John Halifax, Gentleman Part 9

And she dropped the vegetables all over the path as the "gentleman"

came towards us.

I smiled--for, in spite of his transformation, I, at least, had no difficulty in recognising John Halifax.

He had on new clothes--let me give the credit due to that wonderful civiliser, the tailor--clothes neat, decent, and plain, such as any 'prentice lad might wear. They fitted well his figure, which had increased both in height, compactness, and grace. Round his neck was a coa.r.s.e but white shirt frill; and over it fell, carefully arranged, the bright curls of his bonny hair. Easily might Jael or any one else have "mistaken" him, as she cuttingly said, for a young gentleman.

She looked very indignant, though, when she found out the aforesaid "mistake."

"What may be thy business here?" she said, roughly.

"Abel Fletcher sent me on a message."

"Out with it then--don't be stopping with Phineas here. Thee bean't company for him, and his father don't choose it."

"Jael!" I cried, indignantly. John never spoke, but his cheek burnt furiously.

I took his hand, and told him how glad I was to see him--but, for a minute, I doubt if he heard me.

"Abel Fletcher sent me here," he repeated, in a well-controlled voice, "that I might go out with Phineas; if HE objects to my company, it's easy to say so."

And he turned to me. I think he must have been satisfied then.

Jael retired discomfited, and in her wrath again dropped half of her cabbages. John picked them up and restored them; but got for thanks only a parting thrust.

"Thee art mighty civil in thy new clothes. Be off, and be back again sharp; and, I say, don't thee be leaving the cart o' skins again under the parlour windows."

"I don't drive the cart now," was all he replied.

"Not drive the cart?" I asked, eagerly, when Jael had disappeared, for I was afraid some ill chance had happened.

"Only, that this winter I've managed to teach myself to read and add up, out of your books, you know; and your father found it out, and he says I shall go round collecting money instead of skins, and it's much better wages, and--I like it better--that's all."

But, little as he said, his whole face beamed with pride and pleasure.

It was, in truth, a great step forward.

"He must trust you very much, John," said I, at last, knowing how exceedingly particular my father was in his collectors.

"That's it--that's what pleases me so. He is very good to me, Phineas, and he gave me a special holiday, that I might go out with you. Isn't that grand?"

"Grand, indeed. What fun we'll have! I almost think I could take a walk myself."

For the lad's company invariably gave me new life, and strength, and hope. The very sight of him was as good as the coming of spring.

"Where shall we go?" said he, when we were fairly off, and he was guiding my carriage down Norton Bury streets.

"I think to the Mythe." The Mythe was a little hill on the outskirts of the town, breezy and fresh, where Squire Brithwood had built himself a fine house ten years ago.

"Ay, that will do; and as we go, you will see the floods out--a wonderful sight, isn't it? The river is rising still, I hear; at the tan-yard they are busy making a dam against it. How high are the floods here, generally, Phineas?"

"I'm sure I can't remember. But don't look so serious. Let us enjoy ourselves."

And I did enjoy, intensely, that pleasant stroll. The mere sunshine was delicious; delicious, too, to pause on the bridge at the other end of the town, and feel the breeze brought in by the rising waters, and hear the loud sound of them, as they poured in a cataract over the flood-gates hard by.

"Your lazy, muddy Avon looks splendid now. What ma.s.ses of white foam it makes, and what wreaths of spray; and see! ever so much of the Ham is under water. How it sparkles in the sun."

"John, you like looking at anything pretty."

"Ah! don't I!" cried he, with his whole heart. My heart leaped too, to see him so happy.

"You can't think how fine this is from my window; I have watched it for a week. Every morning the water seems to have made itself a fresh channel. Look at that one, by the willow-tree--how savagely it pours!"

"Oh, we at Norton Bury are used to floods."

"Are they ever very serious?"

"Have been--but not in my time. Now, John, tell me what you have been doing all winter."

It was a brief and simple chronicle--of hard work, all day over, and from the Monday to the Sat.u.r.day--too hard work to do anything of nights, save to drop into the sound, dreamless sleep of youth and labour.

"But how did you teach yourself to read and add up, then?"

"Generally at odd minutes going along the road. It's astonishing what a lot of odd minutes one can catch during the day, if one really sets about it. And then I had Sunday afternoons besides. I did not think it wrong--"

"No," said I; decisively. "What books have you got through?"

"All you sent--Pilgrim's Progress, Robinson Crusoe, and the Arabian Nights. That's fine, isn't it?" and his eyes sparkled.

"Any more?"

"Also the one you gave me at Christmas. I have read it a good deal."

I liked the tone of quiet reverence in which he spoke. I liked to hear him own, nor be ashamed to own--that he read "a good deal" in that rare book for a boy to read--the Bible.

But on this subject I did not ask him any more questions; indeed, it seemed to me, and seems still, that no more were needed.

"And you can read quite easily now, John?"

"Pretty well, considering." Then, turning suddenly to me: "You read a great deal, don't you? I overheard your father say you were very clever. How much do you know?"

"Oh--nonsense!" But he pressed me, and I told him. The list was short enough; I almost wished it were shorter when I saw John's face.

"For me--I can only just read, and I shall be fifteen directly!"

The accent of shame, despondency, even despair, went to my very heart.

"Don't mind," I said, laying my feeble, useless hand upon that which guided me on so steady and so strong; "how could you have had time, working as hard as you do?"

"But I ought to learn; I must learn."