Deerbrook Part 66

"Where is my boy? I have not seen him for hours. Why do you put him out of his father's way? Oh, Margaret has him! Come, Margaret, yield him up. You can have him all the hours that I am away. You do not grudge him to me, do you?"

"My master won't have to complain, as many gentlemen do," said Morris, "or as many gentlemen feel, if they don't complain, that he is neglected for the sake of his baby."

"If you enjoy your dinner to-day, love," said Hester, "you must not give me the credit of it. You and I are to sit down to our pheasant together, they tell me. Margaret and Morris will have it that they have both dined."

"There is little in getting a comfortable dinner ready," said Morris, "whether it is the lady herself, or another, that looks to a trifle like that. It is the seeing his wife so full of care and thought about her baby as to have none to spare for him, that frets many an one who does not like to say anything about it. Fathers cannot be so taken with a very young baby as the mothers are, and it is mortifying to feel themselves neglected for a newcomer. I have often seen that, my dears; but I shall never see it here, I find."

"I do not know how you should, Morris," said Hester, in something of the old tone, which made her sister's heart throb almost before it reached her ear. "Margaret will save me from any such danger. Margaret takes care that n.o.body shall be engrossed with the baby but herself. She has not a thought to spare for any of us while she has baby in her arms.

The little fellow has cut us all out."

Margaret quickly transferred the infant to her brother's arm, and left the room. She thought it best; for her heart was very full, and she could not speak. She restrained her tears, and went into the kitchen to busy herself about the dinner she had cooked.

"'Tis a fine pheasant, indeed, Miss Margaret, my dear, and beautifully roasted, I am sure: and I hope you will go up and see them enjoy it. I am so sorry, my dear, for what I said just now. I merely spoke what came up in my mind when I felt pleased, and never thought of its bringing on any remark. Nor was anything intended, I am sure, that should make you look so sad: so do you go up, and take the baby again, when they sit down to dinner, as if nothing had been said. Do, my dear, if I may venture to say so. I will follow you with the dinner in a minute."

"I wonder how it is, my love," said Hope, in a voice which spoke all the tenderness of his heart; "I wonder how it is that you can endure wrong so n.o.bly, and that you cannot bear the natural course of events. Tell me how it is, Hester, that you have sustained magnanimously all the injuries and misfortunes of many months, and that you now quarrel with Margaret's affection for our child."

"Ah why, indeed, Edward?" she replied, humbly. "Why, but that I am unworthy that such an one as Margaret should love me and my child."

"Enough, enough. I only want to show you how I regard the case about this new love of Margaret's. Do you not see how much happier she has been since this little fellow was born?"

"Oh, yes."

"One may now fancy that she may be gay again. Let us remember what an oppressed heart she had, and what it must be to her to have a new object, so innocent and unconscious as this child, to lavish her affection upon. Do not let us grudge her the consolation, or poison the pleasure of this fresh interest."

"I am afraid it is done," cried Hester, in great distress. "I was wicked--I was more cruel than any of our enemies, when I said what I did. I may well bear with them; for, G.o.d knows, I am at times no better than they. I have robbed my Margaret of her only comfort--spoiled her only pleasure."

"No, no. Here she comes. Look at her."

Margaret's face was indeed serene, and she made as light of the matter as she could, when Hester implored that she would pardon her hasty and cruel words, and that she would show her forgiveness by continuing to cherish the child. He must not begin to suffer already for his mother's faults, Hester said. There could be no doubt of Margaret's forgiveness, nor of her forgetfulness of what had been said, as far as forgetfulness was possible. But the worst of such sayings is, that they carry in them that which prevents their being ever quite forgotten. Hester had effectually established a constraint in her sister's intercourse with the baby, and imposed upon Margaret the incessant care of scrupulously adjusting the claims of the mother and the child. The evils arising from faulty temper may be borne, may be concealed, but can never be fully repaired. Happy they whose part it is to endure and to conceal, rather than to inflict, and to strive uselessly to repair!

Margaret's part was the easiest of the three, as they sat at the table-- she with the baby in her arms, and all agreeing that the time was come for an explanation with Morris--for depending on themselves for almost all the work of the house.

"Come, Morris," said Hester, when the cloth was removed; "you must spare us half-an-hour. We want to consult with you. Come and sit down."

Morris came, with a foreboding heart.

"It will be no news to you," said Hope, "that we are very poor. You know nearly as much of our affairs as we do ourselves, as it is right that you should. We have not wished to make any further change in our domestic plans till this little fellow was born. But now that he is beginning to make his way in the world, and that his mother is well and strong, we feel that we must consider of some further effort to spend still less than we do now."

"There are two ways in which this may be done, we think, Morris," said Hester. "We may either keep the comfort of having you with us, and pinch ourselves more as to dress and the table--"

"Oh! ma'am, I hope you will not carry that any further."

"Well, if we do not carry that any further, the only thing to be done, I fear, is to part with you."

"Is there no other way, I wonder," said Morris, as if thinking aloud.

"If it must be one of these ways, it certainly seems to me to be better for ladies to work hard with good food, than to have a servant, and stint themselves in health and strength. But who would have thought of my young ladies coming to this?"

"It is a situation in which hundreds and thousands are placed, Morris; and why not we, as well as they?"

"May be so, ma'am: but it grieves one, too."

"Do not grieve. I believe we all think that this parting with you is the first real grief that our change of fortune has caused us. Somehow or other, we have been exceedingly comfortable in our poverty. If that had been all, we should have had a very happy year of it."

"One would desire to say nothing against what is G.o.d's will, ma'am; but one may be allowed, perhaps, to hope that better times will come."

"I do hope it, and believe it," said her master.

"And if better times come, Morris, you will return to us. Will you not?"

"My dear, you know nothing would make me leave you now (as you say I am a comfort to you) if I had any right to say I would stay. I could live upon as little as anybody, and could do almost without any wages. But there is my poor sister, you know, ladies. She depends upon me for everything, now that she cannot work herself: and I must earn money for her."

"We are quite aware of that," said Margaret. "It is for your sake and hers, quite as much as for our own, that we think we must part."

"We wish to know what you would like to do," said Hester. "Shall we try to find a situation for you near us, or would you be happier to go down among your old friends?"

"I had better go where I am sure of employment, ma'am. Better go down to Birmingham at once. I should never have left it but for my young ladies' sakes. But I should be right glad, my dears, to leave it again for you, if you can at any time write to say you wish for me back.

There is another way I have thought of sometimes; but, of course, you cannot have overlooked anything that could occur to me. If you would all go to Birmingham, you have so many friends there, and my master would be valued as he ought to be; which there is no sign of his being in this place. I do not like this place, my dears. It is not good enough for you."

"We think any place good enough for us where there are men and women living," said Hope, kindly but gravely. "Others have thought as you do, Morris, and have offered us temptations to go away; but we do not think it right. If we go, we shall leave behind us a bad character, which we do not deserve. If we stay, I have very little doubt of recovering my professional character, and winning over our neighbours to think better of us, and be kind to us again. We mean to try for it, if I should have to hire myself out as a porter in Mr Grey's yards."

"Pray, don't say that, sir. But, indeed, I believe you are so far right as that the good always conquers at last."

"Just so, Morris: that is what we trust. And for the sake of this little fellow, if for nothing else, we must stand by our good name. Who knows but that I may leave him a fine flourishing practice in this very place, when I retire or die?--always supposing he means to follow his father's profession."

"Sir, that is looking forward very far."

"So it is, Morris. But however people may disapprove of looking forward too far, it is difficult to help it when they become parents. Your mistress could tell you, if she would own the truth, that she sees her son's manly beauty already under that little wry mouth, and that odd b.u.t.ton of a nose. Why may not I just as well fancy him a young surgeon?"

"Morris would say, as she once said to me," observed Margaret, "'Remember death, my dear; remember death.'"

"We will remember it," said Morris, "but we must remember at the same time G.o.d's mercy in giving life. He who gave life can preserve it: and this shall be my trust for you all, my dears, when I am far away from you. There is a knock! I must go. Oh! Miss Margaret, who will there be to go to the door when I am gone, but you?"

Mr Jones had knocked at the door, and left a letter. These were its contents:--

"Sir,--I hope you will excuse the liberty I take in applying to you for my own satisfaction. My wife and I have perceived with much concern that we have lost much of your custom of late. We mind little the mere falling off of custom in any quarter, in comparison with failing to give satisfaction. We have always tried, I am sure, to give satisfaction in our dealings with your family, sir; and if there has been any offence, I can a.s.sure you it is unintentional, and shall feel obliged by knowing what it is. We cannot conceive, sir, where you get your meat, if not from us; and if you have the trouble of buying it from a distance, I can only say we should be happy to save you the trouble, if we knew how to serve you to your liking; for, sir, we have a great respect for you and yours.

"Your obedient servants,

"John Jones,

"Mary Jones."

"The kind soul!" cried Hester. "What must we say to them?"

"We must set their minds at ease about our good-will to them. How that little fellow stares about him, like a child of double his age! I do believe I could make him look wise at my watch already. Yes, we must set the Joneses at ease, at all events."

"But how? We must not tell them that we cannot afford to buy of them as we did."