told any one on Mr. Cope's promise, when he trusted to
be made more fully 'one with Christ' in the partaking of His Cup of
Life. It used to be his treat, when no one was looking, to read over
that Service in his Prayer-book, and to think of the time. It was
like a kind of step; he could fix his mind on that, and the sense of
forgiveness he hoped for therein, better than on the great change
that was coming; when there was much fear and shrinking from the
pain, and some dread of what as yet seemed strange and unknown, he
thought he should feel lifted up so as to be able to bear the
thought, when that holy Feast should have come to him.
All this made him much less occupied with himself, and he took much
more share in what was going on; he could be amused and playful,
cared for all that Ellen and Harold did, and was inclined to make the
most of his time with his brother. It was like old happy times, now
that Alfred had ceased to be fretful, and Harold took heed not to
distress him.
One thing to which Alfred looked forward greatly, was Paul's being
able to come into his room, and the two on their opposite sides of
the wall made many pleasant schemes for the talk and reading that
were to go on. But when the day came, Alfred was more disappointed
than pleased.
Paul had been cased, by Lady Jane's orders, in flannel; he had over
that a pair of trousers of Alfred's--much too long, for the Kings
were very tall, and he was small and stunted in growth--and a great
wrapping-gown that Mr. Cope had once worn when he was ill at college,
and over his shaven head a night-cap that had been their father's.
Ellen, with many directions from Alfred, had made him up a couch with
three chairs, and the cushions Alfred used to have when he could
leave his bed; the fire was made up brightly, and Mrs. King and
Harold helped Paul into the room.
But all the rheumatic pain was by no means over, and walking made him
feel it; he was dreadfully weak, and was so giddy and faint after the
first few steps, that they could not bring him to shake hands with
Alfred as both had wished, but had to lay him down as fast as they
could. So tired was he, that he could hardly say anything all the
time he was there; and Alfred had to keep silence for fear of
wearying him still more. There was a sort of shyness, too, which
hindered the two from even letting their eyes meet, often as they had
heard each other's voices, and had greeted one another through the
thin partition. As Paul lay with his eyes shut, Alfred raised
himself to take a good survey of the sharp pinched features, the
hollow cheeks, deep-sunk pits for the eyes,--and yellow ghastly skin
of the worn face, and the figure, so small and wasted that it was
like nothing, curled up in all those wraps. One who could read faces
better than young Alfred could, would have gathered not only that the
boy who lay there had gone through a great deal, but that there was
much mind and thought crushed down by misery, and a gentle nature not
fit to stand up alone against it, and so sinking down without
exertion.
And when Alfred was learning a verse of his favourite hymn -
'There is a rill whose waters rise--'
Paul's eye-lids rose, and looked him all over dreamily, comparing him
perhaps with the notions he had carried away from his two former
glimpses. Alfred did not look now so utterly different from anything
he had seen before, since Mrs. King and Ellen had been hovering round
his bed for nearly a month past; but still the fair skin, pink
colour, dark eye-lashes, glossy hair, and white hands, were like a
dream to him, as if they belonged to the pure land whither Alfred was
going, and he was quite loath to hear him speak like another boy, as
he knew he could do, having often listened to his talk through the
wall. At the least sign of Alfred's looking up, he turned away his
eyes as if he had been doing something by stealth.
He came in continually after this; and little things each day, and
Harold's talk, made the two acquainted and like boys together; but it
was not till Christmas Day that they felt like knowing each other.
It was the first time Paul felt himself able to be of any use, for he
was to be left in charge of Alfred, while Mrs. King and both her
other children went to church. Paul was sadly crippled still, and
every frost filled his bones with acute pain, and bent him like an
old man, so that he was still a long way from getting down-stairs,
but he could make a shift to get about the room, and he looked
greatly pleased when Alfred declared that he should want nobody else
to stay with him in the morning.
Very glad he was that his mother would not be kept from Ellen's first
Holy Communion. Owing to the Curate not being a priest, the Feast
had not been celebrated since Michaelmas; but a clergyman had come to
help Mr. Cope, that the parish might not be deprived of the Festival
on such a day as Christmas.
Harold, though in a much better mood than at the Confirmation time,
was not as much concerned to miss it as perhaps he ought to have
been. Thought had not come to him yet, and his head was full of the
dinner with the servants at the Grange. It was sad that he and Ellen
should alone be able to go to it; but it would be famous for all
that! Ay, and so were the young postman's Christmas-boxes!
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